by Nancy Thayer
Beth looked stunned. “This is terrible.”
“The woman’s a bitch.” Julia was mad. “But now you’ve got evidence that she’s aggressively trying to undermine you. It’s not just a matter of you being some oversensitive little neurotic whining, ‘Your mother isn’t nice to me.’ ”
“That’s right,” Carolyn agreed. “Wait till Sonny sees this tape! My God, she actually pushed you when you were ice skating!”
“She’s a monster,” Julia agreed. “I mean, I know Agnes hates me, but that’s kind of logical. I’m in the spot where her own daughter was, where her own daughter should be, and it’s just damned unfair. So I can deal with it. But Bobbie has no reason to be so antagonistic toward you, Beth. It’s not like you’ve tied Sonny up with ropes and drugged him. Fact: he doesn’t love Robin. Fact: he does love you. Bobbie should be grateful her son’s so happy. This kind of behavior, well, it’s just nuts!”
“Julia’s right.” Carolyn shoved another toss pillow behind her back. “You’re going to have to show Sonny this tape, and you’re going to have to find a way to get out of his mother’s range of attack.”
“But how?” Beth quavered.
Julia offered, “Well, you and Sonny could move to another state.”
Beth wailed, “Move? Oh, I don’t know. Sonny’s so close to his entire family—”
Carolyn interrupted, “Enmeshed is the psychological term. That kind of closeness is pathological. Sonny’s mother, what’s her name . . . ?”
“B-B-Bobbie,” Beth stuttered.
“Bobbie’s not allowing her children to grow up. It’s creepy, those three grown children having dinner every single Sunday of their lives at their mommy’s house. They should get a life. She should get a life. Doesn’t Merle ever want to take Bobbie off to a romantic restaurant, just the two of them?”
Julia was nodding. “You’re right, Carolyn. Absolutely right. You know, Beth, you might want to take notes. These are good points Carolyn’s raising.”
Beth looked perplexed. “But you live in the same house as your father!”
Carolyn shook her head impatiently. “That’s different. We seldom share meals, we lead very separate lives. Hey, my father got married without even mentioning it to me first. And he certainly didn’t have a thing to say about who I married. Although, thank heavens, he likes Hank, always has.” She was in executive mode now. “Look. Here’s what you have to do. First, you have to draw up a plan of attack.”
“Right,” Julia agreed. “Think it all through. Even write down what you have to say so you won’t forget it in the heat of the moment.”
“Good idea,” Carolyn continued. “Second, arrange a time and place when you and Sonny won’t be interrupted. Take the phone off the hook. Tell him you two need to have a serious discussion. Third, show him the video. Fourth, be ready for a brawl. Allow him time to vent. But finally, be ready with some positive suggestions, like moving.”
Beth looked shell-shocked.
In the momentary silence, Polly reached out, poured more tea in Beth’s cup, and handed it to her. “Drink some of this, Beth. And eat some of the cookies.”
“You’ve been awfully quiet, Polly,” Carolyn noted.
Polly’s smile was sad. “Well, I’m just so terribly sorry to see this video. I find it heartbreaking, how miserable human beings make life for the ones they love, because of their lack of tolerance or simple human kindness.”
“Yeah, it’s sad, but it’s an unavoidable fact,” Julia argued. “I mean, look, your own daughter-in-law won’t let you see your grandson,” Julia reminded Polly.
“Oh, believe me, I think about that every day of my life,” Polly said. “It breaks my heart. But Beth’s situation is different.”
Carolyn was frustrated. “You’re not saying Beth shouldn’t show the video to Sonny?”
“I think she ought to give it a lot of thought before she does,” Polly replied. “Bobbie may be a difficult old troublemaker—”
“Troublemaker!” Julia shouted. “She’s a malevolent, controlling, conniving old witch with the morals of a hyena!”
“Even so, she’s still Sonny’s mother,” Polly said. “Beth, I don’t think you want to try to cut Sonny off from his family.”
“Oh, come on, Polly,” Julia sputtered.
Polly held up a restraining hand. “You really should try talking to Bobbie privately, first.”
