Totlandia: Spring

by Josie Brown

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Don’t play coy. I know why you jog as hard as you do. And from the look of you, you’re certainly not eating any of your own pies.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “Too bad. But I guessed you learned the hard way that a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.”

  “Mother, I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.” With just a second to spare, Jillian grabbed a dessert fork from Amelia before she had a chance to stab her sister with it. “Try English. It’s my native language.”

  “I was just curious if you’d ever…well, you know, gotten tired of Scott, the way he tired of you.”

  “Scott cheated on me, Mother. Plain and simple. Let’s call it what it is.”

  “Yes, dear, but that’s usually a sign of boredom in the bedroom.” Her mother’s smirk was irritating. “During ten years of marriage, weren’t you ever bored?”

  Jillian shifted her gaze to the other restaurant patrons around them. Most were mothers with sons and daughters and husbands.

  If things had been different, Scott would be here right now. He barely put up with Beverly, but he’d see her if Jillian insisted.

  “His brother—what was his name again? Oh yes, Jeff. He was a cutie. Didn’t he stay with the two of you one summer?”

  Jillian turned back to Beverly. “What are you implying?”

  Beverly pursed her lips. “Nothing. Quit acting so guilty.”

  “I’m not acting guilty!” Hearing the tone of their mother’s voice, the twins froze from the game they’d created—tossing sugar pack at each other—and turned to stare at Jillian. Before their wariness turned to frightened tears, she lifted her mouth into a smile. “Mother, why did you bring up Jeff?”

  “I…oh, just forget about it!” She waved to the waiter. “Tell him to skip the coffee. I’d prefer a martini.”

  Jillian slapped her mother’s hand down. Seeing this, the twins squealed with laughter. They slapped hands, too. Patty cake was a game they loved.

  “No! No liquor,” Jillian hissed at Beverly. “Not until you tell me what little game you’re playing.” Jillian knew gin, with a whisper of vermouth, was akin to mother’s milk to Beverly. Having been cut off from it all afternoon, there was nothing for Beverly to do but come clean.

  Beverly shrugged. “Quit being so dramatic! I told the private eye he was barking up the wrong tree.”

  “What private eye? What are you talking about?”

  “The one Scott sent over. Somehow I guess he’s under the impression that he can buy my loyalty.”

  “You mean he offered you a bribe?”

  “Not a bribe exactly…Okay well, yes, there was to be some quid pro quo. But only if I could validate his theory that you and Jeff…well, I don’t want to say it in front of the children.”

  “I’m not afraid to shout it from the rooftops!” Jillian stood up, furious. “Here’s what you can tell Scott. I did not fuck his brother! And my daughters are his, too!”

  To make her point, she threw her hand back. Unknowingly, she slapped the waiter who was bringing the Very Berry Beverly pie for Jillian to present to her mother.

  The man dropped the pie in Beverly’s lap. It was hot enough that Beverly yelped.

  Before she could stand up, Jillian grabbed the girls and stormed out of the restaurant.

  The whole way home, they cried for pie.

  She knew she had none in the house, but she didn’t want to stop back at the shop for one. She just wanted to get home, put the girls down for their naps, and bury her head under her pillows.

  Had things been different, had Scott not deserted her for Victoria, he’d have at least bought her flowers.

  No, at the most he would’ve skipped his usual Sunday game of golf.

  And he would have groused about it the whole day.

  Either way, she would have had a lousy Mother’s Day.

  She was shocked to see him waiting for her, on the stoop of her house—not Scott, but Caleb.

  And not with flowers, but with a pie.

  From the box, she knew it was from her shop. He held it out to her. “It’s the girls’ favorite, ‘ah-poo.’ I had to fight off three desperate husbands for it, but you’re worth it.”—he shrugged and smiled—“I missed you, Jillian. And...I love you. But we both know I’m not him. And I’ll never be him.”

  Jillian threw herself into his arms. Between kisses, she whispered, “Is that a promise? Please say yes!”

  The only ones who seemed to care when the pie box dropped to the ground were the twins, who cried until Jillian put it between them and let them go at it.

  She was too busy to care.

