by Josie Brown
“Why don’t we save Cal instead? The girls are downright afraid of him, so that should keep them away for a while.”
Immediately I move in, tapping Bev lightly on the shoulder. “Hi, Bev! I just want to thank you for putting in that call to the Heights Market regarding the food drive. It’s what made the drive an over-the-top success.”
As Bev turns to me, the Emersons find their opportunity to scurry away. I see by the look in her eyes that she’s tempted to run after them, but realizes this is bad form, even for her. “Oh yeah, hi, Lyssa! Glad I could be of some help. Really, it was Calvin’s idea, but hey, all in the family, right?”
“You know Harry Wilder, right?” I move to the side so that Harry can shake her hand.
“Yes! I mean, of course I know of you.” She looks at him curiously. “Well, about the . . . you know . . .”
“My poker games? I hope Cal attending doesn’t interfere—”
“Cal? Oh, yes! Not at all! So sweet of you to have him over! But what I meant is that, with the way the divorce is going and all, you’ll probably need this—”
She pulls a refrigerator magnet from her purse. On it is her profile and name, with that patented Bev Bullworth slogan: No Bull, Just Better Service!
Harry stares down at it. “Thanks . . . I guess.”
“It’s so you’ll remember to call me! You know, when you’re ready to buy your condo.” Her tone conveys just the right amount of sympathy. “Cal tells me you’ll want to stay in the neighborhood and keep commuting in, so that you can be close to the kids. You know, one of those new units they’ve built off Main has come available. It isn’t so roomy, granted. But the condo fee is very small—”
“Why would I want a condo? I already have a house.” He glares at Cal, who backs away from Bev, horrified. Whatever hole she’s digging for herself, he is not going to jump into it with her.
“Yes, but not for long. You know how these things usually go. DeeDee’s got the natural edge—”
“Is that what you think? That just because she’s a woman, she’s a better mother than I am a father?”
“Well . . . I . . . No, of course not!” Bev’s backpedaling is insincere despite her cheeriness. “But it never hurts to be prepared, right? Eventually, when the court rules on the situation, you’ll have to give up the ghost—”
I put my hand on Harry’s arm so that he will remember where he is, but he shrugs it off. I’m too late anyway. Slackened jaws, including many stuffed with leftovers, hang open as everyone tunes in to our little drama. Margot smiles triumphantly. To her mind, Harry’s comeuppance—at the hand of Bev Bullworth, no less!—is just deserts.
“Thanks for your concern.” Harry’s words are brittle and empty. “But do me a favor and give it a break, at least until the court ruling. Better yet, here—” He hands her back her magnet. “Save it for the next time you see DeeDee.”
Before she can say anything else, Harry walks off in the direction of the front door. I follow him out, as does Cal.
“Wait, Harry! Look . . . I’m sorry Bev said all those stupid things.” Cal hangs his head. “Sometimes she speaks before she thinks.”
“She’s just parroting the party line around here.” Harry shrugs. “Ah, shit, here comes Pete. I guess we should tell him about Tanner’s and Jake’s suspensions.” Harry shifts uneasily, but waves our friend over anyway. “Do you want to do the honors, or shall I?”
“Judging by that long face, maybe he already knows.”
I’m poised to verify this, but Pete brushes me aside. “Anyone seen Masha?”
Harry gives me a warning nudge. He doesn’t have to worry. Since I’ll have to break the news about the boys’ tomfoolery, the last thing I’m going to mention is Masha’s too.
“Damn! She asked me to go home and get her sweater because she felt a chill. I guess she forgot that her mink is right here in the coatroom.” He rushes off down the hall.
Harry and I look at each other, then take off after him, with Cal trailing us.
But we’re too late. We get there just in time to see him freeze over his wife, who is in a love tussle with the guy who doles out the cash from his trust fund.
In a flash he yanks Masha’s boyfriend up by his hair, which comes off in his hand. Those who suspected FNBofPH sports a toupee can now collect on their bets.
