Best Staged Plans

by Claire Cook

  Denise turned and started walking away from the hotel. “Okay, new fantasy. We score some pot.”

  “Ha,” I said. “Right.”

  Denise’s heels clicked along the sidewalk. “I’m serious. You just have to go up to the first people we pass who look high and ask them if they know where we can get some.”

  “Me? Why do I have to ask?”

  “Because I’m a lawyer. I could get into a lot of trouble.”

  “And I couldn’t?”

  “You’re in a creative field. It’s expected.”

  “But you can represent yourself. Come on, you’re stalling.” I grabbed Denise by the arm. We executed a legal U-turn and headed in the direction of the hotel.

  “And then,” Denise said, “once we’re high as kites, we just march right into the hotel and start knocking on doors until we find them.”

  “Right,” I said. “What do we say when we knock?”

  “Candygram,” Denise said in a fake voice.

  I totally cracked up at the old Saturday Night Live reference. So did Denise. We laughed and laughed, in that hysterical way we all used to laugh in high school. A couple crossed the street to avoid walking by us. We leaned against the corner of the hotel for support. When one of us would start to wind down, the other would rev us up again.

  “ROTGLMAO,” Denise said. “No wait, I think it’s ROTGAMLO.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” I said. “How can you ass your laugh off?”

  That set us off again.

  “Cleaning woman,” Denise said in the same fake voice.

  I gasped for breath. “OMG, I think I just peed my pants.”

  “God, what else did they used to say in those SNL skits?” Denise said. “Oh, I know.”

  She knocked on the air in front of us. “Fire Department.”

  “Open up,” I said in a low voice. “There’s been a complaint that sparks are flying in this room.”

  Denise stopped laughing.

  “Sorry,” I said. “Sorry, sorry, sorry.”

  “Come on,” Denise said. “Let’s just get out of here. We can go pretend we have the munchies or something.”

  I looped my arm through hers. “You have to confront him. You’ll feel so much better once you get it over with. And besides, I want you to meet Naomi.”

  Naomi peered over Ponytail Guy’s glasses as she opened the door for us. I had to admit they looked better on her than they did on Ponytail Guy. Or me.

  I introduced her to Denise. Denise gave her some bubbles.

  “Thank you,” Naomi said. She hugged the jar of bubbles to her chest.

  There were only two chairs at the small round table, so I sat on the edge of the bed.

  “How’s it going?” I asked.

  Naomi pushed the glasses up to the top of her head. “I’m getting there. I’m hoping we’ll be ready to start taking reservations sometime next week.”

  “I don’t mean that. I mean you.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “I think it’s all just hitting me.”

  Denise reached over and put a hand on Naomi’s forearm. “You have to call your kids.”

  “Sorry,” I said. “I should have asked you before I told Denise.”

  “That’s okay,” Naomi said. “I used to tell my best friend everything, too.” She closed her eyes. “I know I have to call them. I just want to get on my feet first.”

  Denise’s hand was still on Naomi’s arm. “Listen, I’m a lawyer. I specialize in family practice. I’ll make the first contact for you and explain what happened. It’ll make it easier on both sides.”

  Naomi looked over at me, then back at Denise. “Really?”

  “Absolutely,” Denise said.

  “I’ll pay you,” Naomi said. “It might take me a little while, but I’ll definitely pay you.”

  “Not necessary,” Denise said. “You’ll do a favor for me one day. Or you’ll do something nice for someone else.”

  Naomi’s eyes filled. “Thank you.”

  “Do you know if Josh is here?” I asked.

  Naomi nodded. “I think I heard him come in about an hour ago.”

  “Was anyone with him?”

  Naomi shrugged. “I heard a woman laughing.”

  “Perfect,” I said. I pushed myself off the bed. “Come on, I’ll go with you.”

  Naomi held the door open for us.

  “Be right back,” I said.

  “Yeah,” Denise said. “This won’t take long.”

  Denise and I walked silently through the hallway.

  Just as we reached the elevator, the door opened, and Melissa walked out.

  CHAPTER 37

  “CUT IT OUT,” Denise said. “I can’t believe he told you I was just his lawyer.”

