by Robyn Carr
“Oh, get over it. You kept me in shape for two years. We’re still walking, but we’ve pushed it back to six-thirty. Besides, I enjoyed giving you crap about being early every morning.” Gerri reached around Sonja and unlocked the front door, then dangled the keys out to Sonja. Gerri walked in behind her.
“I think there’s been some housekeeping here, while I was in the loony bin.”
“We wanted to make sure it was clean for you. We weren’t sure how long you’d be gone.”
“I stayed voluntarily,” she said. “I figured, why worry about George spending money, huh?”
“I hope that wasn’t the only reason.”
“No, the real reason was I was coming back into focus. Starting to feel like a human being again. Slowly. So goddamn slowly my joints actually ached.”
Gerri stroked her upper arm, softly, fondly. Underneath that priggish Sonja all along was this precious wiseass. She wanted to crush her in her arms and cry. “Do you remember when I took you?”
“Not much. Most of it was a blur. Dr. Kalay said I was out of reality for a couple of weeks, but it felt like a couple of days at most. I remember leaving here with you, but barely. They shot me up pretty good. But at least I escaped electric shock. People were pretty whacked after that.”
“Hmm, yeah—that’s a rough treatment. Screws up memory real good. Can I help you unpack or something?”
“Just let me be, huh? I promise, I’m okay. Really, I would’ve stayed on, awful as it was, if it wasn’t safe for me to come home. I want to see what it’s like, getting rational and everything.”
“Want me to help you unpack your woo-woo stuff in the garage?” Gerri asked.
Sonja’s gaze dropped and it was the first time Gerri saw any sign of sadness or grief. “I think the best place for that stuff is in boxes,” she said. “I’m still trying to cope with the fact that it was all a bunch of shit.”
“You sure about that?” Gerri asked. “I mean, it seemed to make you happy.”
“I’m sure I don’t want that crutch right now. I want to take this straight, no ice, no mixer.”
“What will you do with yourself?” Gerri asked. “I mean, if you don’t work, what will you do? I don’t want to worry about you being lonely, sitting in front of the TV.”
“To tell the truth, I want to be a little lonely for a couple of days. I was thinking of reading a bunch of trashy novels late into the night in a quiet house, eating some bad things to see if my digestive tract is completely fucked up by too much healthy food and maybe digging up the backyard and planting flowers. Not mushrooms and herbs, but big audacious flowers. After the grocery store, I’m going to Costco to buy a few DVDs. I got hooked on movies at the booby hatch. Of course, they were very carefully selected movies—we wouldn’t want to get any nutjobs worked up. Maybe I’ll order some new television channels. And I don’t know what after that. But that could keep me busy awhile.” She smiled. “Hey,” she said, “how’s it going with you and Phil? You haven’t divorced him or anything yet, have you?”
Gerri forced a smile. “It’s going pretty well. We’re still sleeping in different places, but I see him almost every day and we’re getting along very well. Who knows? We might work this out. It’s a rocky transition, but Phil and I have a lot of positive history.”
“Good,” Sonja said. “I like Phil. I think maybe he’s the real deal.”
Gerri’s next smile was genuine and had more to do with Sonja than with Phil. “You think?”
“I’ve learned that some people are actually okay, despite a brief mental departure. His departure might’ve been insulting and pissed you off, but it couldn’t have been worse than mine.”
Gerri just shook her head. “Holy shit, you’re better than ever.”
“I doubt that, but...shucks.”
“It’s about time for us to have our evening out and start planning the end-of-summer block party. I thought this time we’d include BJ.”
“BJ,” she said, frowning, shaking her head. “Why do I think I like her?”
“Maybe because she saved your life—twice. Remember any of that?”
“No. BJ? Why would she care about me? All I remember of BJ is that she didn’t want anything to do with us.”
“All facade,” Gerri said. “BJ’s kind of private, but alert, compassionate, decent—a lot of things you’d appreciate. I think you brought her out of hiding. You needing someone to step in and respond. Andy and I were too preoccupied with our own crises. If it wasn’t for your episode, we’d still just be waving to BJ every morning.”
