“Like the dinner club? She sent me a reminder about the meeting tomorrow night, at your apartment.”
“You and Kate are still coming, right?”
“We’re looking forward to it.”
Mary Ann and Kayla met up with the Orensteins at the park. “Why don’t you girls go over to the playground?” Mary Ann said. “Your dad and I will walk the dogs around a bit and meet you there.”
“So,” she said to Sam, when the girls had gone off, “What are you cooking for dinner tonight?”
“I’m ordering in pizza. You?”
“Grilled cheese for the kids. For myself, I made a minestrone soup with kale.”
“Will you sprinkle fresh Reggiano on top?”
“I will. And I’ll have a ficelle from the new bakery alongside.”
“Sounds much better than pizza.”
“Good, because I brought you some.” Mary Ann opened a bag she held and showed Sam the container inside.
“For me? You shouldn’t have. But thank you.” He took the container and eased it into a big side pocket on his coat.
“You’re welcome. Are you ordering in because you had a good writing day and didn’t have time to cook?”
“No. Because I had a demoralizing day, spent reading over the two hundred pages I’ve written.”
“And?”
“I think the draft might contain one or two salvageable sentences.”
“It’s better than that.”
“How do you know?”
“You’re better than that.”
“Are you this nice to your husband? If you are, he’s lucky.”
Mary Ann bent down, took Honey off the leash. “I’m not this nice to him. We barely speak. Go on, girl.”
Sam released Chutney, watched him bound off after Honey, and said, mildly, “Hallie left for a business trip to London today.”
“Yeah. Bob’s been in Asia since last week.”
The pause that followed should have felt awkward, but it didn’t, not to Mary Ann, who used it to breathe deeply, in and out.
“Can I tell you a secret?” Sam said. “Sometimes I like being a single parent for a few days. When there’s no one around to disapprove of me ordering pizza.”
“Don’t tell me Hallie expects you to cook nutritious dinners for the kids every night.”
“Not exactly, but she doesn’t like it when they eat junk food. Or cheese.”
“I know what you mean about being able to call the shots. Bob travels a lot on business, and I’ve become totally used to running the home front on my own.” So much so that she couldn’t imagine how she’d cope if he became part of her life again in any real way.
Neither one spoke for a minute. Mary Ann because she’d realized that she was ready to split up with Bob and get a divorce. And that being a single mom would not be so terrible, nor so different from her current life.
Sam said, “Annabelle has been talking about nothing but this sleepover you’ve arranged for tomorrow night. She’s excited about having a party with the big girls.”
“Good. And a night out should cheer you up, too. Even if it is only with the dinner club.”
“No crowd I’d rather be with.”
Mary Ann’s hopes lurched forward. “It’ll be a good time,” she said. “I promise.”
18
November 20, 2010
At two o’clock on dinner club day, Mary Ann came up Alice’s stairs carrying pressed tablecloths wrapped in dry-cleaning bags. “We’ve got two hours,” she said. “Let’s get busy. Hi, Lavinia.”
Lavinia didn’t look up, kept playing with her dollhouse.
“Say hello, Lavinia,” Alice said.
Lavinia kept her head down, murmured a word that might have been hello.
Mary Ann threw her coat and purse on a chair, draped the tablecloths over the back of the sofa. “Shall we rearrange the furniture? I think these chairs should be pushed back against the wall.”
“Why?”
“To create conversation corners.”
“Oh, right.”
“Have you really never entertained before?”
“Never.”
“Not once?”
“Does cooking dinner for a boyfriend count?”
Mary Ann glanced at Lavinia and whispered to Alice, “What boyfriend? You’ve cooked for him?”
Alice shook her head. “I was talking about someone in the past. But I do have something to tell you about the present.”
“Help me move this table on an angle while you’re talking. There. See how we’ve opened up the space?”
“Hold on, Mary Ann.” Alice held out a hand to Lavinia. “Come on, Lavinia. It’s time to watch your movie in my room.”
When Alice returned, Mary Ann was spreading a cloth out on the table. “This must be good if you had to remove Lavinia from the room before telling me. Spill.”
