The Hot Flash Club

by Nancy Thayer

  At last Laura raised her sad eyes to Faye. “And what would Daddy expect of me?”

  Faye took a deep breath. “I think he’d want you to create your own home, Laura. Either with Lars or by yourself.”

  Laura nodded. “I know. You’re right, Mom. I’m to blame for—”

  Faye lifted her hand. “No need to talk of blame. I needed you so much when your father died, and you helped me by staying here. Who’s to blame for that? It doesn’t matter. What does matter is that you need to start fresh now, and so do I, and I can’t do it here.”

  “But, Mom, where will you go?”

  “I’m not sure. Part of the fun will be in looking. Selling the house will free me up, Laura, and I want to help you, too.”

  “You always help me.”

  “I mean financially. This house should bring a nice sum, and I want to give half of it to you to use on a down payment for a house.”

  “Oh, Mom! You don’t have to do that!”

  “No, I don’t have to, but I want to. I hope it will take some of the anxiety out of this part of your life. Then, perhaps, Lars can find a job with a less-high-powered firm. Perhaps he’ll be able to practice the kind of law he likes. Or, you two might get divorced. You’ll have money to buy a small house and start a new life.”

  “A new life,” Laura murmured. Her lovely face was full of doubt.

  “It will take a while to sell the house,” Faye continued, trying to sound brisk. “Before I can give you the money from the house, I want to give you something else.”

  Laura looked up expectantly. “Okay.”

  “I want to give you and Lars a romantic weekend. I’ll take care of Megan for three days, and you and Lars go wherever you want—within reason. Up to Maine to walk in the woods, or down to the Cape to stroll by the ocean. Someplace where you can wear pretty lingerie and take long afternoon naps, where you both can gorge yourselves like gluttons on extravagant food and wines. Where you can rest and reconcile.”

  Now the tears exploded. Laura rushed across to give Faye a huge hug. “You’re the best mom.”

  Faye hugged her back. She picked up Megan and laid her on the floor between them. Megan shrieked with pleasure, wriggling her arms and legs gleefully, like a beetle trying to flip over.

  “Tell me, Mom,” Laura said, sounding very grown-up all of a sudden. “Did Dad ever cheat on you?”

  “Laura, you can’t judge your marriage by mine.”

  “You’re evading the question.”

  “No.” Faye shook her head. “No, Jack never cheated on me.” Bending down, she dug into the diaper bag, then handed Megan her brightly colored set of plastic keys. Megan cooed ecstatically at them and tried to stick them all in her mouth. “Who’s Grandmother’s beautiful baby girl?” Don’t let fear hold you back, she remembered them agreeing at the HFC. And so, still grinning at Megan, Faye said, “But I cheated on your father.”

  “You did not!”

  “I did.”

  “Mom!”

  Faye leaned back in the cushions, looking up at the ceiling. “You were in first grade, and you loved school, and you were such an independent little thing.”

  “Yeah, well, look at me now,” Laura snorted.

  “Jack was overwhelmed with his work. I felt left behind. Old.” She chuckled. “I was only thirty. An old beau from college phoned me. He was in town for a conference, and I met him for drinks, and he was so exciting! Zeke led hiking tours all over the world, New Zealand one month, Switzerland the next. He was lean and tanned and the most glamorous thing I’d ever seen.” Faye smiled up at the ceiling, remembering.

  “Eew, Mom, so you slept with him?”

  For her daughter’s sake, Faye tamed her smile. “I did. Several times over the next few months, whenever he was in town. It was so romantic , Laura.” She still could remember how it felt to get ready for a rendezvous, the sensuality of preparations, the perfumed soap, new silk lingerie, the anticipation as she drove toward the hotel. The thump in her body when she first saw him, the energy of his kisses, so different from the absentminded kisses of her husband. Zeke’s need of her, the force with which he pushed her down on the hotel bed, pressing her legs open with his knees, shoving her skirt up, wrenching her panties down—the urgency. She’d felt wanton, carnal, tempting. He did not ask whether the plumber had been to the house, whether his mother had agreed to spend Christmas with them that year, or how Laura’s teacher conference went. He did not ask her to rub his feet, he did not fart or belch in front of her, he did not ask her to inspect a worrisome mole, and if he had had a worrisome mole, Faye wouldn’t have worried. It was as if there was another way to be a human being, completely different from the way Faye was doing it, and for a few minutes a month, she got to live that sensual, liberated life.