“No shit,” Sonja said, and Gerri laughed again. Four years knowing this woman and she’d never heard her curse once. Now she spoke like a truck driver.
Gerri couldn’t help herself. She drew Sonja to her and hugged her. “God, I’m so glad to have you back.”
“Don’t get too excited,” Sonja said. “I’m not back yet. I’m just starting the climb. I have lots of work to do. I still don’t remember who I was, don’t know who I’m supposed to be. And I don’t know that those whack jobs in group therapy are going to get me there, so be patient.”
“I’ll be patient,” Gerri promised. “Whoever this is—I love her.”
“That’s nice,” Sonja said. “Thank you.”
* * *
Gerri and Andy had organized the first end-of-summer block party fourteen years ago. In a mood of discontent when school let out—Gerri because she’d have to deal with three kids all summer and Andy because she’d be out of work for three months. They sat down with a bottle of wine and planned an event to look forward to. Once the idea was hatched, they checked in with everyone on their block, assigning food, drink and recreational duties. The first year there had been about eight families present. They’d had the inevitable party crashers over time and the guest list grew and grew. Over the years it had expanded to include about six blocks, over a hundred households, and they’d moved it from their street to the park.
For the past four years Sonja had been involved in the planning and while she had objected to hot dogs, hamburgers and potato salad warming up in the sunshine, she’d been an organizational genius. She was willing to make all of the phone calls and keep all kinds of lists. With Sonja taking on so much, Gerri and Andy simply oversaw things. “I feel like we’re using her,” Andy had said. “But she does all this so willingly.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Gerri had replied. “She loves being useful.”
For the past few years their end-of-summer party had included kegs of cold beer, jugs of wine, live music. They rented a bouncy castle and a dunk tank for the kids, held competitions from three-legged races to egg and water-balloon relays and they even dressed participants in Velcro jumpsuits and hurled them against a giant dartboard. Gerri thought nothing had been funnier than watching her big-shot A.D.A. husband flying through the air to stick—splat—on a Velcro wall. The whole neighborhood looked forward to the event.
This year, things were going to be a little different. Sonja wasn’t inclined to take on a big project and she didn’t want to be held to a schedule, though she was willing to go out to dinner with them to help plan.
Gerri tried to draw BJ into the fold, but she had a million excuses. She didn’t like leaving her kids, aged nine and eleven, and she imposed on her brother and sister-in-law all too often.
“Jessie will babysit. She’d do anything to get out of the house,” Gerri said. BJ said she didn’t have time to organize a big event. “Not a problem—it’s been pretty much organized for over ten years.” She didn’t feel well enough acquainted to contact neighbors. “Just come to dinner. Check out the new Sonja.” Gerri, who had promised never to hound BJ, kept trying. “When was the last time you had a nice dinner out with girlfriends?”
In spite of herself, BJ grinned her crooked grin. “It’s been a long time since I thought of myself as someone with girlfriends.” She finally gave in to Gerri’s efforts to include her.
Leaving the house was quite an o
rdeal for BJ. She was nervous as a cat, making sure Jessie had the number for the restaurant and BJ’s brother’s number. “My dad’s at the house tonight, working in his office,” Jessie said. “Don’t worry, I can call him if I need anything. And really, I’ve done this before.”
When she finally got in the front seat of Gerri’s car, the last of the four women loaded up, Gerri said, “You have to be the only woman I know without a cell phone.”
“I’m on a real tight budget,” she replied.
“Really?” Sonja asked from the backseat. “Then you’ll be happy to know, dinner is on George tonight.”
“Well, that’s awfully nice of George,” Andy said. “Have you talked to him lately?”
“Oh, I hardly ever talk to George,” she said. “In fact, I usually just hang up on him. I hate George.”
“Then how do you know he’s buying dinner?” Gerri asked.
