The Hot Flash Club Chills Out

by Nancy Thayer

  “Did you fall asleep?” Polly stuck her head around from the passenger seat.

  “No. Just daydreaming.” Marilyn yawned and stretched. “I love that island.”

  “Did you sleep well there?” Faye asked.

  “Like a baby.” Reality struck as they turned down Marilyn’s street. “I only hope Ian was able to sleep. We have an intercom set up between Ruth’s quarters and ours, in case she needs help. She often wakes up in the middle of the night and watches TV a while before she falls back asleep. She forgets to put her hearing aid in, so she cranks up the volume.” Marilyn laughed ruefully. “I was awakened a few nights ago by Ethel Merman bellowing ‘There’s No Business Like Show Business’.”

  “You should be grateful she wasn’t watching Scream 2.” Faye laughed.

  A few moments later, they pulled into Marilyn’s driveway. She grabbed her overnight bag from the seat next to her, leaned forward to kiss Polly and Faye good-bye, and stepped out of the car. It was Sunday evening, almost nine o’clock, but spring light still lingered in the sky.

  Good-bye, Nantucket. Hello, real life.

  She waved as Faye and Polly drove away, then took a deep breath and entered her house.

  Immediately, she noticed a smell. She stood in the front hallway, a backpack in one hand, a duffel bag in the other, and sniffed. The smell was unpleasant, earthy—it smelled a bit like manure. How very odd. Oh, dear, she thought, had her mother’s kitten found its way up here and used a rug as a litter box? Well, whatever—she’d sort it out.

  Torn between the duty of saying hello to her mother and the pleasure of seeing her beloved Ian, she allowed herself to choose pleasure, and carried her bags up the stairs.

  “Is that you, Marilyn?” Ian came out of his study to meet her in the hall. He had the habit of pushing his reading glasses up on his forehead when not in use, making him seem four-eyed, but he still looked like heaven to Marilyn.

  “Hello, darling.” Marilyn hugged him tightly.

  He kissed her thoroughly. “I missed you. Did you have a good time?”

  “Oh, Ian, it was great!”

  “I want to hear all about it. Tell me about it over a sherry,” Ian suggested. “I just want to finish off some e-mail first.”

  “Fine. I’ll go down and visit Ruth for a few minutes.”

  At Ruth’s name, Ian’s face changed. “Before you go down, um, I’ve got to tell you, I think I’ve caused us a bit of a problem.”

  What could have happened in two days? Marilyn wondered. “Oh, yes?”

  Ian took a deep breath. “I bought Angus a puppy.”

  “A puppy.” The words somehow would not compute.

  “You know I’ve been so worried about him. He won’t leave his room, he’s in there day and night. I thought that if he had a puppy to care for, he might stop being quite so self-absorbed, plus he’d have to go outside, to take the dog out.”

  Marilyn stepped back from Ian. “I see your reasoning…but a dog in the house…perhaps that’s the sort of thing we should discuss.”

  “Oh, I know, I know,” Ian hurried to agree. “It’s just that Brad, who teaches at B.U. with me, told me he had a litter of pedigreed bulldogs, and the runt hadn’t sold, and they’re moving houses, and he said he’d just give me the puppy if I could take it yesterday, it would be a help to them. It all just happened so spontaneously, so quickly…”

  “I wish you had at least phoned me,” Marilyn said.

  “To ask your permission?” Ian bristled slightly as he posited the question.

  “Of course it’s not a matter of permission,” Marilyn countered. “It’s just that bringing an animal to live in the house seems like a major decision, in which we should both participate.”

  Ian folded his arms over his chest. “Well, Marilyn, your mother brought a cat into this house without my prior knowledge or consent.”

  Marilyn nodded. “Yes. Yes, that’s true.” She felt like a piano had just landed on her shoulders. “But a cat is less of a commitment, somehow. I mean, for one thing, cats use litter boxes. They’re very clean animals. Dogs have to be housebroken.”

  Ian looked guilty. “You’re right. And I do apologize. Darwin’s had a few accidents this weekend.”

  “Darwin?” Marilyn smiled.

  “That’s what Angus named him.” Ian waved his hands around. “I’ve done my best to clean up after him. I thought I’d gotten it all.”

