Once Upon Another Time (25 page)

“Mom, what’s this
candy for?”  Nicholas poked his nose into a small paper sack I had packed in
his duffle bag.  One thing I recalled from my Girl Scout days was that having
candy at camp was like cigarettes in prison. 

“I wanted you to
be prepared.  I’ll brief you later on the power of a Pixy Stix at camp,” I
answered, while studying the curious expression on his face.

I was totally
unprepared for the relationship Nicholas had developed with Gavin.  He’d never
before grown attached to anyone I’d dated.  Shame on me, I thought for breaking
my own cardinal rule.  Unless I knew my date’s shoe size, what he had for lunch
the day before, and had memorized the list of stock options in his retirement
portfolio, I never allowed that person to have any kind of meaningful
relationship with my son.  It was difficult risking Nicholas could be hurt. 

Laura said it was
good for Nicholas to see me in a normal, healthy relationship and that it was
fun for him, too, because Gavin and I included him in everything we did.  Then
there was Mother, the single most desperate person wanting me to find Mr.
Right.

She pushed me into
having a barbecue so she and my father could get acquainted with Gavin and his
father, Jeb.  We invited Mr. Davis as well.  Gavin, who imagined himself another
Wolfgang Puck, had made his secret homemade Cajun barbecue sauce.  While the
chicken and ribs were smoking on the grill, Mother told the story of how she
and my father had met at Woodstock and that instantly they were starry-eyed
with one another.

However, who
wasn’t
starry-eyed at Woodstock?

“Only two weeks!  Two
weeks!” she stressed.  “That’s all it took to know we were meant for each other
and got married.  We didn’t see the need to wait.” 

I decided to
ignore her less than subtle way of dropping a hint about marriage, when a
whispery voice filled my head.  The disjointed words came through like a cell
phone making an intermittent connection with a tower.  “Tell the truth…” 
“Dishonest…” was all I could make out.

As I tried to
detect whose thought it was, my parents began yapping about the new health food
business they planned on opening.  Then Mr. Davis piped up wanting to know more
about Woodstock, which had my parents telling hair-raising stories.  One I
believe included interplanetary aliens.  Knowing my parents last went down the
yellow brick road long before I was born didn’t ward off my panic attack when I
thought they were going to expound on the mind-expanding benefits of LSD.

My concentration
was totally blown, but I did recall the evening at Gavin’s house as we stood
outside on his deck.  As soon as I asked why he was looking at me so
mysteriously, he told me it was a secret and quickly kissed me. 

“Mom, Gavin’s
coming over tonight to fix the wheel on my bike, right?”

“Hmm, yes, he did
he say he was going to do that.”

Gavin liked doing
the unexpected, like bringing his chess set over to teach Nicholas how to play,
or showing up unexpectedly to make us dinner.  The little unexpected things
about Gavin were what made him so special. 

“Mom, is Gavin
your boyfriend?”  Nicholas asked indifferently, as he neatly folded a pair of
shorts and added it to the pile of clothing.

I shrugged my
shoulders.  “Would you like him to be?”

“It’s pretty cool
that he taught me how to use a skate board.  I like him a lot!”  Nicholas
beamed.

“So, I guess it
would be okay if he were my boyfriend?”

“That’s an
affirmative Mom,” Nicholas said, showing two thumbs up.  “You know what?  I
think Dad would like him, too.” 

I smiled pensively
and ruffled his hair.  “You know Partner, I believe he would.” 

* * * *

The sun was barely
up over the parking lot at Hope Elementary School, but the August heat was
already stifling.  While parents mingled with each other, the boys were like
concentrated bundles of exploding energy.  They whooped and hollered as the
large yellow bus that would take them to Camp Big Foot, pulled into the parking
lot. 

    Tucked under
my arm was a rolled up sleeping bag, while a twenty-pound denim duffle bag hung
over my shoulder.  Nicholas’s fishing pole was poking into my side, the reel
caught on the pocket of my shorts.  Huge aviator sunglasses hid my makeup-free
face, as I schlepped across the parking lot while my body craved caffeine.

