The Cure for Modern Life

by Lisa Tucker

  “Meaning what? Bleeding-heart do-gooder?”

  “She was wearing a jean skirt and kneesocks. Women who wear that kind of socks usually give me money.”

  “Interesting observation. I call that the liberal schoolgirl type, but your point works just as well.” He stood up and got a napkin for Danny. “You’re getting an orange mustache.”

  Danny wiped his lip and consumed another handful of potato chips.

  “How did you know when to cry? Did you wait for the right opportunity?”

  He nodded. “She asked who babysat us while you were at work. I pretended to be scared and said I couldn’t remember her name.”

  “Rather than making up a name?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What else?”

  “Nothing much.”

  Matthew raised his eyebrows. “We both know that’s not true.”

  He crunched for a while. “You promise you won’t get mad?”

  “Please stop asking me to promise. I’m not ten. But no, I won’t get angry, even if you told her I fed you gruel instead of peanut butter and jelly.” He smirked. “Which I’m guessing you didn’t mention you insisted on eating yesterday, rather than turkey.”

  “When she was in the wheelchair last night, she said she was going home to New York. You know, as soon as she got out of the hospital.” Crunch, crunch. “I said I wished she could stay with us a little longer. I said I really wanted to talk to her some more.”

  “Oh? Well, thank you again for giving me the opportunity to spend a fabulous night soaking in urine.”

  “I’m really sorry about that.”

  Matthew waved his hand. “What else?”

  “I said I asked you to let us live here until my mom comes back.”

  “And what was my response to this imaginary question?”

  Danny looked guilty. “You said, ‘Dream on.’”

  “Very pithy. Sounds like an expression I might use. Nice touch. What else?”

  “I said you were kicking us out in the street with nowhere to live but a crack house.”

  “And you knew my assistant Cassie was going to call social services?”

  Openmouthed crunch, crunch. “Yeah, but I don’t want to go to foster care. They won’t let me be with Isabelle.”

  Matthew thought for a minute. “Why did you claim you wanted to live with me rather than with Amelia?”

  “I didn’t say that. I just said you were like a real father and I liked you and you were nice to Isabelle.” Danny took another drink. Matthew pointed at the kid’s lip and he wiped off his mouth with the napkin. “She said she’d ask you if we could stay. I said it might work because you liked her.”

  “Surely you didn’t expect her to believe that.”

  “No, I just said it because I knew she needed me to be young. Like innocent.”

  Matthew smiled. “I wish I could hire you. You’re good.”

  “Really?”

  “Amelia may wear kneesocks, but she thinks of herself as tough. Believe it or not, everyone in my office is afraid of her. But thanks to you, I know what she has on one of our products. You inadvertently did me a big favor.”

  More crunching, crunching, until Matthew finally removed the bowl. “I think you’ve had enough. Don’t want to spoil your dinner.”

  Danny squinted. “So you’re really going to let us stay with you?”

  “What the hell, you’ve earned it. But Amelia will be coming by to check on you every few days. Can you keep up the innocent act?”

  “Sure. It’s easy.”

  “Do you think you can get close enough to her to be of use to me?”

  “What would I have to do?”

  “I’m not sure yet. But you must have noticed that Amelia is a pain in my ass.”

  “Yeah, I could tell that guy Ben wasn’t the reason you were pretending to adopt us. I’ll try to help you. I’ll try really hard since you’re not kicking us out.”

  “All right. We’ll see how it goes. In the meantime, I have to do some work, and then tonight I’m going out for a while. I’ll have to find a babysitter for you and your sister.”

  “We don’t need a babysitter. I can take care of Isabelle.”

  “Perhaps, but that’s not your decision anymore. For the next month, you’ll do what I tell you to do.” He shrugged. “This is what you wanted. No complaining now.”

  “Okay,” the kid said sadly.

  Matthew thought he was insane to be upset about having help with child care, but he said, “Come on, now, having a babysitter isn’t the end of the world. You can con her if you want. Maybe she’ll fall in love with you, too.”

