Going For Broke

by Nina Howard

  Elise poked her head in with a twinkle in her eye. “There’s someone here to see you,” she said in a sing-song voice of a twelve-year old.

  Shit. She didn’t want to talk to strangers, and she certainly didn’t want to talk to anyone she knew. Which, in this town, amounted to about six people. She put down the tangled necklace she was working on and wiped her hands on her pants and headed out to the front counter. She knew it was going to be Mike, and she wasn’t ready to face him just yet.

  Instead, there was a scenester high school girl that came into the shop on a regular basis. The way she shopped made Victoria’s skin crawl - it was as if she was looking for the most revolting, outdated and basically queer outfit she could put together. She started asking Victoria’s advice on her last couple of trips into the store, and Victoria liked to think she was being a good influence on her.

  When she saw the girl, Brooke, she knew that all her hard work was for naught. Brooke was wearing striped tights, a pair of high-waisted shorts with suspenders in which both Mork and Mindy would be embarrassed to be seen in public, a Ronald McDonald t-shirt, all topped with a red crocheted beret. The beret was the cutest part of her outfit.

  “Hi Brooke!” Victoria said with an enthusiasm that she didn’t feel. “What can we do for you today?”

  “I’m looking for a pair of overalls,” the otherwise darling 17-year old answered.

  Overalls? Unless she was trying out for the part of the Scarecrow in Parker and Posey’s play, overalls shouldn’t be allowed on the street. “We just sold our last pair!” she lied.

  “I bet it was Mary Campbell!” Brooke said. She had a gang of scenester friends who loved to comb the racks at the store.

  Victoria thought of something. “I do, however, have something that may tempt you,” she said. She felt it was her karmic duty to educate these girls in the way of fashion.

  She ran to the back and grabbed a Michael Kors blouse that had just come in. It was wrinkled and dirty (didn’t anyone wash their donations before they dropped them off?), yet it was cut beautifully. Plain white - with a good washing - it nipped in the waist and had lovely French cuffs.

  “This is really beautiful,” she said, holding out the blouse as if it was worth a fortune. “See the cuffs?”

  She could tell Brooke had never seen a French cuff in her life. “They’re missing buttons,” she said with a teenager’s distinctive whine.

  “That’s the fun of it!” Victoria walked over to the glass counter at the front of the store. “Men for the most part have stopped wearing cufflinks, and there are some amazing vintage ones that could be yours for the taking.” She plucked a pair of cufflinks that were a King and Queen of Hearts. They jangled a little bit, and Victoria inserted them into the cuff of the Michael Kors shirt.

  Brooke looked at her like she had just done a magic trick. “Cool! What other ones do you have?”

  The two of them spent the next ten minutes sorting through a box that held an array of costume jewelry. Brooke came away with three pairs of cufflinks: The cards, somebody else’s monogram and little Eiffel Towers.

  As she was paying for her purchases - a grand total of $22.37 for the shirt and all the cufflinks - Brooke looked up at Victoria. “Man, I hope I’m as cool as you when I’m your age.”

  Ouch! “I hope so too,” was all she could answer.

  ###

  On the way home from the shop, Victoria kept looking for Mike’s truck. He usually either tried to play cat and mouse, sneaking around corners and trying to stay out of her sight, which she thought was a fun game; or he would dive right next to her at 5 mph, talking to her with the window open. He was nowhere to be seen.

  Her hangover abated, she still felt like crap, mostly from her own self-recriminations. She rode past the Starbucks and decided that she deserved a treat today. She would never have dreamed of going into a Starbucks in New York. That was for commuters and the homeless. She hadn’t been to a restaurant (except for last night, and she was really trying to block that from her memory) in a really long time. Lord knows that Starbucks doesn’t begin to qualify as a restaurant, but the concept for someone waiting on her for a change sounded good. Even if she had to wait in line to do it.

  She ordered a drip coffee because it was the cheapest thing on the menu. It was heaven to sit down in the big plush armchair and just sit. She closed her eyes and imagined herself back at the Carlisle, with Antonio bringing her an icy gin and tonic. Instead, she sipped the bitter coffee, and for the first time in a long time, was happy with what she had. Her calm reverie was interrupted by a shrill voice calling her name.

