I twist my mouth to the side in consideration. “Not sure.”
“Well, you’re a stick,” she says, “and I’ve got the curves and bosom.” She presses the baggy sweater against her chest. “Probably mine.”
“Whoever’s it is, just keep it here.” I shake out a balled-up white minidress and guffaw when I realize what it is. “My god, do you know what this is?” I hold the dress against me.
“1990s Clueless throwback dress?”
“Ha-ha.” I hold the dress out at arm’s length and examine it. “I bought this like three years ago, thank you.”
“Guess the 90s are back in style.” She casually tosses another pair of stockings into the basket.
“This is the dress I wore on my first official date with Andrew.” I smile and fall back on my heels, legs tucked underneath.
“It’s been here that long?” Emily looks thunderstruck. “No way.”
“Of course not.” I shake my head. “I’ve worn it since then, obviously.” I hold the dress to me and sigh. “Oh, memories…” I hug it tightly. “That was when things were exciting and fun and—”
“New,” she cuts in. “When things were new.”
“Exactly. Relationships can be fabulous when they’re new.”
Emily cocks her head to the side—that warning look of hers that says I better not argue with her. “Things still can be fabulous, Jackie, even if they aren’t new. It’s a different kind of fabulous, you know?”
“Yeah, yeah.” I take one more look at the dress and give a small smile. “Well,” I say in a high tone, “enough about my husband who refuses to return my calls.”
“He’s a busy guy.”
Emily always gets an earful about my slumps with Andrew. She’s always understanding and patient, and she lets me talk and talk, and will offer sage advice, kind of like Dr. Pierce, but better. God, it’s going to suck when she goes to Africa next month…
I fold the dress with a pout, force the image of a departed Emily from my mind, and set the dress in a Dolce carrier bag.
“He’s got a lot to do at his firm,” Emily continues, “with a lot of stress and a lot of responsibility.”
“With a secretary who I know will not deliver my messages, no matter how much I plead…or how often.” I let my shoulders sink forward. I pick up a sandal, glance about for its partner, and when I can’t spot it immediately I give it a toss into the darkness of the closet.
“Don’t work yourself into a tizzy over Nikki,” Emily says. “She’s not worth it.”
“I’ve left messages with her twice now, Em. Twice.”
“You’ve left more before, and Andrew’s called you back. Eventually.” She stops folding another pair of my pants and tells me to keep my chin up. “Give him time. He’s busy, and when he’s done, he’ll call you back.”
“Do you think he’s cheating on me?” I ask suddenly. The question came up in my mind, however briefly, at Dr. Pierce’s earlier; I’ve had it a couple times before, but only faintly; now it comes spewing forward given the recent events that have unfolded in Lara’s life.
I twist the rock of a wedding ring around my finger twice. I’ll never forget that trip to New York with Andrew, when we went to Tiffany’s so I could pick out a dazzling tennis bracelet, just because. We took a little detour to the engagement rings, and Andrew not-so-surreptitiously pried at what struck my fancy. It was a round solitaire—the Tiffany Setting—that made my eyes wide, my heart beat, my stomach go all flippy at the thought that I could become Mrs. Andrew Kittredge. At the thought that I could walk around those country clubs I pictured being a member of when I hit middle age, strutting about with my giant, glitzy diamond, swinging a tennis racket and thinking, “Look how far I’ve come!”
I look at the weighty ring, and my heart goes from dreamy beats to heavy thumps. A lot can change in a year-and-a-half. Cloud Nine with Tiffany’s one day, then on Emily’s floor the next, touching on the topic of infidelity, wondering if I’d made the right choice marrying Andrew…
“Andrew?” Emily says, aghast. “Andrew? An affair?”
“Yeah. You think it’s possible?”
“Well,” she says slowly, her warm brown eyes locked on mine. “Anything’s possible—”
“Oh, great!” I exclaim, tossing up my hands and the melon-colored chiffon scarf that’s in them.
“Let me finish.” Emily’s voice is cool and collected. “Anything is possible, but I don’t think that a man who loves a woman so much—the way Andrew loves you—would cheat.”
