FORTY

"...One single thread of gold tied me to you..."

———

August 24th, 2018 - 11:07pm

Lenox Hill, New York City

...Six Hours Earlier - Brooklyn, NYC...

Dorothea felt...

Weird.

Well—

No.

Something hard and sharp had lodged itself in her throat. She felt it from the moment she and Taylor got into the SUV. She tugged at the neckline of her dress as though that was the source of the bizarre squeezing sensation. Instead the feeling intensified to the point when as they were crossing the Brooklyn Bridge, she clutched her throat as though she couldn't breathe. Of course, Taylor had looked at her right at that moment, her own eyes expanding with saucer-sized panic.

"You're fucking with me," was the first thing that Taylor managed to blurt out. Her eyes had then dropped to Dorothea's lap and she shook her head, bewildered. "What am I missing here? Did you feel something?"

Normally Dorothea would have been quick to respond, but whatever thing was in her throat had also left her speechless. She lowered her hand and rested it limply on her bump, staring into the distance.

"No, sorry." She frowned and gave a light cough. "I think my throat's just dry."

"Jesus." Taylor sighed, reaching for one of the plastic water bottles tucked in the compartment on the car door. She laughed uneasily as she handed her the container. "So you're not going into labor?"

Dorothea had sucked down half of the bottle before she finally felt that she could speak. "As far as I know."

Taylor stared at her. "Because it would be obvious, wouldn't it?"

"Are you asking me?"

"No, the other pregnant girl in the car."

Dorothea had responded with a sharp laugh, although the silence on the singer's end was loud enough to imply that the remark wasn't intended to be funny.

Would it be obvious? It had once seemed so, and then she learned of Braxton-Hicks.

The feeling returned to Dorothea's throat as soon as they arrived at the Barclays Center, but this time she tried to convince herself that it was just nerves. She looked out the window and saw that they were one of the dozens of cars in a line that snaked around the stadium like a string of glossy black pearls.

Even from the back of the line, Dorothea could see the distant camera strobes. For weeks she had imagined the moment she and Taylor would arrive at the carpet, but now it seemed silly. Of course, the scene in front of her was nothing like she envisioned. And what had she expected? There was no rosy, champagne-fuzzed glow. No gorgeously ethereal creatures floating about as though they were as weightless as the sparkling balloons above their heads.

It looked crowded, confusing, and horrifyingly bright. They weren't quite close enough yet, but she was sure it was loud. She imagined walking up to the carpet backdrop and just buckling to her knees; the cameras capturing her and her huge belly in a series of disgustingly blurry, washed-out snapshots.

She was definitely just nervous.

Probably.

She didn't have much time to decipher the feeling, as it had taken less than five minutes before they pulled up to one of the drop-off points. They had already planned for Taylor to be at the door nearest to the curb and Dorothea was more than happy to let the singer take the lead. Although, the expression on Taylor's face wasn't exactly eager, either.

"Well, there's no turning back now." Taylor laughed nervously, pasting on a smile when she met Dorothea's eyes.

She beamed at the singer and felt her stomach somersault as she watched the door open to reveal the blinding snake-pit in front of them. Any last possibilities to hesitate were gone. As soon as their feet hit the carpet it would be quick, as Taylor had explained to her a few nights ago. No pressure, of course, because she was nearly nine months pregnant and wearing heels and a gown that swept the floor, but avoid lingering at all costs! Otherwise, you might get eaten alive!

Tree emerged from the car behind their's, along with Andrea, Heather, and Maeve. The mothers and her sister were ushered onto a golf cart and Dorothea had to resist the urge to launch across the space and hitch a ride on the back. Instead, she hung by Tree's side and experienced the deafening roar that followed Taylor's entrance onto the carpet.

The next five minutes left Dorothea in a daze. It felt as though she had walked onto a nightmarish rainbow carnival ride and was then tossed, spun, kicked, and whirled into a stupor that left her brain feeling like scrambled eggs. All the while, her stomach continued to flip, and without warning the feeling sank lower. It wasn't the characteristic butterflies that leapt through her ribs on a steep rollercoaster drop; Ivy was most definitely moving. As though she was on her own dizzying fair ride. When Dorothea had joined Taylor at the backdrop, she wondered if the cameras had captured the tiny foot that was working it's way across her belly.

I was just joking, you little shit! I swear to God, if you break my water on this fucking carpet—

But the carpet stayed dry. And somewhere along the way, the stone in her throat had inconspicuously disappeared. Once she, Taylor, and Tree arrived at a golf cart on the other side of the carpet, the air seemed to lift. Both she and the singer had become giggly and almost brainless with relief, poking and teasing one another as though they were clueless high school lovers fooling around underneath the bleachers.

"Taylor! Taylor! Look at me!" Dorothea mocked.

"Fuck off—" Taylor bubbled with laughter.

"Look at me! My paycheck depends on it! How will I feed my children?!"

"You're such a monster!"

"So what does that make them?"

"Nobody said anything about feeding their children."

"But their desperation was loud and clear."

"So my photos might feed babies. Is that a bad thing?" Taylor poked Dorothea's stomach.

As though magnetized, she felt Ivy roll towards the area with dramatic, pageant-like slowness.

————

...Three Hours Earlier - Hell's Kitchen, NYC...

"George Clooney!?"

"Get me out of here," Dorothea deadpanned.

"That's not him, Mom," Maeve said.

"Nonsense! I'd recognize him anywhere!—Andrea!" Heather lifted one of her manicured hands in a royal gesture, the other holding a glass of her second —or third— French 75.

Dorothea watched in mild horror as her elegantly-dressed, liquid courage-filled mother led the pair in the direction of the supposed actor. Although part of her was relieved, as that meant a break from baby questions. They all shared a car on the ride from the VMAs venue to the after party. Thirty seven questions in twenty-six minutes, by Dorothea's count. But truthfully some were repeats, as time went on and her mother's champagne glass drained.

