by Elise Sax
“Gladie, I have a whole plan for you leading up to your wedding,” Bird explained, happily. “And it’s all on me. That’s my wedding present for you. Finally, I’m going to do exactly what I want to you. From soup to nuts. You’ll be totally under my control.”
“Is it going to hurt?” I asked. “My head already feels like it’s a cantaloupe that was dropped at the grocery store.”
“Gladie, you have to suffer to be beautiful,” Bird said, wisely.
“Bird, you need to send her to Muffy & Dicks,” the pedicurist said. She was going at my grandmother’s heels with a cheese grater. “They wax everything off in no time flat. You’ll be bald as a billiard ball. Clean as a baby. Spencer will have no trouble finding the forest for the trees during your honeymoon.”
I self-consciously put my hands in my lap. “Spencer doesn’t have a problem finding my forest even with trees,” I said. “What’s Muffy & Dicks?”
“He could get bald as a billiard ball, too,” the pedicurist suggested. “That’s the Dicks part of Muffy & Dicks.”
Bird pointed at the pedicurist. “That’s a good idea for Gladie. We’ll do the hair, makeup, and Mani-Pedi. But we’ll get Muffy & Dicks to wax it all off and give you a facial peel. When was the last time you had a facial peel? You look ten years older than you are.”
Was that true? Did I look ten years older? Was Spencer going to take one look at me in my wedding dress and tell me he couldn’t marry such an old bag?
“You look beautiful, dolly,” Grandma said. “She looks just as old as she’s supposed to look, Bird.”
“See?” Bird said. “Nobody wants to look as old as they’re supposed to.”
“My head,” I moaned. All the talk of how old I looked was making my hangover worse.
“You should try the raw food diet.” Bird suggested. “You know, people aren’t supposed to eat cooked food.”
“I’m reasonably sure people are supposed to cook their food. Didn’t cavemen cook their food?” I asked.
“All I know is that I’ve lost fifteen pounds in ten days,” Bird said. “And look at my skin. I don’t look as old as I’m supposed to.” She harrumphed and farted. “That’s the only drawback to the raw food. The fiber. I haven’t stopped farting. But who cares? What’s a little farting when you lose fifteen pounds in ten days and your skin is clear?”
She had a point. If I looked old and fat, how could I get married on Sunday? It was already Tuesday.
Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday. That was five days. According to Bird’s diet numbers, I could lose seven-and-a-half pounds by my wedding.
“You have any celery sticks?” I asked.
“Dolly, you look perfectly fine,” my grandmother insisted. “You don’t need celery sticks. None of us needs celery sticks.”
“At least get the facial peel and waxing at Muffy & Dicks,” the pedicurist urged, like I was an emergency.
“But what’s Muffy & Dicks?” I asked. “I never heard of it.”
“It’s the place that just opened next to Ruth’s.”
“The natural beauty supply store?” I asked.
“Natural beauty supply store and butcher shop,” the pedicurist said. “It just opened. I got a Brazilian wax and six lamb chops. The lamb chops were delicious.”
“I got my eyebrows done, but no lamb chops for me,” Bird explained. “You can’t eat raw lamb chops.”
“Maybe I do need some sprucing up,” I said.
“Thank you. Thank you,” Bird said, obviously relieved that I wouldn’t be an old, fat mess at my wedding. “I mean, don’t you have Bridget’s baby’s christening tomorrow and then the wedding on Thursday? This is not a week where you should be looking like that,” she said, pointing at my old-looking, cooked food-eating face.
She was right. I was going to be on display all week. It was going to be hell. But I was also going to eat cake all week, I realized. A week of cake was pretty good, even with all of my freaking out.
Cake was definitely an upside to hell.
With my beauty plan set up to start tomorrow, the pedicurist went quiet while she worked on Grandma’s feet, and Bird finished with the curlers and squeezed permanent solution onto my grandmother’s hair.
“How’s it going with Matilda?” Grandma asked me. “Did you unmatch them?”
Drat. I’d forgotten all about Matilda. “I went there, but didn’t have enough time to really figure out the situation. But she looked fine to me. Really happy with her husband and married life.”
