by Nancy Thayer
“Fine!” Alice snapped. “I’m sure you did what you could, Wendy. Now take Aly into the other room. I can’t think with you blathering away in my ear.”
Wendy whisked the baby into Shirley’s office, shutting the door behind her.
For an hour Alice sat at the computer, patiently, steadily, painstakingly, attempting to retrieve the lost information. It was a hopeless task. Something had clearly gone wrong with the computer; it had indeed, as Wendy said, eaten everything. The longer Alice persevered, the more frustrated she got. There was something almost human about the computer with its eagerness to obey human directions that made it seem absolutely hostile when it didn’t obey, until Alice felt she was in a kind of war of wills with the machine. And the manual had clearly been written by a gang of sadists. She found herself cursing at the equipment, calling it names she hadn’t spoken in years, and she even slapped the monitor. That hurt her hand, while the monitor remained impassively blank.
At the point of tears, she shoved back her chair and stomped into Shirley’s office.
“Let me look at her computer,” she directed.
Wendy was lying on the floor playing with the baby. When Alice came in, she started to get up, but Alice waved her back down.
“No, no, you’re fine. Just keep Aly happy.”
She plopped down into Shirley’s office chair and wriggled the computer mouse. The screen woke up, and Alice began to type in commands, but nothing happened.
Both computers were alert, alive, but intractable.
Alice found the phone book. “What computer services did you phone?”
Wendy named three. “No one’s available for at least another day or two.”
Alice tried phoning the ones Wendy hadn’t tried, but they were not regular servicers and all they offered was to put The Haven on a waiting list.
“I have an idea,” Alice said. Snatching up the phone, she punched in Marilyn’s number. “Marilyn? Is Angus there?”
45
One of the things Polly liked best about being a seamstress was its measurable reliability. If she were careful and paid attention, she could make a dress that fit a woman perfectly. She could work from a pattern, and she could count on the pattern not to change, unless she changed it.
Real life was much less reliable. If her patterns were like real life, she’d walk into her sewing room to find the pattern laid out on the fabric, with the right arm attached at the left hip and the neckline dangling from the waistband. Sometimes it seemed there was just no rhyme nor reason to real life.
Before she’d met The Hot Flash Club at The Haven, Polly had met another group of friends there, all stressed out, as she had been, from problems with difficult relatives. She’d become closest with a younger woman, Carolyn Sperry, who was pregnant with her first child. Carolyn’s mother had died when she was younger. Polly had only one child, a son who had married a woman so entrenched in her own family’s life Polly couldn’t find a way in. It had seemed natural—it had seemed heaven-sent—for Polly and Carolyn to become close friends. Carolyn had asked Polly to be her daughter’s godmother, and Polly had been thrilled and honored. She adored little Elizabeth, who had turned two in April. She tried to see her every week. This Friday evening, Carolyn had invited her for a casual family dinner, and Polly arrived early, so she had some time to devote to Elizabeth.
Tonight, Polly wore white silk trousers and a silk tunic top in a vivid shade of turquoise, an unusual color for Polly, who tended to stick to pastels. But her pale, freckled skin had a burnish to it that allowed the turquoise to work, and she’d playfully tied a turquoise scarf around her fading red and white hair.
She felt almost glamorous as she entered Carolyn’s handsome modern home.
“Polly! You look fabulous!” Carolyn, as usual, was running late. “I just got home from work. Hank’s not here yet. Would you mind…” She waved her hand vaguely in the direction of her child, who toddled up to Polly, crying gleefully, “Pony ride!”
Polly swooped down, picked up the little girl, and kissed her. She smelled so fresh and looked so darling in her little pink sundress.
“Pony ride, Pawee!” Elizabeth insisted.
“All right, Elizabeth.” Polly surrendered. “Pony ride!”
She kicked off her shoes, lay on her back on the family room rug, and bending her knees, pulled the toddler up onto her shins, Elizabeth’s fat little diaper-padded bottom resting on Polly’s feet, her chubby hands held in Polly’s. Polly bobbed her legs and sang a little song. Elizabeth squealed with glee.
