by Joy Fielding
“I lied.”
“You’re a liar?” she pressed giddily.
“I’m a lawyer,” he agreed, and they both laughed.
“And the bathroom?” Cindy asked as he leaned toward her. “This way?” She ducked out of his reach, tripped past the two walk-in closets toward the en suite master bathroom.
It was a big room, its walls the same beige marble as the floor, with a double Jacuzzi, a large open shower stall, his-and-hers counters and sinks, and enough mirrors to satisfy even the most dedicated narcissist.
“Oh, jeez,” Cindy said, seeing her reflection bounce from one mirror to the next: the old T-shirt, the sloppy jeans, the stringy hair, the zombie-like eyes. “I do look like crap.”
“You look beautiful,” Tom said, leaving his glass on the counter and coming up behind her.
“Lawyer,” Cindy said, falling back against his chest, his arms wrapping around hers, and the side of his cheek pressing against her own as he removed the glass from her hand and placed it on the other counter. Was he really going to kiss her? she wondered, as he slowly spun her around. Was she really going to let him?
(Flashback: Cindy stands in front of her bathroom mirror, removing the makeup she painstakingly applied only an hour earlier, replaying Tom’s phone call in her mind. “Sorry, babe. I can’t make the movie. We’ve got something of an emergency going on here, and I’m going to be tied up for at least a few more hours. Give the sitter an extra couple of bucks, and see if you can line her up for next week.”)
He tasted of vodka and cranberries, Cindy thought now, luxuriating in the softness of his lips, feeling his tongue slide gently across hers. Not too much, not too little. Just the right amount. Just like old times, she thought, recalling her mother’s words.
What about Neil? she thought, seeing his reflection in the mirror behind Tom’s head.
You’re the most courageous woman I know, she heard him say.
“It was always so good with you,” Tom was whispering, his hands tugging at her T-shirt, expert fingers disappearing beneath it, unhooking her bra. “God, real breasts. I’d almost forgotten how good they feel.”
(Flashback: Cindy lying in bed, her pillow moist with her tears, as Tom crawls in beside her, reaches under her nightgown, cups her breasts in his hands. “Sorry I’m so late,” he says, kissing her neck. She smells the wine on his breath, as his fingers reach between her legs. “Client wouldn’t stop talking. I thought dinner would never end.” He buries his face in the side of her neck. Cindy inhales another woman’s perfume as he enters her from behind.)
“Come here,” Tom said now, guiding her between the treadmill and the stationary bicycle toward the bedroom, pulling her T-shirt over her head as he pushed the layers of satin aside, her bra falling from her shoulders, disappearing into the white carpet, like a child’s mitten into snow. “You always had such beautiful breasts,” he marveled, pushing her back on the bed, and unbuttoning his shirt.
What am I doing? Cindy wondered, again thinking of Neil. Three years of being a nun and suddenly I’m the town slut? I don’t feel so great, she thought as Tom’s tongue found her nipples, and his fingers struggled with the button of her jeans.
(Flashback: Cindy in bed, chilled and nauseous, sipping herbal tea and fighting the urge to throw up, when she hears the front door open and the sound of a woman’s laugh. She crawls out of bed and staggers to the top of the stairs.
“Can I get you a drink?” she hears Tom ask from the kitchen.
“Hello? Tom?” she calls, watching as Tom emerges at the bottom of the steps, clearly surprised to see her.
“What are you doing home? Isn’t this your day to help out at Heather’s school?”
“I wasn’t feeling well. I had to cancel. What’s going on?”
“Forgot my briefcase,” Tom says breezily. “Look who I ran into coming down the street,” he adds, almost as an afterthought.
A woman’s head pops into view. Cindy recognizes her as the mother of one of Heather’s friends.)
What on earth was she doing? Cindy wondered now, shaking her head in an effort to clear it, the motion making her dizzy and nauseous.
“We had some pretty good times together,” Tom was saying, clearly oblivious to her discomfort.
As always, Cindy thought. “When you weren’t cheating on me,” she said flatly.
A nervous chuckle. “You took all that much too seriously. You know it meant nothing to me.”
Was that supposed to make her feel better? “It meant something to me.”
Silence. His hand froze on her bare skin. “You’re killing the mood here, babe.”
“You’d really make love to me in this apartment? In this bed?”
“Jesus,” Tom said, sitting up and lifting his hands into the air, as if there were a gun pointing at his head. “You can’t just relax and let things happen, can you? Damn it, Cindy. You haven’t changed at all.”
“Damn it, Tom. Neither have you.” Cindy pushed herself off the bed, rezipped her jeans, her eyes searching through the white carpet for her bra. Probably not a good idea to move so fast, she decided, falling to her knees and locating the bra with her fingers, already back on her feet when she heard the voice from the doorway.
“Dad? What are you doing home so early?”
It was too late to do anything but turn around.
“Oh, wow!” Heather’s eyes opened wide with disbelief, moving from her bare-chested father to her half-crouching, half-naked mother.
“It’s not what you think,” Tom said lamely, fiddling with the buttons of his shirt.