Alice told Mary Ann about Jake — about the lunch and the drop-in visit, and about his band’s gig at Chuck’s that night. When she was done, Mary Ann said, “I hardly know what to say, Alice. Friendships have ended for less.”
“Are you serious?”
“Semi. Why didn’t you tell me any of this before now?”
“I don’t know. I’m sorry. I should have. I didn’t think I had much of anything to tell.”
“What I can’t really get over is that you — the person who hates conceited guys — are seeing Jake the Snake Stewart.”
“I’m not seeing him, not yet. And he’s different now. Less generic, more humble. More individual.”
“Probably still has a big dick though.”
“Mary Ann, please.”
“Okay, I’m feeling optimistic about me and Sam tonight, so I’ll forgive you.”
“Thank you.”
“And I love the idea of taking the dinner club dancing. I can’t wait to get Sam on the dance floor.”
“What?” Alice said, weakly.
“Continuing the dinner club party at Chuck’s is a super idea. Where do you want to set up the dessert table?”
After Mary Ann had left, Lavinia came into the living room and stopped short when she saw how it had been transformed — the tablecloths, the gleaming rows of glasses, the stacks of plates, the rearranged furniture.
“What do you think?” Alice said.
“Is tonight the night I’m sleeping over at Kayla’s?”
Alice bent down, put her arm around Lavinia. “Yes, sweetie. And Melina’s going to be looking after you and the other girls.”
Lavinia said, “I like Melina.”
“Me, too.”
“She has an earring in her eyebrow.”
They’d done this dialogue before. “Would you like an earring in your eyebrow?”
“Nooo!”
Alice hugged her. “How about in your belly-button?”
Lavinia giggled. “Nooo!”
“Your nose?”
Suddenly serious, Lavinia said, “Do you have earrings in your ears, Mommy?”
“Yes, I do.”
Lavinia lifted Alice’s hair above her ear, felt for Alice’s right earlobe, touched one of the hoops Alice had taken to wearing daily.
“Careful,” Alice said.
Lavinia let Alice’s hair drop, reached for her own ears. “When can I have my ears pierced?”
“When you’re fourteen. Let’s pack your bag for the sleepover now.”
In the car on the way out to Oakdale, Tom said to Kate, “You’re not coming tonight to keep an eye on me, I hope.”
“No. I’m coming for the entertainment value these evenings afford. I trust you. Everyone else may be giving in to temptation, but you will no doubt continue to remain unmoved by even the fetching Mary Ann Gray.”
“You don’t seem too pleased by my steadfastness.”
He had a point: it was churlish of Kate to be bugged by Tom’s rectitude. Or was it his complacency she minded? She let a mile go by before speaking. “Do you remember when we moved in together? In that awf
ul apartment in Chelsea? Your hair was long, you were the maître d’ at that chi-chi uptown restaurant, you were doing your master’s degree. A responsible dreamer — that’s what my dad called you. A wonderful combination, I thought.”
“And what am I now?”
“Still responsible. Isn’t this the turnoff coming up?”
Melina sat at the kitchen counter listening to Mary Ann’s instructions. She’d seen Mary Ann dressed up before, but never looking so sexy. The fitted wrap top, the swingy black skirt, the shiny stockings, the strappy heels. What was going on, with her husband out of town?
“So,” Mary Ann said, “you’ve got the four girls to look after. Kayla and the Orenstein girls are upstairs, and Lavinia is being dropped off any minute.”
“Okay.”
“Griffin’s sleeping over at a friend’s, so you don’t need to worry about him.”
“Uh-huh.”
“As for Josh …” Josh had wandered into the kitchen and opened the fridge door. “Josh, are you going out tonight or not?”
“Not sure.”
“Well, if you’re home, stay out of Melina’s way. And leave the girls alone. They have exclusive rights to the family room and the big TV.”
“Yes, Mrs.”
“If you do go out, don’t be too late.”
“Yes, Mrs.”
“And close the fridge door if you’re not having anything.”
“What’s in this big pot?”
