She plopped her face into her hands, exhausted. She went in search of her cigarettes and as she lit up, she stood in front of her picture windows. It was late afternoon and New York was still awash in rain. Sondra took long, slow inhalations, sadness filling her up with each breath.
EIGHT
“I wondered how long you would hibernate in Gotham before you called me.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“I thought perhaps you get lost on the way back from your globe-trotting adventures. Your sense of direction is absurd.”
“Ha, ha.”
“Precisely.”
“Glad to see that after all these years, your biting wit is still intact.”
“So, will I be thanked in your next acceptance speech? I think it should become a tradition.”
“Maybe. If you’re nice to me.”
“Wasn’t I always?”
“Most of the time.”
It was Saturday night and unable to face being alone in her apartment with depressing memories of Tracy tugging at her brain, Sondra had called her ex-husband, Gary, and asked him to take her to dinner. The pot had been sweetened when she said they could go to Sardi’s, his favorite, helped in no small part by his longtime friendship with the owner. After a hearty dinner of a Cobb salad for Sondra and the sirloin for Gary, they were now lingering over her coffee and his single malt Scotch.
“Feeling better, love?”
Sondra pushed the empty sugar packets around on the linen tablecloth, the small white crystals creeping out to leave a grainy trail.
“Yes. Thank you.”
“I must say, you could have fooled me. You still seem rather morose.”
Sondra laughed. “Gary, you’re the only person I know who drops ‘morose’ into casual conversation.”
“I refuse to capitulate to the incessant butchering of the English language to which our present society is so prone. I do have a reputation to maintain.”
Sondra chuckled. “Wow. ‘Capitulate’.”
Sophisticated, witty, urbane, Sondra always thought Gary was Frasier Crane’s long-lost black twin. His designer suits were impeccable and he kept his handsome, unlined toffee-toned face free of facial hair, moving through life with a charming, somewhat pretentious swagger. Their affair and subsequent marriage had been passionate, volatile and electrifying. At first, those vodka-soaked days and nights had held an irresistible allure; hobnobbing with his intellectual circle, holding court from his table at the Plaza or Le Cirque, summering at his house in the Hamptons, her astonishment at his ability to finish the Saturday Times crossword—in ink—every Saturday. It was surreal.
Until one day Sondra woke up and realized she wanted more, wanted to get her documentaries made. She needed to figure out who Sondra Ellis was, because Sondra Tate spent way too much time bobbing at the bottom of a Scotch bottle.
The inevitable split came and they put the marriage out of its misery. They remained close, justifying their break-up by saying they were better halves apart than together. However, in her quieter moments, Sondra missed Gary more than she could say. She’d dated a little, though none of her subsequent relationships came close to what she’d had with her ex-husband. She always shrugged off questions about whether or not she’d marry again by saying she was too busy globetrotting for work. The truth was she knew her heart and soul belonged to him. If Gary ever stopped boozing, Sondra had no doubt she would be knocking at his door suggesting they give it another try. That didn’t seem likely, so Sondra was content to remain friends.
“So, will I get a private screening?”
Sondra snapped back to the present. “About what?”
Gary adjusted the collar of his navy blazer. “The film.”
“Oh, yeah, sure. I’ll even spring for the popcorn.”
“Try again.”
“Alright, a bottle of Courvoisier.”
“So good you are to me, love.”
Sondra leaned back against the booth. “Oh, but I try.”
“Love,” Gary said as he leaned toward her. “I know you were lying before when you said you were feeling better. Yes, what happened to your sister was a cold and cruel tragedy. But truly it would be best for you—and for her—if you just let her rest in peace.”
Sondra winced, knowing that Gary was right. Tracy was gone and she wasn’t coming back.
“I hate it when you’re right.”
Gary gave her a smug smile as he lifted his glass to his lips. “Always am.”
NINE
Sondra looked at the meter and handed the driver a twenty before she got out in front of her building. She waved to the doorman and as she rode upstairs in the elevator, she was alternately preoccupied by thoughts of Tracy and of her documentary.
