She ended up jabbing Alek rather hard in the arm, then turning and running out.
In the hallway, she heard it. Like she remembered hearing it years ago. The muffled swear. And then, with a wince, she heard the thump of what most likely was a man taking out his frustration by punching a wooden lab cabinet.
CHAPER 7
GRAB THAT APPLE
Gathering momentum, Clara raced across campus. Heels posing no challenge, she flew as if on a chariot of love. When she rounded a corner and first saw the castle-like fortress of Brad’s fraternity, it took her breath away. There it shone, exactly as it had ever been.
Everything had started there, fall of sophomore year, at a graffiti party. She’d shown up with a clean white t-shirt and left with writing all over it. Brad had scrawled with a green sharpie across her lower back, “U R the hottest one here.” The next day, of course, she hadn’t remembered who’d written it. Jello shots and many beers left only random flashes. Like a patchwork quilt, she could piece together moments: laughing in the bathroom with Cat, dancing to Destiny’s Child’s “Bootylicious.” But not who wrote on her with a green sharpie pen.
Cat thought she’d remembered that he was cute. A couple of weeks later, tailgating at a football game, he’d shown up with some friends. He’d used the same line on her, only it hadn’t sounded like a line. It had sounded like he meant it and by the third quarter they were holding hands. A few weeks later he’d invited her to a formal at his fraternity. In the months to come, their hook ups had turned into the real deal. All junior and senior year they’d formed a jealousy-inducing, always-seen-together couple.
Up the steps of the fraternity, she bounded past the line of less-thans, wannabe partygoers who languished unconnected, younger, waiting for the nod. Then, the appreciative greeting at the door by Brad’s frat brother. Granted access, music and laughter surrounded her under the sparkle of the lights. It had all the magic and excitement of a night to remember just beginning.
Heart in her throat, she looked over behind the bar. And there he was. A disco ball over his him as a spotlight. Mr. Right, laughing with his friends and serving beers to throngs of dressed up partygoers. Wearing a golden crown on his head. Literally. He and a couple of brothers had clearly been to Burger King earlier that day and they still wore their paper crowns proudly.
To Clara, the room seemed to dim. All else faded into soft-focus, slo mo and cue Cindarella’s “So this is love, hmm hmm hmm hmmm!” She brought her hands to her cheeks. Could this really be happening? The scene she’d recalled so many times with such 3am regret? The biggest mistake of her life. Now hers to change.
Nervous, exhilarated, she nearly ran over to the bar, half-expecting some disaster to prevent her from reaching her destination. A monster to lurch out of the punch bowl, zombies to crash in through the windows. But, no, the sea of students parted to let the golden girlfriend through. Suddenly shy, she paused next to him.
He turned and smiled. “Babe! There you are!” He pulled her back behind the bar into an embrace, kissing her full square on the mouth. He tasted of beer and something else, something acidic that made her lip buzz. Smiling back at him she remembered: dip. He and his brothers were always spitting tobacco into plastic cups. The same ones used to drink beer, which made it a priority to keep tabs on your cup. Whatever, she was sure by 32 he’d grown out of it!
“Brad!” she exclaimed. Was that weird? Did she call him by his first name? Or had she used a nickname she’d forgotten?
But Brad was already pulling a beer for her from the tap. “I was wondering when you’d show up.”
“I had this lame astronomy lab.”
“Way to finish that puppy up.” He gave her a plastic cup of beer and then sloshed his against it in a frat-style cheers. Giddy, she giggled as some beer sprayed out onto her top. It shimmered and bounced right off of the gold lamé.
He was so nice! He’d remembered how much she’d hated that class and toasted her finishing up. What a thoughtful guy. She leaned in as he hugged her to his side again, and then expertly maneuvered the keg tap over a plastic cup to fill it.
Snuggled in close, head at his shoulder, she fit perfectly against him. She stole another glance up. Better in person than she’d ever imagined. She was being hugged by Ken come to life. Light blue eyes, pink lips, the tips of his blond hair peeking out from under his crown. Together they were a classic combo. Peanut butter and jelly. Burger and fries. Ken and Barbie. How had she ever thought to break them up?