“If he loved me so much he wouldn’t neglect me like he does, Emily,” I say sourly.
“I know you’re frustrated with your situation, Jackie.” She gives me a small and sympathizing grin. “I know if you had it your way you’d have Andrew home by five every night.”
“And he wouldn’t be married to his damn career,” I add.
“And he wouldn’t be married to his damn career.”
“And he wouldn’t have Nikki as his bimbo secretary.” I stick out my tongue and make a childish face.
“In a perfect world, yes, there would be no Nikki and there would be no late hours at the office. There’d be no arguments, no disagreements, and always a party.”
I chuckle. “True. That’d be a perfect life, wouldn’t it?”
“Yeah,” Emily says, her face lighting up as the conversation trends away from “I’m in a pit of marital despair” to “maybe I’ll manage this like I’ve managed the other rough patches.” She continues, saying, “But this isn’t a perfect world, and no one has a perfect life. There’s no such thing, Jackie.”
“Okay, I’m so not being lifted up by this pep talk, Em.” I fake a laugh.
“Maybe that’s the point.” Her face folds up slightly in vindication. “Not everything’s going to be pretty and perfect. Andrew being busy and having someone you don’t like take his calls are some of those things. For god’s sake, Jack, you want the glitz and glamour life, and that comes at a price. Andrew is wealthy and not from nothing. He works crazy hours because he wants to provide for you.” She wags her head and begins to fold another pair of pants. “Besides, you were well aware of his dedication to his career before you married him. This should come as no surprise.”
“I know,” I moan, having heard and thought this all before.
“A man in his fifties,” she carries on, “never been married to anything but his career…what can you expect? Life is great, but it ain’t perfect.”
“You don’t have to tell me how life isn’t rainbows and unicorns,” I say, my tone and words unwavering.
“I know that.” She inches her way across the floor on her hands and knees until she’s right beside me. “I know you’re going through a difficult time in your marriage right now, Jackie, but this is life. It’ll get better again.”
“Another difficult time.” I look at her, deadpan.
“When God handed out lives, She didn’t assign only one difficult hurdle per person, babe.”
“Well.” I turn a loose sock inside out, then back again.
“It’ll get better,” she reassures once more.
“You promise?” I sniff back the teary feeling I suddenly have.
“Yeah, I’ll promise that.” She gives me a squeeze. “It will get better again. You just need to stick it out and stay strong.”
“Get strong is more like it,” I say with a long blink. I sink further onto my heels, and Emily gives my shoulders a friendly shake.
“And,” she says with very slight hesitation, “I think you really should be open with Andrew and have a heart-to-heart with him. I know you’ve ignored my advice.” She raises her eyebrows. “Am I right?”
“Em, it won’t do any damn good.”
“I’m just saying.” She holds her hands up. “Just saying it’s the least you could do. Try to talk. Let him know how you’re feeling.”
I scratch at the back of my head and nod, knowing that she’s right, that I probably will eventually gather the n
erve to talk to Andrew. Just not right now. Not yet. Besides, maybe this valley will see a little peak again? Just maybe? And maybe this will be the last of the slumps. I’d hate to get into a roaring argument over nothing.
“What brought this cheating topic up, anyway?” Emily asks. “You think Andrew’s, what? Having an affair with Nikki?”
“Oh, god, I don’t know,” I groan. “The thought’s crossed my mind a few dozen times.” I lie down on the floor, removing a flip-flop from underneath my back. “I sure as hell hope not.” I toss the shoe across the room. “I think I’ve just got it on my mind because of what Lara’s going through.”
“Bullshit, isn’t it?” Emily wags her head disgustedly.
“Talked about it to my shrink, too. Talked about my parents and…” I give her wide eyes. “You know that spiel.”
“You know what?” She pulls her knees to her chest, large swathes of her tan skin peeking through her ripped jeans, and glances around the room. She begins to rock slowly. “I think we should do something for Lara.”
“Like drive over to Nathan’s and egg his place?” I say in excitement, pulling myself up on my elbows.