Beth looked as if Polly had suggested slicing her own wrists.
“Take the video,” Polly advised. “Show it to her. Tell her you don’t want to show it to Sonny, you don’t want to be a divisive element. Ask her to help you figure out a solution to her problem.”
Beth wrung her hands. “Doing that would be really hard, Polly. It scares me to think about it.”
“Yeah, and I don’t agree,” Julia argued. “Your theory is sweet, Polly, but your basic premise is flawed. Not everyone is nice.”
Polly continued calmly, “I agree. And Bobbie is controlling and manipulative. She’ll probably be a terrible thorn in Beth’s side—”
“More like a giant pain in her ass,” Julia muttered.
“—during Beth’s entire marriage to Sonny. I’m not advising that Beth just lie down and take it. I’m suggesting that she try to find a way to compromise with Bobbie. I really do believe she’s got to make a good attempt at solving this problem if she’s going to have a happy marriage with Sonny.”
Julia made a small harrumph sound, and then all four women sat silent, letting their thoughts churn.
“What you’re saying,” Carolyn said slowly, “is that if the person we love comes with a toxic relative attached, we’ve got to accept it.”
Polly considered this. “Yes. Accept it, yes. Change it somehow, if possible. Deal with it for sure.”
“Oh,” Beth moaned, “I know you’re probably right, Polly, but the thought of confronting Bobbie terrifies me.”
“You can do it,” Polly assured her.
Beth looked around the room. “I wish you all could be there with me.”
“We can’t do that, but I know something we can do,” Carolyn told her. “We can role-play. I learned to do this when I was in my early twenties, trying to learn how to negotiate and supervise people older than I was. Each of us can be Bobbie, and you can go through the entire scenario with us, and we’ll be nasty, bitter, confrontational, accusatory, hurt, and heartbroken, the entire spectrum. We’ll do it over and over again, and when you’re really doing it, it will be like sliding down a hill.”
“What a good idea!” Polly said.
Beth brightened. “Yeah. Yeah, that would help. Do we have time to do it now?”
Carolyn checked her watch. “Sure. We can start, at least.”
“You’re sure you feel up to it?” Polly asked. “We don’t want to tire you out.”
“I’m fine,” Carolyn promised.
Polly rose. “Then I’ll go make a fresh pot of tea.”
“Yeah,” Julia said, “and if I’m going to play Bobbie, I’ll go sharpen my fangs.”
34
Here we are, superstar.” Julia kept tight hold of Belinda’s hand as they left the Volvo and threaded through the rows of parked cars, heading across the parking lot toward the new cement-and-cedar structure attached to Theodore Roosevelt High School.
The high school auditorium seemed an overambitious and perhaps daunting venue for the midwinter ballet recital, since it seated eight hundred and only about forty little girls would dance today. Julia wished the recital could have been in the evening, when Tim and a lot other parents could have come, but this wasn’t the enormous extravaganza that would take place at the end of May. This was more a kind of rehearsal, giving the children a chance to experience the full joy/trauma of performing in front of an audience, or as the teacher preferred to say, providing them with the opportunity to feel like real ballerinas for a day.
As they walked into the room backstage where all the other little girls and mothers were, Belinda’s grip tig
htened. A swarming, buzzing, pastel hive of tutued girls from seven to thirteen filled the room, bending to tie on their ballet slippers and pull up their tights while their mothers made fussy last adjustments to their hair. Some of the older girls were stationed at the wall of mirrors, gliding lipstick over their mouth or mascara over their lashes. Belinda, usually entranced by older girls, was too wired to pay them any attention today.
Kneeling down, Julia helped Belinda out of her parka and boots. Julia fitted on the soft, pink leather ballet slippers. She fluffed up Belinda’s tutu and retied the pink ribbons on her French braid.
“Oh, wow! You look just like a princess! A princess ballerina!”
Carter, a diminutive redhead in a matching tutu, twirled up. “Hi, Belinda!” Belinda beamed. The girls joined hands, bobbing up and down together.
Baylor, Carter’s mother, joined Julia. “Could they be any cuter?”
