by Josie Brown
I take a deep breath and walk upstairs so that the children can’t hear me sob.
An hour later, when I’m all cried out, I ring Mother’s number.
Her telephone has caller ID, so when she barks, “What is it?” I know she knows who she’s talking to.
“He’s dead.” Really, that’s all I need to say.
Her response is to blow smoke into the receiver. Then: “Yeah, okay, so what? What am I supposed to do?”
“Forgive,” I murmur. Then I hang up.
45
“It isn’t tying himself to one woman that a man dreads when he thinks of marrying; it’s separating
himself from all the others.”
—Helen Rowland
Monday, 30 Dec., 11:30 p.m.
No kid looks great all in black, including my own. It isn’t a happy color.
But they do look appropriate, and that is what the occasion of my father’s funeral calls for. It is a simple event. Apparently, toward the end he had only a handful of friends. Fueled by my mother’s venom, most had abandoned him when he left her.
Worn down by her bitterness, eventually they abandoned her too. People prefer pleasantness. I don’t blame them. If I hadn’t felt so guilty, I would have left too.
Most of the mourners here don’t know me. In fact, most don’t even know of me. My father gave little in the way of history, because it hurt too much. If they knew about me, it’s because he’d already determined that they would not pass judgment on events they had not lived through, but would trust that he’d done the best he could.
That is, in the best respect, true friendship.
Ted stands beside me, smiling and congenial and supportive. I think he expected me to be a lot worse off than I am: I smile wanly, with glassy eyes. I know he’s happy for me that I made my peace with my father before this day. But even if I hadn’t, I now know that I could have counted on him to hold it together for me. For our children.
One of my hands is tucked inside Olivia’s. The other grasps Patti’s. Or I should say, she holds on to me, tightly.
My mother would hate seeing that.
But since I don’t care what my mother thinks or feels, I let this woman who loved my father lean on me in her time of need. I don’t know if, after all is said and done, she will take me up on my offer to stay in touch, to let her come by and watch her husband’s grandchildren grow into the kinds of human beings who, I hope, would make him proud.
My guess, though, is yes. I’m glad of that. My children need to hear about their grandfather from someone who actually knew him and loved him passionately, as opposed to someone who hated him unconditionally.
As he is lowered into the ground, I throw a handful of sod onto his coffin and say a prayer for his soul.
I pray for my mother’s soul as well.
Tuesday, 31 Dec., 9:00 p.m.
Ted and I have gone into the city for New Year’s Eve. I’m calling this a new tradition. We live too close to San Francisco to become those people who never go beyond the cloistered claustrophobic borders of their own little towns.
Unfortunately, our advance reservations mean nothing to the hostess at Il Fornaio on Battery. By the time we’re seated for our nine o’clock dinner reservation, it’s going on eleven. It’s already a forgone conclusion that we’ll miss the fireworks taking place just a couple of blocks down along the Embarcadero. We are both starving, and Ted refuses to rush out the door: “Hey, we’re paying through the nose for this meal. Besides, who wants to be jostled by a couple of thousand drunk, horny party animals?”
We make it home after midnight, but without seeing one flash of a rocket’s red glare.
In fact, we didn’t realize it was midnight until it was too late.
I wonder if Ted would have suggested that we kiss, had we known.
My guess is no.
Happy New Year.
Wednesday, 1 Jan., 9:15 a.m.
“Ah! So today’s the big day! Three o’clock, am I right? Olivia must be excited.” DeeDee, a vision in white wool, is standing at the bakery case perusing the cupcakes when I come in to pick up Olivia’s birthday cake.
“Yes, she’s very excited. I’m sure she was a pain with Tanner last night while we were in the city.” I hand the salesclerk my confirmation ticket so that she can find the cake in the pickup locker.
DeeDee’s plasticine smile wavers. “You went in to see the fireworks?”
I nod. I wonder if she had her kids for New Year’s Eve, or if Harry was allowed visitation last night. I think of how many New Year’s Eve celebrations he and DeeDee have spent together, and suddenly I’m jealous.