  1:05 p.m.

  “Brussels sprouts! My favorite!” Hera Harmony smiled across the table at her hostess, Eleanor Morrow Connaught. “Our daughters have honored us with quite a groaning board of delicacies, have they not?”

  She nodded toward the rest of the bowls and platters on the sideboard. There was grilled eggplant, wild rice, barbecued salmon, and a generous spinach salad that seemed to have barely been touched, despite the amount of food dished onto the plates of all at the table—the Connaughts, the Crosses, all the children and their mothers.

  She was right. The sisters-in-law had made an obvious attempt at providing a meal that would be appreciated by a mother who was rabidly vegan, and another who, at least publicly, pretended to follow her cardiologist’s heart-healthy diet to a tee.

  Her hostess raised her wine glass. “The sweetest part of the meal is sharing it with you, Hera. And thank you for agreeing to share your daughter with us today.”

  Hera’s smile withered into a smirk. “But you see her many times during the week, don’t you? That said, the toast should be the other way around. Thank you for sharing her with me.”

  Lorna glanced sharply at her mother. Please keep your promise and don’t let anything get under your skin, she begged silently. Just another hour or two, and it will be over. This wretched day will finally come to an end.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Lorna watched as Art nudged Bettina. This prompted a ghost of a smile from his wife.

  I guess Bettina is about to get her wish. What a perfect Mother’s Day for her, if for none of the rest of us.

  Eleanor leaned back in her chair. Lorna had learned to read her body language early in their relationship. In that one offhanded barb, Hera obliterated two hours of gentle chitchat, glowing compliments, and gracious condescension. “If Lorna spends an inordinate amount of time with us Connaughts, one can only assume she enjoys our company.”

  Hera shrugged. “My daughter has had a lifelong affinity of seeking out conflict. From what I can see, there’s plenty of it here.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Eleanor’s eyebrows rose almost to her ice white widow’s peak. “I imagine Lorna finds our family a haven, compared to her tempestuous storm of a childhood! Your structureless hippie lifestyle isn’t the most calming for young minds and hearts.”

  “Mummy, what’s a hippie?” Lily yanked Bettina’s sleeve for attention.

  “What? Oh…Do you remember those scary old people in rags who we see when we venture into the park beyond the de Young Museum?”

  The little girl nodded slowly as the vision came to her. “You mean, the ones who are always begging for loose change?”

  “Yes, dear.” Bettina held up a finger to shush her daughter.

  Lily shook her head adamantly. “But Daddy told me those people were bums.”

  “Same thing,” Art muttered under his breath.

  “Is that what you tell the keepers of our future, that ‘hippies’ are bums? That the brave souls who brought about Civil Rights and women’s liberation and the end to a ridiculous war are nothing but loony panhandlers?” Hera asked. “What elitists!”

  “In all fairness, you’ve just brought the term ‘loony panhandlers’ into the conversation,” Art pointed out. “However, if the Birkenstock fits, feel free to steal it.”

  Hera glared a
t him. “Your aura is pitch black!”

  He nodded to the rest of the group. “And she’s a racist to boot! If I happened to be African-American, I might actually be offended. I rest my case.”

  “I was referring to the color of your soul! Talk about aura blockage! No wonder Dante is autistic!”

  Eleanor eyes flashed angrily. “What did you say about my grandson?”

  “You say you love him, and you’re around him almost every day! And yet, you’re so blind to his condition! How can that be?”

  Seeking the answer to this conundrum, Hera turned to Lorna.

  Eleanor’s eyes followed hers to Lorna’s as well.

  Lorna looked from one to the other. After what seemed like an eternity, she stood up and lifted Dante out of his high chair. Holding him to her chest, she turned to Eleanor. “It’s true. I suspected something was wrong about eight months ago. The tests are ongoing. Thus far, the results haven’t been good. Dante has been going to a specialist. The best in the state when it comes to diagnosing autism in babies. You know him. Dr. Remfeld.”