“Hello, Polly!” Elizabeth’s grandfather, Aubrey Sperry, came in through the side entrance that opened right onto the family room. He looked dapper in a lightweight wool cream summer suit, pale blue shirt, and striped red tie.
“Ooof!” Polly’s knees were touching her chest as she bounced Elizabeth, which meant that Aubrey had a clear view of her enormous bum, the size emphasized, of course, by the white slacks. In a moment of panic, Polly wondered whether the light days pad she wore showed. She carefully lowered her legs to the floor, holding on to the toddler protectively as she moved. “Look, Elizabeth! Grandfather’s here!”
She was grateful for the commotion Elizabeth made as she scrambled to her feet and rushed to grasp her beloved grandfather around his legs. Polly knew her face was red from exertion, not to mention her hair had come loose from the scarf and no doubt looked like a tangle of yarn. It was hard not to feel like a peasant around Aubrey Sperry, with his elegant manners and heirloom ways. Aubrey Sperry came from a family who had started a paper company over a hundred years ago, on the banks of the Rock River. The company had supported a community; an entire town had been named Sperry in its honor. Aubrey had run the company until his daughter took over, and he still showed up for festive and commemorative occasions, standing erect in the spotlight as Sperry Paper contributed a nice fat amount to a local charity, his thick silver hair gleaming like a knight’s helmet.
Polly had always thought Aubrey and Faye made a perfect couple. They were both so good-looking, so distinguished, and, just slightly, to Polly’s way of thinking, so formal. Faye had a way of drifting away mentally, no doubt pondering her paintings, while maintaining a pleasant smile on her face. Faye never seemed to babble or dither like Polly did. Faye would never have let herself be caught with her bum up in the air!
Polly rose, smoothing her white trousers down over her backside and adjusting her turquoise tunic. “Carolyn’s in the shower,” she told Aubrey. “Since I arrived early, she took a moment to dash in and cool off. And Hank will be home any moment.”
Aubrey’s face was flushed. “Would you mind?” He inclined his head toward his granddaughter, who was trying to clamber up his legs into his arms.
Polly swooped over. “Grandfather can’t pick you up, Elizabeth, Grandfather’s got a wonky arm.”
She settled the little girl on the sofa. Aubrey slowly lowered himself next to the child. Elizabeth climbed in his lap, put a hand on each side of his face, and gave him a big wet kiss.
“Could I fix you a drink, Aubrey?” Polly inquired.
“I thought you’d never ask,” Aubrey jested, and they both laughed. “Gin and tonic. Strong.”
“Oh, is your arm still bothering you?”
“It is. I thought the operation was supposed to help, and it did, but the physical therapy is almost worse than the original injury.”
Polly lifted the lid on the ice bucket and began to prepare their drinks, glad to have something to do while Aubrey talked. She’d never been quite at ease with this man, partly because his daughter Carolyn had tried for so long, and in so many ways, to force Polly and Aubrey together when Aubrey was dating Faye and Polly was dating Hugh. A year ago at Christmas, the four of them had gone on a cruise together, and Polly’s tension level had increased whenever she’d been alone even for a moment with Aubrey. This past Thanksgiving, she’d made a most un-Polly-esque fuss when she refused to go to London with Carolyn, Hank, and Aubrey, telling them al
l in no uncertain terms that Faye was Aubrey’s companion, while Polly was attached to Hugh.
Now Polly was unattached. And Faye had made it clear to Aubrey that she wanted an independent life.
Polly brought Aubrey his drink and lifted Elizabeth off his lap. “Let’s color,” she suggested, organizing the child with a sketchpad and crayons. “That’s terrible,” she commiserated with Aubrey, who was continuing to discuss, in microscopic detail, his shoulder injury. She took a sip of her own vodka and tonic. The tang of lemon and the zing of cold lifted her spirits. She was quite happy right now, this was really what she was good at, multitasking, she supposed younger women would call it, keeping a toddler and an older man satisfied at the same time. She felt efficient, and just a little charming.
“Hello, everyone!” Hank came in, loosening his tie with one hand and dropping his briefcase on a chair with the other.
