Driving in Neutral

by Sandra Antonelli

  Olivia didn’t want to think about it. She never wanted to think about it. In fact, she hadn’t thought about it since she signed the divorce papers. It had happened and it was over. Okay, it had been unanticipated, it had been strange, but it was not overwhelming. Letting Karl perturb her and allowing it to agitate Ella was counterproductive. “I’m fine,” she said with a shrug. “It was just a momentary hiccup. Sometimes tires blow, engines fail, and gearboxes disintegrate, but you go on with the… This isn’t a competition. It’s your wedding. So let’s get back to focusing on that and leave the past where it was.”

  Ella blinked a few times. Then she frowned and took a seat on the bed, wrapping her arms around Olivia. “You’re remarkable, you know that?”

  “No, I’m not. I just have remarkable reflexes.” Olivia hugged her back, smoothing her friend’s hair. “I’m well trained in dealing with unexpected turns. Damn, there I go again.”

  The airy little laugh that flipped from Ella’s lips was followed by a sigh. “Actually, I meant some people live in the past, but you’re so well protected, so in control and distant from your own history, you don’t let it, or anything else, touch you. I know I already said this before, but this wedding has been good for you, especially this weekend. Over the last few weeks it’s been like a fog has finally lifted from you. You seem happier than I’ve seen you in a long time. I was worried Karl was going to spoil it.”

  “Spoil your wedding? No way would that happen. I won’t let that happen.”

  “I know.” Ella pulled away, her expression thoughtful. She brushed her hands over her cheeks. “I mean spoil how you are. You’ve been smiling and laughing a lot more. You’ve got your old spark back and it’s nice, because for the last year you’ve been behind some kind of shield, muffled by your defense.”

  “Muffled?”

  “After you walked out on Karl, you cut yourself off, detached yourself from your emotions.”

  “No I didn’t.” Olivia shook her head.

  Ella nodded. “Yes, you did. And like I said, you’ve been muffled.”

  “That’s ridiculous. I laugh all the time.”

  “Oh, sure, you smile and laugh at jokes. You find humor in everything. You know when to smile, when to make a comment, you pick up all the cues, but you’re not really you. You’re so level. Everything with you has been even-handed. You look like you, but you haven’t been you. You never get mad or upset or have any wild reaction to anything at all. There’s just been this…complete calm. Except for a few times, like the day you went down to E&P for the job. Pete said you got soaked in the rain and you didn’t bat an eye, except for…except for Emerson and how he was so, um, annoying, but you got right back down to business. You’re all business and management. Everything bounces off you. Nothing sticks or penetrates. Damn, Olivia, you’ve been so well managed you’ve been…you’ve been, well not robotic, but absolutely flat and something’s finally sparked you back to life. You’re breathing again and I hope seeing Karl isn’t going to drag you back under cover. I know how very much you once loved him.”

  Olivia ran a finger over the scar on her chin. She took a couple of steps and sat on the edge of the bed. She couldn’t deny the fact she had loved Karl deeply, but she was a little confused by Ella’s statement. “I’ve been flat?” she asked.

  Ella nodded. “You’ve been flat and I’ve been a bitch. Ask anyone. They’ll all say the same thing. Ella’s the bitchiest bitch in all Bitchtown and Olivia’s flat. Pete noticed you were different the day you showed up at his office, and he was really shocked. He asked me if you were all right. I kind of wondered myself because you haven’t even prickled with Justine. I know you don’t like me to intervene and you usually deal with her in your own way, but you haven’t complained about her once. You haven’t made any sort of comment about her and you certainly haven’t told her or me to go to hell, even when I’ve given you lots of cause to.”

  People seldom have a completely accurate self-image. They usually get one or two things wrong, usually little things, but this was something Olivia lacked any awareness of at all. She was stunned by how Ella saw her. “I’ve been flat?” she said again.

  “I knew it was a defensive mechanism to cover up how much Karl hurt you and maybe you just got used to how it felt.” Ella squeezed Olivia’s shoulder reassuringly. “You know, I’m really good at keeping things to myself. I guess didn’t realize how good you were too.” A sly smile tugged at her lips and she giggled. “So how come you never told me exactly how well you got to know Emerson the day you met him in the elevator?”