“He’s buying everything,” Sonja said. “George is extremely generous these days. You know, since I’m crazy.”
There was a little laughter in the car. “Sonja, you’re about as crazy as I am,” Andy said.
“Oh, darling—you, too? I’m so sorry!”
“You’re not crazy!” Andy said. “You suffer from depression, which has pretty much flown away on the wings of your happy pills.”
“Well, don’t tell George that. He’s under the impression he drove me insane.”
“How long do you think you can play that card?” Andy asked. “Maybe you should hang on to your money.”
“Don’t worry about it,” she said with a wave of her hand. “George doesn’t want the details, he just likes to write checks. It’s relieving his guilty conscience. I don’t know why I should deprive him of the pleasure.”
BJ turned in her seat. “Gee, I don’t think I can let George buy my dinner under false pretenses like that.”
“Oh, don’t sweat it. George has more money than he knows what to do with. The cocksucker.”
“Sonja!” Andy said with a laugh. “I don’t know that it’s right to take advantage of George like that.”
“I’m not taking advantage of him. I’m sure he’s keeping very careful records. Believe me, when we get to the official splitting of the sheets, all my expenses will be carefully deducted from my side of the chart. And there will still be plenty left.” She grinned. “California law. No fault. Community property.”
“No prenup, huh?” Andy said.
“Of course there was a prenup,” Sonja said. “George is very careful, and he was already forty when we got married. It was 25 percent for under ten years, then an even split. We’re due to celebrate our tenth anniversary the end of June. I don’t think we’re going to get to that final dissolution in time.” She laughed.
“Sonja, are you holding out for the even split?” Andy asked.
“Of course not!” she said, sounding insincere. “But, sadly for George, you can’t serve papers on a person in the nuthouse. Poor George. He was trying to make a break for it in March, to cut his losses. You’d think someone who can time the market would have a little more sense about when to get a divorce.”
“Sonja, you are a devil,” BJ said.
“And just when I’d been thinking I’d never learned how to handle money.”
Gerri was strangely quiet, though no one noticed. The others yammered on about whether Sonja was being unfair in judging George, was there any possibility they might reconcile down the road, maybe compromise, etcetera. Gerri tuned them out, thinking, we’re a car full of women who feel completely powerless against these men unless we figure out how to get even. She wasn’t sure about BJ—but there was something amiss there. Most widows talked about their departed spouse, and BJ never did. She wondered if there was something strange underneath the surface. But Andy had thrown Bryce out on the street, closed him out financially and immediately taken up with a replacement who was very unlikely for her. Gerri had moved Phil out of the house and although she wanted him back, she felt it was too soon—even he wasn’t ready for that. And now Sonja was preparing to get her half of the pie.
It wasn’t that she thought any of these actions were wholly inappropriate. Bryce had to go, Phil had to be out of her bed, Sonja was entitled. What bothered Gerri was that they all came at this because they were forced; they felt powerless. They had too few choices and wielded the only bludgeon available.
When she pulled into the restaurant parking lot she said, “We’ll split the check, no arguments.”
* * *
It was becoming a tradition—dinner at Lemange—a small, cozy, dark, inexpensive French bistro close to their neighborhood. It was also a mere formality—the four friends could have met over a glass of wine on Gerri’s deck and had the party organized in no time, but starting things off right was important to them. The first planning session, always in late May, had to be held in a nice place, it had to be comfortable with delicious food and a good staff. They didn’t want to feel rushed because they didn’t have time to get together for dinner very often, and apparently for BJ, never at all. The planning session required hardly any planning at all. Knowing everyone’s current preoccupations, Gerri took charge and announced that she and Andy would split the list of neighbors from last year, set a date, call everyone and simply ask if they could provide the very same things as the year before. “All I need from you, Sonja, is the list,” Gerri said.
“I don’t know where it is,” Sonja said stubbornly.
“You have two weeks to find it, then we take your house by storm. Now,” Gerri said, lifting her glass of wine, “to the end of summer.”