Livid, the guy flails back at Pete. Unfortunately for him, Pete’s daily workouts give him a leg up. Pete’s lip may be split, but it’s FNBofPH’s nose that’s pushed out of joint.
Cal and I brace for what Pete might have in store for Masha as he lifts her, naked, out of the coat nest she and her lover made on the floor. Seeing her that way only confirms what I suspected since our run-in: yep, she does indeed have an allover tan.
At this point a good smack won’t make up for my stained sweater, but I have to admit it would give me some satisfaction. Instead, Pete cradles his wife in his arms. “Did he hurt you? I swear, if he did—”
She shrugs, but the look on her face reflects what we’re all thinking:
You poor, pathetic fool.
Closing the door behind us, Harry shakes his head in disbelief. “Unbelievable! Now, that’s what I call denial. Doesn’t he see what’s happening?”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to say, “No, because he doesn’t want to,” but I keep quiet. What’s the point? I’m guessing we’ve all been there at one time or another.
Even Harry.
Especially Harry.
29
“Sometimes it’s hard to be a woman
Giving all your love to just one man.”
—Tammy Wynette
Saturday, 30 Nov., 10:37 a.m.
Brooke is hosting the league meeting at which I’m to be voted in as president. That is fitting, since it was she who pushed to get me on the board in the first place.
“It seems like eons ago, doesn’t it, that you were just another of those newbie mommies who came into the Heights without a clue as to what was what.” Like a mother who’s just found out that her child has won a first-place ribbon in the science fair, Brooke beams with pride.
“You’re telling me. Hey, just to set the record straight: I forgive, but I never forget.”
She knows I mean it.
To make it up to me, Brooke is treating me to a morning of primping at the Heights of Beauty. Besides a face full of avocado and the high-gloss shellacking of my finger- and toenails, she’s talked me into trying out a new do that our stylist insists will “rock my world.” It’s a drastic cut that tames my frenzied curls into something sleek and edgy. What I see in the mirror shocks me a bit. I can’t decide if I look sultry or just cruel. If Olivia breaks into tears when she sees me, I’ll have my answer.
“I’ll be leaning on you heavily, you know.” I skipped breakfast, and my stomach is growling. To make matters worse, the avocado in my facial smells good enough to eat, but I resist the urge to lick it off my cheek.
“Sure! I like being the power behind the throne. You know that.” She’s practically giddy. “Besides, I live vicariously through you. Speaking of which, how’s your new best friend?” That’s what she calls Harry these days. I don’t know if she’s jealous of him or of me.
“I’d say he’s holding it together okay.”
“It didn’t look that way at the potluck. Oooh, he’s so hot when he blows his stack!” She smiles and licks her lips at this mental catnip. “The drama king thing sure does become him.”
Why are we so fascinated with other people’s emotional car wrecks? I shake my head in wonder. “You know, Brooke, just because the others are treating him like a pariah doesn’t mean you have to. He really enjoyed your friendship. And I thought you enjoyed his.”
At first I don’t think she’s heard me because she’s so busy scrutinizing her face in a magnifying mirror. Her nose has always bothered her, and a day doesn’t go by when she doesn’t threaten to go under the knife. The problems that are skin-deep are easy to fix, but not the ones that pock our
souls or balloon into tumors of insecurity. “Yeah, well, I like Harry too. But in all honesty, Lyssa, there are certain friendships that just aren’t worth the hassle. Besides, if I alienate Margot, I’ll be marked as an Undesirable.”
“I’m not marked.” She doesn’t say anything, so I have to ask: “Or am I?”
“Don’t be silly! Of course not. After what you pulled off, you’re golden. You know that.” Her smile wavers. “Hey, tonight’s your night, so enjoy. In fact, show up fashionably late. We can’t start the party without you, right?”
She looks back down into the mirror. I wonder if she likes what she sees.
7:21 p.m.
“A toast, to our golden girl.” Margot raises her martini glass in the air.
On cue, the laughter dies down, gossiping is suspended, and the eyes of my peers—Margot, Brooke, Colleen, and Isabelle—turn to me. Even Tammy wipes the smirk off her face.