“Not possible.”
“All right, parents!” The ballet teacher, Judy Preston, a slim, young woman with dark hair sternly skewered back in a bun, clapped her hands. “It’s time! Please take your seats!”
Julia leaned forward to whisper into Belinda’s ear. “Good luck, Daffy Duck.”
Baylor and Julia trailed the other parents out of the room, through a door, and down a set of steps to the auditorium. A pair of mothers handed out programs printed on pale pink paper. As they seated themselves, Baylor leaned over to whisper, “I’m so nervous, I wish I had a Valium.”
Julia laughed. “I know. I had a glass of wine.” She took her small camcorder out and focused it.
“Oh, wow, I wish I’d brought mine. Will you make me a copy?” Baylor pleaded.
“Sure.” Julia scanned the program. The classes would appear according to age, the youngest first. Belinda’s group had to lead off. Julia crossed her fingers, saying a private prayer.
The houselights went down, the stage lights came up. From the backstage stereo system, an overture burst into the air. The curtain rose. Nine little girls in pink and white tutus pranced out onto the stage, their arms, cuffed in white chiffon, beating up and down. They were ponies. Pink princess ponies, and their parents nearly melted with adoration to watch them.
They paraded around the stage twice, then formed a line at the back, trotting in unison like a chorus line of pink pixies, as each little girl detached herself from the front of the line, trit-trotted up the center stage, pranced in a circle, then trotted back to the line.
When Belinda’s turn came, Julia’s heart banged away inside her chest like a drum. Belinda was so sweet, so vulnerable, so proud! She made a perfect circle, while Julia wept behind her camera. Next came Carter, also giving a flawless performance.
“A star is born!” Baylor gasped.
Carter clip-clopped back to the line. The next little girl hesitated. The child behind her nudged her, then gave a little shove. The girl, a tiny brunette with an angular frame, inched toward the front like Marie Antoinette toward the guillotine, not keeping in character or in step with the music. When she reached center stage, she pranced once, reluctantly, then faltered, staring out at the audience as if they’d all grown monster heads. She stopped moving. Hands at her side, she burst into tears.
“Oh, the poor thing,” Baylor whispered.
The chirpy CD music continued, a bouncy counterpoint to the child’s frozen terror.
“The teacher should help her get offstage,” Julia told Baylor. “Someone’s got to do something!”
Suddenly, a little girl left the line. Still prancing, in sync with the music, Belinda trotted to the front of the stage, took the weeping pony by her hand/hoof, and led her back to the line, all without missing a step. The audience watching breathed such enormous sighs of relief the noise blew through the auditorium like a breeze, and spatterings of applause broke out.
“That’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen in my life!” Baylor said. “Did you get that on tape?”
Julia nodded. Tears were streaming down her face and her throat was so choked she couldn’t speak. She felt Baylor looking at her. They were not close friends, they only saw each other at ballet and school occasions, but now Baylor reached over and took the hand not holding the little digital camera.
“Belinda is so brave! She wouldn’t have been able to do that if you hadn’t been such a good stepmother. You should be proud of yourself.”
Julia bit her lip, hard. Those kind words made her nearly break down and blubber.
The rest of the recital passed with the speed of a tortoise as far as Julia was concerned. The other groups were older, more graceful and accomplished, but none of the other girls could compare with Belinda.
Finally it ended. All forty-three ballerinas came out onstage, arranged by height, so Belinda and Carter were in the first row. Julia couldn’t clap while she was filming their bows, so she stomped her feet, hooted, and slapped her leg with her left hand. The curtain fell, the audience rose, the parents rushed backstage. As Julia and Baylor filed back with the crowd, several other parents, people Julia didn’t even know, came up to her to tell her how adorable, clever, brave, Belinda had been.
“I feel like a stage mother,” Julia told Baylor. “The scary thing is, I like it.”
They found Carter and Belinda against the wall near their coats, holding hands and jumping up and down, still jazzed from their performance.
Julia knelt to face her stepdaughter. “Belinda, you were wonderful! You danced beautifully, and you were so good to rescue that other little girl! I got it on tape, I can’t wait to show your father, and we’ll make copies to send to your grandparents. Oh, I’m so proud of you!”
