“Was she wearing men’s cologne?” I heard one woman ask.
I wasn’t sure.
“Ackkkkkk,” Phyllis frantically waved her napkin in a lame attempt to rid the air of Selena’s heady scent, and Jackie put her head down and started to wail…again.
“This day is getting worse by the minute. What the hell am I going to do about Ted? I’ve given him my all.”
That was debatable.
“Imagine Teddy cheating on me.” A look of complete indignation raced across her face. “I could have anyone,” she cried out in pain. “Remember, last year, that dishy flutist? Remember? He was Trevor’s friend…from Westport…he adored me.”
Who could forget…he was half her age. That reminds me, I wonder if Trevor will be coming home for the holidays.
Trevor is Claudia’s alarmingly handsome, incredibly spoiled, sexy and he knows it, 20 year old son. He’s away at college on a lacrosse scholarship and rarely comes home. Except last spring, when he surprised Claudia and Paul by showing up after spring break with a French girl he met while honing his blackjack skills (addiction) in Monte Carlo.
What a disaster. The two gleefully announced they were quitting school to open a scented oil business and promptly moved into Claudia’s guest cottage. Within a day, business was booming, and to Claudia’s horror, Trevor posted flyers all over town advertising the concoction as a new European Sensual Aid: Virgin Ah’ love Oil or…the Big O.
Frank was furious because Phyllis evidently supplied the young entrepreneurs with his top shelf Extra Virgin to make the stuff, and Jackie tried helping the lovers launch by purchasing about twenty cases of the stuff…Trevor assured her it was “fly.” More like the bomb. When she tried heating the potion in her microwave, it blew up, leaving a three-foot hole in her ceiling.
Paul wasn’t impressed. He immediately stopped production and made use of the remaining supply, repackaging it and selling it in his practice as a new organic skin renewal system. We didn’t see much of Trevor after that.
I wonder what Jackie did with the rest of her “fly” supply?
Honestly, with all this talk of Ted’s infidelity, the fact that Jackie wasn’t a saint was gnawing away at me. I didn’t have any solid proof. But, there was her well documented reputation…and the flutist.
Oh, and that time I walked in on her and her “friend” in an artistic position. It was last summer. She explained she was modeling…for one of her art students. I had never before seen that particular modeling pose and wondered how she was able to keep her legs suspended over her head for such an extended period of time. Anyway, I chalked it up to modern art and forgot about it…not really.
That said, the hysteria over Ted’s alleged affair was hard to take seriously, and I was starting to have a greater respect for the guy. He had beaten her at her own game, given her a dose of her own medicine. Touché. Truthfully, after watching the amount of rage streaming out of Jackie, it dawned on me that Ted’s little indiscretion wasn’t the problem at all. It was the fact that she had underestimated poor bland Teddy (a man whose body, she once admitted, resembled a meatloaf). He was stronger than she thought. She had lost her hold on the poor sap…and that was intolerable.
“Hello! I have completely wasted myself on that idiot!” That was Jackie, her voice screeching like a vulture. “And - 411 - I did have him followed…and photographed! Big glossy photographs. Hello…Sources!”
“Right.” I was wondering what that meant.
“And get this, that worm actually has an apartment…a love nest…in Tribeca. Evidently, he’s been keeping time with a twenty-two year old bimbo from his office, a Cheryl something or other. She’s obviously some juvenile intern with a belly ring on sabbatical from the mall. What a sociopath.” Jackie pulled her designer clutch to her heart in a way that suggested it might possess healing properties and took a deep breath. Then she did the unthinkable…
She ordered dessert.
“He’s been living a double life,” she cried, before shoving a heap of chocolate mousse into her pouty mouth. “I think he’s a cross dresser.”
“What?” Phyllis scrunched up her nose.
“I read it in a blog.”
“A blog?” Claudia squinted.
“Oh, it’s the embarrassment of it all. What the hell am I going to do? Have you checked U-Clicker? It’s right there, for everyone to see.”
“Teddy is on U-Clicker?” Phyllis clamped her hand across her mouth.