“Soup for the dinner club. Hands off.”
Josh took out some milk, closed the fridge door. “Yes, Mrs.”
Mary Ann said to Melina, “He started calling me Mrs. as a joke when he was eleven. Now he only does it when he wants to annoy me. Don’t you, Josh?”
Josh looked up from pouring cereal into a bowl. “Honestly, Mom. How could you suggest such a thing?”
Mary Ann said, “The girls could bake some cookies if they need an activity. There’s a mix in the cupboard. Or they can have microwave popcorn when they watch the movie.”
“Okay.”
Josh sat down at the kitchen table and started to eat his cereal.
“You should aim for lights out for the girls at ten,” Mary Ann said. “To start the process then, anyway.”
“Sure.”
“And the guest room’s made up for you to sleep in. I’ll be late or I might stay at Alice’s.”
“I brought my overnight bag.”
“If there’s an emergency, you can call me on my cell phone. The number’s on the fridge.”
“Say yes, Mrs.,” Josh mumbled, his mouth full of cereal.
“Josh, I don’t want Melina to have to wonder about you coming home. Are you going out or not?”
“Probably not. I have a history assignment to do.”
“Okay. You don’t mind him being around, do you, Melina?”
“He’s no trouble.”
There was a knock on the back door, Alice walked in with Lavinia, and Melina saw that Alice had also dressed up — in a Boho-style top and skirt, chunky beaded necklaces, and boots. When everyone had said hello, and Lavinia had been helped out of her jacket, Mary Ann said, “Oh, shoot. I almost forgot something. I’ll take you up, Lavinia. I won’t be two seconds, Alice.”
Alice kissed Lavinia goodbye, leaned against the kitchen island, and watched Mary Ann lead Lavinia away.
Melina thought she saw concern on Alice’s face. “Lavinia will be fine.”
“Melina’s an excellent babysitter,” Josh said. “Mom always says so.”
“I know,” Alice said. “And I appreciate you doing this, Melina, looking after all the girls.”
“It’ll be easy. They’re good kids. And Mary Ann’s paying me big bucks to stay over.”
Alice said, “We’re lucky to have you. When I was your age, spending a Saturday night babysitting was the last thing I wanted to do. Brooding in my room and plotting my escape from Oakdale was more my speed.”
Melina smiled politely at this, but Alice said, “Oh my god. Did I just utter the words ‘when I was your age’? I did. Shit. This is why I have to get out more.”
Mary Ann came into the kitchen. She carried a tote. “Okay. Lavinia’s settled. I’ll grab my soup and we’ll be off.”
“Have a good time,” Melina said. “You two look so nice.”
“Thank you, Melina.” Mary Ann pulled the soup pot out of the fridge. “Josh, don’t forget to take Honey out for a pee before you go to bed.”
“Yes, Mrs.,” Josh said. “Now will you go, already?”
In the driveway, Alice opened the trunk of her car, waited while Mary Ann placed the pot inside, and said, “Hey. I just figured out that you named your dog after Melina.”
Mary Ann closed the trunk. “What do you mean? Josh named her Honey because of the colour of her coat.”
“Yeah, but in Greek, Melina means ‘sweet like honey.’”
“Josh doesn’t know Greek.”
“Okay, whatever.” They settled into the car, and Alice backed out of the driveway.
“Look what I almost forgot,” Mary Ann said. She waved a foot-long cellophane strip of candy-coloured condoms in the air. “You want some?”
19
February 2010
On a cold weekday morning, Mary Ann was puttering at home when she noticed that Bob had forgotten his laptop in the front hall.
She stopped with one foot up on the stair. It was just like Bob to forget something — she was no longer amazed that a man who earned a high six-figure salary and commanded staff could waste ten precious minutes three days out of five looking for his coat, his keys, and his phone — but rarely did he leave the computer behind.
She picked up the laptop case and carried it upstairs. She’d been having trouble with the email program on her desktop and she might be able to fix the problem if she could see the settings Bob was using.
