by Heidi Lowe
"Chester, you need to tie your lace if you're going to be running around," I shouted, watching my son chase after his friends in a game of tag. An accident waiting to happen.
And then I waited. Not for the accident, but for what I'd grown to look forward to over the weeks. It usually took only a few moments for her to excuse herself, to ditch her male fans and make her way over to me.
"Good morning." She always wore the same, vibrant smile, as though she never had an off day and was always in a great mood.
"Ava, hi." And that was my usual response, as casual as I could manage, pretending that this brief interaction between us wasn't the highlight of my day.
"Did you have a good weekend?"
"So so. You? Oh, you went back home, didn't you?" She'd mentioned this last Friday when I'd picked up Chester.
"I did. Saw my parents. Had to listen to the usual moving back home speech."
"Parents!"
A few meters away Beth was watching us, grinning. She mouthed something that looked suspiciously like "bosom buddies", prompting me to look away. I was glad Ava's back was to her.
"Speaking of parents, I showed my mother some of your jewelry. She was very impressed. She thinks you're really talented."
"How nice of her to say." I had never been able to take compliments well; coming from her lips made them that much harder to endure. She had this way that she never took her eyes off me when she spoke, like she wanted to watch my reaction to her words.
"Well, it's true. Your work is amazing. I can imagine some big Hollywood starlet on the Oscars red carpet wearing one of your designs."
"Oh stop, you're just trying to flatter me." I laughed nervously.
"Take the compliment, Danielle, all right?" She put a hand on my arm. It was a friendly touch, but she took her hand away almost immediately, hurriedly, when I looked at it. She seemed embarrassed for doing it, and I hated that. Why the heck did I have to make her feel uncomfortable for touching me?
She cleared her throat. "Anyway, what I wanted to ask was if you would make a brooch for my mother. She's turning sixty, and I wanted to get her something she'll actually like. You do made-to-order, don't you?"
"Yes, of course. What does she like? Any particular theme or color scheme?"
"Butterflies. She's crazy about them. You think you could do something with that?"
"I'll get right on it. When do you need it by?"
She shrugged easily. "No rush. Her birthday's in a couple of months."
The first bell rang, warning everyone that they had five minutes to get to class before it commenced for the day.
"Well, that's me. We'll talk later, maybe?" she said.
"Sure. See you later." I watched her walk away, and the question that had been burning the tip of my tongue for weeks remained right where it was. I couldn't bring myself to ask, to even hint at it. For fear of rejection, of coming across as a freak. For a number of reasons, really. In my head I'd asked a thousand times, a hundred different ways. But when it came to it, I didn't have the balls.
On the walk home, once I'd ditched Beth at her house, I gave myself a pep talk, insisting that this would be the afternoon I asked.
"I know you're still so new to town, and I have a couple of tickets to see a play by this local writer. One of my theater director clients gave them to me. I was just wondering if you wanted to come?" An old man walking past me shot me a dubious look and edged away from me a little, seeing me talking to myself.
The words were so simple. That was all it took, so what was I afraid of? The worst she could say was no. I had nothing to lose.
It took another two weeks for me to build up the courage to finally say it. At that point I'd almost run out of time. The play was moving on to another state, and only a couple of days remained. It was now or never.
"Oh, wow, my mother's going to love this!" She ran her fingers over the intricate sterling silver butterfly wings of the brooch. She was sitting behind her desk at the end of the school day, and class had already been dismissed. I'd told Chester to wait for me in the hallway.
"I almost don't want to hand it over." She laughed. "I guess I'll have to get one of my own. Thank you, really. How much do I owe you?" She opened the drawer of her desk and took out her purse.
"Nothing. It's fine."
"Absolutely not. You worked really hard on this. How much?"
"Ava, honestly it's fine. It's a gift. I won't accept your money."
She cocked her head to the side, and I imagined she did that to the children too. "That's not fair, Danielle. I can't accept it and give you nothing for your work. You don't have to do that."
"I know. I want to. Let's just say it's free publicity. Your mom wears it, her friends see it, and wallah, new buyers in Georgia."
It wasn't about the free advertising, but if I didn't say something she would reject my gift.
She put her purse down reluctantly, shook her head at me. "Thank you. You're very sweet. But how will you ever make any money if you give your stuff away?"
"I have a wealthy husband." I felt stupid for my joke, because the last thing I wanted her to think was that I wasn't independent. I made more than enough to support myself and Chester, if it ever came to it.
"Okay, well if you won't take my money, can I at least take you out for a drink? As a thank you?" She added the last line quickly.
I couldn't believe my ears. For weeks I'd been trying to ask her to the theater, and when I finally got the guts to do so, she sprung this on me.
Well, I'd spent far too long pumping myself up just to let it go now.
"Actually, I have a couple of tickets to a play in town, if you wanted to come? This Friday evening. I know it's short notice."
"A play? Sounds great. Drinks after?"
I could only nod, somewhat speechless. I'd expected a no, especially as it was so last minute. But a yes? And drinks! My heart was pounding so hard she must have been able to hear it.