Grandma scratched her chin. “I don’t know. Maybe my radar is wonky. I could’ve sworn that she needed help and that her husband was all wrong. Maybe I didn’t make a mistake with my match? I don’t know. I keep getting signals. I keep seeing things.”
“You want a cup of coffee, Zelda?” Bird asked her. “A glass of water? A Danish? You look a little pale.”
“Yes, I’d like all of those things. And a bagel. You got a bagel? I just feel a little off kilter. Maybe my eyesight isn’t as good as it used to be.”
“Are you kidding me?” Bird said. “You’re more reliable than the six o’clock news. Your sight is never fuzzy. Your radar’s never wonky.”
She was right. Grandma’s radar was never wonky. She’d always been right except on a blind day. And this wasn’t a blind day.
“I have some time today,” I said. “I’ll give her another visit.”
After Grandma was finished at the hair salon, we ate lunch at Saladz. I was still hungover, and the food hit the spot. My grandmother got a lot of attention in the restaurant, since it had been delivering to her for years, and this was the first time she had gone to eat there. We had chicken and waffles with brownie à la mode for dessert.
“I guess I’ll start my raw food diet tomorrow,” I said, looking at my empty plate.
Afterward, Grandma went off to do something exciting, and I picked up my car and drove back to Matilda’s apartment.
She opened the door with a smile, happy to see me. “Two visits in two days. This is great. The only other person who visits me is Fanta. How are you, Gladie?”
She let me into the apartment, which was even hotter than the day before. The windows were closed and the fans were on. This time, she wasn’t alone. There was a man in the living room watching TV. He was about five-foot eight, balding with a little paunch. He stood up and greeted me in surprise. Matilda introduced me, and he smiled, warmly and gestured for me to take a seat on the couch.
“The granddaughter of the woman who’s responsible for my happy ending,” he said, smiling. “I’m so glad you came to visit.”
“I dropped by yesterday and I figured I’d come back,” I said, not thinking of an excuse about why I was coming back.
Rockwell smiled. “Matilda didn’t tell me she had a visitor. Matilda, you should’ve shared that with me. I would’ve loved to know you had a visitor.”
“Rockwell likes me to share my days with him,” Matilda explained. “It slipped my mind, honey.”
Rockwell put his arm around her and gave her a squeeze and a kiss on her temple. “My absent-minded girl. I couldn’t love you any more if you never forgot a thing. Did you remember to lock the door? She always forgets to lock the door.”
“Oh!” she exclaimed. “I’ll check.”
While she was gone, Rockwell offered me a glass of lemonade, which I gladly took, since I was sweating bullets and was already dehydrated from spending two minutes in their sweltering apartment. Rockwell was very welcoming and hospitable, and when Matilda returned, he asked me a lot of questions about my work and how my grandmother was doing. Every chance he got, he touched Matilda, drawing her into an embrace, giving her pecks on her cheek and her neck. They were so obviously in love that I wondered if Spencer and I were not.
Spencer was a play big or go home kind of guy. He was all in or not at all. He never gave me pecks on my cheek. Sure, he jumped my bones every chance he got, but was that romantic? Was that a death-do-us-part relationship?
Where were my pecks?
“I have to go off to work,” Rockwell announced, as if he was disappointed to leave his wife. He gazed lovingly into her eyes and gave her face a series of little kisses. “No rest for the weary. Off on the road again to bring home the bacon. You girls stay here and have fun. But, Matilda, don’t tire yourself out. You know how you get when you’re tired.”
“He’s right. When I get tired, I get forgetful and a little airy,” Matilda explained.
“She just does things like leaves the stove on or the water in the bathroom sink. Stuff like that. Nothing dramatic. Listen, sweetheart,” he told her, clutching her in an embrace. “When I get back, how about we go out for a candlelit dinner and then a bubble bath and I give you a massage?”
He had such a romantic way of speaking. Spencer would’ve told me he wanted to do me with me on top, without any mention of bubbles. At most, he would have brought a box of Oreos to eat after he bonked my brains out. It wasn’t exactly a massage and a candlelit dinner.