“Shall we go get some ice cream to celebrate?” Baylor asked.
Julia looked at Belinda. “Want to?”
Belinda nodded. Loosening her grip around Julia’s neck, she turned back to Carter, grabbed her hands, and the children went back into Mexican jumping bean mode.
——————————
At home that evening, they couldn’t stop watching the video.
“I’m going to bring dinner in here,” Julia said.
Belinda remained glued to the TV. Tim followed Julia into the kitchen, where she bent over the oven, taking out a casserole she’d prepared earlier in the day. He put his arms around her. Julia leaned back into his embrace.
“I love you,” Tim whispered.
“I love you.” Julia turned in his arms and nestled against him.
They kissed, agreeing with their eyes to continue this particular conversation later that night. Julia spooned the casserole onto plates and filled water glasses while Tim carried the plates in and set them on the coffee table. Belinda knelt on the floor, eating with absentminded hunger, her attention still focused on the ballet recital.
“That little girl behind Belinda?” Julia pointed with her fork. “That’s Carter. She’s Belinda’s friend. Her mother, Baylor, sat next to me. She’s a good little dancer, isn’t she, Belinda?”
Belinda nodded her head enthusiastically, not taking her eyes from the screen.
“Here she comes!” Julia cried, as excited as if this were the first instead of the fifth time they’d seen it. “Look, Tim. Belinda is perfectly in step. Just perfect. What a little ballerina.”
“You’re the prettiest girl there,” Tim told his daughter.
“Now, look!” Tears welled in Julia’s eyes again. “That poor little child! Now watch! Belinda to the rescue! Just as if she’s been doing it all her life! And she never once got out of step! Look at her, prancing while she leads that little girl back to the line. You know what, Belinda, we’ve got to phone your grandmother to tell her about this!”
After dinner, Julia rose to take their empty plates back to the kitchen. “Tim, would you like an apple or some cookies? Belinda and I already had our dessert, we had ice cream with Carter and her mom.”
“An apple would be great.” Tim picked up his daughter and cuddled her next to him.
Julia set the three plate
s on the counter and took an apple from the bowl. Her hands were under the running water when a thought struck her. Her head whipped to the side. She stared back at the plates. The three empty plates.
Three empty plates.
Tonight, without her even noticing, so many things had changed. Belinda had eaten without a fuss, even though for the first time ever, they hadn’t sat at their routine places at the dining room table. Plus, Belinda had eaten all her food, even though Julia had forgotten to pick out the broccoli or separate the rice and the chicken; she’d intended to, when she made the casserole. But she’d forgotten in the heat of the moment.
So had Belinda.
It was a tiny miracle.
Winging a silent prayer of thanks, Julia carried the apple and the portable phone into the living room. They watched the video another time, then Tim froze it on Belinda at center stage. He punched in Agnes and George’s phone number.
He handed the phone to Julia. “You should tell them. You were the one who saw it.”
With Belinda watching, Julia had to disguise her emotions as she took the receiver. Belinda’s grandmother answered. “Agnes? Are you busy? I’ve got such a wonderful story to tell you! Do you want to get George on the extension?” Tim had left the room, returning now with another portable phone, which he handed to Belinda. “Belinda’s listening, too. Hi, George. Oh, my gosh, you have no idea how amazing Belinda was at her ballet recital.” Julia described the entire affair second by second, prance by prance. When she’d finished, the line was strangely quiet. For a moment, Julia thought they’d been disconnected.
Then Agnes spoke, her voice choked with tears. “I wish I could have been there. I would have been there if I’d known the date three months ago. We couldn’t cancel George’s colonoscopy appointment.”
Julia braced herself for battle, but managed to keep her voice sympathetic. “Agnes, we didn’t know the date of the recital three months ago. We only found out two weeks ago, and we told you then.”
Agnes sniffed.
“How is George?” Julia asked.
“Oh, he’s fine. He had some blood in his stool a while ago, but it turns out it was probably from a hemorrhoid.”