  He blushed and Matthew could tell he did have feelings for Amelia. Which was so bizarre he didn’t even bother wondering why. It was like the witch cast some kind of spell on every man in the room, even ten-year-old boys.

  The rest of the day with the kiddies was challenging, but not terrible. He worked until Isabelle woke up; then she bothered him for several hours while he tried to work; then he fed them dinner, and by seven he was out the door, on his way to his date.

  Rachel lived in Manayunk, which meant driving on the expressway, but the Black Friday, home-from-shopping-for-useless-crap crowd was jamming up every lane and he never got the Porsche out of second gear. Oh well, at least he had Talking Heads blasting out of the car’s excellent sound system now that he was alone for the first time in days. It felt like his normal life, which was reassuring. This wasn’t going to be so bad. As Pain in the Ass herself had pointed out, he could hire a nanny to take care of the kids. Cassie had already given him the names of several nanny services; she said if he was willing to pay top dollar, he should be able to hire someone right away. Moreover, he and Cassie had come up with a sensible plan to move the children and the nanny out to the suburbs, where they could live in blissful splendor with a yard and separate bedrooms until their mother returned. Despite what he’d told Amelia, one of his rental houses had been recently vacated; he could call the agent and ask her to take it off the market and arrange temporary furnishings. He enjoyed thinking of Amelia having to drive to the suburban paradise, given that she was afraid of traffic and hadn’t had a car since she’d moved to New York. Of course he’d be dropping by the house, too, preferably not when Amelia was there, just to check up on things. The rest of the time he would be in his apartment, as always, where he could sleep or work or have a woman over, undisturbed. It was the best arrangement for him, but also for the kids since the excellent nanny would be much better at child care than he ever would be.

  For tonight he’d had to accept an ordinary teenager, the not-too-bright-seeming Hannah, who Cassie had found through her daughter’s school. As Cassie said, it was difficult to get a good babysitter on Friday night. Fifteen-year-old Hannah had years of experience, or so she said. She certainly charged enough—twelve dollars an hour, minimum of seventy-two dollars. Dinner with Rachel would be another four hundred; the restaurant was BYOB and he’d bought a bottle of her favorite wine. Almost five hundred dollars to get laid? Not a problem. He would have paid twice that if necessary.

  Of course talking to the fascinating Rachel was another story. While they were at the restaurant, he found himself daydreaming while she told him the saga of her hair color change. From light brown to honey brown? He couldn’t tell the difference. She had on a very tight, low-cut sweater; he did notice that, but she’d already told him to stop staring at her tits. So he was forced to look at her face and nod, while thinking about the Pain Matters problem. Obviously he couldn’t just sit back and wait to find out if Amelia would expose this. She was like an unstable chemical now: she could do nothing, or she could react in an entirely unexpected way, or even blow up the building. What if she woke up tomorrow and realized that suppressing ethical research because you liked some kid was just a little bit problematic? Or what if the next time she saw Danny she didn’t like him that much? What if she got mad at Matthew or even Ben and decided she’d feel better only if someon
e took her seriously, say, someone at the New York Times ? The risk was unacceptable. He would have to step up and handle this proactively.

  “Are you even listening?” Rachel said.

  “Sorry,” he said, taking her hand. Her nails were painted black, but this wasn’t a change, either. Last time he saw her, he thought she’d done it for Halloween. He leaned closer and grinned. “To tell you the truth, I can’t think about anything but getting you in bed.”

  She laughed happily. “I’ve missed you, too. You need to tell your boss that you can’t travel for a month at a time. Your girlfriend doesn’t like it.”

  He nodded and she went back to blabbing about something related to leather pants. Shopping for them? Hating them? Who cared? He went back to the problem at hand. The entire dinner was spent this way, with the sole exception of when she insisted he tell her what he’d done on his travels and he tried to explain one teeny, tiny thing—nothing proprietary, of course, just the reason the EU had held the conference. Her response? “If they want to help poor people, help them. Why talk about it?”

  Why, indeed, when you can talk about hair color and leather pants?

