by Kyra Davis
“April? You sound irritated.”
Tad’s voice allowed me to bring my guard down. “I’m more than irritated, I’m pissed. They still haven’t closed the store or even suggested that the customers bring their purchases to the register.”
“What the hell’s wrong with them? Do they think their employees don’t have lives of their own? Is there someone I can call for you?”
“Great idea—” I pulled out the day’s charge slips and started putting them in order “—you can call Liz at home and tell her how ticked you are that your wife is working late hours. I’m sure that will do wonders for my career.”
“Maybe I could come over there and sexually harass the customers until they leave.”
“Nothing doing—from now on you have to save all of your sexual harassment for me.”
“Well, I’m coming down there. You can’t work all night, we have nightclubs to hit.”
“Nightclubs? Are you serious? We didn’t get any sleep last night.”
“Yeah, I remember.” I could practically hear him grinning.
“Tad, I’m exhausted. All I want to do is go home, watch a Friends rerun and hit the sheets.”
“Tell you what, we’ll pump you full of caffeine, tape Friends, and after dancing for a few hours we’ll hit the sheets together.”
“Okay, let me draw your attention to the big difference in our agendas. Mine actually involves sleep.”
“You’re too young to be tired. I’m just a few blocks away, I’ll meet you by the employee exit.”
I started to protest but he had already hung up. I considered calling him back but finally replaced the receiver in its cradle with a resigned sigh.
“Everyone, you may now close your registers.” The minute the disembodied voice gave the instructions over the loudspeaker I saw my fellow indentured servants grabbing their blue bags filled with the money from their prematurely closed registers and racing to customer service, where, after a not-so-quick money count, they would be freed. If I got out right now, I might not be the absolute last person in line for a change. The phone rang. I hesitated: don’t answer, don’t answer. It rang again. This is why I’m always late. I have some weird condition that makes it impossible for me to not answer phones. “Dawson’s Sassy department, can I help you?”
“Two fucking garter belts.”
“Are you serious, Allie? We stayed—” I checked my watch again “—forty minutes late so they could buy garter belts? Were they really expensive garter belts?”
“Twenty bucks a pop.”
“Did you at least make your day?”
“Nope. And since I had to keep my salespeople overtime I probably won’t make my selling-cost goal either.”
“So basically you’re telling me there is no upside.”
“Basically I’m telling you I’m ready to go on a killing spree.”
“Hey, I have an idea. Why don’t you come out with Tad and me and we’ll kill people together?”
“Sorry, but I’m dead on my feet, which by the way are about to fall off. I’m just going to go home, get out my laser pen and do some sniper attacks on the neighbors.”
Totally unfair. I was tired, my feet hurt, I wanted to do sniper attacks. Why did she get to have all the fun? Because she’s not married to Tad, the master of sweet talk. “Fine, meet me in front of your department—we’ll stand in the customer service line together.”
“Gee, with an invitation like that, how can I say no?”
I hung up and looked around. Everyone else on my floor had vacated. I sighed and carried my money bags and receipts up the frozen escalator. Allie was waiting for me at the top looking like she was ready to spit fire. “I hate closing,” she hissed as we walked the rest of the way to customer service.
“Sure you won’t come out with us?”
Allie shook her head. “Some other time. Hey, I was talking to Jeremiah the other day and he tells me you’ve been avoiding him.”
“I have not. He wants to go to dinner with Tad and me but every time we plan something, Tad’s work gets in the way and we have to cancel. One of these days it’ll happen.”
“Huh…” Allie flipped her hair behind her shoulders. “Tad never seems to cancel on you when you guys are going out by yourselves. Are you sure he’s not putting this whole dinner thing off because he’s jealous?”
“Of what?” I asked with a note of amusement. “I mean, my God, Allie, is there a man alive that is less my type than Jeremiah? And I can’t imagine that I fit into his little rocker world, either.”
Allie shrugged. “Jealousy isn’t always based on logic. Anyway, if you do want to hang with him, why don’t you come with me to see him and his band practice?”
I felt a stabbing feeling in my stomach. “He asked you to watch him practice? Are you two…moving beyond friendship?”
“Nah, he’s not my type, either. I thought he was but now that I’ve gotten to know him, he’s just a little too…”
“Stable?” I asked, thinking of the series of losers Allie had dated over the last few years.
“Funny. No, it’s not that. I guess the problem is lack of chemistry, although I’m sure I’ll still want to eat him alive next time I see him onstage. But here’s the thing, I ran into him at a café near our place and he was with the other band members—”
“I know where this is going.”
“Oh my God, April, the second guitarist has serious bedding potential. He’s like a cross between Kurt Cobain and Ben Stiller.”
“So he’s a heroine addict with a knack for physical comedy?”
“Shut up. Anyway, you should come. They’ll be practicing at his house at one tomorrow. You have the day off, right?”
I nodded and stepped forward as the line moved. “I don’t have anything else planned.” I glanced ahead at the cashier sorting through the piles of cash that had been handed to him by the accessories manager. Going over to a guy’s house to watch his band practice was so high school, but for reasons that I wasn’t willing to examine I found the idea rather thrilling.
