by Irene Zutell
“May I?” Trinity volunteers.
“Sure.”
Trinity heads into the bathroom. “Shh, little one,” she whispers.
I stand outside the door listening to Gabby’s little grunts. Trinity quietly sings a lullaby.
A few minutes later, Trinity comes out. “Everything fine,” she says. “Everything fine.”
I head to the bathroom. Gabby has flushed the toilet, but it’s clogged. I grab the plunger and get to work.
“You have got to stop doing this.”
“It hurt.”
“That’s because you hold it in for so long. Why do you do that?”
“It’s yucky.”
“Everyone makes poo-poo. Even princesses. That’s why they’re so beautiful.”
“No, they don’t. I’ve never read a fairy tale about a princess making poo-poo.” She looks hard at me.
“What is it?”
“Is that girl a princess?”
“What girl?”
“The girl with the Chihuahua.”
“No.”
“Her hair is so shiny, just like Rapunzel’s.”
“Not really.”
“And her teeth are really white and sparkling, like a princess’s,” she says, studying me.
“You think so?” I say, frowning.
Gabby gives me a fake Hollywood smile. “Yellow’s still my favorite color for teeth.”
I think about all the hours spent with whitening trays and strips the last few weeks. I open my mouth wide. “My teeth aren’t yellow anymore. Are they?”
She squints at them. “Well, sort of yellowish. Maybe like yellow-white.” She smiles at me as if this is some kind of compliment. “Your teeth remind me of buttercups.”
“Thanks.”
“So, is Daddy going to marry her?”
I gulp. “What?”
“Is Daddy going to marry that girl?”
I don’t know what to say because I have no idea. My heart pounds. Gabby stares at me. “I don’t know.”
I shut my eyes tight for a second, bracing myself for Gabby’s tears. When I open them, she’s got a smile on her face. She nods to herself.
“What is it?”
“Well, if Daddy marries Rose, does that mean I’ll become a princess?”
My four-foot Benedict Arnold.
“No,” I snap. “That means she’ll be a stepmother. You know, they’re nice now, but once they marry daddies, they become wicked.”
Gabby’s eyes widen in horror.
I am a horrible person.
11
The Rescue
Gabby is outside playing princess. I watch her through the window. She chats incessantly to herself as she twirls around the lawn. She’s at a ball, I imagine. A prince is falling in love with her. She dances and leaps and spins. She is so happy and innocent at this moment. I wish I could bottle it and keep it forever.
Yesterday, when she cartwheeled across the lawn, a bunch of stones fell out of her pocket.
“Gabby, why do you have rocks in your pocket?”
“Leave me alone,” she said as she started collecting them and shoving them into her pocket.
“Gabby, they’re too heavy. Besides, when you cartwheel, one could smack you in the head and that would really hurt.”
“I don’t care. Leave me alone. Leave me alone!” She screamed and screamed until she started bawling. Then she threw herself on the ground, clawed at the grass while her legs kicked and kicked.
“Calm down, honey, calm down.”
“Go away!”
“Gabby, honey, I just don’t want you to hurt yourself.”
I rubbed her back as she lay on the grass, her little body convulsing with sobs. Finally, she calmed down and raised her tear-stained face.
“I don’t want him to send me to the woods.”
“What? Who?”
“Daddy.”
“What are you talking about?”
“If Daddy marries Rose and she becomes my stepmother, she might have Daddy send me to the woods just like Hansel and Gretel. I want to be able to find my way home.”
I hugged her tight. “Sweetie, no one would ever send you to the woods. Daddy loves you so much. He’d never hurt you.”
“It doesn’t matter. They all love their children, but they do it anyway.”
“Those are fairy tales. It’s not real.”
“Yes, it is. You even told me.”
“Mommy was being silly. I’m sorry. Trust me. Mommy would never let anything bad happen to you. Neither would Daddy.”