  “Maybe not all,” Marilyn said. “The first thing I noticed when I came in was the smell. Has Angus been taking the dog out regularly?”

  Ian looked even more guilty. “Perhaps not as often as he should.” He rubbed his hands over his face. “I made a big fat mistake, didn’t I? I’m sorry, Marilyn.”

  Her heart went out to him. “Oh, Ian, this is really too bad. I love you so much, and I missed you this weekend, and I have so much to tell you, and I certainly didn’t want to walk into the house and get into an argument with you.” Closing the space between them, she wrapped herself around him again, snuggling close. “We’ll get it all sorted out.”

  Ian held her close, kissing the top of her head. “We’ve always had dogs in our family, Marilyn. I think it really might be what Angus needs to bring him out of his isolation.”

  “I hope you’re right. I worry about him, too.” His arms were so warm, his body matched hers all up and down. She felt at home with him, right here, right now, in his embrace.

  “I wonder how soon we can go to bed,” Ian murmured in her ear.

  She pressed against him. In many ways, she felt like a young girl with Ian. Certainly she’d never discovered before in all her life the depth of sexual joy she felt with this man. “I wonder if we even need to go to bed,” she whispered as her body flushed with sexual heat.

  Ian bent and kissed her passionately. “Marilyn.” His voice was hoarse with lust.

  She unzipped his trousers and reached inside. He groaned. “Let’s go in the bedroom,” she urged.

  He clasped her buttocks with both hands. “Yes. Hurry.”

  A noise sounded from the upstairs hall. A door opened. They heard footsteps—not the measured stride of a two-legged animal, but more of a breakneck four-pawed gallop, and suddenly a silver-white ball of fur half-ran, half-fell down the steps, landing at their feet in a muddle of splayed limbs, plump belly, and long pink tongue.

  “Meet Darwin,” Ian said.

  “He’s adorable!” Marilyn knelt to scratch the puppy’s squashed, snorting, pink snout. “Hello, Darwin!”

  The puppy rolled on his back, waving his fat little legs in the air, slurping and spitting as he licked Marilyn’s hand.

  “Marilyn? Marilyn, darling, are you home?” Ruth’s voice suddenly blared from the intercom.

  Darwin jumped to his feet, shivered all over, and peed on Marilyn’s shoe.

  20

  Monday morning, Alice was awakened from a deep sleep in her Nantucket bed by a slightly off-key but extremely enthusiastic version of “Oh What a Beautiful Morning!” Shirley was in the bathroom, singing. Her lavender perfume drifted down the hall in a cloud. Alice lifted an arm from beneath the quilt, pulled back the curtain, and looked out the window. Rain thundered down, blown sideways by a fierce wind.

  “Oh, what a beautiful morning?” Alice pulled her pillow over her head.

  A few moments later, Shirley wafted into Alice’s bedroom. “Rise and shine! Today is the first day of our new health regimen!”

  Alice didn’t even turn over. “I’m not walking in that rain.”

  “Um, yes.” Shirley grabbed the covers and pulled them back. “You are.”

  Alice cracked one eye open. Shirley was already dressed in one of her amazing purple yoga outfits, complete with striped leg warmers. “No one wears leg warmers anymore.”

  “I do. Now get up.” Shirley plunked down on the bed, making it bounce.

  “Go away.”

  “Not going to happen.”

  “I mean it, Shirley. I’m tired. I need more sleep.”


  “No. You need to move your big fat butt. Then you won’t be so tired.”

  Alice growled.

  Shirley bounced.

  “Stop that! You’re making me motion sick!”

  “Then get out of bed!”

  “Fine!” In one angry explosion of movement, Alice turned over, stuck her feet on the floor, and stood up.

  “Now get dressed,” Shirley said bossily. “I’ll go down and make your health drink.”

  “Oh joy.” Alice trudged off to the bathroom.

  “Great!” Shirley practically skipped from the room.