Now, almost eight months after quitting— but also, did she ever officially quit??—her job, Dorothea was back at The Pearl. Immediately after stepping through the entrance, she felt a strange, longing sensation stretch throughout her body. It was ridiculous. She didn't miss the shit pay, nor the countless hours on her feet and if she actually had worked there up until she gave birth, she probably would have lost both her sanity and her feet, now that she thought about it. So why had she suddenly become so overwhelmed, as though remembering a friend she'd lost touch with decades ago?

The answer came to her at the bar. She went to order a drink for Taylor—who had been swallowed by an endless bombardment of various people and What's Their Names, though that was to be expected after disappearing from the celebrity social circle for almost two years—and that was when she locked eyes with James, her former bartender-wannabe-DJ coworker.

"Thea!" He exclaimed, his pale eyes lighting up. There appeared to be a new addition to the canvas of tattoos on his skin, crawling from beneath his shirt collar up his neck. "I was wondering if I'd end up seeing you tonight!"

"Really?" Dorothea gave him a funny look.

"Well, when I heard Taylor Swift was one of the guests, I thought there might be a chance of running into her girlfriend, too," James admitted, giving her a sly smile.

"Taylor Swift's girlfriend?"

"Sorry, would you prefer Taylor Swift's Photographer?"

Dorothea's mouth fell open, but she was struggling not to smile. "So you didn't just forget about me, even after I disappeared one day and never came back?" She asked.

"How could I possibly forget Dorothea Madison from Houston?" James grinned.

"Dallas."

"Isn't that what I said?"

"I know it's confusing for y'all up here, but they're actually two very different places," Dorothea noted.

"Haven't lost your charm or your twang." He laughed. "I'm relieved. I wasn't sure what Hollywood would do to you."

Dorothea rolled her eyes, then glanced around the room. "So, where's Will at? Has he just been marching around, or did he lock himself in his office to avoid a neurotic breakdown?"

"Actually, he's not here anymore," James answered.

"What? Seriously?" Dorothea stared at him, bewildered. "We had bets on it! I put ten bucks on him dying at this place on one of the gold toilet seats!"

James shrugged. "Guess you lost ten bucks."

She watched him pour a dark liquid into a cocktail shaker. His motions were just as swift and methodical as eight months before, and for a moment she was transported back in time to when she would be nearly crashing into him as she invaded the bar to grab her orders.

"Okay," James hummed as he slid the drink across the counter. His hand lingered on the glass, as he waited for her to meet his eyes. "Before you disappear and vow to never return, can I ask you something?"

"Sure?" Dorothea said, eyeing him skeptically.

"Assuming it doesn't violate any critical NDAs you've signed in the last eight months."

"Ask away, DJ James Martin."

"How are you doing, really?" He asked.

She waited for his eyes to inevitably drop, yet they remained steady on hers. It was usually only a leading question these days—how are you (yeah, THE BABY, not you, stupid!!)—but for whatever reason she decided to interpret it for what it was.

"I'm good," Dorothea sighed, glancing arbitrarily towards where she last saw the singer. That odd longing feeling returned as she smiled, and suddenly all she could think about was returning to the blonde as soon as possible.

That was the moment when she realized she hadn't missed working at The Pearl. She missed being just Thea and this was the last place she had been before she was officially no longer just Thea.

But now, instead of longing for the Before, she longed for Taylor. Because for the past nine months, she was the only person capable of making her believe that just Thea still existed.

Pregnant or not, she realized, Taylor had never seen her any other way.

————

Dorothea felt—

Weird.

Again.

There wasn't anything lodged in her throat this time, but she felt unusually hot. Like hiking in Death Valley, then deciding to finish the journey in a sauna. Of course, she wasn't unfamiliar with ruthlessly hot temperatures, thanks to her Texas childhood, but this was something else.

For the last hour, she had been bouncing from chat to chat with Taylor, meeting a whirlwind of faces that quickly became indistinguishable from one another. Her face ached from smiling and Taylor was buzzed with happiness and liquor. The singer had taken home two awards that night and Dorothea thought she deserved every last drop of bliss she was experiencing. And so when the scorching sensation crawling across her skin became unbearable, Dorothea excused herself to go to the restroom.

She entered the luxurious, gold-trimmed room, passing a pair of women exiting with obnoxiously drunken shouts. There didn't appear to be anyone else in the bathroom, but when she looked at sink area, her eyes landed on a pair of champagne glasses, each filled to the brim.

A bead of sweat rolled between her shoulder blades and Dorothea turned into the nearest stall with a suddenly fierce urge to pee. She felt another drip of sweat slide down her back. She felt weird.

Right as she pulled her gown up, several voices burst into the room. They were laughing loudly and banging about the space and Dorothea found herself looking through the crack in the stall door.

Two women and Karlie Kloss.

Karlie Kloss.

Dorothea's eyes bugged. She was now sweating profusely, and felt as though she was back on the carnival ride from earlier for another round. The gold ceiling tilted, as though veering her off of an invisible axis.

"Yeah, I saw her!"

"But did you see her girlfriend?"

"The pregnant one?"

"Someone said she's here!"

"Apparently she's like, days from giving birth!"

"Seriously!"

"Holy shit!"

"I know, and she was wearing heels!"

As her surroundings tilted a little too far, Dorothea had no choice but to sit down on the toilet.

"Hey, look, someone just left two glasses of champagne here!"

"What—Oh, shit!"

Right as the sound of glass knocking over and shattering filled the air, Dorothea's eyes dropped to the floor.

The glass wasn't the only thing that broke.