She looked hard at me, like she wanted to ask me something very important. I prepared myself for what I imagined would be a heart-to-heart. Then she looked past me at a painted lady flittering through the cosmos. She grabbed her yellow butterfly net and began chasing it. She raced across the lawn. Her butterfly net swooped up and down while the butterfly darted around her. It seemed to be taunting her, as if aware of her intentions.
I turn on my computer to check e-mails. There’s an e-mail from George.
Dear Ally,
What’s new? Haven’t heard from you in a while and thought I’d check in. The kids and wife went away for a few days to visit the in-laws in Florida. I have the house to myself for the first time in what seems like forever and I have no idea what to do with myself. I thought it would be easy. I spent years living by myself, but I seem to have forgotten how to function without lots of noise. So, I thought I’d see how you were doing . . .
Gabby comes in for a snack. I quickly shut my computer and head to the kitchen. As I’m spreading some peanut butter on apples, the phone rings. Lately, the only people who call are neighbors announcing their holiday plans. This time, it’s my boss. He tries to be friendly with about ten seconds of small talk, but I can hear his aggravation.
“So, Alice, when will we be blessed with your presence?”
I wish I’d screened. I usually screen precisely because of calls like this. I like to be prepared. Now I’m on the spot.
“Well, would it be possible to have a few more weeks off? Without pay, of course.”
There is a pause and a sigh.
“Quite frankly, I’m surprised we haven’t heard from you, Alice. I thought you’d be checking in with some of your accounts, but you haven’t. I know you’re going through a lot, but well, to be quite frank, I feel you’ve really dropped the ball. You don’t seem to be committed. Your clients are concerned. They don’t like being passed along.”
“Claire and Judy are great. They know all my accounts very well.”
“It’s not the same thing, Alice, and you know it.”
“Just a few more weeks, okay?”
“How about a week from Monday?”
I gulp. A week from Monday? At the very least, I wanted until after the holidays.
“Can I get back to you later? I just need to check on a few things.”
“Later, when?” I can practically hear him gritting his teeth.
“By the end of the week?”
He sighs. “How about end of day tomorrow?”
While publicity is not my true calling, I am damned good at it. I have a knack for getting my clients press, even when it appears utterly futile to everyone else—my boss, my colleagues, even my client. I’ll dig and dig until I discover some angle, some spin, and voilà—press. For years and years, I was addicted to this challenge. I’d work day and night searching for the story behind the person, the product, the event, the restaurant or store. When I was pregnant with Gabby, my clients begged me to come back. I promised them I would. I even cut my maternity leave from four to three months. I felt invaluable.
When I hang up the phone, Gabby’s in my face.
“I know who that was and I don’t want you to ever go back to that place. I want you here with me.”
“Gabby, you’re in school most of the day.”
“I’ll never ever see you.”
“Of course you’ll see me. You get out of school at three. I’ll be
home about two hours later.”
“It’s not just two hours. It’s hours and hours and hours and hours.”
“Gabby, I’ll be home in time to make dinner.”
Gabby snorts.
“What does that mean?”
“You say that now, but then you’ll work later and later and later. You did that all the time at that horrible, stupid, ugly place. I hate it.”
“It won’t happen. I promise.”
Gabby rolls her eyes.
“Gabby, please. This time it will be different.”
I know that sounds idiotic. Such an empty promise. The phone rings again. I’m certain it’s going to be Judy, who has probably overheard the entire conversation with my boss. She’s been calling me every day. I pick it up quickly before Gabby hears who it is on the answering machine.
“Is this Mrs. Hirsh?”
I don’t recognize this voice. I assume it’s going to be someone about to tell me what kind of cartoon character will be adorning their home for the holidays.
“I’m sorry to bother you. My name is Elise Manning. I just wanted you to know that you’re not alone.”
“What? Who are you?”
“My husband left me for Rose Maris. And there are a bunch of women just like us. I wanted you to know that we’re here for you. We meet for drinks sometimes. And we all have the same story, basically. The gestures of friendship . . . Did she send gifts home with your husband? Did you go out to lunch with her?”
“No, dinner,” I say, suddenly feeling dizzy.