Since she could, she snuck her hand up his side. Soft faded cotton button down shirt. No love handles, nothing but abs, baby.
Then a 200-pound-plus linebacker came hurtling toward them. Clara pulled away from the battering ram but Brad laughed, puffed his chest out and—whump—chest bump!
“NYC, bro!” the guy yelled and Clara couldn’t believe everything happening again all around her, exactly as she remembered. It felt like stepping inside her favorite movie, or a movie she hated but ended up watching a ton since it was always on.
The guy standing beside Brad turned toward him. “No shit!” he exclaimed, making sense of the exchange faster than Clara had back in the day. The party was moving to New York Cit-tay!!!
Clara watched and smiled. Resting lightly against the counter, she reveled in her silence. She knew this was the part where she’d piped up, confused, asking what all the fuss was about. But not this time. This time she was in on the fun, joining in on the adventure, too, if her life depended on it.
Brad glanced at her, a hint of nervousness in his eyes. He asked the guy on his right, “You got this? I’ll be right back.” Turning to Clara he said, “Come with me a sec.” He took her hand—what a strong and sure grip he had on him—and led her through the crowded room.
Clara could barely contain herself. It wouldn’t make sense to jump up on his back like a monkey, tangle her arms and legs around him like an octopus, wrestle him to the ground like a Sumo and yell, “You’re not getting away from me this time, Brad!!!” So she didn’t. Instead, she demurely traipsed after him, a smile playing on her lips.
She showed similar restraint as they passed Ashley who was watching them like a hawk as she stood near the dance floor with a friend. Clara didn’t stick out her tongue, nor did she rush up and yell “In yo face, lady!” But she did make sure that she held onto Brad tight as they passed right on by.
In the adjacent room, darker, less crowded, couples chatted and made out along the walls. Were those two having sex in the corner? Clara looked away, up into Brad’s worried features. He took off his paper crown and ran his hands though his hair as if steeling himself.
“I’ve taken a job at my dad’s bank.”
“That’s awesome!” Clara yelled, exuberant. He pulled back slightly. Maybe too exuberant? It was hard to tone it down when you finally got the chance to say the words you’d been wishing you’d said for an entire decade.
“Did you hear me? I’m going to work at the bank. In the city.”
“That’s amazing!” Again, Clara delivered one notch below screaming it from the rooftops.
Still, at her words hope stole into Brad’s boyish face. “That means no San Francisco,” he reminded her.
“I know. But that’s totally OK! Who wants to move to San Francisco anyway?”
“You do.” His perfect brow furrowed once more in confusion.
“Oh, yeah, I know I was thinking about it.” She waved dismissively. “Talking about it a little—”
“A lot.”
“But, lately,” she continued. “Lately I’ve been thinking how much more fun it would be to move to New York City.”
“Because everyone’s going to be there!” He finished her sentence for her. That’s how perfect they were together. “You’re not mad? I thought you really wanted me to take that unpaid internship at Earth Justice Now.”
Clara started searching for the right words to explain how not mad she felt. But then she realized who needed words when you could simply
reach up and grab that apple right off the tree? She smiled at him and stretched her palms up along his broad shoulders. “You know what I really want?” She whispered in close at his ear. “I want you.”
“Yeah?” His arms circled around her lower back, his chin nuzzling against her cheek.
“Yeah. I love New York City.”
“Yeah?”
“And I love you.”
He leaned down and they kissed. Simple as that. Years of frustration, fruitless labor, unproductive dating and dead-end relationships: gone! Concrete Gulag county office of bureaucratic wasteland: deleted! Frizzy-haired Bride of Frankenstein couch potato with only Facebook for a friend: bub-bye! As they made out in the frat house—and by the way that couple in the corner was totally having sex—everything else melted away.
True, during the bouts of making out at the party, punctuated by shots to celebrate NYC, Clara never quite felt anything like a slow stomach flip, that undeniable pull of attraction, chemistry, unplanned and undeniable. But that could have been due to anything, most likely the copious amounts of Jack Daniels.
