“Of course,” I said. “We’re just getting up. Can you come by in an hour, and we’ll put some breakfast on the table?”
“Thank you,” she sniffed. “I’ve got to bring my kids. Is that okay?”
“Of course, I just set out the inflatable pool yesterday so they can splash around in it.”
“Eric will like that,” she said of her four-year-old. “Jenna’s twelve, though, so she’s far too cool for kiddie pools.” I could see Renee rolling her eyes with exasperation at her high-maintenance adolescent. (Is that redundant?) “She can bring a book or her phone. I just don’t want to be home alone, ’cause I know I’ll start crying and the kids can’t see me that way.”
I always wondered about that parental choice. On the one hand, I understand the instinct to shield one’s children from unpleasantness. On the other, I wondered about raising kids who were unaware that their parents experienced real emotions. When Jack’s father left their family, Susan put a smile on her face and never spoke a word of her ex-husband. As a result, Jack grew up thinking all negative feelings should be shoved under the bed, out of sight and never to be spoken of. During our marital blue period — the years that followed a series of miscarriages — Jack constantly dismissed my bereavement by telling me, “Don’t feel that way,” or worse, “You shouldn’t feel bad.” It caused a wedge between us that took years to remove. I felt for Eric’s future wife if Renee continued along the same path as Susan’s.
“Of course they can come over,” I said. “But don’t worry about your kids seeing you upset. You’re human, and it’s good for you to show them that it’s okay to experience a full range of emotions.”
“I don’t know how positive it is for them to see me stuff daddy’s clothing with pillows and stab him in effigy,” Renee said, sniffing.
“Point taken,” I said. “All I’m saying is you don’t have to be a martyr. If you need to cry, your kids can handle it.”
“Is Anjoli still there?” Renee asked. I confirmed that she was, wondering how it would go over once Renee found out that Anjoli was on the flip side of several affairs. My mother wasn’t exactly secretive about her history, as she saw very little condemnable about her behavior.
When Renee and her kids arrived, Anjoli was setting the table in the backyard. I had debriefed her and Jack on the situation so neither would say anything that may inadvertently upset her. Jack had already commented on the fact that Dan never accompanied her to events, and Mother had a habit of espousing her self-acquitting philosophy on infidelity at every opportunity. I couldn’t bear the thought of Jack innocently remarking, “Hubby’s left you alone again, eh, Renee?” Even worse was the image of Anjoli sipping tea pondering why married women don’t look within for the answer to questions about their husbands who go astray.
“Not to worry, darling,” Anjoli assured me. “I’m very sensitive to other people’s feelings. In fact, at a workshop last weekend, I was told that I am an intuitive, always tuned in to the feelings of others.”
“Really?” Jack said as he brought out a pot of coffee. He couldn’t resist. “Let me ask you — what was the name of the person who told you this?”
Setting the silver down beside each plate, Anjoli tilted her head to look at Jack to reply. “It was the leader of the workshop,” she said, impressed. Adam sat facing the guest houses and sang a song as he jerked Elmo around by the neck to make him dance. Mancha sat quietly beside him as if he were ready to pounce.
“What was his name?” Jack asked.
“It was a woman,” Anjoli replied, now actively dodging the question.
“Okay, what was her name?” Jack asked.
Anjoli shifted her eyes back down toward the table. “It was Camilla,” she said.
“Really, so if I went to the website of this workshop, I’d see that the leader’s name was Camilla?” Jack asked.
I shot him a look as if to say he was very naughty for trying to catch Anjoli in a lie. We all knew she didn’t remember the leader’s name. Why did he need to prove it? There was a part of me that wanted to childishly scamper to him and give him a high-five for having the moxie and wit to challenge my mother the way I never could. Another part wanted to stand by her side with my hands on my hips and reprimand him for teasing her. But I understood their relationship was one of playful antagonism, so I let them enjoy their repartee.
“Indeed you would, Jack!” Anjoli said, unable to contain her smile.