  “Vicky! Why I just run into you everywhere these days!” Victoria didn’t have to open her eyes to know that it was Martha Morrison. With her eyes closed, she tried to imagine the outfit that Martha would be sporting today. Head-to-toe Lycra? A wrap dress that was barely wrapped? Hot pants and platform shoes? When she opened her eyes, she was not disappointed. Martha had on a super-sheer white blouse with a purple zebra bra underneath, all neatly tucked into a very tight white pencil skirt. It was easy to see that she wasn’t wearing anything underneath.

  Martha was clinging to a man who by all accounts looked like he could have been in his late 70s. He was tanned, and had a full head of white hair, wearing seersucker pants, a navy polo shirt and white Gucci loafers. Did he just drive up from Palm Beach? Victoria knew, without being told, that Martha’s date was a very, very wealthy man. It wasn’t because of the Rolex on his wrist - drug dealers wore those. No, he had a scent she immediately recognized. Not just well-off with a big home in the suburbs and a membership at the local country club, but serious money. Private jet, multiple homes and a Rolodex filled with secrets. She was sure that if she threw out a few well-chosen names they would be two degrees of separation. And she wasn’t thinking of Martha. Today, sporting her thrift store chic and a hangover the size of Mustique, she didn’t want to go down that road. It was just way too much effort.

  Martha showed off her catch as if he she had just won an Oscar.

  “Vicky, I’d like to introduce you to my friend, Frederick,” she said, stroking the old man’s arm. “Frederick, this is an old classmate of mine, Vicky Patterson.”

  Victoria stood up with the introduction, and Frederick grabbed her hand. He gave her a thorough once-over, and she was afraid he was going to ditch Martha to try to move onto her.

  “Victoria?” He said. Oh, no! There was a distinct ring of recognition in his voice. “Victoria Vernon? It is you!” He pumped harder. Victoria thought and couldn’t think of a single Frederick she knew. Not even in Palm Beach. “How are you?” He went on. “How’s Trip?”

  Her head was spinning. She had enough people in town recognize Vicky Patterson, this was the first time someone had recognized her as Victoria Vernon. And he knew Trip. Who was this guy?

  “-- and almost hooked it in the side of my head! Thank God Trip was there to stop him.” Frederick was explaining their connection to Martha, who looked especially peevish that Victoria was taking the spotlight from her and her many charms.

  A light popped on in Victoria’s head. “Brud! Brud Sommerfield!” Trip used to take an annual bone fishing trip with a group of friends of his father’s every year in the Bahamas. The group had come to New York about six years ago when their trip was cancelled due to an out-of-season hurricane. They had all had dinner at The Williams Club, as all the fisherman were Williams alumni.

  “Brud?” Martha asked.

  “It’s short for brother,” Victoria and Brud answered in unison. It seemed that the richer people were, the kookier their nicknames. Victoria knew three Muffies, two Bitsies, and a host of otherwise respectable people walking around with names like Ibby, Bunny, Cricket, Topper, Gibby and of course, Trip.

  “Is Trip here with you?” Brud asked, looking around.

  Have you been living under a rock? Trip Vernon’s disappearance had been front page news in New York. Not to mention the Wall Street Journal, and CNBC.
<
br />   Martha looked confused, and wanted to be brought back into the conversation.

  “I thought his name was Mike,” she offered.

  Now it was Brud’s turn to be confused. “Mike? Who’s Mike?”

  “Vicky’s friend,” Martha was beginning to enjoy this. She could see that Victoria was getting uncomfortable.

  “Where’s Trip?” Brud asked.

  “Who’s Trip?” Martha asked.

  “Trip’s out of town on business,” she gave Brud the standard excuse. “And Mike,” she said, turning to Martha, “is just an acquaintance. Martha must have misunderstood.” She said as sweetly as she could. “Now how do you two know each other?”

