The Hot Flash Club Chills Out

by Nancy Thayer

  Alice gave in. “You’re right. I am tired. No matter how much aspirin I take, my arthritis makes me ache all the time and gives me muscle spasms that make my whole body fold up like a deck chair. I don’t have time to exercise and”—she held out her hand in a stop gesture at Shirley—“I’m eating too much and gaining weight again. But I need the fuel for energy, and I just don’t have the stamina to stress my body out with a diet.”

  Faye leaned forward. “Have you mentioned this to Alan?”

  “Alan! Of course not. I don’t want him to feel guilty. He’s got enough on his mind. I’m out there to help them, not worry them.”

  “Have you considered cutting down your hours?” Polly asked. “Like, just going out three days a week instead of five? That way you’d have two to rest and recoup.”

  Alice made a face. “I can’t do that. They need my help.”

  “You won’t be much help to them if you have another heart attack,” Shirley observed quietly.

  “I’m not going to have another heart attack!” Alice insisted. “This is good stress, after all.”

  “What does Gideon say?” Faye asked.

  The waiter arrived with their drinks, and Alice got busy squeezing the lime into her vodka tonic.

  “Right,” Shirley said. “So he agrees with us.”

  “I suppose,” Alice admitted grumpily. Looking around the table at her friends, she asked, “But really, what can I do?”

  Wanting to perk up the group, Faye leaned forward with a sly grin on her face. “No one’s asked me why I look tired.”

  Marilyn obliged. “Tell me, Faye, why do you look tired?”

  “Because Aubrey and I finally got around to making love.”

  “High five, girl!” Alice held up her hand.

  “Not so fast, Alice. I haven’t told you the whole story.”

  “He couldn’t get it up.” Marilyn had dated a man with this particular problem.

  Faye shook her head, looking mischievous. “Actually, he could. Without, I might add, any chemical assistance.” Everyone knew about the disaster that had taken place when Marilyn’s lover had tried Viagra. “No, Aubrey did really well. I mean, he was like Mt. Everest, and I was climbing right up into the rarefied heights.” She lowered her voice. “To drop the metaphor, I was on top, and his hands were on my, um, chest, supporting me a little, and things were happening that haven’t happened for me in years, and just at the crucial moment…” She hesitated.

  “Don’t stop now!” Polly cried.

  Faye laughed. “Those were my thoughts precisely. But he did stop—he has bursitis in his shoulder, and I guess my weight was too much for him. He grabbed his arm like I’d shot an arrow into it, clenching his teeth with pain. I felt terrible! He took three aspirins, lay on a heating pad, and had to phone his doctor for painkillers in the morning.”

  “That’s horrible!” Marilyn said. “Poor Aubrey.”

  “Poor you,” Alice said, with feeling.

  “He’s at my house now,” Faye continued. “He’s basically planted on my sofa, taking Percocet three times a day. He’s too drugged out to do more than watch television.”

  “And you’re waiting on him hand and foot?” Shirley asked.

  Faye nodded. “Well, I do feel responsible. I am responsible.”

  “We’re all at the age when bits and pieces are falling apart on us,” Polly mused as she stabbed her fork into her swordfish.

  “It can only get worse,” Marilyn chimed in. “Mother says when she goes to the Senior Citizens Club, she hears a lot of ‘organ recitals.’”

  Shirley looked at Polly. “I notice you’re not saying a thing, but you look tired, too.”

  Polly took a sip of wine. “Well, I guess I am in kind of a rocky spot with Hugh.”

  “Rocky spot?” Alice scoffed. “You and Hugh have his ex-wife at the center of your relationship!”

  “I know.” Polly looked dejected. “I try to talk with him about it. I told him I don’t want to turn this into an ultimatum, either he chooses her or me. I’m not that dumb! I know if he had to choose, he’d choose Carol, because of their three children and all the grandchildren. I’m not asking him to stop seeing her forever. I just want him to get her to back off a bit. I want him to remind her that they’re divorced.”

  Shirley pointed her fork at Polly. “You still haven’t told us your real problem.”

  Polly raised her eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

  “You’re working too hard for Havenly Yours.”