“Okay, let’s go to my computer right now and look it up. What was the name of the workshop?”
“They don’t have a website.”
“No website?” Jack said. “How unusual. So how does Cynthia let people know about her workshops?”
Anjoli shrugged. “Couldn’t tell you, darling.”
“Ah ha!” Jack shouted, catching the attention of boy and dog, possibly even the guests in their cottages fifty yards below. “You said her name was Camilla, but when I called her Cynthia, you didn’t even notice, which means you never knew her name to begin with. You made it up when pressed because you couldn’t admit the cold, hard reality that you didn’t even know the name of this person who said you are soooooo sensitive to others.”
“Listen, Perry Mason, I don’t want to pop your bubble of theatrics, but you are way off base,” Anjoli said with mock indignation.
“Am I?” Jack said, smiling. “Or is my mother-in-law a big, fat liar?!” He laughed and Anjoli could not help but join him.
“I am not fat, darling,” she said.
“But you are a liar,” Jack said, patting her back.
“Honky a liar!” Adam shouted, clapping his hands with delight. Mancha barked.
In the midst of our laughter, the doorbell rang, which cut us all off abruptly. My mother clapped her hands like a director and ordered us to change our tone. “We have sad people with real lying relatives with us now. Let’s be sensitive and take it down a notch, shall we, darlings?”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Renee was surprisingly upbeat as she came through our front door. It was her daughter Jenna who seemed glum. “This is my friend Lucy,” Renee said. The girl tried to be polite, but clearly she had her heart set on being somewhere else — anywhere but here. After breakfast, Jenna warmed up to us, though. Jack offered her $25 to supervise Adam and Eric in the pool. Of course, our eyes would never leave the kids, but having Jenna as their paid entertainment allowed us to focus on Renee, who whispered through her tea that she felt as if she were going to burst into tears at any moment.
With the kids out of earshot, Renee confided in Anjoli that she had heard from Dan before she left to come to our place. After breakfast, Jack excused himself to paint the bug. He said that with the official start of summer, he wanted to do a surf-and-sand beach buggy theme. As he left, he showed us his sketch of blue waves of ocean splashing up the sides and an old surfboard he’d bought on eBay that he planned to mount on top.
“So he called this morning and said he wanted to let me know he wasn’t dead or anything,” Renee said, leaning in toward my mother and me. “I suppose that’s something.” Anjoli couldn’t help releasing a sigh of exasperated annoyance. I said nothing, but urged Renee to continue. “I mean, I know he was with her, so what am I supposed to do? He swears he was at a hotel — alone.”
The late morning sun baked the three of us under its bright rays, though it probably had a tough time fighting through the wide rim of Anjoli’s straw hat and gauze full-length dress. Ice from the tea pitcher had melted, and a bee buzzed around it, threatening to dive in to taste the honey settled at the bottom. The songs of the flitting birds made for a most incongruous soundtrack for the discussion below.
“And what do you think?” I asked.
“Oh, please,” Anjoli said, rolling her eyes. “Renee’s a smart woman. She can put two and two together, darling.”
I was a bit surprised that Renee had opened up to my mother so easily, and wondered if she regretted it after hearing Mother’s harsh assessment. “Y
ou think he was with her too, don’t you, Anjoli?” she asked.
“Darling, I know you’d like to believe otherwise, but clearly he’s still carrying on with this woman.”
“Mother, you don’t know that for sure!” I said. Unless it was you with Dan in the hotel room last night, in which case I’d have to slit my wrists with the butter knife right now. “You have no idea what kind of person Dan is! He could have ended his affair just as he promised and may very well have been at a hotel alone.”
Anjoli turned to Renee. “She’s right, darling. I don’t know your husband. I’m simply basing my assessment of his whereabouts last night on my experience with men, which, I might add, is vast. But Lucy is correct. I don’t know Dan. You do, though. Does his story jibe with you?”
“I wish it did,” she said. “I try to convince myself that his story is true, but it doesn’t make sense. Why stay at a hotel? Why not come home and sleep in the den? He must have called her.”