  Brud clearly would rather skip this portion of the conversation, but Martha started in, ready to tell all.

  “Well, it was the funniest thing... I was down at the Hummer dealership -”

  Victoria cut in, “You drive a Hummer?” Figures.

  “No, I was just shopping. Anyway, I was looking at this adorable H3 and was leaning into the car to see how many cupholders it had, this is so embarrassing, and I must have lost my footing, because before you knew it I had tumbled into the front seat! Can you picture it?”

  Oh, yes I can picture your little bootie hanging out of the side of the car for all to see, Victoria thought. Instead she just nodded her head.

  “Well, thankfully Frederick was there to save me!” Victoria could swear that Martha stuck her chest out just a little farther as she said it.

  “Thankfully,” Victoria agreed.

  “Well, Frederick and I got to talking,” Martha started stroking his arm, “and we just had so much in common. Well, one thing led to another -- and here we are!”

  Frederick/Brud was noticeably silent during Martha’s story. Victoria didn’t feel sorry for him. As a matter of fact, she was fed up with most men, especially those that cheat or lie to their wives.

  “How is Eleanor?” Victoria asked.

  Now it was Brud’s turn to be uncomfortable. “She’s great. Up at Lake Geneva with the grandkids.”

  Eleanor obviously wasn’t one of the many things that Martha and Brud had in common, although Martha didn’t seem very concerned about her, wherever Eleanor and the grandkids happened to be.

  “Give her my best,” Victoria said, as she grabbed her bag off the chair. “Martha, great to see you again!” She sped out of the coffee shop as quickly as she could. Let them sort that all out. She ducked out the door and took a minute to catch her breath. She didn’t have long.

  Scott Simons turned the corner and walked straight into her. He looked as hungover as she felt, and somehow it looked rakishly handsome on him. He gave her a huge smile when he saw her.

  “Stalking me, are we?” he teased.

  “Stalking?” she didn’t understand.

  “I live upstairs. Remember?” he gave her a devilish smile.

  She dragged her hand through her hair and shook her head. “I’m amazed I remember anything from last night. I haven’t had that much to drink in a long time. I hope I didn’t do anything embarrassing.” she said, remembering every moment of their evening.

  He leaned in close to her and said with a conspiratorial whisper, “Nothing I wouldn’t want repeated.”

  He may look fantastic, but his breath smelled like it had better days. Victoria took a step back and hid a shudder. There was nothing from last night she wanted to be repeated. She wasn’t happy when Parker caught them, though today she was thankful that he stopped it when he did. Running into Scott was bad enough after a few drunken kisses. She couldn’t imagine having to see him after anything more.

  “Well, then,” she really didn’t have much more to say to him. She looked around for Mike’s truck. The last thing she wanted was for Mike to see them together again. Where was he? “I should get going.” Witty repartee it wasn’t, but she wasn’t looking to impress at this point. She was just looking to get out of there.

  “I’d love to see you again” Scott said, as he stuffed his hands into his pockets like a high school boy. What Victoria wouldn’t have given to have this conversation twenty five years ago!

  “That would be great” she lied. “It’s just that things are a little crazy right now.”

  “I’m flexible,” he smiled. He wasn’t going to press her, and for that she was thankful. Impulsively, she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

  “Thanks. I’ve really got to go --” she pointed toward her trusty bike.

  “No, sure,” he said, pulling his cell phone from his pocket. “Can I get your number before you run off on me?”

  “I’m at my mother’s -- can you believe I don’t know her number off the top of my head?”

  “What about your cell?” he asked.

  “Sorry - I don’t have one. I’m really sorry, I have to get going,” she said as she walked backwards toward her bike. “I’m sure we’ll bump into each other again soon. After all, I know where you live!”

  A little confused, Scott waved and headed into Starbucks. Great, let him have a nice cup of coffee with Martha and her newest boytoy. Or was that oldmantoy? All she knew was that she needed to get home.