Colleen, reveling in this rare moment of gal-pal détente, shouts out, “How about a speech?”
Wow. Wow, wow. I am aglow. I am living the dream. I have the adoration of my peers.
I’m also a little tipsy.
“I’m honored. I’d just like to say that I couldn’t have done it without—well, without . . .”
I pause here, because it’s just hit me:
There is not one person in this room who was there for me when I needed her most.
Instead, I should be thanking Harry for donating his firm’s Tahoe cabin, which motivated donations of a couple of hundred cans. And Pete, whose plea in the Boulevard Bugle netted more than four hundred cans, not to mention the fifty others that came in from his basketball team (which will have no more benchwarmers for the rest of the season). And, of course, if Cal hadn’t strong-armed Bev into calling in a favor from the Paradise Heights Market—
But I know if I bring this up, I’ll be asking for trouble.
If I keep my big mouth shut now, then later I’ll be able to smooth things over between the league board and the guys. Just think: if I can pull it off, future generations will liken it to Nixon’s meeting with Mao Zedong. How symbolic would it be for the two sides to reconcile over Chinese food?
Silly me, I’m getting ahead of myself. This is painfully obvious as Margot intones: “Of course, as our new president, you’ll have to adhere to the prime directive already established under our bylaws. Because you’ve been under a lot of pressure this last month, we’ve let it slip. But no better time than the present to set things straight—”
“What? I don’t get it. You say I’m breaking some rule?”
“Section 14, paragraph A-6: ‘Behavior deemed unbecoming an officer or an officer-elect is reason for termination. This includes, but is not limited to, any action that may be construed as illegal, indecent, lascivious, lecherous, salacious, obscene, wanton, or libidinous.’”
“Huh? What are you talking about?” To my disappointment, her words are sobering me up. “When have I been any of those things?”
“That’s a good question, Lyssa.” Tammy looks me straight in the eye.
“Just what are you inferring, Tammy?”
“Oh, come on! Cut the Little Miss Innocent act. You and Harry Wilder are in each other’s company at all hours of the day and night. Well, of course people are going to talk—”
“‘People?’” I can’t help but laugh out loud. “Listen to yourself! You’re the only one who thinks anything is going on between Harry and me!”
“Oh yeah?” She scans the room. “Let’s see a show of hands: how many of you think that Lyssa and Harry are too cozy?”
Of course Margot’s hand shoots up. Isabelle’s is not far behind. Colleen raises hers guiltily. I look over at Brooke. Her eyes plead for my forgiveness, but slowly she lifts her arm too.
Et tu, Bruta?
Brooke tears up. “Look, Lys, you’re among friends here. All we’re trying to do is help, before you—well, before you do something that you regret.”
Tammy smothers a smirk. “You mean, if she hasn’t already.”
“I regret nothing! Harry and I are just friends.”
Isabelle snorts. “Don’t you mean ‘friends with benefits’?”
“No, of course not! How dare you!” She’s lucky I’m not within spitting distance. I’m not one to hock loogies, but I can make an exception—
“Lyssa, Harry is cute and sweet and kind and fun to be around. We get it, believe me, we do. So it’s got to be tempting.” Colleen looks me in the eye. “Be honest, not with us but with yourself: aren’t you tempted, even a little?”
It would be so easy for me to proclaim my immunity to Harry’s numerous charms. . . .
But I’d be lying.
And unlike pecan pies, that is not one of my many talents.
“I would never be unfaithful to Ted.” It comes out as a whisper. That’s what happens when you’ve had the wind knocked out of you by your supposed BFFs.
Brooke gently pats my arm. “Honey, no one is saying you’ve slept with Harry. We know you too well. That’s exactly the point we’re trying to make here. You see, if the relationship looks, well, awkward, to us who know you best, how can it look to others?”
“Frankly, I don’t care.”
“Great. Fine. Then let me ask you this: what does Ted think about your new boyfriend?”
I open my mouth to say something, but then close it just as quickly.
Tammy, the bitch, mouths I told you so to Margot.