  How did Shirley manage to get away with it, Alice wondered as she dressed. Sometimes Alice felt like one of those rhinos on the National Geographic channel, with Shirley as the little bird who rode the rhino’s backs and pecked bugs from her hide. When Alice was an executive for TransContinent Insurance, no one ever treated Alice the way Shirley did. Alice was tall, with wide shoulders and an imposing physique. She carried herself like royalty, and through the years of executive management, she’d developed an expression that was, she knew, absolutely haughty—and that was when she was in a good mood. When she was angered, her expression could strike fear in her colleagues’ hearts. She could even back Gideon off if she got in one of her worst tempers.

  But Shirley had somehow developed a protective barrier—no, it was more than that. Shirley actually bossed Alice around. She was like a border collie, agitating, barking, leaping, herding Alice where she wanted her to go.

  Now Alice went where Shirley ordered. She tromped downstairs in her velour track suit and sneakers, tossed down the health drink Shirley had made—it didn’t taste half-bad!—pulled on her raincoat and hat, and followed Shirley out the door to begin their morning walk.

  “We’re not going to walk into town,” Shirley told her. “You’ll want to look in the windows, and that would slow us down. We’ve got to keep up the pace. Best watch where you’re walking—these brick sidewalks are so uneven, it’s easy to trip.”

  “I can’t look up anyway,” Alice groused. “Not with the rain blowing in my face.”

  “It will be at our backs on the way home,” Shirley assured her.

  “You are such a Girl Scout.”

  “Look at that door knocker!” Shirley pointed across the street. “It’s shaped like a whale’s tail! Oh, and aren’t those flowers in that window box adorable!”

  “Shirley, I’m walking,” Alice muttered. “Don’t expect me to enthuse as well.”

  But Shirley couldn’t stop exclaiming over everything, the picket fences, the slate walks through curved arbors into dollhouse gardens, the hurricane lamps and lacy curtains and blue glass bottles showing through the windows of the houses they passed. It was like taking a walk with a kindergartener. Alice thought she should hold Shirley’s hand when they crossed the street.

  Yet, in her deepest heart, Alice trusted Shirley. As much as she hated it, and Alice really hated it, she knew she had to make some changes if she was going to stay healthy. Shirley knew what Alice needed to do, and for whatever bizarre reason, Shirley was capable of irritating Alice into action. Shirley had created a plan of exercise and diet for Alice. She’d also taken on the job of personal trainer. She was going to weigh Alice, measure her, and whenever possible, supervise her.

  The only person Alice ever allowed to know her weight was her doctor, during her annual physical exam. She commiserated with Polly and Faye about extra weight and sagging body parts, but it was only Shirley with whom she felt comfortable discussing the real nitty-gritty. Perhaps that was because Alice had met Shirley when Shirley was in her poor, dithering, befuddled phase, working as a masseuse and only dreaming of larger things. Even though Shirley was the most different from Alice of all the women in the Hot Flash Club, she was also the one Alice felt closest to. Go figure.

  They plowed along Orange Street, past the Nantucket Bakery—where Alice cast a longing eye at the door—then turned back, weaving in and out along the narrow one-way streets, until they came out where Pleasant Street met Main, near the Hadwen House, which, Shirley informed her, they were going to visit later.

  “Swing your arms as you walk!” Shirley yelled over the roar of the wind. “It will help your heart.”

  Alice obeyed. She knew she needed Shirley’s optimistic attitude to balance out her own more realistic nature. In return, she knew Shirley counted on Alice’s opinion for all her major decisions. Shirley often hated Alice’s verdicts, especially when it came to men, but they both knew that Alice’s instincts about Shirley’s love life were always on the money. Just as Alice knew Shirley’s concerns about Alice’s health were valid.

  So here they were, stomping through the puddles down the street together. Alice felt like Shrek with Bambi.

  Back at the house, they stripped off their wet gear, pulled on dry clothes, and met in the kitchen for breakfast. Shirley’s granola tasted like the crumbs from the bottom of a hamster’s cage, which made the fruit and coffee taste even better.

  Then Alice went back to bed.

  That afternoon, they toured the Hadwen House and the library. They browsed through a few boutiques, attended a noon organ concert, and in the evening, after a healthy meal of Shirley’s homemade vegetable soup, they went to a little theater production of a series of one-act comedies.