  Olivia groaned and rolled her eyes. “Oh, for the love of God!”

  Every trace of tears gone, Ella cascaded into a sliding musical scale of laughter. “You don’t know how much I’ve wanted to say something.”

  Covering her eyes with one hand, Olivia groaned again. “How long have you known?”

  “Since the day you started at E&P. I think he likes you.”

  “Oh, you sounded just like you did in ninth grade. Olivia, Olivia, Gregory Wallashowski likes you!”

  “Well, he did.”

  “Okay, what did big mouth Maxwell tell you?”

  “Okay, I know he seems to annoy you. I’ve heard peculiar things come out of his mouth too, but Emerson didn’t tell me anything. Pete did.”

  “Pete? What did your brother say?”

  Ella laughed again, poked her tongue out of the corner of her mouth and wiggled her eyebrows. “He said Emerson talked you into getting naked in the elevator.”

  “Is anyone interested in the real story?”

  “Sweetie, you of all people should know well how scandal sells.”

  Disgusted with that truth, Olivia grunted and flopped backward onto the bed.

  Chapter 16

  Emerson retied the lace on his bowling shoe and glanced at the computerized screen above their lane. Not one of them seemed to know how to keep score, but it didn’t seem to matter and no one cared. The pizza was tasty and the accompanying beer was delivered by a very pretty barmaid. She wore a satiny bowling shirt that showed off her substantial cleavage and very tiny black shorts that accentuated long, tanned legs and an amazingly firm ass. The groomsmen were all mellowed enough to roll the ball down the lane without caring too much about who was knocking over the most pins in a single frame and each of them, in one way or another, noticed the girl balancing a tray of suds and glasses on her nicely rounded hip.

  Jason whistled after the barmaid moved on to another lane. “Now that is exactly what corn-fed should be.”

  “Isn’t the farmer’s daughter a little young for you Jason?” Martin poked him in the ribs.

  “Hey, I’m not middle aged like you are. I can still date younger women and not look like a total cock. Which reminds me, where did you meet Addie?”

  “Yeah, Mart, how old is that girl of yours anyhow?” Craig chimed in.

  “Able Addie,” Martin had a nickname for every woman he saw, even the ones he supposedly liked, “is a fitness instructor at my health club.”

  “How old is she?”

  “Yeah. Exactly. How old is Addie?” Pete chuckled.

  “I don’t know.” Martin shrugged offhandedly and bowled a pearly gray ball down the lane with a newly developed interest in the backspin he put on it.

  Al, who hadn’t said a thing in two days, suddenly spoke up, his mouth full of partially chewed pepperoni. “She’s twenty-seven. Sooze said Addie’s twenty-seven.”

  “You’re what, forty-five, Mart? That makes her like, half your age doesn’t it?”

  “Tell me something Jason, when you were in school, did they teach math?” Martin took a seat behind the scoring desk and rested an ankle on his knee.

  “Well, yeah.”

  “So where did you learn twenty-seven was half of forty-five?”

  “Dude, whatever.”

  “I think Ella’s much more beautiful than the barmaid,” Craig sighed happily, “and I don’t see the appeal of a twenty-seven-year-o
ld. Okay, I can see she is very pretty and yes, she’s hot. I can appreciate that on a primitive level, but come on, where’s the character? Where’s the substance that really makes you notice her as a woman, not a girl?”

  “I hear ya partner. Boy howdy, I hear ya. Womanly, that’s the word.” Tex nodded, reaching up with one finger to poke back the hat he wasn’t wearing.

  Emerson nodded too, somewhat absently, watching Al’s precise process of lining up on the small arrows painted on the wooden bowling lane. “Womanly is so much sexier and Olivia is a sexy woman.”

  “You think Olivia the playground supervisor is sexy?” Martin’s well-groomed eyebrows rose and he blew a dismissive puff of air from his lips.

  “What’s wrong with Olivia?” Craig asked, shooting a look at Pete. “She’s very attractive.”

  “Oh sure, if you like that no make-up, ice queen, riot police officer thing she’s got going on.”

