“I was under the impression we were a committee of equals,” said Claire. “It’s more like a dictatorship. With you as the dictator, Nancy.”
“Well, somebody has to be in charge,” Nancy retorted. “If Meg’s going to be involved, then I say, the sooner, the better. We can use all the help we can get. If we want to have the reunion in October, right before the senior living community is supposed to open, we don’t have a lot of time and we have lots to do. That’s what Sister Rose wants, remember?”
“I just think that you should have asked us first, before you invited Meg to lunch,” Claire said, not wanting to let her point drop without a fight. Fortunately, the lunch crowd was in full swing at the restaurant and nobody could overhear our conversation.
I snuck a look at Mary Alice. She appeared transfixed by the lunch specials written on the chalk board above Nancy’s head. But she wasn’t fooling me. She didn’t want to get in the middle of this squabble.
Neither did I. But somebody had to step in before Meg arrived and we were all embarrassed.
I put my hand on Claire’s arm, squeezed it hard, and said “Stop. Now. As far as I’m concerned, you’re both right, and you’re both wrong.”
I held up my hand for silence. It was my turn to talk.
“Nancy, you were wrong to invite Meg to our lunch without letting us know first,” I said. “And, Claire, you’re wrong to call Nancy a dictator. She’s right. Somebody has to spearhead this reunion. I know we all have old beefs against Meg…”
“I think Meg’s lying about me cheating trumps her embarrassing you at a school dance, Carol,” said Claire with a sniff.
“You’re right, of course,” I said in my most soothing tone. The one I used many times when I was attempting to settle a quarrel between Jenny and Mike about whose turn it was to choose which television show to watch.
“But, for your information, Jim told me this morning that he and Meg dated while they were in high school. So not only do I have to deal with someone who tormented me in school, now I find out she’s one of my husband’s former girlfriends.”
I stopped talking for a minute to let the enormity of what I had just said sink in. Then I added, “I have no intention of giving Meg the opportunity to rekindle an old flame. I’m not that crazy. But maybe she’s changed. I’m willing to give her a chance. I’m determined to be pleasant to her at lunch today. And if I can do it,” I leveled my baby blues directly at Claire, “then you can, too.”
Boy, was I proud of myself for convincing everyone I was telling the truth. That I was even willing to let bygones be bygones, as the old saying goes. And give Meg a chance.
I was lying, of course. I was so nervous about seeing Meg again that I didn’t know how I would handle it. For all my bravado, I was on Claire’s side. And if I had known in advance that Meg was coming today, I probably would have made up an excuse not to come.
I was conscious of a sharp intake of breath to my immediate left. Then a (gentle) kick to my shin. “Don’t look now,” Nancy said in a low voice. “But I think Meg just walked into Maria’s.”
Claire immediately swiveled her head around for a good look.
“Don’t stare,” Nancy whispered.
“For heaven’s sake, Nancy. If we don’t look, how the heck will we know whether it’s Meg or not?” Mary Alice said.
“If it is Meg, she brought another woman with her that I don’t recognize. What should we do? Wait for her to recognize us? Stand up and wave like idiots?” I asked.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Carol,” said Nancy. “I planned ahead and, in case we didn’t recognize each other, I brought our old yearbook.” She rummaged in her designer tote bag. “There it is. I’m going to hold it up casually and see if she reacts.”
“It must be Meg,” Claire said. “She’s heading this way with a big smile on her face that’s as phony as a three-dollar bill. And dragging that other woman along with her.”
I shot Claire a warning look to watch what she said. The next thing I knew, I was pulled from my chair and enveloped in a giant bear hug and a cloud of Chanel Number 5.
“Carol Kerr, is that really you?” the woman gushed. “You look absolutely fabulous.”
No argument from me. I try to take care of myself. Not as much as Nancy does, of course. Nobody takes care of herself like Nancy does.
I extricated myself from Meg’s grasp. “Nice to see you again, too, Meg. But it’s Carol Andrews now. I married Jim Andrews. I think you knew him when we were in high school.”
“Jimmy?” Meg exclaimed. “You married Jimmy? Oh, what doll he was. We had so much fun together. I’ve often wondered what happened to him.”
Well, now you know.
“And we have two wonderful children,” I added. “Our daughter Jenny was recently married on Nantucket to a Fairport police detective, Mark Anderson. Our son Mike owns a fabulous restaurant in Miami, Cosmo’s. Jim and I live in a beautiful antique house right here in Fairport.”
Sheesh, Carol. What’d you tell her that for? What if she invites herself over to say hello to “Jimmy”?
I needn’t have worried. Meg was far too busy working her way around the table, hugging each woman in turn, to hear the last part of what I’d said.
I turned to the person who was with Meg and said, “Hi. I don’t think we’ve been introduced. I’m Carol Kerr. Well, Carol Andrews now. We went to high school with Meg.”
The woman laughed. “You went to high school with me, too, Carol. Don’t you recognize me?”
Nope. Not a clue.
I didn’t really say that, of course.
“I’m Neecy, Carol. Neecy Nolan. Well, Neecy Prentiss now.”