  She took forever eating and drinking and talking, but finally they were back in the car. When he insisted on going to her apartment, she whined that she liked his better. He told her he was sorry but his place was a mess. “You just had it cleaned,” she said. “How is that possible?”

  He had no idea what she was talking about, but he said, “The cleaner sucked.”

  “I can believe it. She had a real attitude, that one.”

  He was driving with one hand up her skirt. It was challenging just shifting gears and staying on the road. He mumbled in agreement.

  Finding a parking spot in Rachel’s neighborhood on a Friday night was close to impossible. When he’d picked her up, he’d driven around for ten minutes before he’d given up and asked her to meet him outside, but now a car was pulling out a few doors down. “My lucky night,” he said. She lived on the second floor of an old row house with lots of stairs. She went first and talked about a creepy neighbor who was probably watching her ass right now from his peephole. Who wouldn’t be? Matthew thought, but he said, “Want me to have a talk with this guy?”

  Please have her say no, please have her say no, please have her say no.

  “No, but you are such an alpha male.” She turned around and smiled. “You’d do anything to protect me, wouldn’t you?”

  He nodded, though the only word he paid attention to was protect . He reached into his pocket until he felt the plastic condom package sticking out of his wallet. Protection remembered. Check.

  Rachel’s apartment was the real mess. Every piece of furniture was covered in clothes, as though she’d never heard of a laundry basket. Unless all of these were clean? Near the bed he saw several pairs of leather pants. No doubt he’d know why they were there if he’d been listening.

  Near the bed, then on the bed, then her sweater and bra off. Kissing her to keep her from talking while he felt her large, soft breasts. No longer able to comprehend language when he put his mouth on those breasts. He pushed up her skirt, ready to go, but she said, “Wait, let me take it off. And you, get undressed. I know it’s been a while, but we’re not in that big of a hurry, are we?”

  Hannah had to be home by one, which meant Matthew had to be back by twelve-thirty to put her in a cab. So he really needed to leave by twelve. It was 10:14, according to his watch. He needed time to satisfy Rachel (which could take a while, especially if she didn’t shut up), and afterward, to hold her and make her feel appreciated as he fed her some bullshit reason he had to go home rather than spending the night. Didn’t want to be a complete ass.

  “Of course not,” he said. He stripped as fast as he could without injuring himself. Jumped in bed. She was still arranging her skirt on the chair. “Rachel?” he said, playfully.

  “Just a minute. This skirt wrinkles.”

  By all means, don’t let the skirt get wrinkled. Ever heard of a hanger?

  After an eternity, she got in bed, too. He turned her onto her side and lifted her hair to kiss the back of her neck, which every woman in the world seemed to think was the ultimate romantic gesture. He went through the rest of his foreplay arsenal and finally she was so turned on that she was quiet while he licked behind her knees and up her thighs. She pulled him on top of her, but he had to roll off to put on the condom. As he entered her, it felt unbelievably good, and he was instantly worried that he wouldn’t be able to last. He did what he always did—searched for something bad to focus on, which he and Ben used to jokingly refer to as the “dead baby solution.” It worked; he kept going until Rachel came the first time and then again, but unfortunately before he could get there himself his focus on Pain Matters led to Amelia, which led to Danny and Isabelle, which made his cell phone start ringing. At least, it sure as hell felt that way.

  “Don’t answer,” Rachel whispered.

  “I have to,” he panted. “I think.” Maybe it wasn’t them. He managed to stay inside Rachel while he ripped his arm out of its socket reaching over the edge of the bed and into his pants for the phone. The caller ID showed his own number. He flipped open the phone. “What?”

  “Doctor Connelly?” Hannah. “Um, we have a problem?”

  Hannah ended every sentence with a question mark. He waited. Rachel was running her long nails over his back. Her nipples were still hard, demanding that he pay attention. Finally, he snapped,

  “Well?”

  “Isabelle cut her foot? It’s just a little cut, really, but—”

  “Bandage.”