Once we'd finalized the details, and I'd told her where to meet me, we said our goodbyes.
"Why are you always talking to Miss Petal?" Chester said when I met him in the corridor. He looked at me grumpily, and dragged his feet slightly as we started to the car.
"She's your teacher, love. It's my job to speak to her."
"You didn't speak to the others like that."
Observant kid. Too smart for his own good.
"Well, Miss Petal's nice." I'd used that word so many times to describe her that it had lost its meaning.
"Are you friends now?" This seemed to brighten him up.
"Get in the car, honey," was my reply. The safest one. Because I didn't know what we were, or what we were becoming. But when I thought about just being her friend, for a moment it didn't seem sufficient. And that frightened me.
SIX
Nothing in my closet seemed right for the occasion. Everything was either too plain or too formal. There was one outfit that would have worked perfectly...had I been able to fit into it. It was one of those "aspire to" dresses, you know the type you keep as an aspiration that you'll one day be the size you once were when it fit, so you could wear it again. For five years now it had been sitting there collecting dust...
"Goddammit!" I shoved everything aside. An hour to go before the big moment and I still didn't have anything to wear.
And when I realized I was doing this, freaking out because I didn't have the right outfit, my behavior baffled me. This was silly. Why was I acting like this was a first date? We were going to the theater and having a drink after – it wasn't some important, life-changing event that required me to be dressed to the nines.
But...it did matter to me. More than I could say.
And then I spotted it – the perfect outfit. A cream jumpsuit that I'd never worn, that I'd all but forgotten. There had never been a suitable occasion for it, and I'd never had the guts. Well, now was as good a time as any.
I climbed into it with ease, checked myself out in the mirror. No bulges, ever
ything sat right. Even my breasts were given a lift, adding some perk to them. My stomach was relatively flat, thanks to all those abdominal muscle exercises. Not bad, not bad at all.
I gave myself an approving nod. Not a hair of my shoulder-length brown mane was out of place, and I'd taken my time with the mascara this time, avoiding the clumping and smudging that usually came.
Chester strolled into my room.
"Mom, where are you going?" he asked, sitting on my bed and watching me apply the rest of my makeup.
"To see a play."
"Are you going alone?"
I looked at him curiously. "No... With a friend. Why?"
"Erm, what friend?"
Now this was really getting strange.
"Honey, where's this coming from? Why all the questions?"
He looked at the door uncertainly, didn't know how to answer. And then I understood perfectly. Dominic. What a lousy jerk, using our son to extract information from me.
"You can tell your father that whoever I go to the theater with is none of his concern." I said it loud enough for him to hear, wherever he was.
He must have been standing outside the door, because five seconds later he stepped in.
"It is if you want me to babysit," he said.
"And there I was thinking you couldn't go any lower in my estimations, Dominic. Blackmail now, is it?"
"You're not the only one who has plans tonight."
"You said you would be home. You can't just change your plans last minute."
"Just reschedule. I'm sure your special friend will understand. What's his name anyway?"
I wanted to call him a piece of crap, to tell him to rot in hell, just hurl one insult after another, but my son was still in the room. So I simply shook my head in disbelief, but didn't respond. Keeping him guessing was delicious revenge. Two could play the game he'd been playing since we'd gotten together.
He looked at my reflection in the mirror. "Nice outfit. So this is the type of effort you make for someone who isn't your husband? Good to know."
This passive aggressive shit drove me nuts. He was always trying to play the victim. Never mind the fact that this was nothing but an innocent theater date between two women.
I ignored him.
"I didn't think you would want to wear something like that again. I mean, this isn't the pre-Chester years."
And when all else fails, try to lower my self-esteem so much that I don't want to leave the house. Whenever I went out without him this was his tactic. It had worked in the past, but he wouldn't succeed now.
It was time for me to spill the beans about my companion for the night. She was better than any male date because I knew he wanted to spend time with her.
"If you're lucky, Dominic, I'll share this little conversation we're having with Ava, when I meet up with her tonight."
I saw his reflection pale in the mirror. It was priceless.
"You're going out with Miss Petal? Since when?"
"Since a few days ago."
Now he looked at me with scorn, as though I was cock-blocking him or something. As though she belonged to him and I was depriving him of her.
"I will never understand why she would want to spend her time with you–"
"What, as opposed to you, you mean?"
"If you ask me the whole thing is weird. Two grown women, at least ten years' age difference, teacher and mother of one of her students. It's freakin' strange."
I snorted a laugh. "Of course it is...when I'm the one doing it. Bet it wouldn't be so strange if you could take my place."
He narrowed his eyes at my back. I held back a laugh as I applied a dark cherry shade of lipstick.
"Well, like I said, I'm going out tonight."
"Fine, Lucy can watch Chester." I turned to my son. "How does that sound, honey?"
His face lit up with glee. "Yeah! I like Lucy."
What was not to like about a pretty, fun nineteen-year-old who gave lots of cuddles and let him stay up late? I suspected Chester had a thing for Lucy, the girl from a few doors down. And, sadly, he wasn't the only Thomas man with that affliction. My husband's whole persona changed when the girl was around. He tried to be as hip and carefree as he could, using words all the kids were using, but incorrectly. It didn't faze the creepy son of a bitch that, at forty, he was old enough to be her father.
