My Perfect Life (15 page)

“I know it was silly,” my mother told me, “but I thought I’d have a little wine while I was cooking, and it went right to my head.” She thought she’d lie down for a few minutes, and the next thing she knew it was morning.

I poured myself a coffee and leaned against the sideboard. “That’s not what happened.”

Her smile was a little nervous. “Of course that’s what happened.” She opened the refrigerator and started looking for something at the back. “All I can say is, thank God I finished the cooking. At least that’s something.”

I picked up my cup. “But not very much.”

She came out of the refrigerator with a jar of homemade conserves. “Meaning?”

“Meaning we really have to talk. Now.”

At first she tried to stick to her story about not feeling well. That was all she remembered. She didn’t remember trashing the kitchen. She didn’t remember passing out in Lola’s arms. She obviously didn’t know that, despite my and Lola’s best efforts, Carla knew about her drinking problem. So I told her.

My mother’s face went pink. “Carla?”

“It’s all right,” I said. “She’s not going to tell anybody.”

“I should think not,” said my mother. “The way Anthony drinks.

But I didn’t want to talk about anybody else’s drinking habits right then. “And what about the letter from Dad and wanting to go to London? Are you saying you don’t remember that, either?”

For a few seconds she didn’t say anything. She just stared back at me, like a rabbit in the headlights. And then she started to cry.

It wasn’t the longest conversation I’d ever had. The longest conversation I’d ever had was with Lola, and it clocked in at over twelve hours. But it was the longest conversation I’d ever had with my mother or anyone else. Especially with my mother.

We talked about her and my father for hours. Last night she’d wanted to confront him, but now she wasn’t sure what she wanted to do. After all, it wasn’t as if he was the only one who was unhappy.

Eventually, she even started to come around to the idea that a break from each other wasn’t such a bad thing. “You know, I’ve never lived on my own except in college and then I always had a roommate,” said my mother.

I was tempted to tell her that Lola Cep says you have to live by yourself in order to have real personal growth and know who you are, but I thought better of it. Instead I said, “Well you don’t really have anything to lose, do you?”

“I guess not.” My mother sighed. “It’s not as if things could get any worse, is it?”

I decided not to say anything about that either.

But it was harder to get her to talk about the drinking. Yes, she drank too much sometimes, but she didn’t consider it a problem. “I don’t think I have to check into the Betty Ford Clinic just yet,” joked my mother.

I didn’t smile. “But you do have to get help.”

She promised she would.

I said that was excellent, because there was an AA meeting on Monday nights in the next town from Dellwood and I was going to drive her there myself. She was so surprised by that, that she didn’t even ask me how I knew. Which was just as well. I figured she’d be even less happy about going if she found out Sam’s aunt went there.

By the time the phone started ringing, we were actually laughing about what a sight Lola and I must have been, dressed up as her and Mrs Wallace.

We looked at each other, but neither of us made a move to answer the phone.

My father’s voice came at us from the answer machine. It was raining in London.

“Good God,” I muttered. “He remembered the number.”

My mother’s head swung back and forth from the machine to me.

This was ridiculous. How was she ever going to sort out her life if she couldn’t even pick up the phone without being told to?

My mother turned back to the machine. My father was trying to figure out what his phone number in London was when she took a deep breath and reached for the receiver.

“Robert?” She took another deep breath. “I’m glad you called.” She glanced at me over her shoulder. “We really have to talk.”

Getting Marilyn Gerard to talk about her drinking problem was difficult, but not as difficult as convincing Lola Cep to keep her mouth shut about Mr Santini.

“Has the great Santini hypnotized you or something?” wailed Lola. “I would never’ve let you talk me out of telling Mrs Santini last night in front of everybody if I’d known this was what you wanted me to do.”

“I don’t want you to do anything,” I said patiently. “For once I want you to do absolutely nothing. Just keep your mouth shut and act like nothing happened.”

Lola flung herself down on my bed, but I didn’t even blink. She eyed me critically. “You could probably be certified for this, you know. You’re totally out of your mind.”

“That’s the deal I made with Carla, Lo. We keep quiet about her father’s interest in women he isn’t married to, and she keeps quiet about my mother’s fondness for white wine.”