  “What are you talking about? The woman is sexy as hell.” Emerson stood up. “Did you make a pass at her once and she shot you down, or is it that you’re intimidated by assertive women, Mart? Is that why you date them so much younger?”

  Martin waved his hand dismissively. “Please. Don’t delude yourself, Emerson. I’ve seen you looking at her, but Officer Olivia is never going to give you the chance to see the frigid little panties she’s got on under her police uniform.”

  Pete burst out with a loud laugh. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

  “You want to bet on it Pete?” Martin held out his hand for Pete to shake. “Twenty bucks.”

  Pete caught Emerson’s expression of irritation and said, “I don’t think that’s really the kind of bet I’d be comfortable making about a friend of mine.” Quickly, he glanced at Craig and cut his eyes to Emerson.

  Emerson caught the non-verbal exchange between Pete and his cousin. The wry smile Craig tried to bite was enough to convey he knew the particulars about Olivia and the incident in the elevator.

  Well, shit.

  “Yeah, you’re right,” Martin went on, “you know she’s probably the type who gives directions in bed, but wait a minute. Why would Olivia even think of getting in the sack with him? He pisses her off too much.”

  “Boys, boys,” Tex stepped in. “This here’s a friendly night.”

  “We all know he pisses her off. We’ve all heard him and I’m sure she likes knowing you think she’s a bitch.”

  “I don’t think she’s a bitch. You got that part of our conversation entirely out of context.” Instead of letting Martin rile him, which would have happened in the past, Emerson stood, moved toward the high table between two sets of orange plastic seats and reached for a slice of pizza. A sliver of pepperoni dropped onto his pale green shirt. He picked it off and said rather matter-of-factly, “My point is, Olivia’s far more womanly and sexier than your skinny little Addie, Mart.”

  “Yeah and sex with a woman is so much better.” Al grinned broadly and rolled his black ball down the lane. “Isn’t it, Tex?”

  “Yee-ha, it sure is.”

  Al turned around, a smug little smirk on his face. “Put that little x in the box. I got a strike, boys. That’s all ten pins down. I’ve been rolling strikes all weekend.”

  Craig burst out laughing. “Just what are you saying about you and Suzanne, Al?”

  The grin never left his face. “My wife,” he beamed, “is all woman.”

  “Still waters do run deep and spoken like a man who’s spent the weekend having sex.” Jason put his hand out with a flourish. “Gentlemen, if you please, a round of applause for our bookish friend, Al.”

  Tex yee-ha-ed again and clinked his beer bottle against Al’s. “Say, isn’t this ‘bout the time we’re supposed to start sangin’ like they do in Top Gun?”

  “Dude, my brother’s getting married, not shooting down bogies at ten o’clock,” Jason hooted.

  Tex didn’t care, he launched into a Righteous Brothers tune. “Ohhh, my luv, my darlin’…”

  Emerson snorted, but joined as the others began screeching Unchained Melody from the ultimate chick flick, Ghost.

  Olivia went about things alone, business as usual. Addie and the three useless bridesmaids hovered outside the sunroom, drinking peach daiquiris. They were supposed to be setting up the room for tomorrow’s breakfast, only they were more interested in getting sloshed than working.

  “Why isn’t Olivia wearing the same dress we are? How come she doesn’t have to wear pearls like us?” Justine tossed her black curls over her left shoulder, sipped from the wide glass in her hand, and turned to Mimi. “I mean they suit her, better than they do me because she’s got that…old-fashioned sense of…style, but I look so much better in something less, you know, retro.”

  “She’s the maid of honor,” Suzanne hiccupped. Gum nearly fell out of her mouth. “She’s allowed to be distinctive.”

  “Okay, she’s Ella’s little maid, but really, who do you think would want to honor her? Hey, maid of honor, we need more ice!” Justine tittered and shook the silver ice bucket she’d scraped across a wrought iron table.