  Polly’s jaw dropped. She didn’t think anyone had noticed. “Well…” Wriggling in her chair, she debated with herself just how much to say.

  “Polly’s been at Havenly Yours almost every work day since January,” Shirley reminded the others. “Without pay, I might add. The three of you are independently wealthy—”

  “Not wealthy,” Faye objected.

  “—so you probably just didn’t think about all Polly’s doing for free. I think we should give her a break.”

  “Which means what, in practical terms?” Alice inquired.

  “It means we should hire someone to take Polly’s place.” Before Alice could object, she continued, “Havenly Yours is showing a very slight profit now. It’s enough to pay another person full time. Come on, The Haven’s never been about profits anyway. It’s meant to be a haven, for all of us on the board as well as our clients.”

  Faye put her hand on Polly’s arm. “Tell us how you feel about this, Polly. I knew you were working, but I thought you liked it. It never occurred to me you’d be burnt out. Are you?”

  Chagrined, Polly felt her lower lip quiver in response to so much concern. “Yes. But I don’t want…” to become dispensable to the group, she thought, but could never have admitted aloud, any more than she could have jumped up and danced a tarantella on the tabletop.

  “And while we’re at it,” Shirley raised her voice slightly, “I’m pretty tired myself. I never realized how administrative duties could weigh you down.”

  Alice nodded in sympathetic agreement. “Yeah, the papers accumulate one by one. It’s like having a few little snowflakes drift down and while you’re bending over to pick one up, an entire igloo falls on your ass.”

  “So should we all make a pact to take things a little easier?” Marilyn asked. She looked worried even thinking about it.

  “No, Marilyn, we’re going to do a lot more than that!” Shirley wriggled all over like a puppy. Waving her hands to quiet the table, she explained, “You all know Nora Salter, the great old gal I used to give massages to. Well, of course you know her, she’s invested heavily in The Haven. Well! Now she’s called to ask a favor.”

  Alice snorted. “Okay, we’re all stressed out, and your antidote is to do Nora Salter a favor?”

  Shirley’s glow didn’t dim. “Absolutely. Wait till you hear.”

  “We’re waiting.” Alice folded her arms over her chest.

  “We’re going to spend the summer on Nantucket. Here’s the deal. Nora owns a house there. It’s been in her family forever. She usually goes there in the summer, but she’s got to have an operation—a hip replacement. So she can’t go down there this summer, but she doesn’t want to leave the house empty. She asked if we all might like to use it.”

  “Wow.” Faye sighed. “I love Nantucket.”

  “I’ve never been there,” Polly admitted.

  “Nor have I, “Marilyn said. “But I’d love to spend some time there. I know the island has an indigenous population of horseshoe crabs, a descendant of the trilobites I study.”

  “Well, that sells me,” Alice said dryly. With a suspicious eye on Shirley, she asked, “What’s the catch?”

  “Well, Alice, does there have to be a catch?” Shirley shot back defensively. Wilting slightly under Alice’s steady stare, she confessed, “It’s not a catch, as such. It’s just that a lot of small, valuable antiques have been disappearing from Nora’s house. She’s got a friend who checks the place about once a week, and she say
s there are no unlocked doors, no broken windows, no signs of breaking in. She noticed some stuff missing in February. Nora went down last week. She was stunned at how much had disappeared. Silver candlesticks, cloisonné vases, that sort of thing.”

  “It’s got to be the caretaker, doesn’t it?” Faye observed.

  Shirley shook her head. “Nora says absolutely not. Kezia Jones is absolutely trustworthy.”

  “Maybe her children?” Polly suggested. “They’d have access to her keys.”

  “Kezia’s child is about one year old! Come on, ladies!” Shirley urged. “We’re talking about a house on Nantucket for the summer for free! And all we have to do is be there. Our presence will be enough to prevent anyone from breaking in and taking anything until Nora can get down there.”

  Leaning her chin on her hand, Marilyn said in a dreamy voice, “The beaches are heavenly there. Golden sand stretching forever.”

  Shirley told them, “We could swim, bike, take long walks, and get really healthy.”

  “We could shop,” Faye added with a gleam in her eye. “I’ve heard the stores are fabulous.”