Lola moaned some more. “But, this is the opportunity of a lifetime, Ella. Think of it: ‘Top Lawyer Propositions Minor’. The papers will have a field day. The talk shows will be killing themselves to get me on.”

And the Santinis would simply be killing each other.

“Let’s be fair here,” I argued. “Mr Santini didn’t know he was propositioning a minor.”

“And what difference does that make?” I wasn’t sure which actor she was doing now, but it was someone very good at disdain. “He thought he was hitting on his wife’s best friend.”

“There is a difference.”

“Yeah,” said Lola. “One’s against the law.”

“Which is another reason why you’re not going to say anything.” I gave her my most stern look. “It’d be a horrible thing to do. Even Mr Santini doesn’t deserve that.”

Bracelets clinked and eyes rolled. “You can’t really believe that. We are talking about the man who spawned Carla Santini.”

“It was an honest mistake.”

“You mean it was a
drunken
mistake.”

“Exactly. He’d had a lot of vodka.”

Lola gazed back, unblinking.

“He was totally taken in by your acting. How was he to know the truth?”

Lola looked a little smug at the mention of her acting, but she held her ground. “That’s all beside the point. The fact remains that he should’ve kept his hands off the Geisha, no matter who she was.” She looked like she’d just bit into something disgusting. I knew that look. It meant she was willing to compromise. “Tell you what. What if I just drop some discreet hints?”

But I held my ground, too. “The most important fact is that I made a deal with Carla. I have no intention of going back on my promise.”

Lola howled contemptuously. “And you don’t think she does?” She jumped to her feet, hands flailing the air. “You’re deluding yourself on a major scale, Ella, if you think Carla Santini’s going to keep her promise. And even if she doesn’t say anything before the election, she’ll say plenty as soon as it’s over. You can bet your mom’s last friend on that.”

But now that I was starting to be me, losing myself again seemed a lot worse than my mother losing her last golf partner. “I’m not going back on my principles just because it’s possible that Carla doesn’t have any. I’d be no better than she is then.”

Lola stared at me for a second. She wasn’t doing anyone now except Lola. I could tell that this time I had her. She didn’t want me to lose me, either. And then she threw up her arms, imploring the gods. “Is life ironic, or what?” she wailed. “Of all the political candidates in the world, I have to get the one with principles.” She looked back at me. “What about after the election, Ella? It’ll be seconds, not minutes, before the whole of Woodford knows about your mother.”

“Then it’ll be nanoseconds before the whole of Woodford knows about her dad.”

I have principles, but I don’t believe in being inflexible.

There was an almost carnival atmosphere on campus that final week of the campaign.

Carla leapt into the last days before the election like someone who’s just walked miles across the desert jumping into a pool. High as Jupiter on the success of her rally, she raced around on fast-forward, keeping the buzz alive. Everywhere you looked, there she was: smiling, or posing, or shaking some poor fool’s hand.

She’d given up the balloons because Morty and his friends never tired of popping them, but in their place she’d had herself wired for sound. Wherever she went, her campaign song (
Simply the Best
, naturally) followed.

Even Morty was almost animated as the election drew to an end. He strode through the corridors, nodding, grinning and giving practically every person he passed the thumbs-up. I had the distinct impression from the number of people who responded that no one thought he worked in the office any more.

It was not, however, a carnival atmosphere in which I took part. I was too nervous.

“It’s just pre-election jitters,” Lola assured me as we walked to lunch on Monday. “Everybody gets them. Kennedy got them. Franklin Roosevelt got them. Even Reagan got them, and he was asleep most of the time.”

“Really?” I was willing to be convinced.

“Really. It’s like stage fright, Ella. It’s just the adrenaline kicking in. It’s a good sign.”

If that was true, I’d really hate to experience a bad sign.

I went to find a table while Lola joined the lunch line.

There were two empty seats at the table in the far corner. I headed for them.

I was opening my lunch box when the one political candidate in the history of the world who knew nothing about pre-election jitters suddenly sat down beside me.

I jumped.

“Gloriana, Ella,” said Carla, demonstrating the empathy and concern that had earned her a Good Citizen Award from the Dellwood Chamber of Commerce. “You’re a bundle of nerves.”