My only consolation is the knowledge that, last night, she wasn’t with him either.
To cover up my joy at that thought, I shrug. “For us, it was a bust. We got out too late from dinner to see the fireworks.”
“Your husband works downtown, doesn’t he?”
“Yes. When he’s not on the road. He travels for business too.”
“I liked that. When I was married, I mean. It gave me time by myself.” She looks at her reflection in the mirror behind the counter and smooths a line by her mouth that no one else can see.
With what I know about her now—about her liaisons with Max Karloff—I find it hard to smother my smile over such a smug statement.
The smirk dissolves from DeeDee’s face. “What are you laughing about?”
“Nothing! Really. . . . I guess it just struck me as funny. I mean, when we fall in love and get married, we can’t get enough of each other. Then over time, for whatever reason . . . well, you know.”
“Yes, I know.” DeeDee glares at a lemon cupcake. “Obviously, you do too.”
Are my feelings for Harry so obvious? It’s my turn to be wary. “What are you saying?”
“Just that no marriage is perfect.” She turns to look me straight in the eye.
I don’t know what she wants to hear from me. “All of life is a compromise. Even marriage. Especially marriage.”
“But how much do you compromise away before it isn’t the life you want to lead? Is it selfish to want something different altogether, even if it doesn’t include him?”
I glance down at a tray of pink coconut snowballs and realize that just looking at them nauseates me. She doesn’t have to justify her actions to me, but to Harry. “I . . . I really don’t know the answer to that.”
“Oh no? I’m guessing you know what it’s like when one of the partners in a marriage falls out of love. Or maybe I’m being presumptuous.” DeeDee hands the clerk a twenty-dollar bill and takes her cupcakes, then turns to leave.
But no. If she is to be judged by me, she will never have a better chance to make her case than now and here, surrounded by so many sweet temptations. “When you’re in an unhappy marriage, it’s hard to walk out the door. No one likes the unknown. No one wants to take the chance that what they’re walking toward is worse than what they’re running away from. But it’s more fair. I love Harry, Lyssa. Enough to leave him.”
As a parting gesture, she reaches into the bag and hands me one of her cupcakes. “Happy New Year. I really mean that. Here’s to having your cake and eating it too.”
New Year’s Day
46
“When a man steals your wife, there is no better
revenge than to let him keep her.”
—Sacha Guitry
1:20 p.m.
Olivia’s party is rocking. We always get a full house, but this year it seems to be bursting at the seams.
I love it.
Dressed in her favorite princess gown, Olivia flows from room to room, blushing and smiling at the happy-birthday shout-outs she gets from well-wishers of all ages. Following close on the heels of my little princess’s Mary Janes is her very own court: six other soon-to-be six-year-olds in rich dark velvets and stiff iridescent satins, all flittering behind her, laughing, giggling, and hugging one another.
Temple is one of these. At this point in her life, she do
esn’t seem to miss being the center of attention. What goes around comes around again eventually. I’m sure that, when she’s ready to retake the spotlight, it will welcome her back.
Take your time, baby.
She arrived late, mother and brother in tow. DeeDee hasn’t walked over yet to acknowledge me, and I’ve been rushing around too much to greet her. I hope Ted did, because that takes me off the hook, at least for now. I was not surprised when Max Karloff showed up a few minutes later and immediately cornered DeeDee. He’s treating her like his prized possession, whereas she nods stiffly and seems distracted. I don’t think she’s ready to be seen in public with him. Who can blame her?
Jake has disappeared into the bowels of the basement playroom with Tanner and the other tweens. I’ve no doubt that soon one of the empty bottles will be snatched from the recycling bin for a game of spin the bottle. Besides tending bar, Ted is charged with periodic check-ins down there, to make sure things don’t get out of hand.
“Do you think Tanner is scoring already?” His eyes open wide at the thought. “You know, going all the way?”
I slap him on the chest. “Get real. Were you ‘going all the way’ at his age?”