  Ella’s Confederate temper had dissipated considerably throughout the day and the daiquiris had assisted even more in setting her on an even keel, but in a flash she channeled Stonewall Jackson. “Ah’ve had just about enough of yew, Jus-teen. When I get back, you’re goin’ to ‘pologize to Olivia. And if yew dare wear anythin’ but pearls tomorrow, Ah will never speak to yew again!” She snatched the ice bucket from wide-eyed Justine’s hands and whirled out of the room.

  Olivia went on setting the table for the bride’s breakfast. It wasn’t that she missed the catty remarks cast in her direction, or that she was acting like the automaton Ella had made her out to be. It wasn’t even that she believed Justine felt intimidated by her, as Maxwell had suggested. It was simply that she realized Justine’s barbs were a lot like Karl’s button-pushing teasing—and neither of them mattered. What she cared about was this wedding.

  The pretty glassed-in sunroom was a lovely spot for tomorrow’s breakfast. The Victorian inspired room was an indoor garden full of greenery. Breakfast would sit in dappled shade and soft rays of morning sunlight. Everything was ready. Yesterday’s rehearsal and dinner had gone smoothly and this evening’s bachelor party had been well under way for a few hours. This sunroom was prepared for breakfast, the rose garden was primed for chair set up, the garland and lights were strung outside the boathouse, and the tables down there would go out three hours before the ceremony. Ella’s dress was laid out and waiting. The cake would be here by eleven-thirty, the hairdresser, the photographer and florist by two. Mr. & Mrs. Thomas were driving in from town with Craig’s dad at three.

  She looked around the sunroom, at the sniggering, giggling bridesmaids. They were sloshed and she was finished, every task complete. Except…she had a creeping, irritating, itchy feeling that there was something she’d missed, that she’d made a mistake somewhere, that there was something wrong.

  She walked about the room and looked outside to the terrace and garden and boathouse. She went through the mental checklist for the wedding and ticked off every box. And then did it again. Bar bringing the thank you gifts down from Ella’s room and placing them around the table, there wasn’t anything left to do. Nothing had been overlooked, nothing had been misplaced, and nothing had unraveled. There was nothing for her to tend to.

  Nothing.

  And in the next instant that nothing, that weightless vacancy of her now idle hands somehow weighed a thousand pounds. She lurched toward the dining table and gripped the edge of it as her knees began to buckle, the load of emptiness nearly crushing her.

  She tried to take a breath but couldn’t. Her lungs would not inflate.

  She tried to swallow but saliva simply trickled from the corner of her mouth.

  The beat of her heart droned in her ears. Blinded by what seemed like smoke, but felt like burning coal-filled tears, Olivia with perfect clarity, understood. She knew why she’
d taken over coordinating Ella’s wedding. In some kind of compensation for the successful marriages she never managed to have, she’d projected her own images onto Ella’s wedding.

  This had become her wedding, not her best friend’s.

  Olivia couldn’t breathe. At all.

  What the hell? Am I losing it?

  No, I’m not.

  Yes, I am. I’m having an anxiety attack.

  No, I’m not. I don’t do anxiety, that’s Julia. Julia’s the anxious one in the family. I know the signs of an anxiety attack and thi—

  The signs? You mean the overwhelming sensation of impending doom, feeling faint, the difficulty breathing, the ridiculous sensation life is suddenly and inexorably careering out of control and toward a very large wall?

  No, no, no! I don’t fucking do anxiety!

  Well, it sure looks like you do now!

  She had no fire suit, no helmet, no nose cone to absorb the energy of a smash and protect her. She was so losing it.

  Wait… Wait…there’s the safety harness. You’ve got a safety harness!

  Okay. Okay. She wasn’t losing anything. Finally, she took a deep breath. And then another and another. This was only a moment of debris on the track. The yellow flag came out to indicate caution. She’d been driven up against a barricade, and scraped along it hard, but she was still on the course, still in her seat, still behind the wheel.

  Pete. The job with Pete. She had the job with Pete.

  Her heart rate slowed, her rubbery legs felt less like collapsing and she stood still, breathing in and out at regular intervals, staring at the pale green vine and pink floral pattern on the English bone china on the table.

  She heard Addie and Mimi near the entrance to the sunroom, tipsy and giggling. Mimi said something about how an uncircumcised penis looked like a zucchini.