by Nancy Thayer
“Well,” Polly said philosophically, “marriage is about better and worse.”
“Oooh,” Beth moaned. “They didn’t mention that in the Cinderella story.”
“Come to think of it,” Julia observed, “I don’t believe the prince’s mother is even alive in the Cinderella story, is she?”
“I guess that’s why it’s a fairy tale,” Beth said. “No mothers-in-law.”
Faye climbed up out of the Jacuzzi. Her face was flushed, her eyes moist, but she smiled over her shoulder. “I’m off.” To the pregnant woman, she added, “You know, pregnant women shouldn’t stay in the Jacuzzi too long.”
Carolyn nodded. “You’re right. Shirley Gold mentioned that, too.” Looking disappointed, she made her way out of the water.
“Don’t go,” Alice said. “Why don’t you get in your robe, then lie down and enjoy the aromatherapy. Put that towel under your head for a pillow.”
Carolyn, appreciating Alice’s authoritative tone of voice, did as she suggested. After she made herself comfortable, she smiled at the others. “I’m Carolyn.”
Faye left, the others waving lazy good-byes.
“I hope I didn’t say something to offend her,” Beth said.
“She’s fine,” Alice assured her. “Go on with what you were saying.”
“Okay.” Beth took a moment to gather her thoughts. “Well, you can tell by just looking at me that I’ve got all the strength and athletic grace of a penguin, right? And my fiancé”—just saying the word made her blush crimson—“and his family are all jocks and hearty jokers. When they slap me on the back, I almost fall over.”
“Why do they slap you on the back?” Julia asked.
“Because that’s what they do. It’s like being around a football team or something, they all sort of go around in a herd. I mean, they are so healthy and athletic, I get intimidated. I’ve always been weak and clumsy, but when I’m around them, my body goes into a kind of hyperklutziness.”
“Oh, God,” Polly groaned. “I can relate to that. My mother-in-law’s so formal and meticulous, she makes me feel like a little Hobbit running around picking my nose.”
The others laughed.
Encouraged, Beth continued, “Well, my fiancé’s name is Sonny. Actually, his name is Merle Junior, he was named after his father, and he’s the first son, so they call him Sonny. Bobbie, Sonny’s mom, adores Sonny’s high school girlfriend, Robin. She’s plastered the house with photos of Sonny and Robin as king and queen of the prom. Plus, Robin is always at Sonny’s parents’ house. She’s there for meals. She watches football games. She helps work in the yard.”
“That’s tough,” Julia sympathized.
Beth nodded. “I’ve been trying so hard to make Bobbie like me. And she pretends to, in front of Sonny, but I swear she undermines me every chance she gets.”
“For example?” Marilyn asked.
“Well, Sonny has a big family, and even though the kids are in their twenties, two of them still live at home. The father’s a carpenter. They’re all carpenters. They all eat humongous amounts of food, and Sonny and I always go there for Sunday dinner. So one Sunday I offered to bring something, it seemed only polite. I made a wonderful beef bourguignonne with wine and mushrooms, a huge pot of it. Spent hours on it. Well.” A red glow spread up her neck as she remembered that day. “We showed up at his parents’ house, and I gave the pot to Bobbie, who acted so thrilled to have it and put it on the stove to heat up. I went off and watched TV with the others. But when we sat down to eat, my stew had this really terrible taste to it, a kind of fishy tang. It didn’t make you want to barf, but it gave the whole thing a weird, disgusting flavor. Everyone pretended it was delicious, but no one ate very much. What could I say? I was so confused! Later, when I was helping do the dishes, I saw several cans of tuna in the metal recycling bin. I think Bobbie skimmed the tuna water into my stew, gave the fish to Tinkerbelle—that’s their dog—and sabotaged me.”
“Wow.” Julia whistled. “Either you’re really paranoid or that mother’s psycho.”
“Plus, there are a lot of little things. They’re always doing repairs on their buildings, or working in their garden. I’m finishing up my Ph.D. in literature, and I work in the BU library, so I admit I’m hopeless about tools and stuff. But like, once, Merle, that’s Sonny’s father, asked me to go get a bow saw, and I went back to the workshop, and told Bobbie what he wanted, and she gave me a pruning saw! When I took it to Merle, everyone laughed at me.”