  “Remfeld?” Eleanor’s voice trembled. “I’ve donated generously to his department. The least he could have done was—”

  “Eleanor, please don’t hold anything against Dr. Remfeld,” Lorna pleaded. “He’s been very good to Dante. And in his defense, he’s been encouraging me to break the news to the family from the very beginning.”

  “‘Family.’ I guess in your mind that doesn’t mean us Connaughts, just her!” Eleanor stood up. “After all we’ve done for you, Lorna, you take it upon yourself to hide this from us? From me?”

  “Eleanor, you don’t understand.”

  “Don’t…patronize me. At least grant me that.” Eleanor stood up. “Please feel free to show yourselves out.”

  She walked out of the room. Her heavy footsteps could be heard climbing the grand staircase.

  Lily ran after her.

  Slowly, Lorna walked out of the house with Dante.

  Matthew ran out after them.

  Hera looked at Bettina. “Happy Mother’s Day. I think you got exactly what you wanted.”

  2:30 p.m.

  “Here’s to the best mother in the world!” Christian took the last of the champagne and poured it into Ally’s empty glass.

  “Really I shouldn’t! I’ve already had too much.” She giggled, then stuck a pinky finger into the sticky liquid and swirled it around. Watching her, Zoe did the same, only in Barry’s champagne glass.

  Barry shrugged, then lifted her fingers to his mouth and pretended to eat them. The little girl squealed with delight.

  Barry turned to Ally. “It’s your day! You can do anything you damn well please. Besides, you’re not driving. You’re in the privacy of your own home.”

  “Really, it’s your home. I live next door.” Ally’s giggle sounded silly and far away. She caught herself in the mirror over the breakfront and smiled as wide as she could. “What would you call this, ‘drunk smiling?’”

  Christian snickered. “As long as it isn’t drunk dialing.” He moved toward the window and opened a blind. A beam of sunshine splashed over the teardrop crystals of the dining room chandelier, making a rainbow on the ceiling.

  Zoe cooed as she reached up over her head.

  Ally, too, was entranced.

  Ally wagged a finger at him. “Oh, no. I’ve never done that in my life. Don’t see the point. When I humiliate myself, I’m totally sober. It’s smarter to remember every gory detail.” She sat up straight and proud. “Gives you a reason to lick your wounds and regroup. It’s made me the woman I am today.”

  Christian moved away from the window. “Speaking of humiliation, Brady is out front, again, ringing your doorbell. This time with two dozen roses.”

  “Ignore him, Christian,” Barry warned.

  Christian stamped his foot in frustration. “But he’s so pathetic, the way he comes loping around, begging to see our girl.” He turned to Barry, all pouty eyes. “Have a heart already.”

  “They’re two of a kind,” Ally growled. “Brady doesn’t have a heart, either.” She looked down at her chest. “And neither do I.” To make sure she was right, she peeked under her blouse. “I can’t hear it. So I guess it’s broken.”

  Brady and Christian’s doorbell was different than Ally’s. It rivaled Big Ben’s chimes in tone, if not clarity.

  “Omigod, too loud! It’s giving me a headache!” Ally put her hands over her ears. “Make him stop, please!”

  Barry rapped on the window and yelled, “Go away! She doesn’t want to see you!”

  But the doorbell kept chiming. Only Zoe found it funny.

  “I can’t stand it any longer,” Christian shouted. He opened the door.

  Brady seemed surprised.

  Even more so when Christian took the roses out of his hand, and shut the door again, locking it firmly.

  He looked down at the bouquet. “I was wrong. Make that three dozen roses.”

  He tossed them at Ally, who caught it with one hand. “Ow! Bloody thorns!” She tossed them onto the table and sucked her wound.

  The doorbell’s chimes now sounded like a Westminster royal wedding had just ended.

  “My turn,” Ally declared. She rose and stumbled to the front door. Before Barry could stop her, she opened it.

  The next moment, she was gone.

  Silence.

  Barry and Christian looked at each other and shrugged. “Well, at least we can hear ourselves think again.”

  They clinked glasses, then filled them again.

  ***

  Now that Ally was actually face-to-face with him, Brady didn’t know what to say. Finally, he stuttered, “Why won’t you take my calls?”