At the end of the night, Brad took her hand in hers and weaved not-too-steadily through the dance floor. Past witch-face Ashley, watching them with her wee beady eyes as they sauntered by. That girl was not going to hook up with Brad that night. Not any night. As Brad led her up the stairway and into his room, Clara knew. She felt it from the bottom of her sexy red high heels to the top of her now sloppily-coiffed blond mane: everything in her life from that moment on was guaranteed to be perfect.
CHAPTER 8
THE PERFECT LIFE!
The pleasant twitter of a bird floated softly over Clara’s senses. She turned, nestling her cheek into the most perfect pillow she’d ever encountered—not too squishy, not too firm, case soft yet crisp with the faint smell of lavender. The bird sang out once again and Clara’s eyes fluttered half-open. Morning sunlight streamed through plantation shutters along six large windows, four on one wall and two on the next.
With the light sigh of a Disney princess, Clara let her eyes close once again, breathing in the lavender. The comforter she snuggled under felt downy and light and warm all at once. And darned if that didn’t feel like silk against her skin, perhaps some sort of a negligee.
Wait. She didn’t wear silk negligees. She wore old, tattered t-shirts from work-related team building exercises. Like when she and her CAHWCFC co-workers had picked up trash alongside the highway.
Could it be heaven? White—gold—white—gold, everywhere she looked. The comforter across what had to be a king size bed, the curtains on the windows, a cashmere throw resting over the gold-edged settee.
“Hello?” she whispered, feeling too reverent to disturb the peace of the setting with a holler. Could it be a hotel? A five-star resort? Or someplace even more posh, like an invitation-only club in Monte Carlo or a French ski destination the royals accessed via helicopter?
Was this her future with Brad? Present day, Brad-style? Where was Brad? She looked over to her side. Could Brad perhaps be in bed with her hidden amongst the endless ebbs and flows of pillows and blankets? She gently patted the bedding. Only her.
She remembered last night, of course, revising the path of history and partying the night away at Brad’s fraternity. They’d had a blast and she remembered falling asleep on the futon in his room, head on his chest. Jeanie had told her she’d only stay back in time for 24 hours, so this must be her new present-day reality.
Swinging her feet to the side, she slipped off the bed, curling her toes into the thick, soft wool carpeting. No more blue toenails, now her piggies looked buffed and polished and glistened with an electric pink sheen. And indeed she had on a silk negligee, she realized, running her hands down along the slippery-smooth sides. With a laugh and a quick step she skipped over to the giant gold-framed full-length mirror.
Hello boobies! Big ones. Two identical, perfectly round orbs leaped out of her negligee with the gravity-defying determination only surgery could provide.
Huh. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that. But look, her hair had such bright, golden highlights. And she hadn’t gained a pound since college. Look at those calf muscles! Clara turned and admired her legs; she must work out a lot. And that butt! You could bounce a quarter off of it.
She was so tan. She’d never been this dark, she didn’t think. And so bare! She pulled her panties down a few inches and snuck a peek. Not a hair in sight. She snapped them back into place, blushing at the sight of herself. She’d become a Malibu Barbie!
Well, she guessed there was nothing wrong with keeping yourself groomed. Like, really, really well groomed. And how wonderful she’d stayed so fit. She guessed both she and Brad had been varsity athletes back in college. As a couple, they must have kept right at it.
Where was Brad? She walked over to the windows. Tilting the shutters to the right angle, outside she could see the bright green leaves of oaks and maples in springtime, and beyond a large expanse of well-manicured lawn. Wherever they lived, it looked East Coast and it looked swank.
Glancing around the room, she spotted a black and white photo on her bureau. A clue. Racing over she seized it: a photo of herself as a bride! What a gorgeous bride she’d been. And such large breasts, so showcased, up and out. OK, not exactly how she’d envisioned herself as a blushing bride.
But, she was married. Holy Gobstopper of an engagement ring! She held out her left hand and nearly choked. How had she slept so soundly with that thing glaring off of her finger? It had to be the size of a Tootsie pop.