I couldn’t figure out what bothered her more — the infidelity or not knowing. I can’t imagine which would be worse.
“Look at me, Honky!” Adam shouted.
“How are they doing, Jenna?” I shouted.
“Perfect, Mrs. Klein,” she returned. Jenna seemed genuinely happy walking across the pool to create waves for the boys.
“Maybe you should do a little something nice for yourself, darling,” Anjoli shifted the focus back to our conversation. As if on cue, Randy walked up the front path to his house and turned to wave at us. “Like him.”
“Mother,” I said, laughing. “You’re incorrigible. Don’t listen to a thing she has to say, Renee. Her own marriage lasted something like forty-five minutes.”
“Lucy’s father was a drug addict,” Anjoli said too lightly. She always delivered this blithe one-liner, failing to realize that it was like a body-slam to me every time she said it. “I wanted to go to the ballet. He wanted to get high and stare at a fish bowl.” I’ve heard that characterization of their marriage no fewer than a hundred times throughout my life, and every time it gets a laugh. I wish our house actually was haunted and my father’s spirit could fly above her and dump an aquarium over her head.
“Anjoli, you’ve gone through so much,” Renee said with a tone of adoration. Come on, it’s not like the woman built the pyramids. She had a brief marriage to my father, who realized that the best way to go through life with Anjoli was with a hypodermic needle in his arm.
“I am a survivor, darling,” she said as if she were starring in a black-and-white film. “And so too shall you be, darling.”
Oh please!
“You are such an inspiration!” Renee said. “You’ve helped me so much today.” As she looked at me with her glassy brown eyes, I knew what was coming next. “You are so lucky to have a mother like Anjoli.”
I glanced at Anjoli, who winked at me, feigning modesty. As much as I tried, I could never really stay angry with her for long. She meant far too well to ever really earn my distain. Yes, she was selfish. Yes, she was exasperating. And yes, a part of me had to admit, I was a bit jealous of the spell she cast on the world.
“I know,” I said.
“I’m dead serious, darling,” she said to Renee, gesturing back down to Randy’s guest house. “Have yourself a little fun on the side and see if that doesn’t snap Mr. Ramada Inn out of his complacency-induced coma. He doesn’t realize what a treasure he has in you, Renee. It’s up to you to make him realize that if he doesn’t wake up and start treating you the way you deserve, someone else will.”
Renee glowed with Anjoli’s praise. “He is hot,” she said of Randy.
“No, no, no!” I interrupted. “Look, I agree with Anjoli that you’re wonderful and beautiful and deserve better than the deal you’re getting with Dan, but having an affair with Randy is not the solution.” Because he’s mine! If I had a dry erase board, I would have pulled an Etta, and sketched a triangle to illustrate the two people in a relationship and the distraction that takes time and attention away from the couple. “Having an affair with Randy isn’t going to solve your problems with Dan.” Try Maxime! “All you’re going to do is delay the inevitable, and that’s either reconciling your marriage or ending it.”
“Darling, don’t be such a killjoy. A good Randy romp, pun completely intended, will give her the confidence she needs, not to mention he looks like a fun way to spend the afternoon. Who says she needs to solve any problems with Dan? From where I’m sitting, he’s the one who needs to beg forgiveness and make the effort to get the relationship back on track, if that’s what Renee even wants!”
What did Renee want? We’d gotten so far off track with our discussion of extramarital affairs that we’d lost sight of what we were there to do — support Renee. Then again, she was laughing and enjoying herself far more than she would have at home, so I suppose we were being somewhat helpful.
“Renee, what do you want?” I asked.
“I’m not sure,” she said. “I want him to be sorry, and I guess I really do want things to work out still.”
“Let me share a little something with you, darling,” Anjoli began. I could tell by the tone in her voice that she was about to disclose her role in the third party in marital triangles. I wasn’t sure if this would change how Renee felt about Anjoli. In some ways, I hoped it would lower her a notch in Renee’s esteem. In another way, I liked the dynamic we had going and feared losing it. “I’ve been the other woman.” Anjoli paused to let this settle in and assess Renee’s reaction. She was motionless, expressionless. For a moment, I wondered if she heard her.