  One afternoon they went through the parlors and the dining room, snapping shots of the various tables, sideboards, and shelves laden with heirlooms and knickknacks. Alice had the photographs developed, labeled them according to room, and put them in a folder. She enjoyed the little task. She was just a little bit bored, although she’d never say so to Shirley. She missed spending time with her granddaughter. She missed sharing an evening drink with Gideon—Shirley insisted she didn’t mind if Alice had a drink, but since Shirley was in AA, Alice refrained. She missed the noise and clamor of Boston. She missed her bridge group. She missed her television most of all, although she’d never tell anyone that. There was a TV in the back parlor, but so far no one else had wanted to turn it on. She didn’t want to be the TV addict, so she hadn’t watched it yet. But she was glad to know it was there.

  21

  Of the many habits Faye treasured, one of the most pleasurable was wandering around her backyard, still in her kimono, very early in the morning, when the dew still beaded the grass. She carried her mug of hazelnut cinnamon coffee with her, sipping it as she gazed at the perennial beds, idly noting what needed weeding or cutting back. The lilies of the valley were in bloom, their white bells reminding her of the little melody she’d learned so long ago in Girl Scouts. Kneeling, she sang softly.

  “White coral bells, along a slender stalk, lilies of the valley deck my garden walk. Oh, don’t you wish that you could hear them ring? That will happen only when the fairies sing.”

  Their troop had learned to sing in rounds, and now in her memory all the sweet voices echoed. For a moment she was suffused with joy as she relived the moment when she was innocent, when she believed in fairies, when she was in awe of their leader, when the achievement of a badge to sew on her green uniform had been a source of enormous pride.

  She touched the tip of a dark green leaf, then stood up. Her knees cracked, snapping her right back into the present. These days she often thought of her childhood or adolescent years, or her years as a young wife and mother. The memories arrived intact, a kind of pleasant daydream. Entire blocks of time would disappear—she’d find she’d been staring at the same page of a book as if it were a slide show. Was this a sign of aging? Another sign of aging? Should she worry about this? As an artist, she had learned to trust the wanderings of her mind. She wanted to trust the enticements of fate. After all, it was chance that had caused her to meet her wonderful Hot Flash friends, and chance again that sent her to Nantucket, where she’d experienced an almost forgotten sensation—a lust to paint, a craving to be there, painting.

  She hugged herself, smiling. What a luxurious summer this was going to be, divided betw
een her garden and Nantucket!

  From inside the house came the trilling of her phone. Oh-oh, she thought. That was Aubrey, no doubt. She sighed as she went back inside. What were the final words of the Girl Scout pledge?

  I promise to help other people every day, especially those at home.

  It was late morning when Faye let herself into Aubrey’s condo, using the key he’d given her earlier in the month.

  “Hello!” she called.

  A muffled sound came from the bedroom.

  As she made her way to Aubrey, she noticed that the place was clean—he had a housekeeper come three times a week—but it smelled slightly dusty, as if the windows hadn’t been opened all week.

  She found her beau lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, his right arm held tight against his chest in a sling. His covers were rumpled, the curtains were closed against the sunny day, the television was on, and he held the remote in his left hand.

  In the week since she’d last seen him, he hadn’t shaved once.

  “Hello, darling!” She bent over and planted a big kiss on his forehead. “I like the edgy, urban beard! Very sexy.” With a sniff, she noticed he hadn’t bathed for a while, either. “How are you?”

  “Not so good.” For the first time since she’d met him, Aubrey’s voice held a slight quaver of age.

  “Poor baby.” Faye sank down on the bed next to him. “Does your arm hurt?”

  “Yes, my arm hurts. My whole body aches.” He shifted on his pillows, groaning just a little. “I’m not sleeping well.”

  Faye looked around the room. “Have you made yourself some breakfast yet?”

  Aubrey shook his head. “It’s too difficult, with only one hand.”

  “Well, then!” Faye said briskly. “We’ll get some coffee into you. And what would you like for breakfast? Some nice scrambled eggs?”

  Aubrey gave her a brave sad smile, like a Dickensian orphan. “That would be nice. I’m awfully hungry. Carolyn brought me some lunch yesterday, but I didn’t really have dinner last night.”