“Perish the thought,” I said, grimacing. “I was always terrible in that class.”
Nancy, back from the powder room with fresh lipstick and a determined look on her face, tapped on a water glass to get everyone’s attention. “All right, everyone. This lunch has been a great starting point for our reunion. But if this event is going to happen before the school officially re-opens as a senior living community, we have a lot of work ahead of us and not much time. We need to set another meeting – a working meeting – within the next week. Who will host?”
And just like that, I heard my own voice say, “I will, Nancy. How’s this coming Friday at noon for everyone?”
Sometimes I think I should just carry duct tape in my purse, so I can use it to tape my mouth shut when I say stupid things like that.
Rats.
Chapter 16
What part of “woof” don’t you understand?
“Maybe having the committee here for lunch on Friday won’t be too bad,” I said to Lucy and Ethel later that afternoon. “But I’m going to have to clean like a demon to get the house in shape for company. You’ll both have to pitch in, too. No slobbering food or water outside your bowls, or dragging in dead things from the yard. Yuck.”
Both dogs gave me a look I’ve come to know very well. Implying that it was not the canines in the Andrews house who were responsible for any lack of cleanliness or order. That responsibility, or blame, rested firmly on the humans who were allowed to reside here, too.
I got the message, loud and clear. If you don’t think dogs can communicate with their humans, you’ve not been paying attention.
“All right, we’ll all pitch in.”
I rummaged in the broom closet (yes, we still have one – it’s a very old house, remember?) for the vacuum. No time like the present to start the house cleaning. I used to have a cleaning service BJR (Before Jim’s Retirement), but now, we’re watching our pennies and that luxury has gone by the wayside.
I started to assemble the vacuum, then realized how tired I was. I looked at the clock and realized it was almost 4:00, much too late to start a major project like this.
See how easily I can talk myself out of physical exertion? It’s an art that I’ve perfected after years of practice.
Assembling a quick supper held more appeal. As soon as I fed Lucy and Ethel their kibble, of course. I know who comes first in this house.
As I filled their bowls and put them and the dogs in their respective crates (Lucy is a terrible food thief), I brought the dogs up to date on the day’s lunch. I can tell the dogs things that I wouldn’t tell anybody else and feel comfortable that they won’t blab. Or if they do, it’ll only be to other neighborhood dogs, so I don’t care.
“I was really dreading it,” I admitted. “But it wasn’t so bad after all. Facing Meg again after all these years wasn’t a bit traumatic. Imagining it and worrying about it for so long was much worse.
“It was probably like you two being so scared by that German Shepherd who lives around the corner. When you see that he’s out in his yard, you insist on going the other way. Just once, we ought to walk by that house. I bet you’ll see he’s not so scary after all.”
No response from either canine. They were too busy wolfing down their supper.
Too bad I couldn’t just open a bag of dry something-or-other and pour it into bowls for Jim and me. Somebody should come up with instant dinner for humans. Bet she’d make a fortune.
“You’ll never guess who’s coming to lunch here on Friday, Jim,” I said, ladling a second generous portion of my homemade vegetable soup into his bowl. Fortunately, Jim isn’t at all fussy about what he eats, just as long as there’s plenty of it. So the fact that I’d found the soup hiding way back in the dark recesses of the freezer for heaven knows how long didn’t bother him at all. A quick nuke in the microwave and dinner was served.
Of course, the nice cabernet wine that I’d uncorked to go along with the scratch meal helped a lot, too. Not only were we drinking it with dinner, but I’d thrown some in the soup, too.
Jim raised his head, spoon halfway to his mouth. Then said, in an extremely reasonable tone, “Well, if I won’t guess who’s coming to lunch, does that mean you don’t want me even to try?”
Smarty pants.
I took a few spoons full of soup myself, marveling at how good it tasted after all this time. I do have a way with leftovers.
“I bet I can guess,” My Beloved said. “Spencer Tracy and Katharine Hepburn.”
“Very funny, Jim,” I said, immediately catching his reference to a wonderful movie starring two of my very favorite actors of all time. “That was Guess Who’s Coming To Dinner, not to lunch.”
I paused and took a small sip of cabernet.
“I’m hosting the first official meeting of the fortieth high school reunion committee here for lunch on Friday,” I said. “Nancy, Claire, and Mary Alice, of course. And someone I don’t think you’ve met, Neecy Nolan. Or, I should say, Neecy Prentiss.
“Oh, and one more person,” I said, trying to appear casual and knowing that I wasn’t. “Someone you know, dear. And haven’t seen in a long time. Meg Mahoney.”
Jim raised his eyebrows so high they almost disappeared into his receding hairline. “Meg Mahoney? Nice of you to include her on the committee.”
Now, let me just interrupt myself to say that a man’s reaction to a bombshell announcement like I just made is completely different than a woman’s. Am I right? A woman would have immediately bombarded me with questions as to how Meg looked after all this time, did she marry, have any children, where was she living, etc.
Not a man, though. At least, not my man.
Instead, Jim backed up the conversation to a previous name. Neecy’s.