I guessed Grandma’s radar was wonky. These two were the most romantic couple I had ever met.
After Rockwell left to go to work, Matilda made a beeline for the chest and took out the two pairs of binoculars. She handed me one. “Lots of stuff happening,” she explained. We looked out the window to the apartment directly opposite. “That’s Fanta,” she explained. There was a woman with red hair just like orange soda having an argument with her husband. The man gripped Fanta’s arms tightly and shook her. “They don’t have the best marriage,” Matilda said. “They argue all the time. Rockwell and I never argue.”
I gnawed the inside of my cheek. Spencer and I argued all the time. We constantly argued. I didn’t think we communicated in any other way than arguing. Still, he had never grabbed me and shook me. He had never gotten angry like this man was with Fanta. The argument stopped pretty quickly, and the woman ran into the bedroom, locking herself in. I felt dirty, spying on someone’s private moment, but I couldn’t bring myself to look away.
“Yesterday, you were saying that you are new in town. Where do you come from?” I asked Matilda.
“Orange County. I’ve moved around a lot. No family. I’ve been kind of like a searcher, not knowing what I wanted to do when I grew up.”
I understood completely. I had gone from one job to the next until I came to Cannes to help my grandmother with her matchmaking business.
“I studied a lot,” Matilda continued. “I have three PhD’s, two Masters, and four Bachelor’s degrees.” Yowza. I didn’t know why someone would want more than one degree, but I wasn’t exactly an expert on the world of higher learning. I had dropped out of high school, and I never watched PBS.
But I didn’t think I needed to tell Matilda that.
I put my binoculars down. “Wow, you’re smart.”
“But that doesn’t stop me from being airy. I also have a little OCD problem lately. Don’t tell Rockwell, but I check the door locks twenty times a day. I don’t trust myself anymore, Gladie.”
“Have you tried the raw food diet? I hear that’s pretty good except for the farting.”
My phone rang. It was Spencer. “Pinky, if you’re not out stealing more beasts of burden, you need to come home immediately. It’s an emergency,” he said and clicked off. There was no, “I love you” or offers of a bubble bath and champagne and romantic candlelit dinners. Spencer was nothing like Rockwell. Was our marriage doomed to fail? I said goodbye to Matilda and left.
CHAPTER 6
These days, the news is sixty percent about what could happen instead of talking about what’s happening now. I’m sort of known for talking about what will happen. But emes my hand to God, bubbeleh, what will happen is not nearly as important as what’s happening right this second. While you’re wondering if your house will flood, it’s already on fire. You understand? Make sure your house isn’t on fire. There those are wise words from your grandma.
Lesson 119, Matchmaking advice from your
Grandma Zelda
Spencer had sounded completely panicked on the phone, which wasn’t his go-to emotion. His normal go to emotions were irritation and annoyance. I was used to that. But never panic. I couldn’t imagine what would make him so scared.
I parked my Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme in my grandmother’s driveway, and before I could even turn off the engine, Spencer ran out of the house and opened my car door.
It was a very romantic gesture, something he had never done before. All at once, I felt better about my worries that our relationship wasn’t as romantic as Matilda and Rockwell’s. Spencer did love me. Here he was running outside, opening my car door, very excited to see me. That was as romantic as Matilda and Rockwell’s pecks and bubbles and candlelit dinners.
Besides, Rockwell was a dumpy guy, and Spencer looked sexy as hell today. He was wearing one of his nicest suits, and he obviously had taken extra care with his hair and his personal grooming. He was the sexiest man I have ever known, but today, he had outdone himself.
And it was all for me. He had made himself look as attractive as he could because he loved me and wanted me to be happy. That was the definition of romance.
I couldn’t believe we were about to be husband and wife and live together forever. I was such a lucky woman to have him.
I got out of the car and wrapped my arms around him. Hugging him, I felt thankful for my loving romantic Spencer.
Then, he picked me up and put me down an arm’s-length away from him. In other words, he pushed me away.
“We don’t have time for that,” he growled.
“Huh? Wha…?” I stammered.