“No, you crazy girl. Something for Lara not to Nathan.”
“Doing something bad to Nathan would be just like doing something good for Lara. Besides,” I say, lying back down, “I called her this morning,” I place my hands underneath my head, “bugging her because I was so bored, seeing if she wanted to go out and do something after work.”
“And?”
“Said she’s too busy.” I sigh. “No time, and said she doesn’t want to talk about Nathan anyhow.”
“Come on,” Emily says, leaping up. She holds her hand out to me, wiggling her bejeweled fingers, fingernails painted a dark (chipped) shade of green. “We’re going to do something for Lara whether she has the time or not. It’ll be good for her, and it’ll be good for you. Get you out of this is-my-husband-cheating-on-me slump.”
***
“She’s going to love it!” I sing, holding one end of the large gift basket Emily and I’ve put together for Lara. We went to Pike Place Market, the world’s best outdoor market, and filled it with all sorts of frilly things sure to make a girl feel better after heartbreak.
We’ve got the bottle of wine (the essential in gift-basket-making), the dried Chukar cherries and sweetened almonds, boxes of cookies, chips, and, of course, several bars of dark chocolate, some lavender bubble bath, and this organic olive oil soap that Emily always has in her shower and insists should replace all other body soaps. We found this new organic hair conditioning treatment when we stopped to grab some of Lara’s favorite body cream, so we threw that in too. Then of course we had to swing by Randy’s to pick up the latest Dean Koontz and James Patterson hardbacks that we know Lara’s been wanting to get her hands on. It’s the perfect get-over-your-douche-of-an-ex-boyfriend-make-you-feel-like-a-million-bucks basket!
“And look,” Emily says, pointing at Lara’s sleek Audi across her apartment parking lot. “She’s home, so it looks like we won’t have to camp out on her doorstep.”
“Wait!” I stop abruptly in my tracks and point at the bright red Jeep two cars down from Lara’s.
“What?”
“It’s him.” I point my finger harder, as if to emphasize my surprise. “Him!”
“Him who?”
“Nathan, who else?” I lock my jaw, clamping down tightly, trying to contain the rage that’s beginning to boil.
“That Jeep?” Emily asks. “You sure?”
“Of course I’m sure! No one forgets a bright red Jeep.” I turn to Emily and say, “Hold this. I’ll be back.”
“What are you doing, Jack?” She looks a smidgen frightened. She takes the heavy basket on her own, balancing it awkwardly, while I pry my keys from my handbag. With the keys in hand I boldly march up to the blindingly red car.
“Jackie, no!” Emily shrieks. “Don’t do it!”
I can hear her chase after me, the rustle of the basket’s shrinkwrap growing louder and nearer. But she’s not going to stop me. Nothing’s going to stop me! I’m that lemming over the ledge again. There’s nothing but me, my keys, and the asshole’s car.
“I’ve had it with cheaters,” I say under my breath, wielding the longest key on my ring. With it firmly in my grip, I press it deeply into the glimmering red at the car’s rear. “No one hurts my friend like this!”
I begin, slowly and steadily at first, dragging the key across the car, flicks of paint dusting into air. I pick up my pace, my line growing longer and more jagged with each bold step I make along the car. Emily’s pace quickens too, but by the time she reaches me, one hand gripping my working arm, I’m already halfway done.
“It’s a half-done job, Emily,” I say gruffly, key still boring into the car. “I’m mad as hell and I need to do something about it.”
Emily, worry covering her face, sets the heavy and awkward gift basket on the pavement. “What happened to taking some Pamprin, or watching a Hugh Grant film and crying into your pillow or something?” She roughly sets her hands on hips.
“No, Em,” I say, returning to my piece of artwork.
“You’re taking out your anger over Andrew and Nikki—”
“Don’t forget Nathan!” I cry loud and dramatically, dragging an even deeper and more jagged line across the driver’s side of the car. “He’s screwed one of our best friends over. This means revenge, no matter what Lara says!”
“All of this anger about all of these things and people is being taken out on one guy,” Emily nearly hollers. “Jackie! You’re acting insane.”
