Eliza Starts a Rumor

by Jane L. Rosen

  CHAPTER 5

  Eliza

  It took nearly an hour before Eliza peeled herself off the kitchen floor and dragged herself upstairs. If it wasn’t for the thought of Luke and the kids finding her there, she might not have had the will to get up. She took her now-sacred bottle of Valium that they had bought for kicks on a trip to Mexico years before from the medicine cabinet, and emptied its contents into her hand. There were only four left. Over the past months those pills had felt like little life rafts to Eliza. She bit off half of one and washed it down with water from the faucet. When I get down to one, she swore, I will reach out for professional help.

  In the shower, she pictured the water washing off the ugly remnants of the outside world. She stayed in there until the Valium kicked in. The hot shower and the drugs left her feeling duly calm and collected. As she dried off, she made a bargain with herself in the bathroom mirror: “You don’t have to leave the house again all weekend. Put on your happy face. Your kids are coming home.”

  She was thrilled to have her babies home for a few days. It was the perfect amount of time, long enough to make sure they really were as happy and settled in as they claimed, not too long to raise suspicion. Kevin would never notice, but Kayla was very attuned to her mother.

  The thought of a full house lifted Eliza’s spirits and gave her something entirely separate to focus on. Then she remembered there was another thing that needed her attention. She grabbed a snack and dashed to her desk.

  When things first got popping with the bulletin board, Luke constructed an office area for her, a cozy spot at the end of her upstairs hallway big enough for a desk and some bookshelves on either side of a bay window. It wasn’t a real office, but running the bulletin board wasn’t a real job either. Still, Eliza had painstakingly set it up, choosing just the right books and photographs to fill her shelves. She surrounded herself only with things that made her smile: a first edition of A Tree Grows in Brooklyn that had been a gift from her treasured grandmother for her sixteenth birthday; two glitter-covered, tiny handprints pressed into clay made by the twins in preschool; a Hollywood snow globe she had bought as a souvenir the one time she had visited her best friend, Mandy, who had moved out to Cali after high school.

  A treasured, awkward school photo of her twins and the “first look” shot from her wedding sat front and center. The photo of Luke, smiling from ear to ear under their wedding canopy, was probably the first thing she would grab if her house was on fire. Their wedding photographer had been so entranced by his joyous expression that she forgot to turn her lens toward the bride as she was escorted down the aisle by her parents. When the proofs came back without the classic shot, her mother was furious. “How could she miss such a thing?” The photographer explained that she had honestly never seen a guy so excited to marry a girl before and got caught up in that. Occasionally she would still catch Luke looking at her that way. It should have made her feel loved, but it left her feeling guilty.

  She turned on the computer and tapped her fingers impatiently as it booted up. Thinking about Luke and all she had kept from him sometimes stressed her out more than the issues at hand. As usual, she put it all out of her head and embraced the diversion. She was beyond curious to see the site that the women at the Stop & Shop were talking about: her competition.

  Good thing you left the house, Eliza, she praised herself silently. It could have been months until you got wind of Valley Girls. For obvious reasons, running the Hudson Valley Ladies’ Bulletin Board had meant more to her in these past few months than it had in years. Before her agoraphobia kicked back in, she had even toyed with the idea of passing the torch to a younger mother, one who was more qualified to moderate a debate on the virtues of the Citi Mini stroller versus the Bugaboo Cameleon versus the Peg Perego versus the ultra-luxurious Mima Xari. After all, they were possibly forking up as much money to perambulate their babies as she had for her first car. But now it felt like her only safe window to the outside world. There was no way she was giving up the one environment she had control over.

  The computer hummed, and she quickly typed in “Valley Girls” as if someone was looking over her shoulder. A stupid name for a site for stupid girls, she thought, as it came right up. She had to answer a few questions to be approved by the moderator first.

  Do you live in Hudson Valley? Yes.

  How did you hear about us? At the Stop & Shop.

  Do you agree to abide by the rules of Valley Girls?