“Did you say that your classmate Neecy’s last name is Prentiss? Do you know if she’s married to Tony Prentiss, the big-wheel property developer?”
“Yes, Jim, she is. They got married soon after graduation. Neecy said his company has diversified into the senior living market which is huge these days, with so many boomers approaching or are already at retirement age.
“His company, Dockside Living, is redoing Mount Saint Francis, and they’ll be managing it for the sisters. Isn’t that an incredible coincidence?”
“I think Tony Prentiss was a year or two ahead of me in high school,” Jim said. “I hadn’t made the connection before. I think his name’s been mentioned recently as a possible candidate for state senate.”
He pushed his chair back from the table. “I going to check him out online while you get out the dessert.”
Dessert? Who mentioned anything about dessert? Certainly not me. But I was lucky enough to come up with a half-gallon of Neapolitan ice cream that was visible in the freezer once I had moved out the old soup. Hopefully, it hadn’t succumbed to freezer burn. But no matter what, topping ice cream with a gob of fudge sauce is a great cure-all.
By the time I had added some non-dairy whipped topping and a cherry to our makeshift sundaes, Jim was back. “I was right, Carol. Tony Prentiss is a pretty big deal now. It’s likely that he’ll make a run for state senate, and nobody thinks he’ll have any problems securing the nomination.
“You know,” Jim continued, “with Meg coming to lunch on Friday, and Neecy Prentiss too, maybe you should call our old cleaning service tomorrow and see if they can send someone to do the house. That’d be one less thing for you to worry about.”
Whattaguy, wanting to take the burden of housecleaning off me, even though money was a little tight these days.
“Great idea, Jim. I’ll call the office first thing in the morning and throw myself on their mercy.”
It wasn’t until I was lying in bed next to Jim that night, listening to his rhythmic snoring, that I wondered why he suggested I hire a professi
onal housecleaner. Could it be because he didn’t think I’d do a good enough cleaning job myself to impress his old girlfriend?
I always tend toward the worst possible scenario. That way, when it doesn’t happen, I’m pleasantly surprised.
I tossed and turned, thumping my pillow, so Jim would wake up. I wanted to confront him with my suspicion about his ulterior motive in hiring the cleaning service. But, of course, he was dead to the world. Figuratively speaking.
I finally gave in and dropped off to sleep myself. And had dreams of Meg showing up for lunch a day early, when the house was still a mess, wearing white gloves and carrying a feather duster. Accompanied by my darling husband, who took her on a complete tour of all the dust bunnies in the house.
The stinker.
Chapter 17
I won’t stand for idle gossip. I prefer to sit down
so I can relax and really listen.
“I hope you don’t mind that I’m a half hour early for lunch,” Neecy said, standing at my front door looking slightly embarrassed. “I had to bring Porter to the vet for a shot and it was too far to go back home and drop her off before I came here.”
Well, yes, I did mind. But my parents raised me to be polite, under any circumstances. Not that I haven’t been known to bend the boundaries of politeness under certain circumstances. Like when somebody really annoys me.
I craned my neck in the direction of Neecy’s brand new Range Rover, which was parked right smack in front of my house. This would definitely raise my image among all the neighbors.
“Is Porter a cat or a dog?” I asked.
“She’s a beautiful chocolate lab, and I love her to pieces,” Neecy said. “Tony gave her to me to fill a huge void in my life when…. Never mind about that. She’ll be fine in the car. I took her for a short walk around the neighborhood before I rang your doorbell. And she has a nice bowl of water and some biscuits to snack on.”
“I love dogs,” I said. “As a matter of fact, we have two spoiled English cockers who pretty much run things around here, Lucy and Ethel,” I said. “Right now they’re in the master bedroom, complaining bitterly about the cruelty of being incarcerated. And probably lounging all over our bed.
“But I’m forgetting my manners. Please, come in. I hope you don’t mind my putting you to work, since you’re the first one here.” And without giving Neecy, whom I barely knew, a chance to reply, I handed her nine linen napkins.
“Would you be a sweetie and put these out for me? I’m running behind schedule. Nancy called me at eight o’clock this morning to tell me she’d invited three more of our classmates to be on the committee. And they’re coming to lunch today. I had to rethink the menu, and come up with something to feed nine people instead of six.
“You know the old saying, the more the merrier, right? Well, we’re going to be very merry. Mary Catherine Cosgrove is coming, along with Mary Beth Walsh, and Mary Ann Gisolfi. Maybe I should say, the more Marys, the merrier?”
I was trying to hide my exasperation at Nancy’s cavalier decision to add three more people to our committee without consulting the rest of us. When I reacted negatively – Very Negatively – to Nancy’s early morning phone call, she informed me that we needed an odd number of committee members whenever we voted on anything. It took all the self-control I could muster not to snap back and ask her when we were going to get to vote on anything, since she seemed to be making all the decisions herself.
“How the heck did we ever keep all these Marys straight?” I asked.
“Even the nuns got confused sometimes, I think,” Neecy said, taking the napkins from me and heading toward the dining room. “I’m glad to help you, Carol. This is fun.”