Spencer ran his fingers through his hair and looked past me. “Don’t panic,” he ordered.
“I’m not panicking. Should I be panicking? Are you panicking? Why shouldn’t I panic?”
I took a step forward, and he pushed me back, again. “I told you not to panic. Please don’t panic. And for God’s sake, don’t be you. I mean you know, don’t be…” Spencer ran his finger up and down over his lips, in the international insane gesture.
“I’m pretty sure I should resent that,” I said.
“Well, you know it’s true. But listen. You need to take a breath and brace yourself. My mother is here. I mean, my parents are here.”
I gasped. “But it’s not the wedding, yet.”
“For the rehearsal dinner.”
“There’s a rehearsal dinner?”
“Focus, Pinky. This is serious. My mother’s here. You need to remain calm.”
“I’m calm.”
“No, you’re not. You can’t be calm. Just be calm. Be calm!” Spencer said, his voice a half-octave higher than usual.
“Okay, I might not be calm,” I said. “Not now. Not the way you’re acting. Why are you acting like this? Does your mother have three heads? Does she breathe fire?”
“Yes! I thought I made that clear to you.”
“Oh, geez. Oh, geez. Your mother. Your mother.”
“My mother. My mother.”
“Your mother. Your mother.” We were in a panic loop without a way of getting off.
“Stay calm.”
“I’m calm.”
“No, you’re not. You’re hyperventilating, Pinky. Stop it.”
I huffed and puffed. “I can’t stop breathing. Wow, I’m breathing a lot. Why am I breathing so much? Now, I’m lightheaded. Why do I keep breathing like this?”
Spencer’s eyes were huge, and his perfectly groomed hair was standing up because he kept running his fingers through it. “Because my mother is on her way. I mean she’s here. She’s sitting with my father in the parlor. Stop breathing.”
“Okay, I’ll stop breathing.”
We walked inside. I had never met Spencer’s parents before. I had never even spoken to them on the phone. For some reason, Spencer had kept them under wraps. I had met his brother, Peter, when he had come to town to visit. But never his parents. Spencer was very close to his mother. He talked to he
r all the time and gave her updates, but I wasn’t sure he gave her all the updates about me.
That would have been a whole crap-ton of updates.
As I walked into the house, I wondered why he had kept me all but a secret. Perhaps he was ashamed of me. Since puberty, Spencer had only dated supermodels, actresses, and the occasional cheerleader. I wasn’t a supermodel. I wasn’t any of those things.
But supermodels weren’t good with parents. Nobody wanted to introduce a supermodel girlfriend to their mother. Skinny, tall girls in designer outfits weren’t true wife material. I was wife material. I was a girlfriend to introduce to parents. I was…
I was crazy.
I was wrong.
I wasn’t girlfriend material or wife material. I wasn’t fit to be introduced to anyone’s mother. I was a wreck. I was wearing Walley’s cutoff jeans and a tank top with a coffee stain on my chest.
And according to Bird, I looked my age. No. Older than my age. And I needed a facial and a wax from Muffy & Dick’s. And now I was going to meet Spencer’s mother, and I didn’t look anything like a supermodel.
I didn’t even look anything like a cheerleader.
I looked more like a homeless person.
Spencer took my hand, and we walked into the parlor. Spencer’s father stood and smiled at me. His parents were breathtakingly beautiful people in their sixties. I was surprised that they were so good looking, even though they had made two beautiful people and would have of course been beautiful.
Spencer’s father was even taller than him and his brother. He was well-built and fit with a thick head of dark hair and a straight back.
“Isn’t she lovely, Mother?” Spencer’s father said.
He wrapped me in a warm embrace, and my hyperventilating stopped. This isn’t so bad, I thought. It didn’t matter that my shirt was stained. It didn’t matter that I looked my age or older.
Then, Spencer’s mother stood and clasped her hands in front of her. Beautiful, her thick dark hair was jaw-length. She wore a Chanel suit, and despite our heatwave, there wasn’t a sweat stain anywhere on it. She looked me up and down, pausing at my little paunch and my coffee stain. I forced myself not to cover my body with my hands. And not to run away.
