Love, Suburban Style (33 page)

He walked up, chatted with a few of the other students and their parents, then left with Ben, all without giving Meg a second glance.

She must have imagined that anything significant passed between them back in the auditorium. Wishful thinking, that’s all.

Anyway, she has other things to worry about now.

Not only did Sophie Flickinger not nail the audition, but her mother didn’t seem to understand that she’ll be lucky if she’s relegated to even a small background role. Same goes for her friend Kirsten’s son Austin and her friend Brooke’s supposedly hideously untalented daughter Victoria, who is actually a hair more gifted than Sophie Flickinger, and much more likeable.

Meryl Goldman is the hands-down choice to play Norma Desmond.

Meanwhile, both Geoffrey and Bill Dreyfus are pushing to give the second lead to Cosette.

Mingling with Meg’s pride in her daughter’s flawless audition is reluctance to cast her as Betty. Not only because she’ll be accused of nepotism, but because Ben will be playing Joe, the male lead and Betty’s—as well as Norma’s—love interest.

Haunted by Geoffrey’s noncomment on Cosette’s physical relationship with Ben, Meg isn’t thrilled at the prospect of their spending even more time together. That can’t be healthy.

Yet who is she to stand in the way of Bill Dreyfus’s casting, and for purely personal reasons?

Meg rolls over, punching her pillow, staring into the near darkness. Moonlight spills through the partially lifted shade at the window.

Oh, well. What can she do about any of this? When the list goes up on Monday after school, she’ll just have to be prepared for the fallout. And until then—

Suddenly, Meg sees a flicker of movement in the corner of the room, just beyond the wedge of moonlight.

Her breath catches in her throat as she watches something—no, someone—emerge from the shadows.

It’s a human form, the figure of a woman; Meg can distinctly see her lithe body, her long hair…

And, in a flash, her face, as she drifts into the silver glow at the window.

She seems to smile at Meg and gives a nod.

Then, all at once, she’s gone.

But she was definitely there. Meg didn’t imagine it, and she isn’t dreaming.

The room is still.

Meg can’t breathe, can’t move, can’t scream.

Not, she realizes, that she’s inclined to.

Why not? You just saw a ghost.

There’s not a doubt in her mind that she’s wide-awake; that the vision was real.

Yet, strangely, she isn’t afraid.

Quite the contrary.

Gradually, a strange sense of calm seems to settle over her body. Her clenched muscles begin to relax, and the whirlwind of worries has spun itself out.

As drowsiness finally drifts in at last to claim her, her last waking thought is of Sam.

Chapter
17

N
orth Street is lined with cars on Tuesday evening; Meg has to park her Hyundai way down at the end of the block.

It’s strange to walk the familiar stretch of sidewalk beneath the canopy of trees. She finds herself looking for the familiar network of cracks in the concrete squares beneath her feet, remembering how she used to avoid them in an effort to spare her mother’s back.

The cracks are gone, though; the old sidewalk long since replaced with a well-tended new one. She passes familiar homes that once belonged to old neighbors and friends who are obviously long gone.

There’s a Porsche in the driveway where the blue-collar Steger family once lived; the Carters’ tiny ranch has a full second story and a spacious side addition now; in the Zemanskis’ side yard, where their three sons and the neighborhood boys played baseball from dawn till dusk every summer, the worn dirt patches have been replaced with lush lawn.

The house where Meg grew up is ablaze with light; Olympia Flickinger’s party is obviously in full swing.

Meg is late, having lingered at school with Bill after the first cast meeting for
Sunset Boulevard.

Sophie Flickinger was there, and sullen. Meg half expected her to turn down her tiny part in the chorus, but she grudgingly accepted her script.

When Brad came to pick up his daughter, he studiously avoided eye contact with Meg, hustling his daughter away to whatever is next on her crammed daily agenda. Obviously, Brad isn’t thrilled that his daughter was bypassed for a lead.

Meg isn’t looking forward to coming face-to-face with Olympia for the first time since the cast list was announced yesterday. But it would have been even more awkward to try and make an excuse to avoid the party after saying she would come.

Anyway, Olympia is a grown woman. She’s not going to raise a fuss.

