Pieces of Happily Ever After

by Irene Zutell

  Maybe the truth is that he is just bored with his life, and I was the person from his past who could make him forget for a little while that he is a grown-up whose dreams didn’t quite come true. But maybe we all get bored without saying it, and we deal with it or end it or find a way to reinvent our spouses, our lives, our marriages. Maybe George and I would have been bored with each other, too. Maybe he would have cheated on me. Maybe he would have thought about cheating on me. Maybe after years of marriage, he’d tell someone he barely knew that I didn’t get him anymore. Or maybe we would have had our happily ever after. But it is too late for us now. How silly of me to think otherwise. Maybe Gabby’s fairy tales are affecting me, too.

  As I walk back in the pitch blackness, part of me wishes he’d run after me. But I know he won’t. If he’d tried to protest, it would just sound pathetic. This is for the best.

  But God, it would have been fun.

  I haven’t felt this horny in years. And for some reason, this makes me laugh. I didn’t think I could ever feel this way again, so I thank George for that. Although I have no idea how I’ll ever sleep tonight.

  I guess I should have taken Squeaky’s advice and bought the Rabbit Habit.

  2

  As Giddy as a Drunken Man

  The flight on Jet Blue back to Burbank is less than half full. I have the whole row to myself. So I stretch out and read my college’s alumni magazine. I drift off into a shallow sleep and dream about the weekend.

  I’m still half asleep when I glance up at the tiny TV on the back of the seat in front of me. Something familiar has flashed on the screen. I blink as my brain tries to process this image.

  No, it couldn’t be.

  I look again.

  Yes, it is.

  Gabby! Gabby stares at me, laughing and skipping. I grab my headset and frantically turn the dial up for sound.

  Has she been abducted? Killed? Lost forever? Why else would my daughter be on television? It’s my fault. God punished me for kissing a married man!

  Gabby disappears and is replaced by the smarmy Billy Bush, as he gleefully announces what’s up next on Access Hollywood.

  “First up, Rose Maris and her new, exciting role—playing mommy to boyfriend Xander’s daughter, Gabrielle. It looks like a match in heaven for Xander, Rose, and this five-year-old cutie-pie who may have a career in movies, too.”

  Oh. My. God.

  There’s Gabby again in a white lace gown I don’t recognize. She’s dancing along the red carpet in between Rose and Alex. They’re at the premiere for Dugglebub, an animated feature about a seagull who gets lost in Death Valley. Rose is the voice for Dugglebub’s love interest, Gaggleloo, a turkey vulture. Talk about typecasting.

  I take a deep breath and think. The premiere was yesterday. There’s a three-hour time difference between here and there. So while I was making out with George on the dock, Gabby was holding hands with Rose on the red carpet. I should have had sex at least!

  Get a grip, Ally. This was bound to happen sooner or later. It’s been months and months now. You filed for divorce. Isn’t it better that she likes Rose? Isn’t it better that she isn’t terrified that Rose will send her out into the woods? You want your child to be well adjusted and happy. Don’t you? Don’t you?

  Do I?

  I don’t know. The rational part of me says, yes, of course. I want my daughter to feel safe and secure, especially when I’m not with her. The insecure part of me says, but wait! She’s going to like this woman better than me. Rose is famous and beautiful. Gabby gets to go to formal events and wear pretty dresses and have her picture taken and be on television. What more could a five-year-old want? I’m the most boring person on the planet next to this woman. First my husband. Now my daughter. Maybe even my mother in her Alzheimer’s fog would like Rose better.

  “I’m a pebble star,” Gabby announces in the camera.

  The reporter, a blond-haired woman with an enormous smile and fluorescent white teeth, asks Gabby, “And, what is a pebble star, sweetie?”

  “It’s a really cool kid who’s not big enough to be a rock star.”

  They all guffaw. Alex, Rose, the reporter. Then the reporter gives a sly smirk and nudges Rose. “So, Rose, you think there are children of your own in the future?”

  Rose smiles coyly, beams at Gabby and says, “Well, the only thing in my future right now is Disneyland. I promised Gabby we’d go there tomorrow.”

  What? I promised Gabby I’d take her.