“Nothing happened,” Cindy said, pulling her bra into position, securing the clasp at the back. First her mother and sister walk in on her and Neil; now her daughter finds her with Tom. That’s what I get for not having sex in three years, Cindy thought.
“Sure. Okay. Wow.”
“It was a momentary lapse in judgment,” Cindy explained.
“I thought you had classes till six.”
“Does this mean you’re getting back together?”
“Absolutely not,” Tom said forcefully.
“God, no,” Cindy echoed.
“Okay, well, wow. Okay,” Heather said, backing out of the room. “I think I should probably get going.”
“Sweetie …” Cindy called.
“I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. I’ll phone you later.” The front door closed after her.
Tom looked at Cindy. “I hope you’re proud of yourself,” he said.
TWENTY-FIVE
WEDNESDAY, September 11, Cindy stayed in bed watching TV as the country relived the agony of the previous year’s terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center.
Like everyone else she knew, Cindy could recall the exact time and the place she’d been when she’d learned the devastating news. It was during the film festival, and she and Meg had just emerged from the Uptown after a screening of the British film, Last Orders, starring Michael Caine and Bob Hoskins. It was around 11 A.M. and they were heading up Yonge Street to meet Trish and grab a sandwich before their next movie. “Where is everyone?” Cindy asked, wondering at the lack of a lineup for the next movie.
“Something’s happening at the corner,” Meg said.
When they reached the intersection of Yonge and Bloor, they joined a crowd of several hundred people standing in stunned silence, watching the gigantic TV screen on top of the low-rise building on the southeast corner, as the two hijacked planes flew repeatedly, and from a multitude of sickening angles, into the giant twin towers. She and Meg had watched in openmouthed horror as the buildings collapsed, peeling downward from top to bottom, like the skin of a banana, the resultant debris spilling over onto the streets of New York, covering everything in its path in a sickening gray dust.
At the time, Cindy thought nothing could be worse.
Leigh walked into the bedroom. “You’ve got to talk to Mom,” she was saying, dimpled knees peeking out from under light khaki shorts, her white sleeveless bl
ouse in sharp contrast to her deeply tanned arms. “She canceled the fitting with Marcel. What are you watching?” She reached toward the bed and pressed the OFF button on the remote.
“What are you doing?” Cindy grabbed the remote, flipped the TV back on.
Leigh wrestled the unit from Cindy’s hands, switched the TV off. “You shouldn’t be watching this.”
“What do you mean, I shouldn’t be watching it? What are you talking about?”
“It’ll only upset you.”
“Give me that,” Cindy told her younger sister, whose response was to hide the remote behind her back. Cindy jumped off the bed, tried reaching around her sister. “Leigh, I’m warning you. Give it back.”
“No.”
“Leigh …”
“I won’t.”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake.” Cindy marched back to the television and triumphantly pressed the manual ON switch.
Her sister was right behind her, pressing it off.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m protecting you.”
“Protecting me? From what?”
“From yourself.”
“From myself,” Cindy repeated, incredulously.
“Your judgment isn’t the best lately.”
“My judgment isn’t the best.” Cindy shook her head. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the fact that first you slept with your accountant, then you went to bed with your ex-husband.…”
Cindy rolled her eyes. “Neil is not my accountant, and I didn’t go to bed with Tom.”
“Only because Heather walked in on you.”
“It was over by the time she walked in.”
“What was over? You said nothing happened.”
“Nothing did happen.”
“But it almost did. Which is my point exactly.”
Cindy sank down on the bed. “This conversation makes no sense whatsoever.”
“You need to get dressed,” Leigh said.
Cindy glanced down at her yellow cotton nightshirt. “I’m fine.”
“It’s almost noon, and you’re still in your pajamas.”
Cindy gave her sister a look that said, So?
Leigh marched into Cindy’s closet.
“Where are you going? What are you doing?”
Leigh returned seconds later carrying a pair of black capri pants and a green-and-white-striped jersey. She threw them on the bed, along with some freshly washed underwear. “Here. Wear this.”
“I don’t want to wear that.”
“I’m not leaving this room till you get dressed.”
“Well, then you might as well make yourself comfortable because I’m not wearing that.”
“For Pete’s sake, Cindy. You’re worse than my kids.”
“For Pete’s sake, Leigh. You’re worse than our mother.”
“Cindy.…”
“Leigh.…”
Stalemate, Cindy thought.
“So, what’s it going to be?” Leigh asked, the remote seemingly attached to the palm of her right hand, both hands on her hips.
Cindy shook her head. “Okay. Okay. You win.”
“You’ll get dressed?”
“I’ll need some help with this.” Cindy pulled at the front of her nightgown.
Leigh approached warily. “What kind of help?”
In the next second, Cindy lunged at her sister, knocking her to the floor as she grabbed for the remote.
“What are you doing?” Leigh gasped as Cindy collapsed on top of her. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Give me that thing.”
“No!”
“Give it to me.”
“Mom!”
“Give me the goddamn remote.”
“Mom!”
“Coming,” their mother called from downstairs. “Is something wrong?”
“You’re such a baby,” Cindy told her sister, scratching at her arm.
“You’re such a brat.”