  CHAPTER 22

  “Thanks Mom, I just don’t think I could sit through the entire dress rehearsal of The Wizard of Oz tonight,” Victoria dropped her head on the end of the sofa in the living room. Barbara was worried, as this looked more like the Vicky that landed on her doorstep earlier this spring. She had pulled out Bud’s old sweatpants and was wearing an old New Trier East Swimming sweatshirt, which confused Barbara, as Vicky was never a swimmer. She went over and felt Victoria’s forehead.

  “I’m fine mother,” Victoria snapped.

  “A bit of the Irish flue?” Barbara asked.

  “With a severe case of the Oh-Nos,” Victoria said, hitting her forehead repeatedly with an avocado green pillow.

  “Anything you want to talk about?” Victoria pulled the pillow from her face and looked at her mother with an evil stare. “Fine, don’t tell me anything. I should be used to it by now.”

  Victoria’s heart broke just a little bit as she watched her children leave for play practice. Their costumes were at school and she had yet to see them in full dress, and she knew from Posey every detail of both her and Parker’s costumes. Any other day, she told herself, she’d be front and center. Today it was all she could do to fake a cheerful goodbye and send them on their way.

  It felt good to zone out to the TV. She hadn’t done it in awhile, and it was just like riding a bike. There was a new season of the Real Housewives of Atlanta, and although she had missed the first six episodes, she really didn’t need to see them to jump right in.

  Fritz grabbed his leash in his mouth and jumped up on the sofa, trying to persuade Victoria to take him for a walk. She could swear that dog could tell time - every day at exactly 7:00, he was ready to go. Today he’d have to walk himself. She shuffled to the back door to let him out in the backyard, a lame attempt to exercise him. He stood in the middle of the kitchen and let out a bark of protest.

  “Sorry pal, tonight you’re on your own. I’m on strike. Come on, go out,” she motioned out the door.

  He refused to budge. Christ, you dumb dog, she thought. Go outside and poop! She tried to scoot him outside with her foot, but he held steady, and she was only able to glide him across the linoleum floor, he stopped when he got to the threshold.

  “Fine, little Fucker, be like that. I’m bigger than you.” She bent down and picked up the little dog and was about to throw it down the stairs.

  “Getting ready for the midget throwing contest later this week?”

  She looked up to see Mike in her backyard, leaning against the garage, with a cell phone in his hand. He held it up like he was going to take a picture of her. She dropped the dog on the stoop, and Fritz ran straight to Mike, tail wagging. Mike bent down to scratch the dog’s ears, and looked up at Victoria. His usual half-smile was gone.

  “What the hell are you doing her
e?” She asked. The pitch of her voice was high, and it was clear that she was nervous.

  “Aren’t we past that?”

  “My mother and Bud are inside!”

  “Really? What about the rehearsal?” He wasn’t going to let her off the hook.

  “How did you know about --”

  “Hey, it’s my job,” he shrugged.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” she put her arms on her hips, trying to display some sort of authority.

  “We need to talk,” was all he said, and she folded like a deck of cards. She sat on the bottom stair, and put her hungover head in her hands.

  He came over and sat next to her, filling the step completely. It was easier to talk to him without having to look him straight in the eye. “About the other night?”

  “About last night,” he answered. His tone was low and his voice was soft.

  Shit! It was Mike’s truck she had seen out of the corner of her eye. She felt stupid, slutty and did she say stupid? She didn’t know what to say.

  “You saw me.”

  “I wish I hadn’t.”

  “I was drunk.”

  “I could tell.”

  “I didn’t mean anything.”

  “I know.”

  She stopped. “You know? How do you know?”

  “I think I have a good idea of who you are, Mrs. Vernon. You don’t really seem like the kind of girl to get drunk and make out with the first good-looking guy you see. Not that that Simons guy is very good looking.”

  “I got drunk and made out with you,” she answered.

  “Ah, that’s different. First of all, you weren’t really drunk. Charmingly tipsy, yes, but not just about to puke drunk. Trust me, I know the difference. Secondly, I am much better looking. A lot.” He leaned in closer to her. “And thirdly (is that a word, thirdly?) thirdly I know you have feelings for me.”