“The kids aren’t even out of school yet,” BJ said, lifting a water glass in confusion.
“I know—but no way am I toasting that. You can’t imagine what happens to my life in the summer. The kids are on the loose. They’re bored. They’re impossible to keep tabs on. It’s a hotbed of mischief. To the end of summer.”
“I never toast this,” Andy said to BJ. “I love having the summer off school. In fact, I almost always drink a little too much at the end-of-summer picnic.”
“I’m looking forward to summer,” Sonja said.
“Gee, I feel kind of disloyal,” BJ said, setting down her water.
“It’s okay, BJ. The only one who ever toasts the end of summer before it starts is Gerri. She does it alone every spring. You don’t have to join in,” Sonja said.
“Here, here,” Gerri said, alone.
The rest of the dinner gave way to tales of previous block parties, delicious food, laughter that even BJ couldn’t resist. Gerri and Andy shared the bottle of wine while Sonja, medicated, had water and BJ joined her. Everyone ate light to save room for heavy French desserts and rich, robust cappuccino. And all too soon, it was time to call it a night.
“I’m really glad you talked me into this,” BJ said. “I should probably do things like this more often. It’s just that I feel like I have such a load to carry with two kids and a job. I think I practice way too much self-denial.”
“Get over that,” Gerri said. “We have to keep ourselves sane, present company excluded in case George is listening.”
“Very funny,” Sonja said. “Bitches.”
“Isn’t it just like she’s been possessed by a spirit?” Andy asked, dropping an arm around Sonja’s shoulders. “She is woman, hear her roar.”
They were all laughing as they walked out of the restaurant and it was as though a lot of things were suddenly in motion—happening all at once.
The young man who worked as a valet was watching the parking lot intensely, frowning. There was a man shouting in the parking lot and BJ was immediately pulling back on Gerri’s arm. “Don’t go near that,” BJ said, a note of panic in her voice.
Gerri didn’t even realize she’d already taken two steps toward the scene of a vicious argument between a belligerent young man and cowering young woman. As she took stock of the situation she could see it was completely one-sided and Gerri knew from the man’s posture
, it was taking a bad turn. He was tall, good-looking, early thirties, strong and broad. The woman was one of those waif-like, fluffy blondes—too thin, big breasted, tight pants slung below her flat waist. An underfed beauty, speaking so softly that she couldn’t be heard at all above his bellowing.
“Don’t you fucking pull that shit with me! I was around when you were doing that shit to Jack, remember! That fucking acting like you know what the fuck you’re talking about when you don’t know crap! I made a lot of money off that deal and you fucking screwed me in there with your big mouth! Right in front of them! Goddamn it, you’re not going to do that to me like you did to him.”
The man was in the woman’s face, looming over her, screaming as she was backing away, shaking her head, trying to explain or apologize or escape. The man was completely out of control, bending over her threateningly, bouncing his closed fist in front of her face, turning almost purple with rage. Gerri looked over her shoulder at the valet. “Call the police,” she said.
He shrugged. “He’s just yelling. They’re not going to come out for yelling.”
“Gerri, don’t,” BJ said, pulling on her arm again. “Let’s just get out of here. Don’t look, don’t watch. It’s not our concern.”
Gerri ignored her as she watched the scene for a moment. She pulled her cell phone out of her purse and punched in 911. When the emergency operator answered she knew exactly what to say. “I’m at Lemange restaurant, in the parking lot. There’s a vicious verbal argument between a large man and a small woman and it looks like it’s going to escalate. He’s threatening her with a closed fist in her face and it could get physical at any moment.”
Right then the man shoved the woman hard, causing her to take a couple of stumbling steps backward. She put her hand to the shoulder he’d just hit. “And it just got physical,” Gerri reported. “He just shoved her, hard. She’s no match for him—we need a unit to respond before he gets out of the parking lot, takes her home and beats the crap out of her.”
“Please,” BJ said. “Please don’t do this. Let’s go. Let’s not get in their business.”