“Neecy?” I repeated? “You’re Neecy? Why, I never would have known you. You’ve changed so much. You look fabulous!”
“I try to go by my real name now, Carol. It’s Denise. But nobody ever called me that in high school. Even the nuns.”
I used to call you Nosy, because you were always overhearing things that were none of your business and then reporting back to Meg.
I didn’t really say that either, of course.
But with Nosy Nolan here at lunch, I was going to watch what I said.
Very very carefully.
Chapter 15
Dear Lord, help me to say the things I should say,
not the things I shouldn’t. And give me
the wisdom to know the difference.
“Isn’t this nice?” Meg said, beaming at the rest of us like the queen addressing her court. “Being here together, after all these years.
“Although I have to wonder,” she continued, wrinkling up a perfect nose that definitely had been worked on, “why we’re meeting here, of all places. There are so many more fashionable restaurants in Fairport. With better food, too. Every time I walk by here, the overpowering smell of garlic makes me gag.”
I wondered if Meg said that for spite, because Nancy had chosen the restaurant. But, to be fair, it was possible that Meg had a delicate stomach and the odor of garlic really bothered her. It does happen.
Or, did Meg still have moments where she was totally, completely rude?
I decided not to jump to any quick conclusions. I hope I get points for that.
At the exact moment that Meg had voiced her negative comment, Trattoria owner Maria Lesco was walking toward our table. And Maria was close enough to overhear what Meg had said about her beloved restaurant.
She gave Meg a look that…well, let’s just say it’s surprising Meg didn’t keel right over onto the white linen tablecloth. Nobody says negative things about a restaurant opened by a retired Fairport school teacher, especially one who knows everything about just about everyone in town.
Gracious woman that she is, Maria chose to ignore Meg’s remark and greeted the rest of us li
ke the old friends, and good customers, we were. “Wonderful to see you here. I hope you enjoy your lunch. Please let me know if you need anything.” Then she swept away in the direction of the open kitchen, where she could keep a watchful eye on us. And everyone else in the restaurant.
But I had seen the look in Maria’s eyes. I was sure she was committing Meg’s face – and her very bad manners – to memory. And I wouldn’t want to be in Meg’s shoes if she decided to come back to the restaurant for a meal.
Nancy jumped in to fill the lag in the conversation. “Why don’t we order? We all,” gesturing to Mary Alice, Claire, and me, “come here a lot. It’s a wonderful place, Meg. They do Caesar salad better than anywhere I’ve ever been. With grilled shrimp on top. It’s positively heavenly.”
“Works for me,” I said, snapping my menu shut. “Me, too,” echoed Mary Alice and Claire.
“Well, then,” Meg said with a smile, “I guess it will work well for you and me, too, Neecy. Right?”
Well, of course Neecy said yes. No one ever offered a difference of opinion to Meg’s. About anything.
There was an awkward silence. Well, there would be, when you have six former classmates, some of whom hadn’t seen each other in forty years, together again. Especially since four of the women hated the guts of one of the others.
Then, everyone started talking at once. “What have you been doing all these years?” “Where have you lived?” “You mean you never left Fairport? Well, it is a lovely place.” “Did you marry?” “Have any children?” “Of course, I’d love to see pictures of the family.”
And on and on.
Not all of this was from the same person, of course. Just a general
q. and a. Mostly friendly. Mostly.
Interspersed with occasional nervous laughter.
I didn’t say much. I’ll bet that surprises you. But I wanted to sit back and really look at Meg, to find out what it was about her that had intimidated me so all those years ago. And see if she still prompted the same insecurities in me as she did in high school.
I had already seen a prime example of adult Meg in action. Her total lack of manners made me cringe.
But did she still have the power to intimidate me? And did I have to worry about her trying to rekindle that old spark with “Jimmy”?
What I saw was a very well preserved woman in her late fifties. Her face was so tight that I bet she’d had work. Botox, at the very least. Maybe even a total face lift. I made a mental note to ask Nancy her opinion about that in private. She’s our resident expert on nipping and tucking. Meg was not overly thin. Not overly fat. Just…normal. Someone who seemed comfortable with herself and her life. Not that she’d revealed too much about what she’d been doing for the past 40 years. She seemed much more interested in what the rest of us had been up to.
Her poker straight white hair was styled short in a blunt cut, the kind that, if you shake your head, just naturally falls back into place. I love Deanna, my own personal hairstylist, but she’s never been able to get my hair to do that.
Of course, that could be my hair’s fault, not a lack of skill on Deanna’s part.
Anyway, I looked at this woman who had made my life so miserable, and I found I couldn’t hate her. Oh, I wanted to. At first, I wanted to take her Caesar salad and dump it over her head, to pay her back for causing me such public humiliation.
Then, I realized I was finished with all that. I had wasted far too many years brooding about something that was, really – in the overall scheme of life and death – very trivial. And I had allowed Meg to exercise power over me all that time, without her ever knowing it. Which was not only ridiculous, it was downright embarrassing.