“Fun?” I asked. “Setting a table is fun?”
“I suppose you think I’m a little crazy,” Neecy said. “And I don’t mean to brag. Really. But since Tony’s become so successful, I’ve had a housekeeper to do these things for me. It may sound silly to you, but I’ve really missed doing these simple things around the house. Now, what else do you want me to do?”
I’m never one to refuse help when it’s offered. Especially when I’m under a time crunch.
“Here,” I said, handing Neecy a head of romaine lettuce. “Wash this, break it into small pieces and throw it in this salad bowl.”
“Got it,” Neecy said. “Will do.”
And between the two of us, by the time everyone else arrived, lunch was all set.
“Ask me to help you anytime,” Neecy whispered in my ear.
“Be careful,” I whispered back as I took Claire’s coat and hung it in the closet. “I just might.”
“So,” Nancy said, “let’s get down to business. Are we all in agreement about the reunion date? The first Saturday in October? And we’ll do a luncheon at school.”
She looked around my dining room table, daring any of us to disagree.
Mary Alice, to my utter amazement, spoke up. “Are we just including students from the class? What if some people want to bring spouses? Or…whatever.”
Interesting question, especially coming from Mary Alice, who had been a widow for years. I wondered if that online dating site she’d registered on was producing some results that she hadn’t told us about.
Not that I’d ever pry, of course. That’s completely against my nature.
Nancy beamed at Mary Alice. “I’m so glad you brought that up. It seems to me that the reunion lunch would be much more fun if only our class members attended. But we could have a cocktail party that evening at a local restaurant, like Maria’s Trattoria. That way, we could include significant others. What do you all think of that idea?”
“I have another suggestion,” Meg said.
I’ll just bet you do. I didn’t really say that, but I sure wanted to.
“How about if we do the reunion lunch on Sunday, and have the cocktail reception on Saturday night at a local restaurant? That way, we’d all have the chance to break the ice a little before the official reunion event at school.”
It killed me to admit it, but that idea had some merit.
“Perhaps another restaurant choice would be better,” Meg went on. “We don’t want everyone reeking of garlic. Maria’s menu choices are very limited.”
“I totally disagree,” said another one of the Marys. Perhaps Mary Beth? Although the three new additions to the committee looked nothing like each other, neither did they look like people I remembered from school. And since it never occurred to me to put out nametags, I was having some trouble keeping everyone straight.
“I love Maria’s Trattoria,” she said. “I think that would be a terrific choice for an informal Saturday night get-together.” She looked at Nancy. “It would be informal, right? If husbands came, they wouldn’t have to wear a jacket and tie, would they?”
“I couldn’t get Jim to wear a jacket and tie these days even if I got down on my knees and begged him,” I said. Not that anyone was listening to me. Everyone was fixated on the Nancy vs. Meg duel for control of the reunion committee.
“I agree with you, Mary Beth,” said Nancy, not one to let Meg take over the meeting without a fight. “Maria’s is one of my favorite restaurants, too.”
“I also have another great idea for a reunion event that I know you’ll all love,” Meg continued as if no one else had spoken. She frowned for a minute, then said, “We’d have to find a very private place, though. But it would be a great ice breaker.”
She beamed at us. “Are you ready for my other great idea? A pole dancing class! It’s fabulous exercise, and we’d have a load of fun. Don’t you all just love it?”
Whoa. Talk about bringing a roomful of post-menopausal women to complete silence. Even me. I mean, I’d heard of pole dancing, of course. I’m not a complete Neanderthal. But it was not a dance style I planned to pursue. Ever.
“I think pole dancing is a terrible idea,” Claire finally said. “And completely inappropriate for a Catholic high school reunion.”
“I agree with Claire,” Mary Alice said. “I do, too,” Neecy echoed.
“Well!” Meg huffed. “I guess no one is up for new and interesting experiences for this reunion. It’s just going to be the same old boring hello, you-look-great, you-haven’t-changed-a-bit event.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Mary Alice insisted. “In fact, there’s nothing I’d like more than an opportunity to get together with old friends and catch up. I can’t wait. I vote no on pole dancing. If we’re taking a vote.”
And she looked at Nancy, who took the hint. “All those in favor of a pole dancing class as part of our reunion, please raise your hands.”
One hand went up. No surprise that it was Meg’s.
“Opposed?”
Nancy glanced around at the seven other people (besides herself, of course) who were raising their hands. “Looks like we won’t be having pole dancing on the reunion agenda. But thanks, Meg, for suggesting it.”
Meg just sat there, her arms crossed and her face looking thunderous. Breathing heavily. Then she stood and announced, “I’m out of here. Plan your own damn reunion. I may not even come.”
And she walked out.
Silence.
Then Claire said, “Same old Meg. It’s so comforting to know that some things never change. If she can’t have her own way, she heads for the nearest highway.”
Someone – possibly Mary Ann – tittered. And Mary Alice said, “You just made up a poem, Claire. You’re a poet and you don’t know it.”
Class Reunions Can Be Murder -- Every Wife Has A Story; A Carol and Jim Andrews Baby Boomer Mystery Page 8