Thirty minutes later Tad and I were riding up in the glass elevator at the Saint Francis Hotel. He had vetoed my suggestion that we get our late-night snack at Taco Bell. I allowed Tad to order for us since I couldn’t get my eyes to focus long enough to read the menu. The bartender placed a couple of vodka martinis in front of us and Tad raised his glass to make a toast.
“To my wife, the most beautiful woman in this or any other room.”
I took a small sip of my drink. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”
Tad leaned forward so that his lips were aligned next to my ear. “Does that mean that if I keep this up you’ll let me ravish you twice tonight?”
I smiled weakly. The only way he was getting it twice was if he served me a double espresso sweetened with a vial of cocaine. “Jeremiah invited Allie to one of his band’s practice sessions. I think I’m going to go, too.”
Tad pulled back abruptly. “Why would you want to watch him practice? Wouldn’t it be better to wait to see the polished act onstage?”
The edge in Tad’s voice surprised me. Maybe Allie was on to something with the jealousy thing. “I think the point is to give Allie the opportunity to pick up,” I said. No point in mentioning that Jeremiah was not Allie’s intended target.
“Oh…” Tad took a long drink of his beverage. “Can’t Allie do better than an out-of-work musician?”
Okay, that had been needlessly harsh. “He’s not out of work, he’s a personal trainer and, believe it or not, his band is being booked with a certain amount of regularity these days.”
Tad grunted and took another drink.
“Tad, why haven’t we had dinner with Jeremiah yet?”
“What do you mean why? I’ve been busy with work and so have you.”
“We’ve made the time to go out together almost every night. But whenever we make plans to hang out with Jeremiah, you have to work late or something.”
“You
think I’ve been making up excuses?” Tad snapped.
“Have you?”
Tad swiveled in his seat. “You’re accusing me of lying?”
“All I’m doing is asking you a question. Are you avoiding Jeremiah or not?”
“Not.”
“Fine, I believe you.” We fell silent as the bartender served us the oysters and calamari that Tad had ordered. I didn’t really believe him but I was way too tired to fight about it.
I watched him plunge his fork into the calamari and then drench it in a thick red cocktail sauce. “Tad, do you ever get jealous?”
Tad’s fork stopped halfway on its journey to his mouth. “Why would I get jealous?”
“No reason. It’s just that some people are naturally jealous and others aren’t. Where do you fit in?”
“I’m not a jealous person, but if you ever gave me reason to be there’d be trouble.”
“I’m not going to give you reason.” I gently prodded an oyster with my cocktail fork. “Would you ever give me reason?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
I tentatively placed the oyster on my tongue. “You know, I have never seen you ogle anyone but me.”
“You make it sound like that’s a bad thing.”
“It’s not bad but it’s certainly not normal. What about movie stars? Like Julia Roberts, what do you think of her?”
Tad shrugged. “She’s okay.”
“Okay isn’t great. What about Nicole Kidman?”
“She’s a good-looking woman,” he said with little enthusiasm.
“Catherine Zeta-Jones?”
A slow smile crept over Tad’s face. “Yeah, she’s a…really good actress.”
I laughed. “Right, and Playboy has got some really good articles.” I tapped my fingers to the beat of the big-band music coming from the dance floor. “For me, it’s Brad Pitt.”
Tad nodded solemnly. “Listen, if you ever have a one-night stand with Brad Pitt I’ll understand. No one else, just Brad.”
I pressed my hand against my heart. “That is so sweet. And I’ll let you mess around with Catherine. We just won’t tell Angelina or Michael about it. They’re probably not as mature about these things as we are.”
Tad laughed and reached out to play with one of my unruly locks. “I’d pick you over Catherine any day of the week.” He pulled me forward and pressed his lips against mine before adding, “However, if you ever want to have a threesome—”
I swatted him playfully. “Not gonna happen.” My eyes traveled to the dance floor where a woman in her forties with bright red highlights was kicking up her heels with a guy who looked to be barely old enough to qualify for military service. “You know, it’s been a while since I’ve talked to my mother.”
“I thought that’s what you wanted.”
There was something in his tone that made me quickly bring my eyes back to him. “It was. Every week or so she calls my department and my cell and I keep screening the calls and deleting the messages. Eventually I’m going to have to make peace, and since I have Sunday off I was thinking maybe we could use the time to take a drive down to Santa Cruz.”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“What do you mean why not? She refused to come to our wedding! You don’t need to forgive her for that. She doesn’t deserve it.”
Hello? At what point had Tad adopted this viewpoint? “She and Bobe are the only family I have,” I said carefully. “And let’s face it, Bobe won’t be around forever.”
Tad put his glass down on the bar with enough force to cause the alcohol to spill over the sides. “The only family you have? What the hell am I?”
“Wait, that’s not what I meant.”
“We’re husband and wife, April. We’re supposed to be there for each other ’til the end. Partners. And now you sit there and you tell me that without your mother and grandmother you would be alone?” Tad slammed the rest of his drink and glared at his empty glass.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”
For a moment Tad looked pacified. He reached over and patted my hand as if to let me know that I was forgiven. Something about the gesture sparked a fire inside me.