Carolyn spoke up. “Have you tried to talk to Sonny about this?”
Beth shook her head vehemently. “I don’t dare say negative stuff about Sonny’s family, especially about his beloved mother! He thinks they’re all perfect.”
“When are you getting married?” Polly asked.
“We haven’t set the date yet. We started talking about marriage in the fall. He gave me this ring at Christmas.” She held out her hand, showing off the tiny diamond. Her face softened as she looked at it. “I love him so much. I know he loves me. But once, for example, when we were carrying boxes into the den to decorate the family Christmas tree, Bobbie gave me a box to carry that was so heavy I could scarcely lift it.” She lifted her chin defiantly. “So I’m coming here, and I’m going to get some muscles, and I’m going to get in shape.”
“That’s the spirit!” Alice said.
“Speaking of dates . . .” Marilyn waded across the tub and climbed the steps. “I’ve got one and I don’t want to be late.” She looked back at them with a rueful smile. “I wish I could stay.”
The others waved good-bye, and then there were five in the room.
“She’s about my age,” Polly murmured wistfully. “And she’s got a date.”
“You want a date, too?” inquired Alice.
“I don’t think I’m quite ready for that just yet.” Polly hesitated. Claudia would hate to be talked about, but in this steamy, warm room, swirling with mysterious scent, Polly felt so safe, so included.
“Don’t stop now,” Carolyn urged.
“Well,” Polly confided, “my husband, Tucker, died two years ago, but I’ve still got to deal with my mother-in-law. She’s eighty-six, and ill with ovarian cancer.” As the others moaned in sympathy, Polly said, “Yes, I know, it is too bad. But she’s making it worse. She’s very formal, patrician, remote. She doesn’t want to go into the hospital, and she refuses to allow hospice or any strangers into her house. She does permit me to come once a day to bring her groceries and do a little cleaning in the kitchen. But she won’t let me get close to her, physically or emotionally. I’d like to hear about her youth, or my husband’s childhood. But she freezes me out completely.”
“She’s probably afraid,” Beth suggested. “She probably feels embarrassed.”
“Oh, no, I’m sure that’s not it. Claudia’s always looked down on me. Way down. She’s always made it clear that her son married beneath him, and she won’t change her mind just because she’s dying.”
Alice hauled herself up out of the tub. “Sorry, ladies, but I’ve got to get home.”
“Bye,” said the four remaining women as the door shut behind Alice.
“I should go, too,” Carolyn said reluctantly.
“Darn,” Polly said. “I’ve had more fun in this Jacuzzi tonight than I have in months!”
Julia leaned forward. “Me, too. I feel so much more, oh, I don’t know, optimistic. It feels so good to be frank, to complain about my stepdaughter and her grandmother instead of mincing around pretending everything’s rosy. But I can’t bitch to Tim or I’d feel like some kind of monster.”
“I like this aromatherapy,” Beth said.
“I do, too, but I’m hungry,” Julia said. “Want to grab a bite to eat at the restaurant down the road?”
Beth’s eyes widened. “What fun!”
Polly agreed. “Dinner, yes, brilliant idea.”
They all turned to look at Carolyn.
She hesitated. It wasn’t as if she were signi
ng a legal contract. It might actually be pleasant, never mind helpful. “I’m starving,” Carolyn admitted. “Let’s go!”
18
On the third floor of the spa building, the Hot Flash Club gathered in Faye’s condo. Faye was making mimosas for them all—one without alcohol for Shirley.
Shirley lifted Saran Wrap off a plate of bluefish pâté and crackers and another from a bowl of sliced vegetables. “So you think it went okay? Tell me every single thing! Oh, I wish I’d been there!”
Alice and Marilyn leaned against the window, looking down into the parking lot. “You were right not to go,” she said. “Everyone knows you’re the director of the spa. They wouldn’t have talked as easily in your presence.”
Shirley panicked. “Did they criticize the spa?”
“No, not at all,” Faye assured her. “They love it. They just criticized mothers-in-law,” she added bitterly.