She had been working on the narration and it wasn’t gelling the way she wanted it to. It was Friday night and she’d spent the day enveloped in the solitude of the New York Public Library, clacking away at her laptop, creating and discarding draft after draft of the script. She decided to take the weekend off from working and let her mental battery recharge.
Sondra opened her door, her rubbery legs threatening to drop her in a bundle in the doorway. She had just lain down on the cranberry colored couch, when her cell phone rang from across the room. She groaned, peeling herself off the couch to go in search of her purse.
“Hi, daddy.”
“Hey, honey. I was just thinking about you, thought I’d call.” Gordon Ellis paused. “What’s wrong?”
“Working non-stop and I’m just fried.”
“How’s it coming?”
“I’m taking a few days away from it so I can make it flow the way I want it to.”
“How’s everything else?”
“Okay. How are you?”
“Oh, you know, busy as always.”
“You and mommy are way too active for me. Book clubs, golf outings, cooking classes. You guys give me a headache,” Sondra said as she picked at the fuzz balls on her faded black sweatpants.
“What can I say? We’re not ready for you to roll us into the old folks’ home just yet.”
“No chance of that, the way you two keep going. Did mommy tell you I went through Tracy’s things?”
“Oh, yeah, she said there were a few things you were going to send us.”
“Yeah.” Sondra was quiet for a second. “Have you all talked to Phillip lately?” she blurted out.
“Once in a while. Actually, he called us not too long ago.”
“How is he?”
“Well… he called to let us know he’d gotten remarried.”
Sondra almost fell off the couch. “What? How could he do that?”
“Sonny, it’s been over a year.”
Maybe it was because she’d just finished reading her sister’s passionate retelling of their courtship, but it bothered Sondra to know Phillip had moved on. “It’s… it just seems so soon I guess,” Sondra muttered, still stunned.
“She was his high school sweetheart and I guess they reconnected after he moved back to Michigan. In fact, he sent us a nice letter and picture of him and his new wife. They looked very happy.”
“Where in Michigan is he?”
“Detroit, where he grew up. Moved back when his mother got sick, wound up staying.”
Tracy remembered that Phillip’s mother had been too sick to attend the wedding. In fact, he didn’t have any family there. His father had died while he was in college and like his parents Phillip was an only child. Therefore, he had no cousins, no aunts, and no uncles. Between the Ellis family and the Brauns, Sondra had relatives coming out of her ears.
“Well, what did the letter say?”
“Just a very nice note about how much he loved Tracy, but that he knew she’d want him to be happy. I’ll have your mother send it to you. Maybe it will help.”
“Help what?”
Gordon sighed. “Well, you haven’t had the time to grieve like we have. I mean being away from us, working on your film. I just think
it might help with part of the process.”
Sondra pursed her lips and closed her eyes. “Maybe.”
“Sonny… I can get away for a few days, come and see you. It’s been a while.”
“Oh, Daddy, I’m going to be so busy trying to finish this film. I promise, as soon as I’m done, I’ll come out for a long visit. At least a month.”
“I’m holding you to that. We really want to see our girl.”
“I know, I know and like I said, as soon as I’m done, I’ll be on the next plane. Promise.” She paused. “I love you.”
“I love you too. We’ll talk to you soon.”
“Bye, Daddy. Oh, and don’t forget to have mommy send me that letter.”
“I won’t. Bye.”
TEN
Dear Mimi,
It was wonderful to talk to you the other day and catch up. I was glad to hear you’re still teaching swimming and that Gordon continues to be as prolific as ever. Sounds like you’re both really enjoying life. It’s great to know that some things never change.
Thank you so much for you condolences on my mother. As hard as it was watching her in so much pain before she passed, ironically it helped me to have her to focus on while I got over Tracy’s death. Still, I found myself asking how much one man can take in such a short time. I guess what they say is true, that God never gives you more than you can bear.