I pulled my hand away and sat up a little straighter. “Actually, Tad, I’m not sorry. I didn’t do anything wrong.”
Tad stared at me with something that looked like shock.
I swallowed. I hadn’t challenged Tad on anything since the miscarriage, but I had this gut feeling that I couldn’t allow him to make this decision. “I want to see my mother.” I enunciated each word carefully, as if our communication problem was due to a language barrier rather than some emotional dynamic. “She and Bobe are my only blood relatives. That’s all I said and that’s all I meant. I’m sorry if you misinterpreted my remarks, but I really don’t think that’s my fault.”
Tad couldn’t have looked more stricken if I had slapped him across the face. He opened and closed his mouth as if he was trying to talk but the words refused to come.
I brought my drink to my lips in order to hide my smile.
“I…I didn’t…” Tad stammered. “Maybe my anger was a bit misdirected.”
I blinked in surprise. That may very well have been the closest thing to an apology that I had ever heard Tad utter.
“I just don’t want to see you get hurt,” he continued at a pace that indicated that his words were being carefully selected.
“Why would I get hurt?”
“Because that’s all your mother does, she just hurts you over and over.”
I winced at the truth of his statement.
“You’ve been forgiving her all your life.” Tad was now speaking with more confidence, which was ironic because his comments were eating away at mine. “You forgave her for not being there for you as a kid. You forgave her for being a bad role model and now you want to forgive her for not coming to our wedding. When does it stop, April?”
I felt my back curve into a hunchbacklike position. “She’s my mom,” I said feebly.
“Genetically that’s true, but when has she ever been a mom in the more real sense?”
I couldn’t answer the question. I didn’t want to mentally recount all the times my mother had failed me just so that I might stumble across the one or two memories of times when she hadn’t.
“Don’t put yourself through it, April.” Tad looked directly into my eyes and his expression was filled with so much love that I wanted to just melt into his arms. “You don’t need her. You will never have to beg anyone to love and care for you again. You will always have those things in me.”
I let my head fall forward onto his shoulder. I did have him, and maybe that really was enough.
SEVENTEEN
Tad was gone by the time I woke up the next morning. I didn’t mind; I actually relished having a few moments to myself. I stretched my arms over my head and squinted at the clock: 9:00 a.m. God, I couldn’t remember the last time I had been able to sleep in that late. I rolled over onto my stomach and thought about the day ahead. The only thing I had planned was Jeremiah’s band practice at one.
I crawled out of bed and threw on a silk Calvin Klein robe that Tad had recently bought me. It was a silly thing to buy a woman who got a thirty-three percent discount at a lingerie department, but the sentiment behind the gesture was nice. I slid my feet into some fuzzy slippers and followed the smell of coffee. Tad had made sure there was enough left in the pot for me to have at least two cups.
The phone rang as I was taking my first sip. I sighed and put my coffee down. Probably Tad; he often called me when I didn’t wake in time to say goodbye.
“Hello?”
“Hello, I’m calling for April Silverperson or Tad Showers.”
I rolled my eyes, all telemarketers should be sent to some remote island that was equipped with absolutely no long distance phone service. “This is April.”
“Ms. Silverperson this is Will, I’m calling from Chase Ma
nhattan Bank in regard to your Visa bill.”
“My bill?” I shook my head, trying to clear the cobwebs. I didn’t have a card with Chase.
“Yes, ma’am, your payment is now two months late. In order to avoid additional late fees you can make a payment right now over the phone.”
“I’m sorry, but there has to be some mistake. I don’t have a credit card with you.”
“Ma’am, we have records of you opening an account with us five months ago.”
“I’ve never opened up an account with Chase.”
“I’m looking at our records here and it looks like everything’s in order. We’ve been sending the bills to P.O. Box 12…”
“That’s not my address—I don’t even have a P.O. Box. Oh my God, someone’s gotten hold of my social security number!” I started pacing the floor.
There was an uncomfortable pause before the man responded. “Our records show that you opened the account last November and added Tad Showers to the account the following month. Is this information inaccurate?”
“Yes, it’s inaccurate! How much has it been run up to?”
“The balance is now eleven thousand twenty-three dollars and fifty-one cents.”
“Oh my God.” My hand flew up to my forehead.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but could you please hold on a moment?”
“Yes, of course.” I tugged at the lapels of my robe. If someone had gotten my social security number, there could be dozens of cards under my name being maxed out all over the country. I had heard stories of things like this happening to people but it never occurred to me that it could happen to me.
“Ma’am, are you still there?”
“Yes, I’m here.” I walked out into the living room as if movement could somehow alleviate my anxiety.
“Okay, I’m looking at your list of charges and I’m going to read a few off to you, starting from when the card was first opened.”
“All right, I’m listening.”
“There was a two-thousand-dollar charge made at the Ritz-Carlton. There was an eight-hundred-dollar charge made to a place called Wedding Limos. There is a six-hundred-dollar charge to Mondavi Vineyards, and three cash-advance checks written to Smith Barney, one for $2,300, another for $4,897 and one for $5,689. The most recent charge was for six hundred dollars to Sibella Brandeis art studio.”