“I didn’t hear you coming.” I plonked my flask on the table. “You turned off your sound system.”

Carla’s smile brought the temperature down. “How’s your mom, Ella? Feeling better?”

“She’s feeling great.” I smiled back. “How’s your dad?”

Carla sat down next to me. “I wanted to have a quick word with you alone.”

Since there were over a hundred people in the cafeteria at the time, I assumed that “alone” meant without Lola.

I figured she was worried that Lola wouldn’t keep her mouth shut.

“If it’s Lola—”

“It’s not Lola.” She gave me one of her biggest smiles. “It’s the debate.”

“The debate?”

Carla laughed. “Don’t tell me you forgot about the debate.”

“Of course not.”

“Well, that’s good.” Carla turned up the wattage on her smile. It was enough to make the blind see. “I’m really looking forward to it.”

Our corner of the cafeteria vibrated with her laughter. “I haven’t had a real debate since I won the State championship in junior high. Remember?”

I did now.

“So what was it you wanted to talk about?” I asked. Cautiously.

“I just didn’t want you to be labouring under an illusion, that’s all,” said the girl with a heart as big as Texas. “You know. Because of our … our little agreement.”

And what illusion would that be?

“I just want to make sure it’s clear that our arrangement doesn’t affect the debate,” continued Carla. “I’m not going to wear gloves because of that. That’s a separate issue.” She waggled her fingers in my direction. Her nails were black this week, to match her heart.

“Well, I definitely wouldn’t want you to do that,” I said.

“Great.” Carla dredged up a look of sympathy. “It’s just that I know debating’s not really your thing, Ella. I wanted you to be prepared.”

I tried to look humbled by her consideration. “How kind of you.”

“There’s no need to get sarcastic.” She arched one eyebrow. “I mean, after what happened in English that time—”

Unlike some of us, Carla Santini forgets nothing.

“That was a long time ago.”

“Hmm…” said Carla. “I just wouldn’t want you to humiliate yourself again like that.” People around me shielded their eyes from the blinding light of her smile. “In front of the whole school.”

I smiled back. “Then that makes two of us, doesn’t it?” I asked.

The Greeks were back in my life, but this time I knew what was going to go wrong.

“You’d think you’d have developed a more philosophical attitude by now,” said Lola as we walked towards the cafeteria on Wednesday. “She’s just trying to scare you.”

“And it’s worked. My palms are sweating already and the debate’s not until tomorrow.”

Lola laughed. “Oh, please … let’s not overlook the fact that you’ve been coached by the best. You know your spiel inside-out. Besides, I’ll be right there – front row, centre – for moral support. And to whisper the answers if you do dry up.” She gave me a hug. “Trust me, Ella. You’re going to be great.”

Sam, however, recognized the sincerity in my abject terror. “Tell you what,” said Sam. “If you really are that nervous, maybe you should brief me before the debate.” He gave me a look. “You know, in case something happens and I have to take over.”

Lola’s jewellery clanged and banged and rattled. “What do you mean, ‘in case something happens’? Ella’s not going to be struck by lightning, Sam. Get real, will you? What could happen?”

“Well,” said that familiar voice of strychnine laced with saccharine, “she
could
freeze up.”

We all turned around. Carla and Alma had materialized behind us, the way evil spectres do.

“Don’t hold your breath,” said Lola. She matched the famous Santini smile tooth for tooth. “On second thoughts, do. I’m sure we could squeeze your funeral into our schedule after the election.”

Carla wasn’t even looking at Lola. Carla only had eyes for me. “You’re very lucky, aren’t you?” purred Carla. “You always get saved by the cavalry.” She blitzed me with another smile. “Let’s just hope your luck doesn’t run out.”

All
things considered, I woke up in a pretty positive frame of mind on Thursday morning. I was determined not to worry. Lola was right; I
had
been well-coached. And I’d stayed up till one in the morning, memorizing my introductory speech, so I wouldn’t have to read from my notes. And, if something did go horribly wrong and I froze or went totally blank, I knew I could rely on Lola to stage some distraction. You know, faint, or turn out the lights – something like that.