  “Oh, wait, he also said he was your son’s godfather,” Melissa said.

  “My son.” Denise shook her head. “Like I’d let him near my son if I had one. What a snake in the grass.”

  Standing across from Denise, Melissa looked like a younger, blonder version of her. They were even wearing almost the same outfit. Skinny jeans. Nice jackets. Funky scarves. Edgy sandals. What was up with men dating the same physical type? Did they lack imagination, or was it encoded in their DNA that a woman with a certain height/build/hair and eye color was potential mate material? If something happened to me, would Greg grieve for an appropriate length of time and then go looking for Replacement Me?

  A wave of anxiety rolled over me. I reached for my BlackBerry. In the night-light of midtown, I could see my lack of messages without even putting on my readers.

  I tucked the BlackBerry back into my shoulder bag. “He didn’t have pizza with you and your husband and your three kids last week?” I asked.

  Melissa shook her head. “I’m divorced. Josh has never even met my kids. My life’s a mess right now, but I’m not stupid.”

  “How long have you been seeing him?” Denise asked.

  “Ha,” Melissa said. “Which time? Josh has this eerie way of knowing when I’m vulnerable enough to sleep with him again, but not quite available. Does that make sense? I mean, we’ve been through this like eight times since college. The minute I want more, he’s gone.”

  Nobody said anything.

  “I would have stayed away if I knew he was involved with you,” Melissa said.

  “Thank you,” Denise said. “But you’re not the problem.”

  “Thank you,” Melissa said. “I think he just makes me feel young.”

  “That’s funny,” Denise said. “He makes me feel old.”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “He makes me feel just right.”

  Melissa whipped her head around.

  “Kidding,” I said. “Sorry.”

  We strolled our way back to the parking lot.

  “So now what?” Denise said.

  “We could cowrite a blog about him,” Melissa said.

  Denise shook her head. “Too much work. And he’d probably love the attention. We could send out his obituary. At least that’s just a one-shot deal.”

  “I know,” I said. “Call him and say you both want to sleep with him. And then you handcuff him to the bed and give him a full body wax.”

  “You should have thought of that while we were out shopping,” Denise said. “No way am I going to another store at this hour.”

  “We could sneak in and replace his shampoo with Nair,” Melissa said. “He has this thing about his full head of hair.”

  “More shopping,” Denise said.

  I pointed to Josh’s silver Corvette. “That’s his rental car. I’m just saying.”

  Denise and Melissa were already rifling through their bags.

  What they lacked in artistry, they made up for in energy. I held Melissa’s key chain flashlight so they could see what they were writing.

  I’VE GOT YOUR NUMBER: 0 Denise wrote in red across the windshield.

  “Wow,” I said. “That’s the thickest lipstick I’ve ever seen.”

  “It’s a
ctually a Sephora rouge stick,” Denise said. “Great for traveling.”

  I DO NOT HAVE PMS, I’M JUST OVER YOU Melissa scrawled in liquid eyeliner on the passenger window.

  “OMG,” Denise said. “Don’t you hate when men attribute real issues to hormone levels?” YOU SUCK she wrote in Sharpie on the roof.

  Melissa drew an arrow on the windshield. THIS HORN BLOWS AND SO DOES THE DRIVER she wrote in a really nice shade of lipstick.

  I put on my readers with the hand not holding the flashlight and leaned closer to the windshield. “Ooh, what color is that? I love it.”

  Melissa turned it over to read the label. “Laura Mercier Amaretto. It’s a little more money, but it’s worth it.”

  NO, WE DON’T NEED TO TALK Denise wrote on the back windshield. WE NEVER NEED TO TALK AGAIN.

  I HAVE THE RIGHT TO REMAIN SILENT. ANYTHING YOU SAY WILL BE USED AGAINST YOU she wrote beside it.

  STUPID IS AS STUPID DOES AND YOU DID she scrawled.

  She moved around to one of the back passenger windows. OH, THE FUN YOU’RE GOING TO MISS.

  She put her rouge stick away. She took out a tube of mascara and drew a goopy picture of a hand with the middle finger extended.