  Eliza read through the rules. The last one, What happens on Valley Girls stays on Valley Girls, made her laugh. The two women at the Stop & Shop must have missed that part, she thought, as she replied, Yes.

  Luke texted, checking in on her:

  Hey, sweets. Are you sure you don’t want to come to the airport? I can swing by and get you, no problem.

  She wrote back:

  I wish I could, but I still have things to prepare for the party tomorrow, and I’d rather have dinner waiting. I’m sure the kids will be starving by the time they get home.

  You’re the best mom.

  Luke’s text made her feel even worse. She knew that the best mom wouldn’t have had an excuse, more like a lie, prepared in advance for this exact situation.

  As she put her phone down, a message appeared on her computer screen:

  Welcome to Valley Girls.

  She got down to business.

  After just a few months, Valley Girls already had a thousand members, and there was definitely a younger, hipper vibe to it than she was used to. Keeping it current felt like the antidote to her own fleeting relevancy. She found the erectile dysfunction thread that the women were freaking out about at the market. Penises in general seemed to be a big topic of conversation, including opinions on the age-old question, does size really matter?

  There was a lot of talk about sex: anal sex, oral sex, bad sex, good sex, too much sex, and not enough. The names of positions and sex toys were thrown around so knowingly that Eliza wished they had a glossary. She had to google the Rabbit Habit, the Hovering Butterfly, the Trick or Treat, and the Dirty Sanchez. She wished she hadn’t googled the last one, having just eaten.

  It felt to Eliza like there was a lot of grandstanding going on—women posting things just to get attention. There were also plenty of basic posts—asking for advice on the best breast pump or summer vacation spot with the kids. It wasn’t all Hudson Valley Girls Gone Wild, like she had thought it would be, but it was clearly much more salacious than her site. Their cover photo showed a valley between two snowcapped mountains, or, if you looked at it differently, breasts. Hers was of an actual bulletin board.

  Most of the more titillating posts were written anonymously. And those got tons of comments—epic threads, they routinely called them. There hadn’t been an “epic thread” on the Hudson Valley Ladies’ Bulletin Board since Hilary Winters accused Trudy Summers of bribing the high school tennis coach with her famous apple pie. At least that was what Eliza thought it was about; her daughter insisted it was a code word for sex.

  She wasn’t about to change the tone completely, posting about foreplay or fellatio, but she needed to come up with something that wouldn’t be discussed openly at back-to-school night. How could she create an epic thread?

  The phone rang, startling her, as many previously innocuous noises had been doing lately. She answered before looking at the caller ID. If she had done so, she would have let it go to voicemail. It was Nancy Block, one of the four players in her monthly bridge game and the only one that she considered to be more than an acquaintance. Eliza hadn’t played in a while and had taken to texting in her excuses and not answering calls regarding them. Nancy’s voice sounded strange and Eliza immediately addressed it. “Hey, Nan, are you OK? You don’t sound like yourself.”

  “No, actually, Eliza, I am not OK.”

  Eliza took a deep breath. She had heard so much awful news lately: cancer, kids in rehab, paren
ts with dementia. Getting older seemed to be bringing a whole new set of issues. She really cared for Nancy; she braced herself for the worst.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  A heavy sigh on the other end confirmed that bad news was coming. “I guess there’s no other way to say it. You are what’s wrong, Eliza. You have no respect for our bridge game, or for me for that matter!”

  Eliza began to shake. She was totally caught off guard and that was one of her worst triggers. Thank God for the Valium already in her system or she may have found herself right down on the floor again. Her bridge game was her last bastion of real-life social interaction. For the first Tuesday of the month she would bake pecan sandies (Nancy’s favorite), oatmeal raisins (Mara’s favorite), and gluten-free chocolate chips (for Dana). She would shower, do her hair, put on something other than sweatpants, and sometimes even a coat of mascara and lipstick. Even with all of that, for the past three games she couldn’t make it out the door. She knew it was so wrong to cancel at the last minute—obviously they couldn’t play without her. She was ready to apologize and say something resembling the truth, when Nancy threw salt on the gash that she had inflicted. “We are done with you and your excuses. You are no longer a part of our game.”