  Alice brought them down to earth. “But none of us can take three months off! Three weeks maybe, but even that would be stretching it. We’ve all got too many responsibilities. We can’t just leave everything.”

  “We don’t have to, silly!” Shirley countered. “We don’t all have to be there all the time!” Drawing a grid on the tablecloth with her knife, she said, “Five of us, twelve weeks, that’s eighty-four days. We’ll stagger our schedules so that three, or two, or even one of us is always there, while the rest are up here carrying on.”

  “But we all five have to be there together some of the time,” Faye cried. “Think how much fun it will be! We’ll lie in the sun, walk by the surf, sip margaritas or”—with a smile for Shirley, who was a recovering alcoholic, she added—“iced tea with mint.”

  “The Hot Flash Club Chills Out,” Polly said. “What a concept!”

  “How soon can we go down?” Marilyn asked. “Let’s all go together the first time, okay?”

  Alice dug in her purse for her Palm Pilot. “Let’s find a couple of dates that might work for all of us.”

  Polly was looking worried, Shirley noticed. “The first thing we’re doing tomorrow, Polly, is starting a search for someone to take on your job.”

  Alice glanced up. “I’ll help with that. Now, the weekend is probably best for all of us, right?”

  “Not necessarily,” Faye said. “The middle of the week works as well for me, and I’ll bet the weekends are getting pretty crowded now, with people going over to open up their houses.”

  “Okay, then. How soon do we want to go?”

  “Tomorrow!” Faye cried playfully.

  “No, we’ve got to organize a few things first,” Marilyn said.

  “The week after next?” Shirley asked hopefully. “That should give us all time to arrange things.”

  Everyone nodded eagerly.

  “This is so exciting,” Marilyn said. “I feel better already!”

  “I can feel the sand under my feet.” Faye sighed.

  Alice was less romantic. “I can feel the sand in my bathing suit.”

  Shirley softly tapped her fork against her glass to get their attention again. “There’s one more little thing.”

  “Oh, boy, here we go,” Alice said. “Spit it out.”

  “It’s nothing to worry about. It probably won’t even bother us. It may not even exist!”

  “What on earth are you talking about?” Marilyn asked.

  Shirley hunched her shoulders up protectively and said in a very small voice, “Nora says there might be a ghost.”

  7

  Mother, I’m putting the lists on the refrigerator, okay?”

  “Yes, dear,” Ruth replied. “On the refrigerator.”

  “Here’s the phone number for the Nantucket house, and my cell phone number is here, and so are Faye’s and Alice’s just in case mine doesn’t work for some reason.”

  “Darling, I’ll be fine.”

  “Of course you will, but I just want to go over things with you again. Here is Ian’s work schedule and his phone number at the university and his cell phone, in case of emergency. We stocked your cupboards yesterday, and I’ve made some casseroles; the instructions for heating them up are on the list, too.”

  “I know how to heat food, Marilyn, and you’ve left enough to feed the Tibetan army.”

  Marilyn hesitated, wondering whether Tibet even had an army. That just didn’t seem right somehow, so was this another sign of her mother’s increasing senility?

  Focus, she commanded herself.

  Faye was arriving at any moment to pick up Marilyn for the drive down to Hyannis, which was great for Marilyn since she had only one car, and Ian might need that, even though he, like Marilyn, often commuted to work via the subway. Marilyn had been up since five-thirty, responding to e-mail related to her MIT classes, students, and committees, making lists to leave for her mother and Ian, and, finally, packing for this little weekend jaunt, which turned out to be more complicated than she’d anticipated. Last year, when she’d flown fairly often to Scotland to visit Ian, she’d had her travel kit ready to go at a moment’s notice, but of course now that Ian was living with her, she hadn’t used the kit. For a while, she couldn’t even find it, because when she and Ian moved in to this narrow, three-story rental, she’d happily and quickly thrown things into boxes and black plastic bags. Last night, it had taken her one long, muttering, hair-pulling hour to paw through the various boxes and bags at the back of the various closets, an hour she’d planned to use for other things, such as making lists for Ruth.

  The beep of a car horn interrupted her thoughts.