Her iPhone chirped.
“Hello baby!” she called out in response. Following the sound, she grasped it in her well-manicured hands. Her phone lay nestled in a snakeskin-print leather clutch wallet. She admired the way it all snapped up under a golden Michael Kors logo plaque.
Tapping on the screen, her day sprang to life, mapped out in hour-to-hour detail. So organized in this new version of reality! Currently 8am, at 9 she had an appointment for Botox. Clara swallowed; didn’t that mean a doctor would take a syringe and inject stuff into her forehead? She’d never been a huge fan of needles, but she guessed she could handle it. She certainly looked awesome. At 10am an appointment with Melissa at Saks. A click on the name opened up her contact info: Melissa R., personal shopper. A brand new experience; could definitely be fun. Then a noon lunch at the country club with a note: “hire Nancy’s for the minis”. Interesting. And at 3pm her interior designer was coming by to discuss tile for the remodel to the butler’s pantry.
Wow. The Brad-enhanced version of Clara really had her act together. She belonged to a country club where she lunched. She hired people for things like minis and remodeling. She added a quick task on her phone: google “butler’s pantry.” Before 3pm she needed to figure out what that meant.
Glancing at her itinerary one last time, she hated to admit it, but she felt a small twinge of disappointment. The pristine whiteness of the room, alone, spoke volumes about the absence of sticky kid hands and muddy sneakers. Added together with no photos around the room and then no preschool drop-offs, no soccer pick-ups in her schedule and Clara realized that they must not have children. Yet. She and Brad must simply be having so much fun together as a couple that they’d decided to delay. With a smile, she decided they could start trying now.
Curious, she checked her contacts. There was Brad! His work address: the same investment bank where his dad worked. So it had all come to pass. Brad must have earned his MBA and followed in his father’s footsteps, exactly as planned. And, looking around, she had to surmise that his trust fund had subsequently kicked in exactly as promised. This morning he must simply be up and out of the house early. She bet he worked long hours; maybe he was even on a glamorous international business trip.
She found their home address in her contacts as well; apparently they lived in New Jersey. Not in exactly the same town where Brad had grown up, but she bet it was nearby. She thought she recognized the name of it from The Rea
l Housewives of New Jersey.
As if calling to her, the door to her left rested slightly ajar, enough such that Clara could glimpse built-in shelving. And it wasn’t empty. Nestled within the depths of each nook, she could see clothing folded in perfect tucks and creases. Color coordinated, one row for greens and blues, another for purples, a whole quadrant devoted to whites in all its hues from ecru to eggshell to ivory. Rubbing her hands together with excitement, Clara tucked in.
Holy walk-in closet! Bigger than her kitchen back in California—no, bigger than her bathroom and kitchen put together—every inch offered drawers, shelves or recessed rods with scores of padded hangers bearing luscious oodles of shirts and dresses and skirts and coats. She had her own personal boutique in which every item fit and every color looked perfect on her.
Clara needed to sit down. Fortunately, a gold-tasseled ottoman served as an island in the midst of Paradise Closet. She perched her size-4 tanned and toned bum on the edge and started to laugh.
“How do you like me now?” she murmured, thinking of Cat’s critique of her sweatsuit. This Clara probably hadn’t ever set foot in a Walmart. Wait, maybe she owned Walmart? No, that was the Walton family, not Wilkins.
Almost forty minutes later, Clara emerged from her bedroom in a shimmer of gold, white and bright pink. After trying on half of her closet, she’d finally decided upon a pair of white skinny cropped jeans and a scoopnecked white t-shirt with a gauzy pink cashmere wrap. A giant metallic gold Hermes handbag, matching metallic flats and belt topped it all off. A trip over to her own private jewelry stand and she be-dazzled herself with a girl’s best friend: diamonds, baby, diamonds twinkling on her ears, glittering from a pendant around her neck, gleaming in charms along her bracelet. A lite spritz of one of her perfumes, a few circles of mysterious French crèmes along her cheeks, a dusting of powder on her nose and she positively sparkled.
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