  “I can’t find a bandage or Neosporin or anything?”

  “Ask Danny. He’ll think of something.”

  “That’s the other problem? Danny ate too much pizza, and he’s not feeling very well? He’s already asleep?”

  “Wake him up.”

  She laughed nervously. “I get it? It’s a joke?”

  “Make a square of Kleenex and tape it on her foot.” Rachel was moving her hips. It was all he could do not to moan. “Bye.”

  “Are you sure you can’t come home now? She’s been crying pretty hard?”

  “Give Isabelle the iPod.”

  “Doctor Connelly, I really think—”

  He closed the phone and threw it over the side of the bed.

  He kissed one of those beautiful nipples, but before he could kiss the other Rachel started pulling on his shoulders, telling him to get off. “Yeah,” he breathed gratefully. No more foreplay; it was time. After a few thrusts, he was just about there, when her voice pierced through the pleasure.

  “Get off me!”

  Of course he did as she asked, but he let out a loud groan of protest.

  She rolled away and pulled the sheet to her chin. “Who is Isabelle?”

  “Oh, Christ, is that all?” He laughed and reached for the sheet.

  “Isabelle isn’t another woman. She’s three years old.”

  He pulled the sheet off, but then she jumped up. “So it’s true! I thought there was no way you’d keep this from me.”

  He hadn’t a clue what she was talking about, but he said, “I wouldn’t,” and tried to grab her arm.

  “Don’t treat me like I’m stupid.” She put on a baggy shirt that she grabbed from the floor. No more nipples. At least she was still naked from the waist down. “Just because I’m a makeup artist and you’re a hot shit doesn’t mean I can’t add two and two.”

  “I know that,” he said, though why they were talking about addition he couldn’t have said if his life depended on it. He stood up, too. Advanced. Managed to kiss her neck. Said, “Come on, Rachel,” in his most seductive voice. Played with her hair. “Let’s go back to bed.”

  “You don’t love me, do you?”

  “I do.” He put his hands on her ass and squeezed. “I love your gorgeous—”

  She wriggled away and stood with her arms crossed.

  “Of course I love you.” He
advanced. “Now come on, I’m dying here. Let’s—”

  “How long have we been together?”

  “Can’t we talk about this after—”

  “No.”

  A quick mental search revealed that he didn’t know when he’d met her, though he remembered where. A party in Queen Village. They were outside, so it was warm. Probably August? Better to overestimate than underestimate. “Six months.” He smiled. “Is that right?”

  Obviously it wasn’t, because she yelled, “A year and a half.”

  Oh shit, wrong summer. He tried, “I guess it only feels shorter because it’s been so great.”

  “No, it’s because you’re always out of town. That’s what you tell me.” She glared. “You big liar.”

  He knew from long experience that once a woman used the L word, all hope was gone. He threw away the condom and put his clothes on without saying anything. He was so pissed he couldn’t have spoken if he’d wanted to. If only he’d called someone other than Rachel. He knew she wasn’t that smart (to put it mildly), but he had no idea she was so crazy that she would get furious at the mere mention of Isabelle’s name. Obviously she still believed that a three-year-old was really some woman he was sleeping with. Maybe she was off her meds.

  Right as he finished buttoning his shirt, the cell phone rang again.

  “I’m leaving now,” he told Hannah.

  “That’s good? Isabelle stopped bleeding but she’s still crying? I think she needs you?”

  He told her he’d be there as soon as he could and hung up.

  “Isabelle cut her foot and she’s crying. Because she’s a child . I have to go.”

  “You big liar,” she repeated. She lit a cigarette and blew smoke in his direction. “I should have listened to your housekeeper.”

  He’d never seen her smoke, or had he? If so, he couldn’t remember. “All right, I give up. What in the hell are you talking about?”

  “Your housekeeper told me you had kids, but I didn’t believe it.”

  “My housekeeper?” he said, but then it hit him. Of course. Amelia had mentioned talking to Rachel, but she left out the strange pretense of being his housekeeper. Christ, what was wrong with that woman?