Magdalene (35 page)

“Activity night,” he explained on the way.
“Youth activities, Relief Society, Scouts. I have interviews. Hope
you brought something to do.”

“I have a wedding to plan,” I said smartly,
and he laughed. “Remember my reputation for fast.”

“And rude and cruel.”

“Which turns you on.”

“It does. Tomorrow we can go get the
agreement signed.” Rich people should always go into marriage with
prenuptial agreements. I should’ve had one with Gordon, but that
was one of the ways my father had screwed me in that deal. I never
made the mistake of accepting a client without a contract, nor
would I make a second trip down the aisle without one. I texted my
attorney.

Lawyer:
PRENUP?! You’re MARRYING this
one?!
Me:
Mitch Hollander.
Lawyer:
LOL OK

It rather bothered me to sign one with
Mitch, but that was stupid, so I shook it off.

I sat in the church foyer on a nondescript
floral sofa with my feet drawn up under me, and gleefully threw
myself into the role of bridezilla, my thumbs texting as fast as
they could go.

“Hi again!”
Shit.
“Still at the
Steelworks?”

I looked askance at Sally, who had made
herself at home next to me. “Yes,” I murmured.

“Where do you live?”

“Manhattan.”

“And...when are you going back?”

I wanted to laugh, but the key to being a
good whore is being a good actress. “Tomorrow morning.”

She relaxed and her smile softened. I waited
politely for whatever she would say next, and was finally rewarded
with, “I’m waiting for the bishop. I have an interview with
him.”

“Ah,” I said, and went back to my to-do
list.

“So, you look like you’re busy.”

“I’m getting married,” I said absently.
“Making plans.”

“Oh, how wonderful!” she said, and sat back
fully, apparently secure in her schemes.

“Sally?”

She and I both looked up to see a man I
recognized as Prissy’s husband. “Yes, Steve?”

“You scheduled an interview.”

“But I thought...”

“Mitch has a full schedule tonight. I’ll be
doing it.”

“Oh.” I watched her crestfallen expression
and almost felt sorry for her. She had the look of a woman who had
never gotten a single thing she wanted in her life, who was
treading water and completely exhausted with no rescue in sight.
“Never mind,” she muttered as she arose. “It wasn’t important.”

“Sally,” he said gently, “if you need to
talk, come talk with me. If it’s about...”

“No,” she whispered, her head down. “It’s
not.”

No, I wasn’t going to break this woman over
my knee. She was already broken, probably by choices she’d made (or
had made for her) long ago.

I wondered if Mitch knew that and hadn’t
wanted to risk digging into her psyche, or if he’d been too
occupied with trying to navigate her crush on him to think of
it.

She wandered off down the hall toward
another large foyer. Adolescent shouts came from the gymnasium.
From a different hall, the hall off which Mitch’s office sat, the
happy squeals of toddlers could be heard.

Steve ambled off and I was again alone, but
not for long.

I looked up when a very large shadow was
cast on the floor in front of me. “I’m not very sociable,” Prissy
said with an inscrutable yet calm expression. “But occasionally my
curiosity overwhelms my antisocial tendencies.”

I smirked and slipped over so she would have
room to sit. “You didn’t buy my cover story.”

“Not a word. I saw you and Mitch snuggling
up Sunday a little too close for
just
business associates. I
also saw that kiss out in the parking lot earlier tonight.”

Oh,
that
had curled my toes. “You’re
very observant.”

“We—my husband and I—suspected he was seeing
somebody, so we’ve been on the lookout for a new person to show
up.”

“Oh?”

“His sudden radio silence on the weekends.
If it was mill business, he would’ve said so, but he would’ve
answered his phone no matter what. Also, I think he must have told
Louise he was dating because she suddenly got off her
Mitch-must-get-married-
now
soapbox.”

Asked my Relief Society president...to write
the words and wrap it up.

“We knew there would be trouble with a
single man as bishop—a young
rich
one—and we weren’t wrong.
Louise has just been the most vocal about wanting him either to get
married or ask to be released.”

The idea of a ward full of smart women
hounding Mitch to do something to make his life easier—while he
stonewalled them all—amused me to no end.