  I look at my watch. Twelve o’clock New York time. Nine o’clock in Los Angeles. That means they’re probably in the car or limo or private helicopter or jet heading towards Disneyland. This trip must be stopped, but I’m trapped here. I can’t do anything about it. With each exhale, they’re getting closer and closer to princesses and teacup rides and pirate ships and carousels. This was supposed to be my trip! Mine. Rose is stealing Gabby from me.

  My heart throbs and my chest tightens. I can’t breathe. Could I be having a heart attack? I search the aisles. Is there a doctor in the midst of these people? I’m going to die on this plane while my daughter trills along to “It’s a Small World.”

  Disneyland with Rose Maris. They will never have to wait on lines. They’ll march right to the front of everything. Crowds will part for them. Mickey and Minnie and Ariel and Cinderella will have private meetings with Gabby. She’s getting the trip to Disneyland I could never give her. We would have waited an hour for the pirate ride. A half hour for the Haunted Mansion. Minnie would have given us the standard gratuitous wave. Ariel and Cinderella would have posed for the perfunctory picture. Belle and Jasmine would have quickly ushered us on to make room for the next starry-eyed girl.

  Still, it would have been our trip. And we would have had fun. Only I would have noticed how creepy it was that Pluto’s eyes peered out from the mouth of his costume. Only I would have been annoyed that Mickey didn’t really give us the time of day. Only I would have gotten a throbbing headache after listening to that godawful, repetitive “It’s a Small World.”

  “You’ve been making empty promises to Gabby for months now. Were you ever going to really take her to Disneyland? Were you ever going to really buy her that dog?” Doctor Phil taunts me.

  I had imagined that I’d spend most of the flight daydreaming about George. But I’ve forgotten all about him. George who? Alex who? I think about Disneyland for the rest of the trip. I try to watch TV, to read my magazines, but all I can do is picture what Gabby is doing at that moment.

  I decide that she arrived at about 10 A.M. They are whisked inside by security. Then she heads directly to the Haunted Mansion. She clings to Rose when the ghost hitches a ride in their cart. Then it’s the Mad Hatter ride. The teacup ride. Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride. By now, Gabby’s probably hungry. She’ll want lunch. I’m certain it’s a VIP lunch. I bet all the princesses are dining with them in some private cordoned-off area that even Roy Disney doesn’t know about. Gabby’s probably wearing a princess gown and a real diamond-studded tiara that Rose just purchased for her in the gift shop. All the princesses are taking pictures of themselves with Gabby and Rose. Gabby eats a burger with Mickey-Mouse-ear fries. After, Rose will order her a special sundae with extra cherries and plenty of whipped cream that will look just like Cinderella’s castle.

  I am driving myself insane. I can’t take it. I breathe in and out. I pick up a magazine. I fumble through it. As I try to read an article, my mind wanders again. It says, as I try to read this article, “Gabby is swinging in between Alex and Rose as they head to Toon Town.”

  I pray for a miracle. I pray for rain. I silently beg the pilot to get on the intercom and tell us visibility is horrible because there’s a hurricane in Los Angeles. I pray for turbulence because there’s a thunderstorm in the Anaheim area. Did you hear the news? Lightning hit Disneyland and it’s engulfed in flames! Disneyland is at the epicenter of an earthquake.

  Nothing. Another perfect June day in Los Angeles. With no chance of precipitation.
Ever. If you look out the window, you can see everything.

  In the car ride home, I dial Alex’s number, but hang up before it rings. What am I going to say without sounding like the jealous, jilted ex-wife. I will be a shrew. Besides, there’s nothing I can do. It’s 3:30 in Los Angeles. They’ve had most of their fun. Just a few more rides. Soon it will be dinner. Then it will be time for the character parade. Rose has probably arranged VIP seating somewhere away from the masses. What am I saying? Rose and Xander and Gabby will probably be in the character parade!

  There is so much traffic that it takes me over two hours to get home. When I do, my head is whirring. I can’t concentrate on anything. It’s nearly six. Almost time for the parade. They’re probably putting the finishing touches on Gabby’s float.