  Ally wrapped her arms around her waist. Glaring at him, she muttered, “Why can’t you take a hint?”

  He couldn’t believe his ears. “After what I did for you, the least you owe me is an explanation.”

  “Owe you?” She stood up straight. “Tell you what—I’ll infiltrate your boardroom, diss you to its members, and sell you down the river. Then we’ll call it even!”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “You don’t think I know what you did at Bracknell, how you stood by Ellis, and against me?”

  She came at him, both fists flailing.

  He fought the instinct to raise his hands to cover his chest from her blows. When finally she stopped, exhausted, he held her close and whispered in her ear, “Ally, that’s not true. In fact, I quit the board, too. The very next day.”

  She raised her head and sought out his eyes. “You did?...But Jade said…”

  He frowned. “What did she say?”

  “That you were in cahoots with Ellis. That you encouraged him to kick me off.” She gulped hard, but she choked nonetheless when she added, “I thought you’d quit believing in me.”

  He shook his head. “Never.” He put her down gently on the porch bench. “And I’ll never stop believing in us, either. But you have to believe in us, too.”

  Before she could answer him, before she could ask him to forgive her and tell him she loved him, he was gone.

  By the time she got back into the house, that prism rainbow had disappeared, too.

  3:14 p.m.

  “Please don’t slam the door in my face.” Of course if Eleanor does, I can’t blame her, Lorna thought.

  Her mother-in-law shrugged. “The drama queens live in the Castro. This is Pacific Heights, dear. We try our best to be civil.”

  She stood aside so that Lorna could enter.

  For the past two hours, Lorna had been composing her thoughts. But now that she was standing in front of Eleanor, the lump in her throat kept the words from coming out.

  Until Eleanor asked, “Do you hate me that much?”

  “No! Oh no, please!”

  Then the words and emotions came tumbling out and over each other. She described how, since their very first meeting, she’d felt intimidated by Eleanor. How she felt she
’d never measure up or be accepted, no matter how much she loved Matthew.

  No matter how much he loved her back.

  She was quite aware that Eleanor’s acceptance came with a heavy price, her sister-in-law’s resentment.

  And she admitted her biggest fear was that Eleanor would blame her for Dante’s condition.

  Or worse yet, blame Dante for being a blemish on the Connaught line.

  When she was done, Eleanor didn’t speak at first.

  Finally, she reached for Lorna’s hand and squeezed it. “I’ll be the first to admit that we Connaughts are an intimidating clan.” She held out her arms for Dante.

  Lorna gave him up.

  Then she gave Eleanor a hug.

  Suddenly the lump was back in Lorna’s throat. “Now that Bettina knows…”

  “Now that Bettina knows, she’ll do what she can to make her nephew always feel loved and accepted,” Eleanor declared. “I’ll see to that.”

  3:33 p.m.

  “Pack up. You’re out of here.”

  “What?” Jade didn’t look away from the television. She was too enthralled with the Borgia brothers, who were snarling at each other while a naked wench lay on a bed between them.

  At C.R.’s suggestion, she was doing her best to delve into the classics, but she found Shakespeare a bore. Masterpiece Theatre came in a close second. At least HBO and Showtime’s take on history was leavened with some spicy sex scenes. She loved well-defined men in tights. She loved them even more out of them.

  When Jade didn’t respond, Brady dragged her off the couch, onto the floor. Watching from his playpen, Oliver put all his fingers in his mouth and started to whine.

  Jade scrambled out of reach. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “I’m kicking you out. I said grab your stuff, and I meant it. I’ve called a taxi. It’ll take you to the airport. You’re out of here, now.”

  “But…why—?”

  “You know why. Because you lied to Ally! You told her I was in cahoots with that creep Ellis!”

  “Yes, okay, I admit it. I told her all that, and more. And I’m not a bit sorry. Quite frankly, you should be thanking me. She’ll never love you like I do. You’re mooning after someone who’ll never appreciate you.” Jade stood up, her head held high. “Do you know what? She never even questioned it! Ask yourself, Brady. Why did she find it so easy to believe such awful things about you? Don’t you get it? She knows that, deep down inside, you are totally despicable.”