“Anyway, I’m Prissy.”

“Cassie. I liked your lesson Sunday.”

She looked surprised. “Oh.” She blinked,
suddenly uneasy. “Um, thank you.”

“You don’t get that very often, do you?”

“No,” she said flatly. “Funny I get it from
a nonmember.” Not funny ha-ha. I could do nothing but make vague
noises of commiseration at brilliance gone undetected and
unappreciated. “What are you?”

“Technically, Episcopalian. In practice,
self-absorbed.”

She laughed. “You met Mitch at the
Steelworks, I take it.” I nodded. “That’s wonderful. I hope you can
get him away from here and on a very long vacation?”

“That’s really up to him, but I’ll try.”

“Good. Little advice,” she said as she
maneuvered her considerable girth from the sofa and stood. “Don’t
come back here until you and Mitch are signed, sealed, and
delivered.”

I stared at up her. “Mitch needs me to,
uh...” I waved vaguely toward the hallway Sally had headed down.
“Be a wall.”

She pursed her lips. “Oh. I can see that, I
guess. Stick with me, then. I usually sit toward the back, on the
left side of the chapel. You’ll have to put up with my tax
deductions.”

“All right...” But she had already turned
and was striding with that odd grace toward the other end of the
building.

Tax deductions. God, that was hilarious, and
I started to laugh.

It would be a strange feeling to have a
female
friend, one who could and would guide me through this
foreign world, one who was as acerbic as I, and one who
might
be smarter.

Inconceivable.

Extraordinary.

* * * * *

No Immunity, No
Guarantee

February 16, 2011

“
You’re what?!”

I sat at Nigel and Gordon’s kitchen table
Wednesday evening after having intruded upon their meal. Gordon,
now an accomplished housewife, cooked on the weeknights and
expected the girls to show up for family dinner if they weren’t
working. He wouldn’t deign to cook “poor people food,” but then, he
didn’t have to.

I continued to eat calmly while my daughters
and ex-husband stared at me, aghast at my news. Nigel simply looked
smug.

Clarissa hopped up and started to pace the
kitchen. “How
could
you?”

“You act as if I have personally affronted
you,” I said. “Since this is my life and nothing I have ever done
has pleased you, why would you think I’d start trying to please you
now?”

“Yeah, but
him
?”

“I see. It’s that it’s
Mitch
and
Mitch called you on your shit.”

“He’s an asshole,” she hissed.

“Clarissa!” Paige yelled.

I looked up at Clarissa through my eyelashes
and said nothing while she glared at Paige, until she realized my
silence meant I was awaiting her attention.

“I warned you about that,” I murmured. Her
mouth tightened. “We’re going to try this out for a year. The plan
is to let you girls live in the townhouse. But if you can’t keep a
civil tongue in your head you
and
your sisters can find
somewhere else to live and I’ll lease the townhouse.”

“YOU’RE MOVING?!”

I didn’t know it was possible for Clarissa
to look more horrified. Why, I didn’t know. I thought she’d be
ecstatic to get rid of me. Never mind she’d voluntarily moved back
home after four days of exile. I hadn’t bothered to stop her nor
ask her why.

“Yes.”

She dropped into her chair, completely
deflated. “But—”

Nobody said anything for a moment. Helene
stared at her plate, picked at her food with her fork, her mouth
pursed. The twins’ fingers were faintly moving, and I knew that
they were signing to each other in the language they’d concocted
before they could speak. Gordon sat back to look at me
speculatively, his arms crossed over his chest.

Nigel continued to eat.

“I like it,” Gordon finally pronounced and
turned his attention back to his plate. “Congrats, Cass.”

“
What?!
” Clarissa screeched.
“Daddy!”

“Clarissa,” he said with gentle
astonishment, “this man obviously makes your mother happy. Don’t
you
want
her to be happy?”

She wouldn’t argue the point with her father
for fear of earning a look of sad disappointment. And what could
she say?
No, I don’t want her to be happy
?