Colleen picks up the baton. “Lyssa, even if nothing is going on, none of us can even look like a floozy. Or we get kicked out of the club. Isn’t that what the rule means, Margot?”
“To put it somewhat bluntly, yes.” Margot’s eyes narrow even as she bares her teeth. “In this case, I think we’ve made it clear that your behavior can easily be, and I quote, construed as both ‘wanton’ and ‘libidinous.’”
Isabelle furrows a brow. “No, Margot, I beg to differ. It was the ‘lascivious’ part that rang true to me.”
“Yeah, but hey, what nails it is ‘behavior unbecoming an officer or an officer-elect.’ I mean, am I right? Not to mince words, or anything.” Tammy looks over at Brooke for support.
“You guys, don’t be so silly!” Colleen’s lashes flutter in distress. “This isn’t an inquisition! It’s an intervention, remember?”
“An intervention?” I close my eyes in disbelief. “Oh, brother! And I thought I’d heard it all!”
Suddenly everyone is talking at once. Margot raises her hand to silence us all. “No, now, Lyssa is right to feel put out. We’re all jumping on her for something that is completely innocent”—
My heart palpitations begin to slow.
—“which is why she’ll drop Harry immediately. She knows she has too much to lose.” Margot has the smile of someone who is used to being obeyed. “Am I right, Lyssa?”
Yes, she is right. We both know it.
If I stay, I have too much to lose.
And I have so much to gain by leaving.
“Go to hell,” I say as I head for the door.
I’m almost down the block when I hear someone panting after me. It’s Brooke. I’ve never seen her move so fast, especially in heels. It’s impressive enough for me to cut her some slack and slow down. “What is it?”
“You know, he wouldn’t want you to do it.”
“Ted and I have already had this discussion.”
“I’m not talking about Ted. I’m talking about Harry.”
This stops me cold. “Why do you say that?”
“I know him too, remember?” She smiles. “And I know that the last thing he’d want is to be the reason why you’re suddenly an outcast from the rest of us.”
“No, you don’t know him. If you did, you’d realize he doesn’t see it that way. And guess what? I don’t see it that way, either. I consider it expanding my horizons. There’s a whole big world out here, Brooke. Don’t be afraid to step outside of Margot’s concentration camp.”
She backs away.
Without thinking, she gives me a tiny wave good-bye. “Okay, have it your way. He’s the king of the Undesirables, and you’re now his queen. I hope he’s truly as good a friend as you think he is.”
Christmas
30
“The best proof of love is trust.”
—Joyce Brothers
Saturday, 7 Dec., 3:41 p.m.
Hey, I like your new haircut. It’s kind of sexy.”
This is the first compliment Ted has paid me in over a week, since our fight on Thanksgiving.
In fact, it’s his first attempt at any real conversation at all.
Don’t think I haven’t tried in the meantime to make amends. Yes, I’ll admit that it took me a few days to come around. But let’s face it, being in a marriage is a lot like being a thin-skinned fruit: you get bruised easily, but in the end you go all soft anyway.
Ain’t love grand?
So I reward him with a shy smile. He reaches over and squeezes my hand, which I regard as his way of saying I’m sorry for being such an ass, for doubting you.
“Yea, yea, yea! Mommy and Daddy love each other again!” Unlike Ted and me, Olivia, who is wedged between her brothers in the backseat, is not too proud to sing it loud, sing it proud. He and I exchange glances heavy with shame. How many reminders do we parents need that every emotion is transparent to our children?
Today of all days we should be happy. We are on our way to our favorite Christmas tree farm in Santa Cruz, where we’ll cut down the Douglas fir that will be the focal point of our entry foyer, and our lives, for the next four-plus weeks.
We started this tradition the year Tanner was born. I remember Ted traipsing up and down the rows while I followed at a slower pace, trying to maneuver Tanner’s state-of-the-art stroller around loose pebbles and protruding roots. The second year I got smarter about the whole thing and carried my little guy in a sling. Only three years ago, when Olivia was almost three, was I freed from the position of pack mom.