  As if her harsh words weren’t enough, her tone was caustic. Eliza could not remember being spoken to that way before. And where was the empathy? Where was “Is everything OK with you?”

  Eliza barely managed an “I’m sorry, Nancy, I really am . . .” when Nancy interrupted her apology with a final blow, “Whatever, Eliza. Maybe you should take up solitaire!”

  The line went dead, for which Eliza was mostly grateful. She understood Nancy’s disappointment. No one was more disappointed with Eliza than Eliza. She was filled with anger but wasn’t even sure at whom to direct it. She was angry at her “friends” for not seeing her disappear before their eyes, and she was angry at herself for not having the strength to overcome this thing. And on a much simpler level, she was angry about losing something else that she really enjoyed. She had already given up her weekly tennis game with the excuse of plantar fasciitis. The tennis ladies had at least cared enough to send bath salts and a foot-shaped ice pack. She felt completely isolated from the outside world, raising the stakes even higher on the value of the bulletin board in her life. She asked herself again, What can I post to create an epic thread?

  She stared out the window for an answer and, just like that, one appeared.

  It wasn’t the first time that Eliza took notice of what was going on in the house next door. Albeit for different reasons, she was sometimes as bored as housebound Jimmy Stewart in the movie Rear Window. And while she didn’t use binoculars, the new neighbors had yet to install window treatments. Between that and the angle of their houses, hers being slightly uphill from theirs, Eliza could see a whole lot from her desk window—specifically the comings and goings of a certain gentleman who was most definitely not Mr. Smith.

  At that very moment, while she was staring out the window, Not-Mr.-Smith approached the front door and rang the bell. But this time Mrs. Smith didn’t let him in. Eliza could see her look out from her bedroom window and decide not to answer it. Not-Mr.-Smith went from patiently ringing to incessantly banging, while Mrs. Smith went from calmly ignoring him to pacing back and forth like a prisoner on death row. He finally gave up and left.

  Eliza opened up the Hudson Valley Ladies’ Bulletin Board and began typing:

  Anonymous: I just moved here from the city with hopes of starting over after an affair that my husband knows nothing about. The man I was having the affair with followed me here and keeps showing up at my door. Today I pretended I wasn’t home. He was banging so hard it scared me. I’ve told him I want to end things, but he won’t have it. I know it’s wrong to cheat. That’s why I want to break it off and start fresh. Please only comment with constructive advice.

  She read it over. Pretty scandalous, she thought. She pressed Post and waited. It didn’t take long before the comments began rolling in.

  You reap what you sow.

  Do you think he can get violent? Call the police.

  I empathize with you. I’ve been in that boat. Maybe ask to meet him in a public place where he can’t go crazy and explain that you want to recommit to your husband.

  That’s a good idea.

  I agree!

  You don’t say if he’s married. Is he married too?

  That’s a good question. Is Not-Mr.-Smith married? Eliza wondered. The phone rang, startling her again. It was Luke on speaker.

  “I got them!

  “Hi, Mom!”

  “Hi, Momma, see you soon!”

  The sound of her children’s voices, along with the excitement of the impending epic thread, put Eliza in the best mood she had felt in ages.

  CHAPTER 6

  Jackie

  The 5:49 train pulled into the station, and Jackie Campbell got on and took his usual seat. Within a few minutes, his two commuter friends, Skip and Lee, arrived. Skip was really just a circumstantial friendship for Jackie. Skip grew up with Lee, which was ironic because the problem with Skip was that he never really grew up. He and Jackie were polar opposites, as Jackie was born grown up. They never would have been friends without the link that was Lee.