  “Did Dad ever know?”

  Her daughter’s voice pulled the plug on her memories. “Yes. Someone from Jack’s firm saw me coming out of the hotel with Zeke. She told Jack, who confronted me.” Faye sighed. She hated remembering this part. “It was horrible. Your father was devastated. I was sick with guilt.” Her daughter didn’t need to know how close they’d come to divorcing. “But we got through it. We went to church. We saw a counselor. I started painting. Gradually, things got better, and after that, we were just more and more in love with each other with every passing year.”

  Laura made a soft, whimpering noise.

  Faye turned to her. “Oh, darling, I didn’t mean to upset you, I shouldn’t have told you—”

  “I’m not crying about you! I’m crying about me! Oh, Mom, what will I do if Lars wants a divorce?”

  Faye took her daughter by her shoulders. “Do you love him, Laura?”

  “With all my heart!”

  “Can you forgive his affair?”

  Laura looked away. “It will be hard.”

  “It will be harder if you wring your hands over a steaming pot of resentment,” Faye pointed out sensibly.

  “What if he doesn’t want to go away for a romantic weekend with me?” Laura looked terrified.

  “Maybe he’ll be surprised and complimented if you ask,” Faye pointed out.

  “Oh, Mom.” Laura hugged herself. “I wish you could ask him for me.” But she grinned. “I know, I know. I’ve got to do it myself.”

  After Laura took Megan home, Faye walked through her wonderful house, turning lights on as she went. She looked in the refrigerator for some kind of treat—letting go of Laura had made her heart ache. She felt like a cast-aside stake, once the sapling stands tall and free. She was useless, except as a grandmother. Thank heavens for that.

  Closing the refrigerator door, Faye sat down with a bowl of red grapes, plucked one from the stem, and rolled it between her fingers. It was cool and smooth, a lovely burgundy color, but she had no desire to paint it. She had no desire to seclude herself in her attic studio with a number of inanimate objects. It was as if a part of herself, once as brilliant as an oil by Rembrandt, had faded into sepia and was disappearing altogether.

  The phone rang. She snatched it up.

  “Faye!” She sounded so happy it made Faye smile.

  “Hello, Marilyn. How are you?”

  “I’m great! And I owe it all to you! How can I ever thank you for arranging the wedding?”

  “I had fun doing it. Have you heard from the honeymoon couple?”

  “They phoned last night. They’re hiking in Hawaii and having a wonderful time. Lila loves the beaches, and Teddy loves the volcanoes.”

  “Speaking of which, any eruptions from the Eastbrooks?”

  “Oh, yes. Lila phoned them from Hawaii. They’re furious, and Dr. Eastbrook threatened to hire a private detective to track down Mrs. Van Dyke.”

  “Uh-oh.” A snake of fear slid down Faye’s spine.

  “Not to worry. Dora’s so much happier now that she’s started painting. She’s eating more, her general health is better, and she’s even thinking of going out to sit in a secluded spot on the grounds and paint. That�
�s made Mrs. Eastbrook so happy, she’s told her husband not to pursue Mrs. Van Dyke.”

  “Whew.” Faye’s heart slowed down.

  “Plus, Dora’s asked Mrs. Eastbrook to find a private art tutor for her. This is like a miracle, I guess, because before you came, Dora was terrified of strangers.”

  “Speaking of strangers, did you ever find out who the man was you saw being so chummy with Lila at Mario’s restaurant?”

  “Lila’s hairdresser. He’s been her best friend since high school, and he’s gay.”

  “What a relief!”

  “I know. Everything’s turned out beautifully, and we have you to thank for it, Faye. By the way, how’s your daughter doing?”

  Faye settled in a chair, put her feet up on the kitchen table, and described her most recent meeting with Laura. “Was it hard, letting go of Teddy?”