“Oh yes. It’s out there! Public! You have no idea what I’ve been going through; it’s all over the internet…‘Socialite Jacqueline Stacker Chantel Egan might think about putting a leash on her latest husband. It seems he has an eye for the office help…blah, blah, blah,” she sniffled. “Technology is cruel.”
“Out there…!” Claudia looked pale. “How did that happen?”
“It’s a new world,” Jackie hissed. “No one is safe. The internet has changed everything!”
“I hear ya; someone posted a picture of me on Gawkster. It’s such an intrusion,” said Phyllis. “On top of that, I’m worried about Frank. I think he has a drug problem. He’s totally wired, and large sums of money keep disappearing from our business account. I’m really worried.”
At that, we all just sat there staring at each other.
After a moment of silence, I looked at my new ceramic watch, made my excuses, and ran out as fast as my suede kitten heels could take me. I decided it was time to get home to the comfort of my own dysfunctional marriage. It was all too much for me to deal with, and while maybe it should have made me feel better to realize I wasn’t the only one suffering in an impaired marriage, it didn’t. It made me feel worse.
I drove home in a stupor. What a disaster…blogs, U-Clicker? Note to me: Get on-line right away.
Oh well, at least Jackie is honest with herself; she’s not pretending. What about me? Am I kidding myself? Do I know where I’m going, what’s next, who I am?
I’m Penelope Capwell Dupres, my friends call me Pen. I’m the mother of beautiful six year old twin girls, my greatest achievement, and a member of the country club set. Truthfully, I’d be far happier barefoot, living in a little clapboard on the dunes, painting landscapes. Unfortunately, I was never brave enough to follow my dreams or my heart. Instead, like most of the women I know, I chose to obediently follow my Mother’s carefully laid out plans. So, now I wear the hat of a country club wife. Don’t get me wrong, that’s not a bad thing; it’s not a bad life. It’s just not the life I envisioned living when I was young and hopeful and full of promise. Back then, I fancied myself an independent person, someone who would make a difference. I dreamed of worldly adventures and great romance, episodes worthy to recant when I was past my prime and forced to settle down. The thing is…the adventure never came. The only thing that came and went was time.
After weighing my options and close introspection, I took Mother’s advice and married Sam - a well to do, impossibly successful advertising “giant” (His description, not mine.) He’s tall, dark, handsome and French - born in France and schooled in the U.S. He’s an ivy league, trust funded, bundle of ego. In his defense, he does possess a certain suave sophistication that can sweep you off your feet, that is if you can get past the posturing. Everyone says we’re a dream couple. Then again, sometimes dreams have a way of shifting and transforming into hideous nightmares.
I thought about Jackie’s marriage. I don’t know what I would do if I came face to face with actual proof - blogs, U-Clicker, photos…how horrible. It’s difficult to turn a blind eye when faced with 8x10’s…glossy or matte.
Jackie is strong, though, not like me. I fumbled in my purse for my inhaler. I wish I could be a bit harder, more calculating. Better yet, I wish I could twitch my nose and transport myself back to summers at the Cape. Life seemed so much easier back then.
Honestly, leaving Sam was something I often thought about, but fear always stepped in. Where would I be without him? How would I manage? Money wasn’t the
issue. It was the idea of being alone and looking like a failure, a woman who couldn’t hold on to her man. Then there was the interruption to our domestic routine, the problem of holidays, the friends who would eventually choose sides and the uncomfortable solo arrival to parties…that is, if invites were still extended. Divorced woman are not at the top of an invite list. “No one wants a hungry divorcee lurking around their husband.” (Mother’s words)
It was just so difficult either way, difficult to stay and difficult to leave. Plus, I really hadn’t come across any solid proof (I convinced myself), only suspicions. I took two puffs and threw the inhaler back in my handbag. Sam can be horrible at times, but he is a good provider. The good with the bad; I thought hard. I’m pretty sure those were Mother’s words, too.
“Don’t think with your heart, Penelope. It will always cost you in the end!” That was Mother “taking me in hand” from her duplex command post on Park Avenue, her words still ringing in my ear. Her image burned into my brain, I can still see her running around, hands waving about the room. Dressed in her blue, double-breasted couture, she looked like a naval commander.