“She probably told you how sorry she was to be taking so much of your husband’s time. She’s sooooo thoughtful, isn’t she? Did she sit next to you and talk your ear off and make you feel like you were becoming best friends?”
I’m silent.
Elise hiccups out an angry laugh. “She’s a head case. My husband was the architect for one of her homes. He left me two years ago for her, but he came back. They always come back. We’re still working through a lot of things. I don’t know if it will ever be one hundred percent right for us. Rose Maris messed me up for life. But I’m not alone. Neither are you.”
“Well, I guess that’s good to know.” I don’t want to be on the phone with this nut case, especially with Gabby nearby. How did she get my number anyway? We’re unlisted.
“Mark my words, she’ll leave him. She always does. This is all a big game for her. She’s bored with her life so she steals other people’s lives.”
“Uh-huh.” I don’t know what to say to her. I don’t know why she’s calling. I look out the front window. Gabby is outside, chasing butterflies.
“There’s a group of us. And we’re not a bunch of losers crying over the past. We’re all well-educated, attractive women with careers and families. I just wanted you to know that we’re here for you. If you give me your e-mail, I’ll give you more information on the group.”
I give Elise my e-mail address, but I have no intention of being part of a Rose Hater’s Group. Sure, I hate Rose. But I feel like she’d absolutely love the idea of a bunch of jilted, angry women getting together to obsess over her.
I check up on Gabby as soon as I hang up. I open the front door, expecting to see her galloping around chasing butterflies, but her net is on the lawn and there’s no sign of her.
“Gabby? Gabby?”
I run to the guest house. Trinity is combing Mom’s hair.
“Have you seen Gabby?”
“No. He not here. He came in here before and said he was looking for the princess in the tower. I said that was very nice. He has such an imagination.”
I head back outside and survey the lawn.
“Gabby!”
The front gate’s ajar and a magic wand is tossed on the grass next to it. Rage and fear race through me. Gabby knows she’s never supposed to leave the property. I run toward the road.
“Gabby!”
“Ohhhhhhhh! Ohhhhhh! Ohhhhh!”
I suddenly know exactly where my daughter is.
I run into the house for my car keys. As I empty out my handbags, I try to figure out how long this Rose Hater had chewed my ear off. Rose had monopolized my life again, and in the meantime, my daughter was out exploring the world of porn. I head to the bedroom and scan my dresser for my car keys.
I think of all the minutes of my life that I’ve lost searching for keys. I’ve probably wasted years because my head’s such a disorganized mess. Alex never lost his keys. He had a place for everything.
“Why don’t you always put them in the same place when you come in the house and you’ll never have to think about it,” he’d say. Of course it made sense, but I never did it anyway. My keys would follow me into the bathroom, into the kitchen, into the living room. They’d turn up in the pantry, on top of the washing machine, on the toilet, in the cupboards. Sometimes I’d wonder if they were possessed by some demon that would play hide and seek with me until I lose my mind. Come to think of it, maybe this is the beginning stages of Alzheimer’s.
Ah hah! The keys. Right next to the blow dryer in the bathroom. I pick them up as the doorbell rings.
Gabby stands in front of me, beaming. She’s holding hands with a buff woman in her late thirties with long flowing corn-husk blond hair and big boobs. She’s wearing tight, dark blue True Religions and a tight Ed Hardy T-shirt with a peace sign dangling over a cross. Mascara runs down her face and her eyes are bloodshot.
I am so furious I can’t even speak. I stand there with my mouth hanging open as I think of ways to punish Gabby. No television ever. No ice cream. No candy. I’ll burn every one of her princess dresses. I’ll throw away her magic wands and butterfly nets. I’ll never take her to Disneyland.
“Mommy, see I told you, fairy tales are real. This is Rapunzel.”
Rapunzel nods and smiles sheepishly. Gabby turns towards Rapunzel. “My mommy thinks fairy tales are stupid, but I knew one day I’d rescue you. I told her.”