  “Not really. We were never as close as you and Laura. Perhaps guys and their mothers aren’t. On the other hand, he’s being very protective of me since his father filed for a divorce, and he thinks I’m supercool for changing my appearance. Plus, Lila and I finally have lots to talk about. She loves giving me advice on clothes and makeup, and she wants me to go to the gym with her when she comes back from her honeymoon.”

  “The gym? But you’re so slim!”

  “True, but Lila tells me my posture’s bad, I slump, and I need to work out or I’ll start looking like a hunched-over witch with a hump on my back.”

  Faye laughed ruefully. “Young women can be brutal.” “It’s all right. Actually, I’m grateful for Lila’s advice. I really like Faraday, and I want to be attractive for him. I’ve been isolated too long. You and Alice and Shirley are bringing me up to speed. Which reminds me, Alice phoned. She’s nervous about her date with Gideon. Afraid she might go to bed with him.”

  Faye laughed. “You both have dates tonight, right?”

  “Right. And I’ve got to get ready. I just wanted to thank you again, Faye, for everything.”

  After saying good-bye to Marilyn, Faye wandered to the kitchen window and looked out. Flowers and newly budding trees lifted and fell in the gentle, intermittent breeze. Faye was restless. She turned from the window. Once again she experienced a sensation of emptiness inside, so vast and vague she didn’t know whether she was hungry or melancholy, or both.

  Faye fixed herself a cup of tea and called Shirley, simply because she knew Marilyn and Alice were out. Of the three other women, Shirley was the one with whom Faye felt least affinity. Shirley’s thin, energetic presence made Faye feel fat by comparison. Plus, Shirley was kind of eccentric. On the other hand, Faye admired her for wanting, at sixty, to start a new business.

  “Faye!” Shirley shouted into the phone. “I’m so glad you called! I’ve had the most amazing day! I attended this management seminar Alice forced me to go to, and it was awesome!”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “Are you sure? Do you have time?”

  “I’m sure. I’d love to hear about it.”

  “Good, you can tell me whether or not I’m making any sense.”

  “I know nothing about business—”

  “Maybe not, but you’re so much smarter than I am.”

  “Am not,” Faye protested, laughing, but she couldn’t help but feel complimented. “But go ahead.”

  “First of all, I’ve got notes on my five-year plan, want to hear them?”

  “Absolutely.” Faye settled at the kitchen table and sipped her tea. A few moments later, she rose, found the notebook she kept at the little antique desk where she paid her bills, and returned to the kitchen table, making notes as she listened.

  After a while, Faye said, “Shirley, if you’re planning to offer so many services and maintain this large a staff, you’re going to need a pretty good-size building.”

  “I know, believe me, I’ve been thinking about that. But I met the nicest man at the conference. He told them this is a great time to buy a place because the economy’s in the toilet, so it’s a buyer’s market.” Shirley giggled. “Almost sounds like I know what I’m talking about it, doesn’t it? I—”

  “What man?” Faye asked.

  “Jeez, Faye, chill! You sound like my mother! His name’s Justin Quale, isn’t that the classiest name? He’s not a real estate broker, but his brother, Jake, is. Over lunch, Justin and I talked, and he says he can think of several places that might be perfect for my retreat. So tomorrow he’s taking me to look at a few.”

  “Shirley,” Faye said, “I’m going with you.”

  “Why?” Shirley inquired, her voice shrill. “Because you think I’m a moron?”

  “Of course not—”

  “You do! You do think I’m a moron! You think I’m going to take all that money you and everyone else is investing and give it to some man simply because he flirted with me, right?”

  “Nonsense, I don’t think that at all,” Faye lied, crossing her fingers.

  “You think I’m not capable of being a sensible businesswoman who makes shrewd judgments.” Shirley’s voice thickened with tears.

  “Shirley, calm down.”

  “Here I was, thinking you and I were friends, that someone as classy as you would even stoop to being a friend to someone like me; here I am, thinking I’ve changed my life, I’m a brave new woman, I swallowed my fears and went to that seminar, and I thought people thought I was smart, but you think they think I’m just a naive, gullible little birdbrain who will give her money to the first man that—”

  “Stop it, Shirley!” Faye shouted. She felt terrible! She’d never meant to humiliate Shirley, she had to do something to save Shirley’s pride and their budding friendship. “I want to see it for my own purposes!”