“You really are a foolish girl; you’re not getting any younger, for crying out loud. You need to think about the future and your maintenance. Heart fluttering and weak knees don’t last long, Penelope. But a man with a substantial bank account, now that can do a lot to preserve a girl.”
Mother married my stepfather, Robert, for his money. This isn’t a secret. She does practice what she preaches. After my father died, she was consumed with financial worry...she was worried about dipping into her fortune. So she made up her mind to scoop up a new acceptable mate, lickety-split. With the help of her influential friends, she was introduced to a long line of eligible gentleman - all wealthy, powerful, and listed in the Social Register. When she met Robert, her eyes flashed like a slot machine. It was love at first sight. After a brief courtship, which included a lot of jewelry and a trip around the world, they were married. Fortunately, he’s a sweet soul with impeccable manners and an incredibly big heart…confirming the old adage “opposites attract.”
“I don’t need his money, Mother. Geeze, it’s not as if we’re penniless for God’s sake. I’m set for life. I’m not marrying for money.”
“Don’t be silly. You can never have enough. Build and build your fortune, my darling; that’s key!” Mother held one perfectly manicured finger up to my nose. “Besides, a woman NEVER spends her own money. It’s a rule. Haven’t you learned anything?” She handed me a scotch on the rocks.
“It’s all happening so fast,” I said, trying to ignore the tightness in my chest. “Why is he in such a rush? He’s pushing me to the altar…what’s with that?” I looked for a sign of compassion, but she was just standing there, looking at me blankly, her eyebrow in that funny triangle. “Look, I can’t explain it; I have this nagging feeling,” I stammered. “There’s something about Sam that’s mysterious, secretive. Oh, I don’t know…odd. I can’t put my finger on it, but there’s something, a part of him that’s closed up, a part I can’t reach.”
Mother’s stare was turning icy. I wondered if she had a paper bag. Note to me: Never visit Mother without a paper bag.
“What are you going on about, honestly?” she asked, raising her voice to a particularly annoying pitch.
“I’m trying to tell you…I’ve got reservations.”
“As do I,” she barked, “at 21, before the theater…so let’s get hopping here,” she tapped her watch.
“It’s just that he’s secretive,” I tried explaining, searching her pinched face for a sliver of compassion. “I mean, yes, you’re right, he can be fun, and yes he’s loaded, but he can also be dark and defensive. I can’t help but wonder if it’s going to get worse after we’re married. I’m not sure I can deal with all the broodiness and the fact that he tends to be self-centered…something perhaps you can relate to.”
“Honestly, Penelope, is this conversation going to take much longer? I’m already late for dinner.” She let out an exaggerated sigh and rolled her eyes up to the ceiling. “I don’t know what the problem is! Just marry the man, and worry about all that later. If it doesn’t work out, you’ll have a huge settlement to look forward to. It’s a win/win situation.”
“What about companionship?”
“Oh, for crying out loud, get a poodle,” she barked, “or have an affair…or both…be creative. What? Why are you looking at me that way? Oh, please Penelope, don’t be so provincial.”
“I don’t know why I bother…”
“Look, I really need to be going,” she said and let out another excruciatingly long sigh. “I’ve given you my very best advice, and quite frankly, Penelope, people are starting to talk. How long can I keep making excuses for you? Claire Sweetwater keeps asking about you, why you’re not married by now. All three of her mousey looking girls landed powerful men. It’s ridiculous. I’m embarrassed. Why I have the only daughter on the Upper East Side, approaching the end of her prime,” she looked me up and down, “not married is beyond my comprehension. Why me?” she asked, fully expecting an answer.
“I’m scared”
“Oh, stop. They have pills for that.”
“You make it sound like the earth will stop spinning if I don’t hit the altar.”
“Darling, don’t be silly. Having a well to do husband is a necessity…like kneecaps.”
“Huh?”