I take a deep breath and exhale. My heart skitters. I open my mouth and my voice comes out like a restrained growl.
“Gabby, how many times have I told you not to leave the yard? How many times? You never listen, though. Do you have any idea how worried I was?”
Gabby still smiles. Nothing fazes this girl. She turns to Rapunzel. “See, I told you my mom would say that.”
Rapunzel smiles nervously at me. Her eyes are bloodshot. I wonder if she’s on some kind of drug. I also wonder if she’s the one I heard moaning a few minutes ago.
“I’m sorry about all this,” she says.
“Okay,” I huff out. I turn to Gabby. “Go to your room. Now.”
Gabby is shocked. She was expecting parades and fanfare. Her mouth hangs open. “But . . . but . . .” She turns from me to Rapunzel, and back again. She glares at me. “No. I will not go to my room.”
“Gabby!”
“You never understand anything. She’s a princess who needed to be rescued. I rescued her. You’re the one who said that boys don’t always need to be the rescuers, so I did it. I rescued someone and now you’re being so mean. You are the meanest mommy in the world.”
Do you ever look at yourself and wonder how you got there? I’m being screamed at by a five-year-old while a porn star looks on. Next to me are neighbors obsessed with Shrek and SpongeBob and Rugrats. I’ve got a porn house above me and cartoon-obsessed people on all sides of me.
We make a good impression.
Mr. Rogers never imagined a neighborhood like this. I never imagined a neighborhood like this. I don’t even know who I am.
“Well, I better go now,” Rapunzel says. “Nice to meet you, Gabby.”
Gabby turns to me; her face is red.
“You can’t let her go. She was all the way at the top of the hill and the evil king was screaming at her, so I helped her escape. I know you never believe me, but it’s true.” She looks at Rapunzel. “You have to stay with us until the handsome prince finds you.”
The porn actress smiles. “Well, you’re a very s
mart little girl, Gabby. I hope you always believe fairy tales.” She smiles sadly at me. “You have a wonderful, beautiful girl. I’m sorry she scared you like that.”
“You have no idea,” I snarl. I just want this to end. I want this woman out of here and back up the hill snorting her coke and having her gang bangs and moaning at the top of her lungs. I want to get out of here forever. The minute she leaves, I’ll put this house on the market. With any luck I’ll be out of here before the holidays so I will not have to put up one ornament.
“Yes, I do have an idea,” she says softly, her eyes locked with mine. “I have a boy who’s five, too.”
Gabby’s in her room. And I’m sipping tea with Ruth. A regular Swiss Mocha moment with the former porn star, better known as Jill Chris Monroe.
When I tell her that name sounds vaguely familiar, she smiles and says, “Charlie’s Angels.”
I give her a strange look.
“Farrah Fawcett was Jill Monroe, and Cheryl Ladd, who replaced her, was Chris Monroe. As a kid, they were my favorites. I wanted to be them when I grew up.” She forces out a smile. “I guess dreams can come true.”
Ruth is no longer in the business. She gave it up when she got pregnant with Connor, her five-year-old son. She has nothing to do with her son’s dad, but she’s married to a doctor who’s helping in her quest to erase her past. That’s why she was at the top of the hill this morning. She’s single-handedly trying to buy all the tapes and DVDs of every movie she’s ever made. She put ads in trades and offers rewards for anyone who sends the tapes to her P.O. box.
“I don’t want Connor to ever know about my past. But I don’t know if it’s possible, not with that man,” she says, nodding to the house above me. “I went up there to get the master copies of movies. He had promised me. But today he just laughed. He’s making too much money off of it.”
She sips her tea and looks out the window. “I know you think you have problems,” she says to me. “And I’m not saying you don’t, but at least you don’t have my past. When I became a porn actress I wasn’t thinking about children. I wasn’t thinking about anything, actually.” She lets out a bitter laugh, indicating to me that it’s a long, sad story, but she doesn’t want to go there. “So now, every time I see one of my movies, I buy it or steal it and then I burn it. Whatever it takes to rid the world of my oeuvre.”