  Shirley hesitated, then asked in a small voice, “You do?”

  “Yes,” Faye affirmed in a ringing voice. “I do.” She had no idea what she was talking about.

  “What purposes?”

  What purposes? Faye wondered desperately. She opened her mouth, and nothing came out.

  “Faye?”

  “Because—” Faye began, mumbling at first, and then speaking out triumphantly, “because I’m going to go back to school, get a degree in art therapy, and be the art therapist at your retreat.”

  “Why, Faye!” Shirley sounded dazzled with surprise. “What a brilliant idea!”

  “Yes,” Faye agreed, more dazzled than Shirley. “It is a brilliant idea.”

  “Cool. Then I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.”

  Faye hung up the phone and made a note on her calendar. The next day was Sunday. Well. She thought she might go to church. She hadn’t been since Jack’s death, and she realized now that she missed it all, the church and its rituals, the congregation and hymns, the flowers. She would go, definitely, and let her autumnal life be part of spring, part of the blue sky, the returning robins, the breeze with its scent of freshly mown grass, the warm sunlight pouring out like a benediction.

  39

  The doorbell rang. Terror shot from Alice’s brain directly down to her stomach. She didn’t know whether to answer the door or run to the bathroom and barf.

  Snap out of it! she ordered herself, and opened the door. Gideon stood there, soigné in black trousers and a cream-and-black silk shirt that made his dark eyes gleam like jet.

  “A little present.” He held out a sheaf of flame red tulips. “They made me think of you.”

  She took them, burying her face in the resplendent blooms, using the moment to compose herself. She was so flustered by his compliment and his gift, she was absolutely tongue-tied.

  “Thanks,” she managed to squeak. “I’ll put them in water.”

  She found a vase in the cupboard above the refrigerator and carried it to the sink.

  “It’s a great night out there,” Gideon called from the living room, where he stood appreciating the view.

  “Uh-huh.” Alice was so uncomfortable, and she sort of itched all over. Was she breaking out in a rash? She felt prickly. Oh, God, pri
ckly. The clear cellophane cone around the flowers appeared to be made of some miracle material that would not respond to her efforts to tear it. She tried to slide it down the long thick bunch of stems, away from the tight bunch of petals. It was like trying to slip a condom off a penis.

  Oh my God, couldn’t she think of something other than sex? With trembling fingers, she dug scissors out of a drawer and sliced the cellophane paper so that it fell away from the flowers, but then, as she ripped open the little packet of powder that would keep the flowers fresh, a vision of opening a condom packet sprang to mind. She shook the powder into the water, and stirred, then gathered the stems in her hands and inserted them— sex again!—into the opening of the vase.

  She was nearly hyperventilating as she carried the flowers out to the coffee table. “Would you like a drink?”

  Gideon checked his watch. “I don’t think we have time. The movie starts at seven-thirty.”

  “Fine. I’ll just grab a wrap.”

  “You look beautiful tonight, Alice.” Gideon’s smile set off sparklers in her stomach.

  “Thanks.” She hurried to her bedroom, doing her best not to bump into the walls.

  In her bedroom, she gave herself one last check in the mirror. She wore new, loose, cream silk trousers with an elastic waist, and a long-sleeved coral tunic top reaching nearly to her knees and cut deep at the bosom, displaying her abundant cleavage. For the first time in years, she didn’t have to barricade her bust behind a panel of fabric. She crossed her arms below her breasts, cradled and displayed to advantage in their new resplendent lace bra, and smiled cockily. “Hello, girls. Nice to see you.”

  Then she squinted her eyes critically and bent closer to the mirror. From the rounded swell of her breasts fanned a series of lines upward across the loose skin of her chest. These wrinkles met with the row of rings circling her neck, forming a kind of upside-down triangle. Up close, her chest looked like something the National Geographic Channel would show to explain alluvial flows in deserts or dry stream beds.

  Damn! Was she gorgeous or grotesque?

  “Alice?” Gideon called from the living room.

  Alice wrapped her pashmina scarf around her, crossing it over her chest. “Sorry. Couldn’t find my scarf.”