Norma Appleton ran into the room, took one look at her daughters rolling around on the floor, and threw her hands up into the air. “What on earth is going on in here?”
“She scratched my arm.”
“She took my remote.”
“Stop this. The two of you. Right now.”
The girls stopped struggling, sat on the floor glaring at one another.
“It’s my remote,” Cindy said petulantly.
“Give her back her remote,” their mother instructed.
Leigh tossed the unit to the floor. Cindy promptly scooped it up.
“Look what she did to my arm.” Leigh extended her forearm, displaying a thin red scratch running above her elbow.
“Apologize to your sister,” Norma Appleton said.
Cindy shook her head, looked the other way.
“Apologize to your sister,” her mother repeated.
“Sorry,” Cindy mumbled under her breath.
“What did you say?” Leigh asked. “I didn’t hear you.”
“Mother,” Cindy warned.
“Don’t press your luck,” their mother said, helping her younger daughter to her feet.
“Oh, sure. Take her side.”
“I’m not taking sides.”
“Don’t press your luck? What would you call that?” Leigh practically shook with indignation.
“Oh, darling, your ‘Hi, Helens.’ ” Norma Appleton pointed with her chin toward the underside of Leigh’s arms. “Maybe a different blouse.…”
Cindy started laughing.
“You’re both nuttier than fruitcakes. You know that?” Leigh said.
Cindy scrambled to her feet, laughed harder.
“What’s so funny?”
“You are. You’re being ridiculous.”
“I’m being ridiculous? I’m being ridiculous?”
“You’re being ridiculous.”
“Girls, please.”
“Am I the one who’s refusing to get dressed? Am I the one whose daughter walked in on her half-naked with her former husband?”
“Heather was not half-naked,” Cindy said.
“Sure. Make jokes. Correct my grammar. It’s easier than facing the truth.”
“The truth being?”
“Girls …” their mother warned.
“The truth being that you’re behaving irresponsibly.”
“What!”
“You’re always flying out of this house without telling anyone where you’re going or what time you’ll be back.”
“It’s my house. I’m an adult. I didn’t realize I had to report to anyone.”
“It’s not a matter of reporting. It’s a matter of consideration.”
“What if I don’t know where I’m going or when I’ll be back?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. You go off half-cocked.”
“You’re starting to sound like Tom, you know that?”
“Well, maybe he’s right.”
“Sorry if I’m not behaving completely rationally these days.”
“Since when has it ever been any different?” Leigh scoffed. “Cindy does exactly what Cindy wants to do, just as she always has. Where do you think Julia gets it from?”
“Whoa,” Cindy warned.
“If Cindy wants to get married when she’s eighteen and her parents are dead-set against it, no problem,” Leigh continued, undeterred. “She’ll just elope to Niagara Falls. Doesn’t matter if her parents go crazy with worry for two days, wondering where the hell she is. Doesn’t matter that they miss their younger daughter’s performance in Our Town. So what if she’s the lead and she’s been rehearsing for months? Hell, it’s only a school play. There’ll be plenty of other opportunities. Isn’t that what you said, Mom?”
“Sweetheart,” their mother demurred, “where is all this coming from?”
“Our Town?” Cindy marveled. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Why? Because it was important to me?”
“Leigh
, darling, please.…”
“Please what, Mother? Please don’t make a fuss? Please don’t be upset because you still can’t find any time for me?”
“If this is about the fitting I had to cancel this afternoon.…”
“You didn’t have to cancel the fitting, Mother. You chose to cancel the fitting.”
“It just seemed like there were other things that were more important.…”
“More important than your granddaughter’s wedding?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Why is Cindy’s daughter any more important than mine?”
“In case you hadn’t noticed,” Cindy interrupted, “my daughter is missing.” She burst into a flood of angry, confused tears.
“Cindy,” her mother said, rushing to her side.
“Leave her alone, will you. Stop babying her.”
“What’s the matter with you?” Norma Appleton demanded of her younger daughter. “Why are you acting this way?”
“Because I am sick and tired of being ignored.” “Who’s ignoring you?”
“I all but abandon my family to come over here, I cook for you, I clean up after you.…”
“Nobody asked you to do any of that.”
“I’ve been doing it all your life,” Leigh snapped. “After you got married, who was there for you? Who made sure things got patched up between you and Mom and Dad? Who was there after that wonderful husband of yours walked out? Who sat beside you and listened to that damn message he left on the answering machine, over and over again? Who rushed over after Julia decided she wanted to live with her father? Who sat up all night with you while you cried your heart out?”
“You!” Cindy shouted, punching her fists into the air, like a boxer flailing at an invincible opponent. “You. You. You. Always the first one at the scene of an accident. Always available in times of crisis. Tell me, when else do you ever come around?”
Silence.
“When else do you ever let me in?”
The two sisters stared at one another. The doorbell rang.
“Shit,” Cindy said.
“Shit,” echoed Leigh.
“Shit,” said their mother.
Nobody moved.
The doorbell rang again.
“I’ll get it.” Norma Appleton said finally, walking slowly toward the hall. “Can I leave you two alone?” she asked, turning back.