He ponders that for a moment. “Well, I’d like to think I was.”
“Exactly. Think is the operative word here. Let’s have no regrets today.”
Even as I say it, I think, Famous last words . . .
“Well, aren’t you quite the little hostess with the mostest!” Brooke skips her usual air kiss, opting instead for a real peck on the cheek. The clear gloss on her lips is appreciated, the kiss more so. “My God, woman, this place is packed to the rafters!”
“You’re telling me.” I fan myself with the mitt I’m using to pull yet another tray of stuffed mushrooms out of the oven. It’s so hot in here that I can barely breathe. It doesn’t help that I’m feeling a bit tipsy too. Too much wine, I guess. I lean on the counter and take a big gulp of air. “Thanks for coming, Brooke.”
“What, are you kidding? I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.” She takes the tray from me and leads me out into the dining room by my elbow. “Besides,” she whispers with a wink, “you’re no longer in exile.”
“What does that mean?”
“Don’t tell me you haven’t heard! Boy, have you been put on ice! Well, okay, but remember, you didn’t hear it from me. . . .”
I take a seat. I can tell this is going to be long and juicy, which makes me think of bloody red steaks—
Which makes me want to barf. I grab Brooke’s frozen-mojito glass and put it up against my cheek, just to cool off.
“. . . Tammy was found in bed with him. Can you believe that? You can just imagine the—”
“Whoa—wait! What did you say? Tammy was in bed—with whom?”
“Why, Gerard Hardaway! Honey, haven’t you heard a word I’ve been saying?”
“But how . . . where . . .”
“Margot got some anonymous tip. Ha! With her reputation, I’m surprised anyone cared enough to let her in on it. Anyhow, turns out their little affair had been going on since at least Thanksgiving. It was caught on some videocam and streamed to Margot in an e-mail. They were using his doctor’s office for their little love trysts.” She shudders since she can’t frown. “Let me put it this way: that was some little surgical procedure he was doing on her!”
“Wow! I have been off the planet. So, does Charlie know now?”
“You betcha! Big brouhaha! And he called Bethany before Tammy had a chance to do it first. Talk about adding insult to injury.”
“I’ll say.” I’m so stunned, I can’t even think of moving. So Tammy found a more willing sperm donor! Wait until Harry hears this. . . .
“Okay, but it gets even better. Yesterday Isabelle saw Tammy at the drugstore buying—get this—an early home pregnancy test!” Brooke is so excited, she’s squeaking.
It’s giving me a headache. “If she’s preggers, I guess she’ll finally get the child she has always wanted.”
“Yeah, but the primary objective was to have it along with moneybags Charlie, remember? Not with a guy who’ll be paying his wife through the nose until his other kid turns twenty-one.” Disgusted, Brooke shakes her head. “To think it all could have been done with a surrogate—and she’d have saved herself the extra pounds and the stretch marks.”
Both of Brooke’s sons were carried by other women, for just that reason. Appallingly, she’s always surprised that more women haven’t thought to do that.
So much for the idea that it’s the journey, not the destination.
I shake my head in wonder. “But if it was Charlie’s sperm that was the issue—”
“Hey, don’t think Tammy didn’t use that angle first! She tried to talk him into considering using another man’s sperm, but he was adamant that the kid had to have his genes. Well, I guess this was her way around it.” She grins wickedly. “That being said, Margot now considers you the board’s prodigal daughter. Besides, none of the rest of us have the desire, or apparently the talent, to take over from her. That’s why we’ve let her get away with all the tsuris she’s caused all these years. Hey, speak of the devil! There she is now, with Colleen and Isabelle. And she’s coming this way. So welcome back, ma chérie!”
I smile at my most unexpected guest and hold out my hand to greet her.
However, if Margot curtseys and kisses my ring, I will throw up for sure.
How will I break the news to her that I’m no longer interested in being her puppet president?
I won’t worry about that now. I’m just going to enjoy her groveling.
3:06 p.m.