My husband continued watching me apply my makeup, as though he wasn't aware that I could see him in the mirror. I wondered what he thought when he went silent like that. He did it often. A part of me, the hopeless romantic who hated quitting anything in life, wanted to believe that he was sorry for everything he'd put me through. That when he looked at me he realized what a fool he'd been for wrecking the only good and honest relationship he'd ever had. His parents loved me, his grandparents too. They all knew I was good for him...but he had never been good for me, and it had taken years for me to accept that.
He left shortly after, taking Chester with him and saying he would call Lucy himself. And I pushed all thoughts of him from my mind, replacing them with thoughts of my forthcoming evening with Ava.
I spotted her before she saw me, and it gave me the chance to admire her from a distance. She was standing at the magazine kiosk, engaged in conversation with a homeless man. She'd opted for a dress, simple and black, that didn't quite make it to her knees, and her fair hair was pulled into a loose ponytail. Her heels were twig thin; I wondered how she was able to keep her balance.
I was a little early because the taxi driver, a talkative, amiable Turkish man, insisted on speeding me to my destination, using the traffic lights and road signs as references only!
"But voting is important. A lot of people fought and died for the right to vote. I think we should all do it," she said to the man, who was ardently shaking his head.
"It's all nonsense. We have no power. Getting people to vote is how they control us, see?"
"You make a good point, but I still believe every vote counts more than you think it does."
I tapped her on the shoulder lightly, feeling bad for disturbing what was obviously a significant debate between her and her new friend.
"Hi. I can wait inside if you want to finish up here," I said.
"Hey." She looked surprised but pleased to see me. "You're early."
"So are you."
She laughed. "I have this fear of being late to everything, so I end up getting everywhere half an hour too early. It means a lot of waiting around."
"Ava, who's your friend?" the man said from among his filthy blankets and tattered clothes. His face was pleasant, like a toyshop owner's. But, wait a second. Did he just call her by her first name?
"Oh, where are my manners? Bernie, this is my friend Danielle. Danielle, this is Bernie."
"Uh, hello..." I gave him a wary wave, the unease likely visible on my face. I didn't feel comfortable with her giving my name to some random homeless guy, no matter how harmless he looked.
"We have to go now, Bernie. Gotta get to a show. You take care now." She shook his hand, then reached into her purse, pulled out a ten and handed it to him.
"God bless you, Ava."
"Wow, okay, so what was that all about?" I said as we made our way to the theater.
"I see him all the time. We discuss just about everything, from politics to music. He's a real sweetheart, very cultured. Used to be a professor of psychology, I think. Then the recession happened."
"That's awful. I wouldn't have guessed." I risked a brief look back at the man. A professor now unemployed and living on the streets? Bad luck could certainly happen to anyone.
"That was really nice of you to give him money."
She shrugged. "It's just money. Besides, he's the only friend I have here..." She turned and gave me a little smile. "Well, apart from you."
I gave her a goofy smile in response. So she did consider me a friend? She had no idea how much it meant to hear her say that.
"I love your outfit, by the way. Very chic," she com
mented, once we'd entered the theater and were waiting outside the doors to the auditorium.
"Oh, this old thing." I waved a hand dismissively, while blushing enormously. Any compliment, if it came from her, caused me to blush. And she was great at giving them. She always had something nice to say about me, I'd noticed that. At school it was the same. If I felt like crap before seeing her, I felt a million bucks right after. And it was insane coming from this woman, who, by anybody's standards, made every other woman look like Quasimodo in comparison. If my outfit was nice, hers was incredible. If I smelled nice, she smelled delicious. If I was attractive, she was stunning. I should have felt like crap standing beside her, but she wouldn't let me. I'd been married for six years and Dominic had never made me feel even a fraction as good about myself as Ava did.
"And you look...beautiful as always."
If she hadn't been staring at me I would have made my cringe face then. How creepy did that sound? It wasn't the done thing to go around calling women beautiful, especially women you hardly knew. Why couldn't the show just start already?
"Thank you," she said. "So, is your husband babysitting tonight?"
"No, he's going out himself. Only decided that at the last minute. I think he wanted me to have to cancel my plans."
She frowned. "That's not very nice of him." There was something about her tone that made me think she wanted to say something else, something less polite.
"Well he's not a..." I stopped myself. He's not a very nice guy was what I wanted to say, but held back. This had been the closest I'd ever come to telling the truth about Dominic to another living soul, but I wasn't quite there yet. I wanted her, more than anyone else, to know my marriage was a sham, though I didn't know why. I felt like I could share anything with her.
Her eyes were soft and sympathetic when she looked at me. Pitying me. Then she rubbed my upper arm soothingly. "Well, you made it anyway, so boohoo to him. And we're gonna have a great night, just us girls. All right?"
It was already a great night just standing outside the auditorium. With her. And her touch, I could feel the hairs on my arm rising, and my skin tingling beneath my shawl.