  I grab my suitcase and head to the front door of my house. “Disneyland. Disneyland,” I mumble over and over like a crazy person while angrily shaking my head. I’m looking down, lost in my own world, when my body bangs into someone.

  I look up, expecting to see Trinity. I gasp. It’s a man. I recognize the face, but I can’t place it for a moment. It’s a handsome face, but it makes my stomach turn. Then I remember. Johnny. The paparazzo. He’s waiting here. I’m sure he’s hoping to get a picture of Gabby when she returns from her Disneyland adventure. Maybe he’ll hit the jackpot and Rose will be with her. We can all pose together. The happy blended family. It’s a small world after all!

  Well, Johnny the paparazzo picked a really bad day to stop by.

  “Get out of here.” My voice is hoarse and furious.

  “Alice, wait. Can I talk to you?”

  “No. I never want to talk to you. Leave me alone.”

  “Alice, please, hear me out.”

  I push him out of the way. I race up to the door. “Asshole,” I say loudly before I slam the door.

  “Mommy, that’s a naughty word.”

  “Sometimes mommies can use naughty words,” I say, exhaling. Then it dawns on me. “Gabby!”

  “Mommy!”

  I hug her tight and slather her with kisses. “What are you doing here?”

  “I live here, duh.”

  I laugh. “Oh, Gabby. I missed you. But you didn’t spend much time at Disneyland. I thought you’d at least stay for the character parade.”

  “What? Disneyland? Oh. I didn’t go.”

  “What?”

  Gabby shrugs her shoulders. Now I’m furious she didn’t go. Rose is a typical Hollywood actress. She makes false promises for the camera and breaks my daughter’s heart.

  Gabby wraps her arms around me. “I said to Daddy that I didn’t feel like it. So Daddy and I went to the zoo instead. But it was horrible. All the animals looked dead. They barely moved. I saw a baby gorilla, though. He was drinking from his mommy’s booby. Did I do that, too?”

  “Yes,” I say, hugging her close and breathing in her freshly baked bread scent. “But I don’t understand, Gabby, you love Disneyland.”

  She shrugs her shoulders again. “I didn’t feel like it.”

  I instinctively touch her forehead. “Do you feel okay?”

  “Yes,” she says. “It’s just that . . .”

  “What?”

  “Well, it’s a Mommy-Gabby thing.”

  I squeeze her so tight I’m afraid I’ll crush her. I feel just like Ebenezer Scrooge did at the end of A Christmas Carol when he learns he didn’t miss Christmas at all. He’s been given a chance to make everything right. He says he feels as light as a feather, as happy as an angel, as merry as a schoolboy, as giddy as a drunken man.

  I will honor Disneyland in my heart, and try to keep it all year.

  Gabby proudly tells me that she and Trinity have picked out her clothes for school the next day. The smile on my face hurts my cheeks as I tell her she won’t be going to kindergarten. She’ll be playing hooky tomorrow.

  “Hooky, what’s that?”

  “That’s when you take a day off from school to have some Mommy-Gabby time.”

  “Yay!” Gabby claps her hands and dances.

  I haven’t even told her we’re going to Disneyland. Maybe she senses it. But I don’t think so. She’s just happy to be with me. Gabby grabs my hand and we spin around and around and around, until we’re dizzy and laughing like we haven’t laughed in a long, long time.

  I feel so wonderful. So blessed to have a daughter who understands that Disneyland is more than teacups and carousels and character parades. It is a Mommy-Gabby thing.

  God bless us, every one.

  3

  A Dicer, A Slicer, A Peeler

  I’ve never been one of those moms who believes in throwing over-the-top birthday parties for their children. I’ve always felt that kids enjoy simple pleasures more than elaborate excess. My secret credo has been (well, at least for the last six years) that a child’s age should determine the number of birthday guests. If a kid turns one, one friend. Five, five friends. You get the picture.

  Then why have I contradicted myself this year? I’ve invited the entire kindergarten class. I’ve hired Celia, Gabby’s babysitter, to play Cinderella. She’ll sing, blow bubbles, sculpt balloons, and paint faces.

  I’m embarrassed to admit this, but I even rented a bouncy castle.