  “That’s Faye!” Marilyn bent over to kiss her mother. “Now remember, Ian’s son Angus is living here for a while, so if you hear anyone walking around upstairs, don’t be alarmed.”

  “Darling.” Reaching up, Ruth put both bony hands on Marilyn’s shoulders, pulling her close enough to give her an Eskimo nose rub. “I’m going to be just fine. I’m snug as a bug in a mug down here.”

  “Good.” Faye had picked up Shirley and Polly first; Marilyn’s home in Cambridge was the closest to Route 3, the highway down to the Cape. She didn’t want to keep all three women waiting.

  Ruth continued, “If I get lonely, I’ll invite Ernest over. But I’ve had a busy week, and I’m looking forward to a nice quiet weekend with my knitting, my television, and my crossword puzzles. So don’t you worry about me for a minute! Just have a wonderful time.”

  “Thanks, Mom.” Marilyn appreciated her mother’s words, but the little speech took so long, and her mother’s hands made her feel so trapped—she felt like an adolescent again, desperate to get away.

  Three more toots sounded. Marilyn could tell her mother couldn’t hear them. Faye had planned extra time into their schedule for the drive to Hyannis, in case the traffic was heavy; still they had to be there on time or they’d miss the ferry.

  “Faye’s here! She’s honking her horn! Gotta go!” She wrenched herself away.

  Just as Marilyn got to the door to the stairs, Ruth called, “Marilyn?”

  “Yes, Mother?” She forced brightness into her voice.

  “Remember, if you don’t fricassee, fry, fry a hen.”

  “Ha, ha, ha!” Was that a touch of hysteria in her dutiful laugh? “See you tomorrow night, Mother!”

  Marilyn raced up the stairs, grabbed her backpack and duffel bag, returned to the kitchen to double-check that all the burners were off on the stove, confirmed that her house keys were in the middle of the kitchen table with a note written in BIG letters telling Angus to use them if he needed to, ran down the hall and out the front door.

  Faye’s hunter green Mercedes idled gently in the driveway. Faye, Polly, and Shirley waved merrily from the windows. Marilyn waved back, tested the doorknob to be sure it was firmly closed, crossed the porch, skipped down the
steps, tripped on the last step, and went sprawling on the front lawn.

  “Marilyn!” Unbuckling their seat belts, all three threw open the car doors and jumped out.

  Marilyn lay on her side. She’d caught herself with her hands and taken the brunt of the fall on her right hip. For a moment she couldn’t get her breath.

  Faye knelt next to Marilyn. “Are you all right?”

  “Fine,” Marilyn gasped. “Must…catch…breath.”

  “Take your time,” Shirley urged. “We’re in no hurry.”

  That, Marilyn knew, wasn’t precisely true. Gingerly, she sat up.

  “How do you feel?” Polly asked.

  “Like an idiot.”

  Faye grinned. “She meant, did you break anything?”

  Marilyn stretched, taking a mental inventory of her body. “Nope. Only my pride is hurt.” But when she pressed her hands on the ground to push herself up, she realized she’d abraded them during the fall.

  Faye helped Marilyn up. Shirley took Marilyn’s hands in hers and inspected her palms. “Oh, dear.”

  “Just little scrapes,” Marilyn said.

  Polly peered over Shirley’s shoulder. “Still, you’d better wash them and put some ointment on.”

  Marilyn turned to go back into the house. “I can’t get inside. I left my keys for Angus.”

  Polly said in a sensible tone, “Well, knock on the door, he’ll let you in.”

  Marilyn shook her head. “Uh-uh. Angus is up in the attic. Besides, he wouldn’t hear me if I yelled his name through a loudspeaker. He lives in his own little world.”

  “Well, isn’t Ruth home? Let’s go around back to her French doors—” Shirley set off walking.

  “Shirley, stop!” Marilyn’s voice took on a slightly desperate tone. “Trust me, if we go into Ruth’s place, she’ll take forever just to get to the door, and then she’ll want to cluck over my hands, and she’ll have to ask you all how you are, and we’ll miss the ferry—we’ll miss all the ferries.” To her surprise, she was on the verge of tears.

  “Right.” Faye picked up Marilyn’s duffel bag and tossed it in the trunk of her Mercedes. “Let’s go!”