Anjoli waited for a response, but got nothing from Renee. “Darling, I’m sorry if this is hurtful to you, but I am telling you because I can speak to the issue with some authority. If you want Dan back, you’re in good standing. If he was going to leave you for this other woman, he would have by now.”
Renee sighed. “This is a tough one,” she said. “I like you Anjoli, but what you’re telling me is that you’re one of those women who’s willing to have affairs with married men, and that I don’t like. Don’t you feel any sort of allegiance to other women?”
My mother sat on the bench next to Renee and put her arm around her. “I have loyalty to my friends. I would never sleep with one of their husbands, but I don’t really know these other women, and until I met you, I never really gave them much thought. Darling, I know the right answer to your question, but I’d be lying if I told you that I’ve struggled with my choices. I haven’t. I don’t want to lie to you, darling. The truth is that no, I don’t have any allegiance to the sisterhood of wives. But I do consider you a friend, and if you’ll still have me as one, I can offer you a world of insight from behind enemy lines. You may not like everything about the way I live my life, but I think I’ve shown that I’m not a bullshitter. Take me for what I am, and I’ll give you the straight scoop on affairs.”
Renee considered this for a moment. “Anjoli, I’d feel so much better if you told me you were going to swear off married men forever. I mean, can’t you see how horrible this has been on me?”
“Darling, I promise you this. I’ll think about it.”
“You’ll think about it?” I asked, impressed.
“Fair enough,” said Renee, who I could tell was dying to question Anjoli about her relationships with married men. “Tell me, why did you say I’m in a good position?” It was time for Anjoli to hold court. “I’m sure he’s given her a million excuses about the children and the house and so on, but the bottom line is that your husband is a self-serving jackass, and if what he wanted was to be with this other woman, he would.”
“But he did leave,” Renee said. “Last night.”
“He spent the night in a hotel room with a woman he wasn’t fighting with, darling. He spent a few hours with a woman he’s having an uncomplicated, shallow relationship with.”
“Why would he risk our life together if he didn’t love this woman?” Renee asked.
“He doesn’t think h
e is risking it, darling,” Anjoli said. “I’m sorry to be blunt, but what consequences has he paid so far for his transgressions?”
“Mother, are you suggesting that she make false threats about leaving?” I asked. “If she wants to rebuild the marriage, should she really be playing games like that?”
Renee’s head went back and forth, listening to us. I looked at her in amazement that even on a day like this, her hair was jelled into a cool spiky do, and she had applied a thin layer of make-up. She had the gift of making a pair of jeans, a white t-shirt, and sandals appear as if they were a stylist’s thoughtful selection. I had a low-hanging ponytail and wore a t-shirt Jack and I had gotten for joining the public radio station.
“Do they talk about their wives and their problems together?” Renee asked.
“Not with me, darling,” Anjoli said. “To be perfectly frank, I’m not all that interested in their home lives. I’m not their guidance counselor. If they need a shoulder to cry on, they’re looking for a therapist, not a mistress.”
“Well, you are honest,” said Renee.
After a half-hour of grilling Anjoli, Renee seemed exhausted and ready to move on to a new topic. “Okay, I’ve had enough chatter about my screwed-up marriage. Let’s talk about something else.”
“Well, Lucy thinks the house is haunted,” Anjoli said.
“I don’t actually think —”
“I did a space-clearing on the house when they moved in, but Lucy thinks it didn’t take and the place is haunted.”
“Mother, I didn’t say I think it’s haunted,” I defended. “It’s just that some weird things have been going on.”
“I totally believe in that kind of thing,” said Renee. “Especially with these older homes and in this part of the country. They burned witches here, you know?”
“I was a witch in a past life,” Anjoli said. “Burned at the stake.”
The Queen Gene Page 15