And Jim and I had a solid marriage. Not that we didn’t have our ups and downs and spats over the years. But since his retirement, which I had dreaded, we’d settled into a nice, cozy rhythm. With only a few issues that still needed to be ironed out, like his taking over the laundry (he never separates colors), and his ongoing reorganization of the kitchen.
But Jim had surprised me by completely redoing the antique house I loved so much and making it more livable for people our age, which was a huge financial investment on his part. This from a man whose obsession with coupons was a legend in Fairport retail establishments.
I looked around the table at my three best friends. All of them, Claire included – who did, after all, have the biggest gripe against Meg – seemed to be chatting away with her and Neecy with no apparent tension. If they could do it, I could, too, by golly.
So I finally grew up and let the Powder Blue Dress Disaster go, once and for all. And I resolved not to obsess about the possibility of Jim dumping me for Meg. Which would take major retraining of my overactive imagination, but I would do it, by golly!
Better late than never, right?
“So, Carol, what’s new with you?” Nosy – I mean, Neecy – Nolan asked me as our lunch began to wind down to the inevitable headache of figuring out the bill. “I must say, the years have been kind to you.”
I laughed, slightly self-conscious. “That’s very kind of you, Neecy. Can I still call you that? I remember you said you prefer to be called Denise now.”
“I don’t mind an old friend calling me Neecy,” she said. “But if I’m introduced to someone as ‘Denise,’ and that person thinks she can call me Neecy, that bothers me. I suppose if that’s the worst thing in my life right now, I should be grateful.”
“I know what you mean,” I said. Although I had never in my whole life been called anything but Carol. It’s one of those names that’s hard to substitute a nickname for.
“Did you stay in Fairport?” I asked. “I guess I have no sense of adventure. Except for a brief stint in New York City after college, I’ve lived here my whole life. Married a local guy, raised two kids, did freelance writing and editing. It’s been a good life. But a dull one, I guess.”
You’ll probably notice that I left out the part about my amateur detective career. It hasn’t been my career path of choice, and with any luck, I won’t be stumbling over any more dead bodies for the rest of my life. I hope.
“Not a dull one, Carol,” Neecy said. “It sounds lovely.”
“What about you, Neecy? Do you still live around here? Have you and Meg kept in touch all these years?”
Neecy looked down at her coffee cup. I got the impression that I’d put her on the spot with what I thought were a few innocent questions.
“I got married very young,” Neecy said after a long pause. She looked around the table to see if anyone else was listening to our part of the conversation, but Mary Alice and Nancy had left for the women’s room (yes, we often go in pairs), and Meg and Claire were now discussing the tip.
“I married Tony Prentiss,” Neecy said. “Do you remember him, Carol? He went to Fairport High, and he had a reputation as a wild boy back in those days. In fact, he used to pick me up after school on his motorcycle.”
I shook my head. “No, I can’t say I knew him. Did he ever come to any of our school dances?”
“You must be kidding, Carol,” Neecy said. “My parents would have had a fit. We only started dating publicly the summer after we graduated from high school. After I turned eighteen.”
My eyes widened. It seemed like Neecy was admitting she had snuck around dating a boy her parents didn’t approve of. Who’d have thought it? And then she married him.
“We eloped that fall,” Neecy said. “My parents didn’t speak to me for months. Not until the baby came.” She colored slightly. “He was premature.”
I’ll bet.
I didn’t really say that, of course. Give me some credit for knowing when to keep my mouth shut.
“Anyway, Tony worked very hard to support us. He had a good head for business, and one thing led to another.”
Neecy s
miled. “He started his own construction company, and in the beginning, I used to come into the office with the baby and handle the secretarial part of the business. Those were good days. Happy days. Pretty soon, we didn’t have to worry about money anymore, and Tony didn’t want me to work in the office. He hired a full-time secretary, and then another, to handle the volume of work that started to come in. So I ended up joining a few local women’s clubs and trying to do some good work in the community. Truthfully, I was bored. But I didn’t let him know that.”
She gave me a quick look. “Speaking of being bored, I hope I’m not boring you with my life story, Carol. I didn’t mean to go on like this.”
“You’re not boring me at all, Neecy,” I said with a rare flash of insight. It had suddenly occurred to me that Neecy was telling me how lonely she was. And I’d bet anything that she hadn’t had a chance to share anything about her life with anybody, for a long time. Thereby proving that money doesn’t buy happiness. Or best girlfriends. I couldn’t imagine my life without Nancy, Claire and Mary Alice.
Neecy gave me a quick smile. “Tony started building planned communities back in the nineties, when the new construction boom was at its peak. From there, it was an easy segue into building communities for people over fifty-five, with so many boomers as potential customers. So he started Dockside Living as a subsidiary of Prentiss Construction. It’s been even more successful than he dreamed. And when Sister Rose and the other sisters approached him about converting Mount Saint Francis into a senior living community, he jumped at the chance.”
“You mean your husband’s company is redoing our old high school? And will manage it for the sisters?”
“That’s right, Carol. It really is a hoot, when I think about it. I could end up living in our old biology lab in my twilight years!”
Class Reunions Can Be Murder -- Every Wife Has A Story; A Carol and Jim Andrews Baby Boomer Mystery Page 7