The crowd is at its peak. The adults, plied with booze and appetizers, are loose and animated. The children, though, are getting antsy for the main event: the cutting of the cake for Olivia and Santa, then opening gifts, both hers and whatever silliness Santa has in his bag for them.
The man hired to play Santa is surlier than I’d like. While he allows Olivia to sit on his lap as we serenade the two of them with a robust version of the birthday song, he actually blanches at the forkful of cake Olivia offers him after they blow out the candles. Turns out he’s vegan, and chocolate cake with seven-minute egg-white icing is not on his diet. Ted is the only one who thinks this is funny. He captures it all on his new Flip Ultra camcorder.
Olivia is having too much fun to let Bad Santa harsh her mellow, but the fact that he’s less than jolly has Temple a bit upset. She yanks on her mommy until DeeDee indulges her and picks her up. As Temple wraps her legs around her mother and clings to her neck for dear life, the collar on DeeDee’s crisp white blouse is yanked down on one side. I don’t think DeeDee likes this stranglehold, but there is nothing she can do but grin and bear it. In this crowd, she has no choice but to play the ever-indulgent mommy. In fact, she hasn’t even noticed that the top button on her blouse has come undone.
And that’s when I see it: DeeDee is wearing my necklace.
Not the blue enamel heart-and-key necklace that was under the Christmas tree for me, but the double heart Tiffany necklace that wasn’t.
I try my hardest not to stare, but my eyes are drawn to it. So that my interest isn’t too obvious, I don’t look directly at her, but watch her reflection in the mirror over the sideboard.
If Ted did give it to her, that means only one thing: he is her lover.
As I cut cubes of cake and pass them forward, I try to fathom that idea, but I can’t. In the first place, they are total opposites. He is outgoing and flirtatious. She is cool and demure. What would be the attraction?
But of course, that’s it exactly. She provides the challenge Ted needs to be turned on, while Ted provides the naughty excitement her life was missing.
So that I don’t hyperventilate, or leap across the room and tear the necklace off her throat, I try to think of all the logical reasons why this simply can’t be true. In the first place, that necklace is mass-produced for Tiffany, and certainly DeeDee is no stranger to t
he shops in Palo Alto or, for that matter, along Union Square.
And then I hit on the most obvious reason of all for why it’s such a ludicrous premise:
Ted doesn’t have time for an affair.
Hell, he rarely has time for sex with me.
I laugh hysterically, not at the precious anecdote Colleen has just told me about little McGuyver, but at myself for even considering such nonsense about my husband and Harry’s ex.
And yet, out of the corner of my eye, I watch the two of them. When their paths cross, they are polite but distant.
I breathe easier. . . .
And then it hits me, why he is always too tired for sex with me:
Because he’s already having it with DeeDee.
I have to keep it together until the party is over and everyone has gone home. Then I’ll take the time I need to think this through.
Better yet, I’ll confront him with what I think I know.
And, of course, he will tell me I’m wrong.
And I can pretend I believe him.
In the meantime, I smile and circulate.
So does Max Karloff. Devoid of his cool blond arm charm, he goes off in search of new listing prey. Bev Bullworth has had plenty of time to watch him. In the past, she would have broken out in hives every time he pounced on a potential new listing—particularly if his target was one of her current clients—but tonight it seems she couldn’t care less. In fact, instead of doing her usual sales pitch on unsuspecting partygoers, she only has eyes for Cal.
Cal, too, seems relaxed, tanned, and happy. I walk over to refill their wineglasses. “Happy New Year, you two. Missed you at the lighting of the tree. I take it you’ve been out of town?”
“My honey took the whole family to Cabo the week before Christmas.” Bev is beaming. “Have you heard? Cal’s just picked up a big new contract: Shriver Tectonics! Pete’s company is investing in Cal’s municipal satellite security system. Harry Wilder is putting the deal together.” Happiness agrees with Bev. “It’s a relief, let me tell you! Now we’ll have enough money to renovate the house the way I’ve always wanted.”