Or so Meg has been trying to convince herself all day.

Well, if she brings up the casting decisions, Meg will just point out that none of the freshmen were cast in lead roles. That should take care of it.

With anyone else, maybe. But Olympia Flickinger has proven herself a force to be reckoned with.

Meg drags her feet as she gets closer to the house, wishing she were anywhere else.

Even at home, where the electricians have made a dusty mess of the walls and ceilings… and where a ghost also happens to be lurking.

She hasn’t seen the apparition since the other night. Nor has she mentioned it to anyone. Not even to Geoffrey, who complained the next morning of lights flickering on and off in the guest room and a draft that seemed to come and go.

Meg has no idea why she isn’t inclined to flee a haunted house. Maybe it’s because the spirit’s presence seemed more comforting than menacing.

She’s felt more at peace these last few days—even with Sam’s ongoing diligence in avoiding her.

Holding a cold beer, Sam steps out onto the porch with Rover trotting at his feet, leaving Katie inside watching one of those reality television shows she enjoys. He just spent a tense hour helping her with her English homework, wishing Sheryl were here. English was her thing; science was Sam’s. Katie struggles in both subjects.

Maybe I’ll hire her a tutor this year,
Sam thinks, settling on a wicker chair and sipping his beer.
Someone who has more patience than I do.

For some reason, Meg flits into his head.

For some reason?

Hasn’t she been drifting around there ever since she moved in and made her presence known? Try as he might, Sam hasn’t been able to shake her. She might as well be a ghost, haunting him in his waking hours and in his sleep.

Sheryl is still haunting his dreams, as well. He’s had that recurring one almost every night, to the point where he dreads going to bed.

When he confided in Jack about it, his brother suggested that his wife might be trying to send him some kind of message from beyond the grave.

“A lot of help you are,” Sam grumbled. “Hey, why don’t you move into the old Duckworth Place next?”

“Why? Are the people who live there moving out already?” Jack asked, aware of Ben’s budding romance with the girl next door but not of Sam’s erstwhile one with her mom.

“Not yet, but I’m sure they’ll leave sooner or later,” Sam said darkly. “I’ll keep you posted.”

Does he really think Meg is going to move out of the house as everyone else has?

Is that what’s keeping him from letting her back into his life?

Or is he actually more afraid that she’ll be there for good?

Admit it. That thought scares you. If she’s there to stay, you can’t pretend she doesn’t exist.

Sam moodily sips his beer, brooding, absently petting Rover’s head.

Sooner or later, you’ll have to have some kind of contact with her again. You can’t go out of your way to avoid her forever.

All right, that’s true.

Rover’s ears perk up, and he turns his head expectantly toward the street.

But Sam doesn’t have to fall in love with Meg just because she’s there, under his nose, in his life.

He can control himself…

Unlike Ben, Sam thinks, as his son and Cosette appear down the block, returning from their evening run.

Their supposed evening run, that is. They’re both dressed in athletic clothing, but they aren’t running. They’re strolling… and stopping every couple of yards to embrace and kiss.

Sam watches, wondering if he should alert them to his presence on the porch, knowing that would probably embarrass them. Or maybe it wouldn’t.

Because really, do a couple of infatuated teenagers have a care in the world?

I missed the boat,
Sam thinks wistfully.

If only he had known Meg back when she had a crush on him. If only he had gone out with her back then… and either gotten her out of his system, or into his life, permanently.

No… if that had happened, he wouldn’t have met Sheryl. He wouldn’t have his children.

Ben and Katie were meant to be his.

Meg wasn’t.

It’s as simple as that.

How strange it is for Meg to ring the doorbell of what was once her own house.

Olympia opens the door with a warm, expectant smile that chills slightly when she sees Meg. All right. So she’s not thrilled about
Sunset Boulevard.

“Oh, hello. So glad you could make it. I wanted to thank you for working with Sophie to prepare her for the musical.”

“Oh… well, I didn’t—”

“At first she was upset she didn’t get a lead. But Brad and I told her to take the part you gave her and make it her own. We told her to bring something fresh to it, something no other actress has ever brought.”

“I’m sure she will.”