“The wedding is March eighteenth in
Bethlehem,” I informed them coolly. “Mitch’s home. That’s a Friday.
I would like for you girls to be my bridesmaids, but of course I
would understand if you chose not to be, nor would I be surprised
if you chose not to attend at all.”

That got cries of protest from Helene and
Olivia. Paige clapped and bounced in her chair, quivering in
delight.

But Clarissa sat staring out the back window
of Nigel and Gordon’s brownstone, her arms across her chest,
moisture glittering in the corners of her eyes.

“However,” Nigel said in a stern voice.
“
Children
. Make sure you have no conflicting events next
Friday. We’re invited to have dinner with all the Hollanders, and
we
will
go to that. “

Oh?

Clarissa reflexively moved to protest, but
then thought better of it when she caught Gordon’s expression of
vague puppy-dog hope that she would cooperate.

I stared at Nigel, awaiting an explanation
for this outrage, but he kept his face perfectly expressionless and
said,

“I think Mitch and I are going to become
very good friends.”

Shit.

* * * * *

BFFs

February 20, 2011

I did, indeed, sit with Prissy and her tax
deductions in sacrament meeting on Sunday. Her husband, as the
first counselor, sat up on the stand next to Mitch. Mitch’s second
counselor was wearing a rich peach-colored tie today, and his
family was smartly dressed in the same color. Mitch again conducted
the meeting and cast me a sly glance that made Prissy bow her head
and shudder with suppressed laughter.

Prissy’s children were the most well-behaved
ones I’d ever met, which didn’t surprise me after I saw the evil
eye she cast her four-year-old boy for speaking during the passing
of the sacrament. He shut up immediately.

So did the misbehaving children in the pew
in front of us when she tapped one on the head with a finger and
glared at them the same way. I was at once in awe and thoroughly
envious. Surely, one had to be born with talent like that.

Surprisingly, Sitkaris—who was again the
substitute teacher—didn’t speak to me, approach me, or lob sexual
innuendoes at me before class, but with a look, he made sure to let
me know he hadn’t changed his mind about what he wanted from
me.

Then his glance slid to Prissy, who had
decided to take up residence to my left, and his lip curled
slightly. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Prissy lightly scratch
the side of her nose—

—with her middle finger.

It was all I could do not to laugh.

Sally plopped herself down on my right just
before the lesson began and exclaimed, “Cassie! You were welcome to
sit with us during sacrament meeting. That way, Prissy would’ve had
a little more room in her pew.” I hate women. “Prissy, aren’t you
supposed to be in Gospel Doctrine?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Sally,” Prissy replied
smoothly. “I didn’t know you had dibs on Cassie.”

I’d dine out on this for months.

Or not—

“Cassie,” Prissy said sternly when Sally
reluctantly left us alone in between Sunday school and Relief
Society. The room emptied but for two or three people toward the
front, and Sitkaris’s only gesture was to caress my shoulder as he
walked by on his way to the men’s meeting. “I request that you not
take a bite out of Sally. She’s fragile.”

I didn’t really like the implication that I
hadn’t figured that out. “You just did.”

“Oh, honey. You haven’t seen me put anybody
in their place yet.”

But I’d love to. “Why do you care? She
doesn’t like you anyway.”

“You know why she doesn’t like me?”

“Um... Because you’re smart and
outspoken?”

“No. Because I’m fat and I have a happy
marriage, and she’s thin and pretty and doesn’t.”

I thought that a bit simplistic and said
so.

“Look, Cassie. She can spit little poisoned
darts at me all day long and it won’t make any difference. Yeah,
it’s annoying, and it hurts. But she’s not evil. She’s just unhappy
and probably clinically depressed. I might dig at her here and
there, but a little dig is all it takes. Anything more than that,
anything closer to her heart, would crush her.”

I stared at Prissy for a long moment,
understanding that I was seeing into the soul of a very caring
woman who didn’t show it much. And though I had already decided my
course, I simply nodded.

“I enjoyed your little love play with
Brother Sitkaris,” I said after a moment. She harrumphed and
crossed her arms over her massive bosom, but said nothing.
“Well?”

She slid me an annoyed glance. “I don’t
gossip. In case I didn’t make that clear enough last week.”