“Not just mothers-in-law,” Marilyn amended.
“Actually,” Marilyn told Shirley, “we had a stowaway. One of the yoga students, a woman named Polly, wandered into the Jacuzzi room, and we couldn’t really tell her to leave.”
“And I’m glad we didn’t!” Faye said. “She’s very nice, and everyone seemed comfortable with her.”
“But she’s old,” Alice said. “Our age, I mean.”
“Still,” Faye pointed out, “that didn’t seem to stop the younger women from talking.”
“Did they bond?” Shirley asked.
Faye turned to Alice. “You were the last to leave, what do you think?”
Alice reflected. “I think so.”
“Look!” Marilyn called. “There they go.”
Faye and Shirley hurried to join Marilyn and Alice at the window. Three floors below, four women got into four different cars and drove out of the parking area and down the drive.
“They’re all leaving at the same time,” Faye said. “That looks encouraging.”
“Well, they would, anyway, wouldn’t they?” Alice asked.
“Maybe not. Maybe one would leave while three stayed in the Jacuzzi.”
“They’ve all turned right,” Marilyn reported. “That’s a good sign.”
“Well, we’ve done what we can to get them together,” Alice said, stepping away from the window to grab a cracker spread with pâté. “Now it’s up to them.”
The others left the window and settled around Faye’s coffee table.
Alice looked cranky. “I just hope the older woman didn’t spoil it.”
“Why would you assume she would?” Faye asked.
“I certainly couldn’t have talked about a lot of intimate subjects with my mother around,” Alice answered.
“Me, either,” Marilyn agreed.
“Nor I.” Faye tucked her legs under her, curling up on the sofa. “But Laura has always been very open with me about everything. Actually, she’s told me more than I wanted to know about her sex life.”
“I think that’s probably true of women our age,” Shirley said. “We went through the sixties, we became more comfortable saying words like penis and orgasm, and we passed that along to our children.”
“That reminds me,” Alice volunteered. “MILDEW: Mother-in-Law: Dastardly Evil Witch.”
“Hey,” Shirley snapped. “No picking on witches.”
“And that would be because?” Alice prompted.
“What’s a witch look like?” Shirley asked them. “An old woman on a broomstick, right? A crone, right? Well, in ancient times, crones, old women, were worshiped for being wise. They were considered goddesses, with mystical powers, which I for one think women still have, except in our society we’ve been trained to fear and disparage them. Think of the woman riding a broomstick—it’s such a phallic image, right? It represents power, and men are still afraid to let women have power. Especially old women, wrinkled and warted from age. I think MILDEW should be Mothers-in-Law: Divine, Enchanting Women!”
“Shirley’s right,” Marilyn said. “We don’t give older women enough respect in our society. It’s tough on them, but we’re the ones who lose out. We could learn so much from older women, even at our age.”
Shirley said, “You all know Nora Salter, one of my first massage clients to invest in this spa. She’s in her late seventies, had to have open-heart surgery a few months ago and knew there was a good possibility she wouldn’t come out of it. I stayed with her the morning of the operation—her heart attack happened so suddenly, her children couldn’t get to Boston, they live all over the world—so I went in to be with her. Okay, so the nurses come to wheel her off to the OR. She’s getting IV Valium, but still it’s got to be frightening. Here she is, this little, frail, old partridge lying on a stretcher with tubes in her arms being wheeled off to have her chest cracked open. I thought she might clutch my hand, look terrified, so I was prepared to be encouraging. But she just waved good-bye at me and said, “I’ll see you soon!” And as they wheeled her into the elevator, I heard her say to the nurses, “Well, if there were a fourth in here, we could play bridge.”
“Good for her!” Faye said.
“That’s how I’d like to be when I’m elderly,” Marilyn said.
“I’ll drink to that!” Shirley said, and raised her glass of sparkling seltzer to the other three.
——————————
Red-and-white-checked tablecloths, candles in Chianti bottles, and Dean Martin singing “That’s Amore!” gave Leonardo’s Restaurant a cozy, slightly old-fashioned atmosphere perfect for a night and a group like this. Carolyn, Beth, Julia, and Polly slid into a padded red leather booth, accepted menus, and ordered drinks.