Yeah, right. I’m sure she’ll play the role of Girl like no one has ever played it before.

“I need to talk to you about those voice lessons. I think Brad and I are going to go in a different direction after all. But thank you so much.”

“You’re, uh, welcome.” Meg blinks, wondering if she’s just been fired.

“Come on in,” Olympia says graciously nonetheless.

Meg fervently wishes she hadn’t come, and she suspects Olympia feels the same. But she can hardly turn around and walk away now.

The house looks elegant, with flickering candlelight, fresh flowers, and platters of sumptuous hors d’oeuvres everywhere.

But it’s not supposed to be this way. It’s supposed to be comfortable and cozy and my home, not theirs.

Her anxiety building, Meg drifts into the crowded living room, looking for a familiar face, and finds none. But there’s the corner where the Addams’s Christmas tree always stood, and there’s the nook where the flowering hibiscus plant she gave her mom one Mother’s Day eventually grew into a tree. The hibiscus is still alive in her parents’ new house down South.

But it belongs here.

Swallowing a lump in her throat, Meg moves on into the dining room, where she shared so many meals with her mother and father.

Tonight, a chattering female crowd of strangers is gathered around an elegant table, which seems to be covered in beauty products of some sort.

A uniformed caterer hands Meg a glass of wine, and she tries to find an unobtrusive place to stand and sip and reflect.

She spots Brooke nearby. Seeing her, Brooke gives a polite nod, but she doesn’t look particularly friendly.

If Austin were playing Joe Gillis, she’d probably be falling all over me,
Meg thinks grimly.

But she strives for a casual tone when she greets Brooke.

“Hi, Meg.” Brooke doesn’t sound casual, or friendly. Nonetheless, she politely introduces her to Sidney and Allison, with whom she was deep in conversation. It ground to a self-conscious halt when Meg arrived.

The women aren’t unfriendly. They just aren’t… friendly.

Trying to think of something to say, Meg asks Brooke, “What is all that?”

“All what?”

“Why is all that lotion and makeup spread out on the table?”

“So that we can sample it. Did you pick up your order form when you got here?”

“Order form?”

Brooke just points at a stack of papers on a nearby table. Meg picks one up and glances over it.

Uh-oh.

Apparently, she’s stumbled unwittingly into a modern-day version of a Tupperware party. Only instead of plastic food storage containers—which she can actually use—Olympia is offering an exotic array of cosmetics and creams. The least expensive item—a tube of facial scrub—is fifty dollars.

And thanks to the pricey electrical work that will claim her voice lesson income—if there is one—for the next few weeks, Meg is pretty much broke. Calvin’s next check won’t arrive until the beginning of October—not that she would be inclined to spend a penny of that on face scrub that must be made of gold particles or something.

Okay, so now what?

Brooke, Sidney, and Allison have resumed their conversation. Meg looks around at the other women. They’re chatting, laughing, sampling, and filling out their forms without a financial care in the world.

One woman, standing slightly apart from the rest, meets her gaze. She has a friendly-looking, vaguely familiar face.

“What are you getting?” she asks Meg, stepping closer.

“Oh… I’m not sure yet. How about you?”

“Same here. I’m not usually big on this kind of stuff.” The woman’s pretty features are unenhanced by makeup. Meg also notices that she’s not exactly skeletal, unlike most of the women here, and that her jeans and sweater promote casual comfort more than a fashion statement.

Talk about a breath of fresh air.

“Have we met?” she asks.

“I don’t think so.”

“I don’t either, but you seem familiar for some reason. I’m Meg Addams.” She extends a hand.

“Jenny Keller. Nice to meet you.”

“Are you a friend of Olympia’s?” she asks, finding that hard to believe.

“I live next door.”

“Really? In the Dutch Colonial or the brick cape?”

“The cape.” Jenny looks pleased. “You know the house?”

She nods. “I grew up here.”

“In town?”

“Yes, but, actually… here. On North Street. In this house.”

“Oh, how funny! Does Olympia know?”

Meg nods. “That’s really how we met.”

“Wow. You’re the first person I’ve even met who’s from Glenhaven Park and still lives here.”