“Don’t be so damn picky.” She stormed around the room like a hungry rhino at feeding time. “The man has a very stressful job; it’s only natural for him to be moody.” She rolled her eyes and applied another layer of her favorite Envy Red to her pursed lips. “If you need someone to lean on, get a good therapist for God’s sake. Honestly, what do you expect? Life isn’t all smiles, Penelope. If he wants to have his little secrets, let him,” she bellowed and flung her fur around her shoulders. “Who cares what he’s up to? Busy yourself with the household and social engagements; leave him alone. You have to take the good with the bad sometimes. Choose wisely. Don’t screw this up!”
THERE’S NO PLACE LIKE HOME
I tried to put Jackie, Ted, and Mother out of my mind, as I made my way down the winding roads that brought me back home to Avery Lane - my oasis. As I entered the gates and headed down the long drive, I made a mental note to sign up for another charity function, hoping that would occupy my mind and distract me from the obvious. “Perhaps a shopping spree…that should do it,” I smiled to myself.
As soon as I entered I could hear Blossom. She was in the kitchen singing gospel songs at the top of her lungs. I steadied myself and entered like a soldier.
“I’m home,” I yelled loudly, as to be heard over the booming hymn. “Any calls?”
“Oh, there you are. Yes, your Mother called.” Blossom’s eyebrow lifted. I knew that meant I should think twice about returning that particular call. “And the bakery called; they have those little cakes ready for the children’s classroom party, and someone from Save the Whales called.”
I sat down at the kitchen table and slipped my feet out of my shoes.
“Ugh; I’m exhausted.” I put my head down on the table.
Blossom looked up from her ironing. “Well, at least you got out for a while, Ms. Penelope. You need to have a little fun. You can’t just stay buried in this house all the time, babydoll. You need to get out and put your face in the sunlight.”
She had a point, for the past few months I had been holed up. Except for the occasional girls’ outing, charity function, or run to the market, I had been curled up with a book, trying to distract my mind from the sinking realization that my life - my marriage - was not exactly picture perfect.
“You see, Miss Penelope, the way I see it…if you change just one thing a day, after a while, when you look around …everything will be different.” She shook her head and offered me her broad white grin. “No change, no gain.”
I propped my feet up and took in her musical voice.
&nbs
p; “Blossom, you’re a gem.” I smiled.
She poured me a cup of steaming tea and placed a dish of warm chocolate cookies in front of me. They were fresh from the oven and too hard to resist.
“Miss Penelope, how do you think I got to be here with you?” Her eyes searched me. “I changed things. I made a decision and didn’t let it leave my mind. Aha, if I stayed where I was, I’d surely be in the ground by now. I dreamed big, though. I got myself to save a little grocery money here and there and set my mind on coming to the U.S. I had this big desire to be independent.”
I watched as Blossom’s large hands took command of her task with precision and speed, directing the hot iron and taming the wrinkled mound before her. Every item was ironed perfectly, folded and then stacked on the table beside her. Occasionally she’d place her hand on the pile, as if to say, “that’s right, behave now.”
“When I think back, it seems like a miracle that I got here, alright,” she continued. “But, here I am with you, and I am happy, happy, happy. You just need a little faith, sometimes.”
Her smile lit up the kitchen, and I could smell the mixture of coconut oil and lavender wafting from her skin, a magical scent that instantly calmed me and made me smile.
“Why don’t you put that pretty sweater on…you know…that kooky one.”
“Kabooki,” I corrected.
“Yes. Put something warm on; go for a nice walk. Breathe in the fresh air, and wake your body up. I know it’s not my place, Ms. Penelope, but you keep running in circles, jumping through hoops…I think you kinda forgot how special you are.” Her eyes twinkled.
Maybe Blossom was right. I should get out and fill my lungs with fresh air. Still, at the moment, all I wanted was to stay tucked away in the big white house on Avery Lane with its wraparound porch and potted flowers, the gardens, and the hustle and bustle of the children with their beautiful laughter - my cocoon of protection from the madness outside its strong walls. Every inch of the grand lady holds a memory and a tale to tell. It isn’t just a house; it’s a part of us, an extension of our family. It’s our nest of comfort and familiarity. Its walls breathe us in and out, and each layer of paint holds stories of who we are in the privacy of its embrace.
A Brilliant Ride Page 3