“How do you feel now?” Polly asked Carolyn. “Blood pressure feeling all right?”
Carolyn nodded. “I’m fine. In fact, I feel better than I have in a long time. I think that aroma-water-therapy thing might have done some good.”
The other women nodded.
“I feel better,” Beth said shyly, “because I finally got to whine about Sonny’s mother. Somehow it all seems more manageable now. I think I was spending way too much time obsessing about her.”
“I wonder whether it’s a universal law,” Polly mused, “that the one we love comes with at least one toxic relative.”
“It’s true in my case,” Julia said.
“What about you, Carolyn?” Polly asked, looking at her expectantly.
They’re all strangers, Carolyn thought with a twinge of anxiety. She shouldn’t be gossiping about private family business. On the other hand, they seemed nice, straightforward, and practical. They might even have some advice to offer. It wasn’t as if she had her own clique of close female friends, or even one close friend. Her involvement with her work had kept her too busy for friendship.
“My mother-in-law lives in another state,” Carolyn began. “My father is the problem.”
“He’s Aubrey Sperry, right?” Polly asked. “I’ve seen his photo in the papers for years. Handsome man.”
Carolyn nodded. “My father and my husband and I live in the same house. It’s, um, kind of large, and we have separate wings, plus a few common rooms for company occasions.”
“How does your husband like that?” Julia asked.
“Oh, he’s fine with it. Hank’s wonderful about most things. Besides, he travels a lot. He’s a kind of environmental troubleshooter.”
“Is your house that fabulous Victorian at the crest of a hill in Sperry?” Polly asked.
Carolyn nodded, pleased by the compliment. “That’s the one. Anyway, my father just got married.” Carolyn absentmindedly stroked her swollen belly. This was what mattered, this new life she was carrying. Here in the restaurant with the waiters quietly padding around bringing them drinks and bread and little bowls of olive oil, Carolyn felt relaxed. She was even enjoying herself. What a concept! With a slightly paranoid expression, she looked around the room. No one was within hearing distance. “His new wife—this is all very private, of course.”
“Our lips
are sealed.” Polly drew an imaginary zipper over her mouth.
“Little Heather.” Carolyn was astonished at how good it felt to say the name aloud. “A blue-eyed blonde, a good five years younger than I am.” She felt like a pot with the lid lifted, the pressure evaporating.
“I can see her now.” Julia grinned. “A gorgeous sexpot?”
“Strangely enough, no. Heather’s short, dumpy, and wears matronly clothes. Perhaps my father likes her because she makes him feel nurtured. But I don’t trust her.”
Julia made a “move along” sign with her hand. “And that would be because . . .”
“It’s complicated. We have a housekeeper, Mrs. B., salt of the earth, wonderful woman, who runs the house for us, mostly, because my father and I work pretty much full-time at the paper company. Mrs. B. has been with us forever, and I trust her completely, so when she came to me with her concerns, I took them seriously.” Carolyn paused suddenly, looking as if she’d just heard a message on a frequency the others weren’t tuned in to.
“Baby kicking?” Polly asked.
“Yes.” Carolyn shared a smile with Polly.
“Don’t stop now!” Beth urged.
“Anyway, Mrs. B. pays all the household bills, groceries, electricity, and so on out of a housekeeping account that she, my father, and I all have signatory powers for. My father, naturally, arranged for Heather to be able to withdraw money, too, and did she ever withdraw money! You know how you can have a line of credit at a bank, in case of some kind of emergency? We have that on our household account for things like broken pipes, tree limbs falling on the roof, whatever. Well, within a month, Heather had withdrawn fifty thousand dollars from that credit line. So Mrs. B. got concerned and checked my father’s private checking account—she has access to it, though no signatory power—and almost one hundred fifty thousand dollars had been drawn from that line of credit.”
“Wow!” Julia, Beth, and Polly spoke in sync, like an astonished Greek chorus.
Beth’s eyes were wide. “What did you do?”
Carolyn closed her eyes for a moment, as if shutting off the memory. “I confronted my father.”