I don’t know if I ever let you and Gordon know how much Tracy meant to me. She was a beautiful, loving, wonderful woman who I was very lucky to have found. I flatter myself to think she felt as lucky as I did. Although we didn’t have nearly enough time together, we were so fortunate to have what we did. It took me a long time to get over what happened to her, and now it is only the good times I remember, not the horrible end.
As I told you on the phone, I recently remarried. Paula and I knew each other in high school and well… she’s been just wonderful to me. With her patient and loving spirit as my guide I have been able to heal. I have to confess that at first, I felt guilty, like I was betraying Tracy somehow. But I also know she would want me to be happy and I am with Paula. We live a quiet (some might say dull!) life here, but we enjoy it and each other immensely. I’m working for another pharmacy here and Paula is a homemaker. I am fortunate to have been blessed with two wonderful marriages to two amazing women.
I will never forget Tracy or everything she meant to me. She taught me how to love and what it meant to have a good relationship. For that, I’m forever grateful.
Please give both Sondra and Gordon my best.
Phillip
Sondra re-read the letter several times. She looked at the picture he’d enclosed of himself and his new wife. She was tiny, a good foot shorter than Phillip, with a wide, toothy smile that dominated her smooth ebony visage. She was clad in a pink sweater and black skirt and held one arm loosely around Phillip. Her brother-in-law still wore the same thick glasses and dated hair and his propensity for plaid remained intact. The busy red, green, and blue pattern of his short-sleeved button-down shirt was tucked into blue slacks.
Sondra stared at the photo for the better part of an hour before putting it and the letter back in the envelope and placing it on her kitchen table.
After blowing through two cigarettes and a random late-night rerun of “Family Ties,” Sondra finally shuffled off to bed.
ELEVEN
Drop off dry cleaning. Done. Stop at Target to return the teakettle that didn’t whistle. Check. Get groceries for tonight’s dinner and tomorrow’s breakfast. Check, check. The only thing left to do was go home. Paula loaded the last of her packages into her folding shopping cart. Before she wheeled off in the direction of home, she took a tissue out of her purse and dabbed at the dots of sweat on her forehead. Her face was devoid of makeup, so the only thing that smeared the white tissue was a thin layer of dirt from the day. She smoothed back her crinkly black hair, tucking a stray piece into the tight knot at the nape of her neck. Satisfied, Paula began the short walk to her house. She hummed to herself as she walked, the mottled black wheels of the cart raking over the wide concrete sidewalk in a rhythmic clatter.
Paula lived in a master planned community shrewdly labeled by developers as a suburban village known as The Crossings. The idea was that you never had to go far for either your essentials or your entertainment, because they were all conveniently located within “The Pavilion,” which was in the center of the community.
While the Crossings had its fair share of strip malls and stand-alone big boxes, The Pavilion, a behemoth compound that housed just about everything one could possibly need, was the pulse of the community. The Pavilion hummed almost around-the clock with a stream of activity. A sprawling Kroger offered a coffee shop, salad bar and specialty meat and cheese counter; a Cheesecake Factory always crammed with couples on dates, couples with two- point-five screaming kids and couples celebrating because their two-point-five kids were finally out of the house; the Super Target with its endless supply of plush towels, kitchen gadgets, artwork, and DVDs. Rounding out the Pavilion experience was a Barnes and Noble, twenty screen multiplex, arcade, pottery painting studio, ice skating rink, a man-made lake with gondola rides and a dizzying array of Banana Republics, Eddie Bauers, Gaps and Forever 21s, all cascading into one another. Bright red trolleys ferried customers around the complex to designated pick-up and drop-off points and the valet stand at The Pavilion’s nicer restaurants were a perpetual logjam.
Surrounding the perimeter of the Pavilion were several residential subdivisions named after trees: The Willows, The Elms, The Oaks, and so on. Many of the streets of these neighborhoods were named after flowers.