  Lee was more than just a commuter friend. Jackie and his late wife, Ann, had met Lee and his wife, Charlotte, when they were newlyweds living in Park Slope, Brooklyn—back when they were poorer and happier. It was no surprise that when Lee moved his growing family to the suburbs, Jackie chose to raise Jana in close proximity. They were all heartbroken when Ann died, and Lee was painfully aware of the inequality of their burdens. He did his best to help his old friend when he could.

  “How did it go with the crimson tide?”

  His best wasn’t always very tactful.

  “Do we have to talk about this again?” Skip protested.

  Jackie ignored Skip.

  “Not well. Very badly, actually.”

  They both leaned in as they sensed that Jackie was about to whisper feminine hygiene words. They were right.

  “She already had the tampons, so I had to take them away.”

  Skip groaned. “I don’t envy you, man.”

  The three men sat back in their seats and just breathed.

  Soon Lee leaned back in.

  “You were around plenty of women at the office today. You should have asked one of them about it.”

  “Yes, because talking about a woman’s privates in the workplace is a wonderful idea.”

  Skip nodded. “I agree. Not cool. I’m even feeling a little violated right now.”

  Lee laughed. Jackie didn’t.

  “OK, do you want me to ask Charlotte? I mean, granted we have boys, but she is a woman.”

  “Thanks, but I need someone with teenage girls. The other day on the way to school she asked me if her eyebrows looked bushy. I didn’t know what to say. Was she looking for bushy? Is bushy good or bad? I swear, I need a consortium of women to make it through these teenage years!”

  Lee put his hand on Jackie’s shoulder in solidarity, but it was Skip who came up with the solution.

  “I got it!”

  They both looked at him skeptically, waiting for a joke.

  “Join that Hudson Valley Ladies’ Bulletin Board.”

  “That’s a great idea,” Lee agreed. “Charlotte is on that thing all the time.”

  Skip opened up his phone to Facebook and showed Jackie the page, as his face was registering nothing.

  “Look. Are you on Facebook?”

  “Barely. I have an account, but I never check it.”

  Jackie pulled it up on his phone. Skip took it and searched for the group.

  “Here. Can I sign you up?”

  “To a ladies’ bulletin board? I don’t think I’ll be accepted.”

 
“Actually, you will. Your profile picture is of Jana as a baby, and your name is Jackie. Finally, a good reason to have a girl’s name.”

  Jackie shook his head. Skip laughed. “Don’t go all ‘Jackie Robinson was my dad’s hero’ on me again. It’s a girl’s name and you know it.”

  “This coming from a man named Skip. Here, Skip, come on, boy!”

  Skip ignored him and typed into his phone. A few seconds later he handed it back.

  “Here, done. Just wait for them to accept you, and you can ask thousands of women your lady parts questions.”

  Jackie stared out the window while he waited, his thoughts calmed by the marathon of foliage whipping by. The green leaves gradually being taken over by reds and oranges and yellows the farther north they traveled.

  By the next stop Jackie’s request to join was approved. By the following he had carefully crafted his question:

  My 14-year-old daughter got her first period. Should I let her use tampons?

  As they pulled in to their station it posted.

  “It’s up!” Jackie announced.

  They congratulated themselves on their success and went their separate ways.

  CHAPTER 7

  Olivia

  Olivia lay in bed counting sheep. It was late, and she knew the baby would be up in a few hours, but she was wide-awake. Spencer was sound asleep next to her. His chest rose and fell and rose and fell as if taunting her.

  Olivia usually liked to watch Spencer sleep. She liked to see him sedentary, as it was so rarely the case when he was awake. Spencer was always on the move. He would routinely wake up with the sun and run six or seven miles before Olivia had had her first sip of coffee. He was very fit, and it usually turned Olivia on, but she was currently so far from her naturally thin figure that she found herself resenting him. It was hard to picture getting back in shape. She looked down at her swollen breasts and post-pregnancy tummy and sighed. It didn’t seem right that Spencer got to parent Lily equally with zero physical sacrifice.