I make a strong slash across the rear of the Jeep, doing a little leprechaun’s jig as I finish—a leap in the air, my Manolo Blahniks clicking.
“There,” I say, twirling round and blowing the tip of my red-tipped key like it’s a smoking gun. “Insane or not, that’ll teach him to never cheat.”
“No,” Emily says in a deep and uh, duh! kind of tone. “That’ll teach him he needs a car alarm system.”
“Oh, Emily.” I help her pick up the basket and heave it up high to get a good grip on it. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Or to get a car cover,” Emily waxes on as we ascend the stairs to Lara’s apartment. “Or to park in the boonies.”
“Or not to fuck with one of our best friends,” I say, indignant.
Emily wags her head. “Or that, yeah.” She gives a loud moan. “Seriously, Jackie. That is totally unacceptable and immature behavior. There are better ways to achieve contentment. Ever heard of meditation?”
“Oh, Em.”
“Deep breathing?”
I roll my eyes, adjusting my grip on the heavy basket.
“Yoga, repeating a mantra…” she runs on. “Ugh, Jackie. What are you thinking?”
“I did what Lara should’ve done a long time ago,” I say curtly.
“Jackie…”
“Come on, Em.” I give her a quick, sideways glance. “It’s not the first time you’ve seen me go ape-shit on a guy’s car before.”
“Yeah, well,” she says off to the side, “some things never change; some things should.”
We reach Lara’s front door, and Emily’s about to knock but I quickly pull her hand down. “Wait,” I say. “He’s in there.”
“Yeah,” Emily says, eyes round and wide. “Nathan’s in there, so I wouldn’t exactly bring up the whole I-keyed-your-car thing right now.”
“Should we wait?”
“This basket’s getting heavy. If we sit out here on the front step, it’s just…no. No, it’s weird. We’re here, we’re her friends, we’re going to see her.”
“Yeah!” I stamp my foot in approval. “That’s right! And I’d like to give Nathan a piece of my mind, anyway.”
“Dear god, no, Jackie.” Emily’s eyes grow even wider—I didn’t think that was possible.
“Well, we’ll see about it,” I say. “You’re right. Let’s go see Lara.”
I raise my h
and to knock, but before I can the door flies open and a tall pile of man pushes into me, nearly knocking me over. I lose my grip on the basket, and Emily clutches the whole thing in her arms. Emily and I stumble backwards a bit, the shrinkwrap rustling loudly.
“Oh,” the man says, alarmed. He brushes at his hair and scans my face, then Emily’s, then mine again. “Sorry. I—I—didn’t see you.” He steadies his stance and turns to the doorway, where Lara’s standing, arms over chest, mouth drawn into a tight line.
“Nathan!” I cry. “Why I oughta—”
“Goodbye,” Emily says, quickly stepping in between Nathan and me, the gift basket obscuring her vision, its ruffles of shrinkwrap towering. “Bye now.”
“I’m out of here,” Nathan says in an agitated way as he jogs towards his car.
“Jackie!” Emily says, turning to face me, smiling a frozen, forced grin through the shrinkwrap. “Let’s go inside, shall we? Inside…” She makes a sharp motion towards Lara standing in the doorway.
“Not a bad idea,” I say, pulling tighter my leather coat. I take a fast glance at Nathan. He’s not yet near his car. Oh, but when he is, and when he sees the damage I’ve done—
“Lara,” Emily says, chipper, still wearing that tight smile as she turns to greet Lara. “Hi!”
“Girls!” Lara looks at us in bewilderment and excitement. “This is a pleasant surprise.”
“We’re going to come in right now,” Emily says, pushing her way into the apartment. “Right now. Come along, Jackie.” She looks back at me and motions with her head to follow her inside ASAP.
Part of me is tempted to run out to the parking lot and lay one into Nathan, but I’m feeling pretty pleased and content with my art job, so I decide to follow Emily’s wise orders and get my butt inside. Enough damage done for one day.
Chapter Nine
When Girlfriends Let Go Page 7