Elizabeth shrieked with glee and raced toward her father, stumbling over her own feet in her excitement. A moment later, Carolyn entered the room, a tall, lean, blond vision of perfection in her chic floral Lily Pulitzer sundress. Together Polly and Carolyn set the table and tossed the salad while, outside, Hank grilled the swordfish steaks and Aubrey one-handedly helped Elizabeth build a castle in her sandbox.
At the dinner table, Carolyn said, “Polly, this is a great rice and bean dish! Thanks for bringing it out.”
“You’re welcome.” Polly smiled, pleased to be complimented. “I’m trying to cook beans more often. I’ve read that eating beans four times a week protects against colon cancer.”
“Really?” Aubrey perked up at this preventative health flash. “What sorts of beans?”
“Any kind,” Polly assured him. “Lima, green, string, red—”
“Jelly?” Aubrey joked.
Polly laughed. “Why not?”
The conversation turned to the stock market and the paper company, interspersed with exclamations of delight at how well Elizabeth ate her food. Afterward Carolyn and Hank went off to give the toddler her bath and read her a book before bed. Polly and Aubrey cleared the table and cleaned the kitchen in easy consort, chatting comfortably, both at home with the cupboards and drawers. Polly brewed a pot of decaf and she and Aubrey settled down in the family room, as comfortably as if they were a family, and in a way, they were, even if Polly was only the godmother.
“How do you like Nantucket?” Aubrey asked, leaning back in the chair and pinching the crease in his trousers as he crossed one handsomely shod foot over his knee.
“I love it,” Polly said honestly. “Not as much as Faye, I suppose…” There, she thought, I’ve just done and gotten it out in the open. If he wants to ask me how Faye feels about him, I’ve opened the door.
“Well, Faye loves painting there, I know,” Aubrey said reasonably. “What is it specifically that you love about it?”
Polly glanced at Aubrey. He looked as if he were actually interested in what she had to say. As if she weren’t only an interpreter, a messenger, from Faye.
She thought a moment. “It’s the crafts that fascinate me. Like sailor’s valentines and lightship baskets, beautifully intricate, painstakingly detailed objects that carry with them the history and legends of the sailors who began the tradition.”
“A sailor’s valentine?” Aubrey stirred his coffee and set the spoon carefully in the saucer. “What’s that?”
“It’s a sort of picture made of seashells,” Polly told him. Pulling over Carolyn’s pad of papers and crayons, she drew a quick illustration.
Aubrey leaned forward to study her drawing. “Looks rather like a kaleidoscope.”
“Yes, right. Lots of tiny chips arranged to make a pattern.” With a flourish, she finished the sketch.
“Must take a long time to collect shells that match.”
“Oh, yes. And even longer to put them in place. I’ve read that people use dental tools now, but heaven only knows what they used two hundred years ago.”
“I don’t have the patience for that kind of thing.” Aubrey smiled. “Although I suppose it’s a matter of interest. Somehow I have the patience for a game like golf.”
“Games, yes. Have you ever played ‘Shut the Box’? It’s a game played with numbers and dice, something else sailors have done for decades to pass the time.” Polly spotted the box on the shelves of children’s books and games. “I brought Carolyn and Hank one. It’s easy, and so much fun it’s kind of addictive.”
“Really? Show me.”
In a matter of moments, they were back at the table, seated next to each other, coffee nearby, heads bent together as they rolled the dice. Occasionally Aubrey’s arm touched Polly’s. She didn’t move hers away.
46
Yellow sunlight melted down on the Hot Flash Club as they lay in the sand like five pieces of warm toast fingers soaking in butter, their toenails as pink as strawberry jam. Nearby, the waves of the Atlantic Ocean flounced her turquoise skirts, flashing white lace-trimmed hems. The sweet smell of coconut lotion steamed off their bodies. The murmurs and laughter of other sunbathers floated through the hot humid air. Near the sudsy waves, a girl in a peppermint-striped suit helped a little boy build a sand castle. On their left, a pair of lovers lay twined and drowsing. On their right, a group of gorgeous college boys played Frisbee, easily jumping and running, their limbs so brown and supple it was hard not to stare. Music from someone’s radio tinkled in the distance. It was as if they were drifting in a dream.