In the study, she turned on Bob’s computer and found that access to his email account was controlled by a password. Not a problem. Mary Ann entered Bobby2728, the same password and PIN he used for everything. He could only remember one four-digit number, he often said. Which usually prompted Mary Ann to say, “And to think I married you anyway.” Haha.
Her eyes ran over the subject headers for the twenty-two new messages in Bob’s inbox: Sanderson Fund Draft Prospectus. Dublin Conference Itinerary. Associate Performance Review Procedures. Minutes of Jan. 11 Management Committee meeting. And so on. Except for the sixteenth message, sent by someone named Zoe Bennett, and titled Last Night. Mary Ann clicked on it before stopping to think about whether she should.
The message was dated that morning at nine a.m — fifteen minutes before. It was accompanied by an instrumental music track of a mellow jazz tune, heavy on the saxophone. It said:
I haven’t texted because my phone died but I had to tell you that just thinking about everything we did last night makes me wet all over again. Can you meet me for lunch?
Dismay surged through Mary Ann’s body. She blinked a few times, swallowed down the rising swell of her breakfast, and read the message over twice more before she thought to turn down the volume on the annoying wail of music. How the hell did one attach music to an email, anyway? She read the message a third time, and a fourth, and tried to remember where Bob had claimed to be the night before. At dinner with clients? At a Knicks game? She didn’t know, hadn’t retained the details of his whereabouts beyond the fact that he’d arrived home around midnight (when she was already in bed) and left that morning at six-thirty, like always. Except without his laptop.
She pushed back her chair, bent over, rested her head between her knees, and attempted to breathe not in gulps and gasps, to stay calm. Maybe this was a joke. Someone like Bob’s golf buddy Ron would think sending a fake email like this would be a hilarious prank. In keeping with the stories he’d told Bob about his own adulterous exploits — weekly escapades, if Ron were to be believed, with any number of willing partners, in the unlikeliest of locations. When Bob had passed t
he stories on to Mary Ann, she’d said, “I don’t believe a word of it,” or, “What’s with people?” and been glad Bob was not like that. Glad Bob wasn’t the affair type.
Why, Bob had liked to repeat to her — in addition to the bit about remembering one password — that while there might conceivably be some cheap thrills to be found with a stranger, he was content with the tried and true sex he had with Mary Ann, sex honed to his exact specs after years of repetition. And Mary Ann’s take on the subject was more or less the same. There was something to be said for practice making perfect in the orgasm department, for a partner whose frequency and variety of needs had seemed to coincide with her own. Provided she could ignore the way Bob’s hand brushed against the tender spot near her hipbone that she’d always hated having touched. And how he dug his chin into her shoulder when he was on top. And how he — never mind.
She pulled Bob’s laptop toward her, searched his emails for more from Zoe Bennett, found only work-related ones, and determined that Zoe was an attorney working on a deal with Bob. A young, pretty attorney, according to the picture of her that appeared beside her profile on her law firm’s website.
Mary Ann tried to ignore the deafening roar made by the walls of her life crashing around her, closed the computer, and sat, staring out the window and seeing nothing, for some time.
There were scenes. Whispered screaming matches between Mary Ann and Bob after the kids had gone to bed. Suspicions were confirmed, doors slammed, recriminations hurled, tears shed by Mary Ann. Many tears.
The worst part was that Bob wouldn’t stop seeing Zoe after he was found out. Couldn’t stop. “You don’t want to hear this,” he said. “But I love Zoe. She makes me feel alive and young and happy. Happy!”
“You’re right, I don’t want to hear that.”
“I love you and the kids too, though. I don’t want to break up the family. I don’t know what to do.”
She wasn’t stupid. She heard how he’d lumped her in with the kids, that he loved the four of them as a unit, and not her alone. That hurt. But did she love him? There was a question that was hard to answer honestly. In case the answer was no, she didn’t. In case all she’d ever loved was the concept of she and Bob as a couple, the two of them good-looking, popular, and successful, living in their very nice house, on Bob’s very nice income, with their very nice, good-looking, and popular children.
The Oakdale Dinner Club Page 17