  Melissa and I looked at each other.

  I put my arm around Denise. “Come on, let’s just hair mousse his door handle and get out of here. There’s a great tapas bar down the street.”

  Denise handed me the mascara and wiped her eyes with the back of her hands. “Good plan. Revenge makes me thirsty.”

  “Wait right here,” I said. “I just want to invite Naomi to come with us.”

  “THAT WAS FUN,” Denise said. “Well, not the most fun I’ve ever had in my life, but I mean, fun given the circumstances.”

  I put on my blinker and moved over a lane. “Josh might be an idiot, but I have to say he’s got good taste in women.”

  “Yeah, I was hoping to hate her, but I liked Melissa a lot. And she was awesome when she called him from the tapas bar.” Denise lowered her voice to a sexy drawl that sounded just like Melissa. “ ‘Hey, sugah. Just wanted to let you know your girlfriend Denise and I are waiting for you in the parking lot. Naked.’ ”

  “Ha,” I said. “I bet that got him out there. I probably should have submitted my staging bill first, though.”

  “Don’t worry,” Denise said. “He’ll pay. He knows who your lawyer is.”

  “Oh, wait. Maybe I should be more worried about Naomi. You don’t think he’ll take the car trashing out on her, do you?”

  Denise picked up her bubbles and put them down again. “No way. She’s probably the only woman in Atlanta still speaking to him. And it’s not like he’ll want to sell the hotel until the market turns, so my guess is he’ll just pack up and move on to the next thing. We’ll keep in close touch with her to be sure. Melissa said she’d call her, too.”

  Once the graffiti party was over, I’d had to fight to keep my thoughts from drifting. I wanted to be there for Denise, for Naomi, even for Melissa. But a part of my brain seemed to have plans of its own. At the tapas bar, I’d kept my BlackBerry on the booth beside me like a date, and twice I thought I heard the first notes of “Do You Want to Dance?”

  It was just incomprehensible to me that my family hadn’t called me back. Especially Greg. I couldn’t wait to get home and check in with Chance to find out what was going on. He and Shannon were probably on the phone right now.

  “I’m so glad I finally got Naomi to give me that creep’s screen name,” Denise said.

  “In point three miles, take ramp on left,” the GPS said.

  I shook my head to bring myself back to the car. “Just be careful, okay? Naomi doesn’t need any more trouble.”

  “Don’t worry, he’ll never know what hit him. I’ll reel him in, toy with him mercilessly, and then figure out the best agency to turn him over to.”

  “It’s so scary,” I said. “I mean, who knows how many other women he’s stringing along.”

  “And then there’s Josh,” Denise said.

  I kept my eyes on the road.

  “Next time,” I said. “You’ll get it right.”

  She didn’t say anything.

  “Are you okay?” I finally said.

  Denise made a sound that was almost a laugh. “Yeah, I mean what are my choices? And it’s not like a part of me didn’t see it coming. I don’t know, maybe it was the whole devil-you-know thing with Josh. The thought of going through it all again with another person feels pretty daunting right now. Do you think I’m too old to adopt?”

  “A boyfriend?”

  “Ha.” She let out a long sigh. “You know, sometimes your life makes me feel so lonely.”

  I took my eyes off the road for just a second. “Sometimes your life makes me feel like I’m suffocating in mine. And other times it makes me feel lucky to have what I have.”

  CHAPTER 38

  CHANCE HAD LEFT a note for us on the kitchen counter: GONE FISHING. MAKE YOURSELVES AT HOME.

  “Was it something we said?” Denise asked.

  I dialed Greg’s cell. It went right to voice mail. “Call me,” I said. “Call me the second you get this.”

  I grabbed the iron railing and jogged down the three little steps to the living room, then back up to the kitchen.

  “Something’s wrong,” I said. “Something’s really, really wrong.”

  Denise opened the refrigerator and handed me a bottle of water. “What are you talking about?”

  “Nobody has called me back. Nobody.”

  Denise took a long sip of water. “So? It could be lots of things.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe they’re already in bed. Maybe they forgot to charge their cell phones.”