Paula’s home, rather removed from the hustle and bustle of the Pavilion, was located in The Maples on Red Rose Lane. Typical of The Crossings, Red Rose Lane was a quiet tree-lined street adorned with a mix of bungalows, single family and ranch -style houses. As its name suggested, many of the yards were festooned with lush rose bushes in a spectacular array of peach, yellow, white and, of course, red. In the neighborhood beautification contest held each summer, Red Rose Lane swept the Best Gardens competition every time. Red Rose Lane was one of the community’s most diverse neighborhoods, boasting an Indian family, an Asian family, three Hispanic families, and four black families including Paula and Phillip, with the remaining five families white.
Paula turned her cart into her driveway as a gentle breeze whispered through the tree-lined street and the rose bushes of Red Rose Lane on this hot, sunny day. As Paula opened the door of her spacious yet quaint home, she was greeted with a whoosh of coolness from the air conditioner. She took the three bags of groceries out of her cart and set them on the gleaming white ceramic countertop in the kitchen before she folded up her cart and placed it in the laundry room.
Everything in Paula’s house was sterile white. And immaculate. She spent hours every day vacuuming the plush white carpet, dusting the white bookshelves and scrubbing the white porcelain of her toilet. Not only was the house free of dirt, it was barren, lacking any personal touches or warmth. A few simple framed pictures of flowers were the extent of the decoration and a small bookshelf topped with a green vase of fake begonias and a smattering of gardening books. All in all, it looked more like an unfinished model home than one a married couple actually lived in. And that’s the way Paula liked it. It was a three-bedroom ranch with a tidy front lawn that Phillip paid a service to tend to on the third Tuesday of the month, though there were no roses, or any flowers for that matter, to decorate the yard. It was just a small patch of green for a lawn and a single row of bushes to the left of the front door. Inside was the master bedroom, Phillip’s office and the guest bedroom that had never seen a guest as long as the couple had lived there.
Paula smoothed her hair back and began to put food into her color-coordinated pantry and cupboards. Paula prided herself on the order and cleanliness, with everything lined up in nice neat rows, with the labels facing out. Not a can or a box was out of place. It was Wedne
sday, which meant for dinner they would have baked chicken, salad, green beans, mashed potatoes, a glass of iced tea with three ice cubes, a half a pack of Sweet ‘N Low, no lemon, buttered rolls and for dessert, a cup of coffee to go with their apple pie with one scoop of vanilla ice cream. Paula unhooked her frilly white apron from its hook in the laundry room and worked in silence for the next hour and a half, keeping a careful eye on the clock.
Finally, Paula set the table for two, arranging each place setting symmetrically. Her last act was to drop a straw into Phillip’s glass of iced tea with practiced flourish. She glanced at the oven clock and went down the hall to the master bathroom to get ready. She held a damp washcloth to her face then pulled her hairbrush from the drawer and ran the stiff bristles along the sides and top of her head. She smoothed her hands down the front of her short-sleeved gray housedress and adjusted the seams of her stockings, which ran into sensible white flats.
She heard Phillip’s car pull into the driveway. Paula threw her shoulders back and greeted her husband when he opened the front door. With a wide smile, she held out her arms, beckoning him.
“Hello dear. How was your day?”
Phillip smiled and gave his wife a chaste hug. “It was fine. And how was your day?”
“Oh, fine. Let me take your jacket. Dinner is ready. Baked chicken, your favorite,” she sing-songed.
“Mmmm, that sounds delicious. I’m starving.”
As Philip waited, Paula took her husband’s blazer and hung it up in the bedroom closet, taking care not to let it press against any other clothing. Paula came back to escort Phillip to the small white wood dining room table and pulled out his chair. She smiled and picked up the white linen napkin next to his plate and tucked it over his blue striped tie and into the collar of his crisp blue shirt. With a small smile, she dished up dinner for them both. She picked up his glass of iced tea and brought the straw to his lips.
“Tell me when,” she said as she held the straw. He took a few hearty sips then nodded his head, indicating he was through. With a contented smile, Paula put the glass down next to Phillip’s plate before she took her place at the table across from him.
Live and Let Die Page 4