  This has been such a rough year for Gabby, so why not? In just two months, my baby will be in first grade. So screw my credos and my mottos. I have a bouncy castle in my backyard and I’m proud!

  Well, it’s actually the tackiest thing I’ve ever seen, but it will keep the kids occupied for the two hours I’ve invited them.

  A few weeks ago, Nancy clued me in on birthday party etiquette.

  “When you send out the invites, make sure you put a time limit,” she said. “You know, write from, say, noon to four or whatever.”

  “Noon to four! You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said. “Four hours of little kids running around? I can’t even occupy my one child that long without the rugrats eventually taking over. No way. Two hours is the maximum.”

  Nancy laughed. “Okay. But two hours is nothing. They’ll have lunch, open presents, eat cake, and it will be time to go.”

  “Exactly.”

  I don’t know why I keep visiting Faye, but I do. I think it’s just because I enjoy her company. She’s funny, warm, and smart. I don’t think she’s at all psychic. Nothing she’s told me has happened. For instance, she had mentioned that George would play a big part in my life. And now I know I’ll never see him again.

  “I never said that,” she informed me when I visited her the other day.

  “Don’t backpedal on me, Faye. You did.”

  “Don’t rework my words, Alice,” Faye said, admonishingly. “I said someone. I never named a name.”

  “Well, you said it was someone I had been antagonistic with. Toward the end, George and I had an antagonistic relationship. It was him and you know it. Besides, I can’t think of anyone else who would fit the bill.”

  Faye laughed and swatted her hand through the air. “Oh Ally, you’re just not thinking hard enough.”

  I laughed back. “Faye, if I thought any harder, my brain would short out and explode.”

  “Maybe you should stop thinking. I believe that’s your whole problem in life. You think too much and live too little.”

  Hence, the bouncy castle.

  Before I left, Faye gave me a solemn expression. She clasped my hands in hers.

  I chuckled. “You’ve got to get new material, Faye. This is getting stale.”

  “No jokes, Ally,” Faye said, her gray eyes darting back and forth. “I just want to tell you something. You are going to go through a bit of an ordeal soon, but you will get through it. Keep telling yourself over and over that it will all work out. I promise it will.”

  “What? I’ve been going through an ordeal for the last year. What else could there be?”

  “I don’t know. I feel it, but I don’t see it. Sorry.”

  It’s like I’m trapped in those Ginsu knife infomercials from th
e seventies. Just when you think you’ve been shown the whole sales pitch—a set of knives that can cut through aluminum cans and radiator hoses for just eighty cents each—the booming salesman’s voice tells you, “But wait, there’s more! A dicer, a slicer, a peeler—at no additional cost!”

  Just when I think I’ve survived the worst of it, I hear that voice—but wait, there’s more. An affair? A separation? But wait, there’s more! A divorce? An angry daughter? But wait, there’s more! A mother with Alzheimer’s. But wait, there’s more! We’ll throw in a motherfucker and a cocksucker at no additional cost! But wait, there’s more. A new, unknown ordeal . . .

  Every day since Faye—the psychic I don’t really believe in—predicted it, I ask myself if this ordeal will come today.

  Perhaps the ordeal is beginning right now, I think when I open the door for Celia. It is Gabby’s birthday party, but Celia isn’t dressed in her Cinderella costume. Instead, she’s a mess. Her eyes are bloodshot and ringed with smeared mascara. Her hair is disheveled.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  “Bryce broke up with me. For good. He said he’s bored. I’m not enough of a challenge, intellectually.” She breaks down and begins sobbing. Her whole body shudders with sorrow.

  I hug her. “Bryce sounds like a jerk. You deserve better. A lot better.”

  Celia breathes in. Her nose rattles with mucus. She wipes it with the back of a hand. “Maybe he’s right. Maybe I’ll take some classes in archeology or something at UCLA. I’ve always been fascinated with the solar system. What do you think?”

  What I am really thinking is that it’s only a half hour before the party starts. Celia’s not in her Cinderella costume. I’m not even sure if she remembered to bring it. Plus, she looks horrible. There’s about a pound of mascara on her eyelashes and it’s tumbling down her face like a mudslide. Her hair is matted to her head. Her breath stinks of nicotine. She’ll scare the kids away.