  I realized I was rocking. I crossed my arms and grabbed my elbows to stop myself. “I tried our landline, too. Maybe they’re at the hospital. Maybe there was an accident. Maybe Greg had a stroke.”

  “Stop,” Denise said. “Come on, it’s late. They’re probably asleep. You can call again in the morning.”

  “Something’s wrong. I can feel it in my bones.”

  Long after Denise had fallen asleep, I stared up at nothingness. Finally I fumbled around on the bedside table in the dark until I found my mood ring. I slipped it on. I closed my eyes and tried to will myself to sleep. I kept them closed for as long as I could take it, then I opened them again.

  I was so exhausted that when I finally grabbed my readers and went into the bathroom to check my mood ring under the light, for a moment I flashed back and thought I was on my way to read a pregnancy test.

  I sat on the closed toilet seat and watched as my mood ring turned from an uncertain amber to a seriously stressed black.

  I tiptoed back into the guest room and brought my BlackBerry out to the hallway.

  Amazingly, the missed call icon was now lit up. I clicked on it.

  Greg had called. Two days before. And there was no message.

  ONE DAY NOT LONG AFTER we’d moved into our new old house and the kids and I were home alone, there was a knock on the door. Luke was napping, and Shannon and I had been waiting for one of Shannon’s friends to get dropped off for an after-school playdate.

  I didn’t think twice. The heavy oak door creaked as I swung it open.

  A guy was standing there. He was small and wiry with pale skin and a really bad haircut that made his hair stick out in little patches. He was wearing a white T-shirt and shiny blue work pants. He had a homemade tattoo on his forearm, something swirly and snakelike.

  I pushed Shannon back behind me. “Can I help you?”

  “Where’s the bed?”

  I shoved the door as hard as I could.

  He moved his foot in to stop it, like a salesman selling encyclopedias in an old movie. Something about his eyes wasn’t right.

  “You live here?” he asked.

  Come home, Greg, I thought. Please come home now.

  “Yes, my husband and I bought it a few months
ago.” I put extra emphasis on the word husband. “He should be home any minute,” I lied.

  The guy inched his foot forward a fraction of an inch. He was wearing an ancient pair of Docksiders. Not work boots, but those boat shoes with little leather ties.

  I could feel the warmth of Shannon’s body pressing against me. Why hadn’t we rehearsed this? If a strange man comes to the door, go get your brother. Run across the street to the neighbors’ as fast as you can and tell them to call the police.

  “Where’s the bed?” he asked again. He turned sideways and did a ninja leap into the foyer.

  If I grabbed Shannon and ran out the front door, I’d leave Luke upstairs in his bed.

  I gave Shannon a nudge toward the door. “Go wait on the swings for Katie.”

  She dug her fingers into my thigh. “I don’t want to,” she said.

  The guy peered up the long central staircase, then turned and sprinted through the hallway and out to the mudroom. I heard the door to the mudroom scrape open, followed by the thud-thud-thud of feet on the stairs up to the secret room. Their rhythm matched the beat of my heart.

  I grabbed Shannon by the arm and raced up the stairs to Luke’s bedroom.

  “Cowabunga,” he growled when he saw us.

  Luke was getting too heavy to carry, but I scooped him up from his big-boy bed like he was a newborn.

  “Mom?” Shannon said. When I saw the look on her face, my eyes filled with tears.

  “Run,” I said. “Just run.”

  We clomped down the stairs.

  The guy took a long step into the foyer and crossed his arms over his chest.

  I bit my tongue so I wouldn’t scream.

  “You didn’t find no water bed up there in that room over the garage?”

  “No,” I said.

  “Where’d they go?”

  “Vermont,” I said.

  He scratched a patch of hair. “Well, that’s too far to go for a fuckin’ bed.”

  And then he walked out. Just like that.

  And in the blink of an eye we had our old life back.

  All of our lives hang by a thread. Anything can happen, and sometimes it does.

  It was the randomness that was staggering. You could do everything right, cross your t’s and dot your i’s, and still that lightning bolt could head straight for you, and not for the people who didn’t even bother to take their vitamins. The ones who, face it, barely even watched their kids.