Then Alice sat up. “I’m hot. I’m hungry.” She tugged on the legs of her black bathing suit.
“Me, too.” Slender in her purple bikini, Shirley flipped over like a young seal.
Marilyn stirred into action. “I’ll put up the beach umbrella. You can set out lunch, Alice.” She’d smeared her forehead, nose, cheeks, and chin liberally with protective white foam.
Faye laughed, “Ha! Marilyn, you look like someone just smashed a cream pie in your face!”
Marilyn shrugged good-naturedly. “I’ve got to protect my skin. I burn so easily.”
“I’ll unfold the beach chairs.” Shirley stood, brushing sand off her thighs.
“Oh, man,” Polly sighed as she pushed herself into a sitting position and adjusted the straps on her green one-piece tank. “I was having the best dream. A young lifeguard was rescuing me. Crashing surf, strong legs, muscular tanned arms…”
“…flowing cellulite, drooping breasts…” Faye jested. Sitting up, she grabbed her sun hat and put it on, then added her sunglasses.
Marilyn stabbed the end of the beach umbrella deep into the sand. The Hot Flash Club had contributed jointly to buy this festive work of summer art. Its canopy was in triangular stripes of primary colors, red, yellow, and blue, and their long, thick, thirsty beach towels coordinated. The clever little beach chairs Shirley was setting into the sand in a circle were part of the set, made of chrome and red, blue, or yellow canvas, the backs stamped with bright blue icons of buckets, seagulls, and margarita glasses.
“Ta-da!” Shirley waved her hands like a game hostess. “Instant party scene!”
Alice pulled her chair farther into the shade, opened the cooler, and handed items out to Faye: heavy red plastic paper plates and cups, plastic utensils, Tupperware containers of salads, olives, and cheeses, and sandwiches of watercress and butter, cucumber and butter, chutney and cheese, trimmed of crusts and daintily cut into triangles.
Shirley reached into the cooler and brought out a small plastic bowl filled with red and white carnations. She put it in the middle of the red and white checked tablecloth spread among their chairs.
“A centerpiece!” Faye clapped her hands. “How elegant, Shirley!”
Shirley beamed, pleased. “I’ve got another surprise.” Reaching in, she lifted up a plastic container. Inside was a chocolate cake. “Dessert.”
“Oh, yum.” Polly smiled. “You really know how to plan a picnic.”
“Well, I wanted to bring something special for today,” Shirley told the group
. “I know you were thinking of bringing a bottle of champagne.”
Faye shook her head. “One sip of alcohol in this heat, and I’d pass out.”
Marilyn reached into the cooler next to her and lifted out cool bottles of clear water. She passed them around. “In this heat, it’s water our bodies need.”
They filled their plates, then settled back in their chairs to enjoy lunch. As they ate, they surveyed the scene around them: the crashing surf, glittering in the sunlight, the toddling children, the handsome young men jumping for the Frisbee. A pair of beautiful women strolled past in thong bathing suits.
“Look at that,” Alice chuckled. “There’s more material in my granddaughter’s diaper.”
“I wonder how much more of the human body young women are going to expose,” Faye mused.
“I’m baring more than they are!” Polly pointed to her wide thighs. “Because I’ve got more to bare.”
Alice poked her own expansive thigh with her long red fingernail. “It’s not the amount of flesh you show, it’s the quality of what you’ve got to hide that matters.”
“Right.” Marilyn’s face was thoughtful. “You could call me emaciated, or you could call me slim. Really, I’m just old and scrawny. If I wore a suit like that, I’d be arrested for indecent exposure.”
“Marilyn, that’s a terrible thing to say about yourself!” Faye scolded.
Marilyn was philosophical. “Perhaps. But true. And it doesn’t bother me. I have no desire to attract strange men.”
“That’s because you’ve got Ian,” Polly told her.
Marilyn looked doubtful. “I hope I’ve got him. I’m a little worried about being down here for an entire week, leaving him alone with the beautiful Fiona.”