My foot
accidentally slipped out of my white flip-flops.  I almost tripped, which
caused the fishing line to swing like a pendulum in front of my face.  The
fishing lure grazed the sleeve of my T-shirt and hooked onto my hair. 

“Nicholas, wait
up!”  The duffle bag loaded with clothes, towels, hiking boots, flashlight,
batteries, insect repellent, and other miscellaneous items, slipped off my
shoulder and hit the ground with a thud. 

“It would have
been easier to move his entire bedroom,” I grumbled, as I tried to untangle the
hook from my hair.  A whole ten seconds passed before I gave up and yanked it
out, a fuzz ball of humidity-struck hair still stuck in the jagged teeth.  My
exaggerated sigh drew the attention of the other mothers. 

I tucked the
sleeping bag back under my arm, grabbed the strap on the duffle bag, and
hoisted it over my shoulder to let it ride on my back.  Crouched over from the
weight, while the fishing pole jabbed at my ribs, I told myself I could make it
to the bus…just ten more feet…five more feet...  I did my best to shuffle
along, while feeling a bit like the Hunchback of Notre Dame. 

As I reached the
bus, I brought the bag forward and released it to the ground.  It dropped like
a two hundred pound set of barbells right in front of the bus driver.  He paid
no attention, as he threw luggage into a built-in side compartment on the bus,
looking as if he were bowling for dollars.

“Aubrey, over
here!” called a very cheerful looking Katelyn, who stood with the other mothers
next to a folding table of what looked like breakfast goodies and
coffee!

As Nicholas ran
around the bus with Jimmy and a dozen other boys making whooping sounds like
Indians circling a covered wagon, I headed over to the goody table.  I was
looking forward to having my morning jolt of coffee and a fluffy blueberry
muffin.  However, just as I approached the table Katelyn rushed toward me.  Her
face that just moments before had been lit up like a Christmas tree, was in an
angry lock and load position.  Her exaggerated leaping steps toward me, gave
the impression that something was nipping at her ass. 

“What’s going
on?”  I asked, as she reached and grabbed hold of my arm, to wheel me away from
the other mothers. 

“I need to ask ya”ll
something,” she said firmly in her southern twang.

“But I need a
muffin and coffee first,” I said, putting my body weight into trying to pull in
the opposite direction.”

“Noooo,” she said,
as her brow furrowed and her grip tightened.

I turned and
looked longingly at the goodies table, while her tiny one hundred and two pound
body anchored me from moving. 

“Katelyn, for
heaven’s sake, what is it?”

She released her
Schwarzenegger-like grip on my arm and placed her hands squarely on her tiny
hips.  “How could you not tell me about this new guy you’re dating?” 

I swear, with all
the people interested in my dating, I thought for sure the paparazzi couldn’t
be far behind.  “Katelyn, it’s only been a few weeks and the only one who knows
is Laura, and
only
because she found out on her own.  If it were up to
me, no one would know.  I’m afraid of jinxing it, but I was going to tell you
at Cacey’s luncheon this afternoon.”

“Right!” she said,
as she folded her arms and knotted her lips.

“I’m not kidding. 
I really was going to tell you.  And besides, how did you find out?”

“Well, how in H-E
double toothpicks do you think I’d know?” she bristled.

Katelyn never
swore in front of Jimmy.  She spelled out all her swear words, but it was
beginning to become a habit even when Jimmy wasn’t around.

“Ah, Nicholas told
Jimmy about my new guy?”

“Of course, I even
know his name is Gavin and I’ll tell you what,” she said, her voice softening. 
“Nicholas just loves your new guy.  He told Jimmy he hopes Gavin can be his daddy. 
He’s never said that about any of the guys you’ve dated.  And I’m only counting
the guys you dated more than four times.  And the ones you had real
relationships with like Rick.  Who come to think of it was the
only
relationship you had.  Who, by the way was the only guy that everyone betted on
not lasting more than a month, and --”

“Okay, I get the
picture,” I said annoyingly, when something dawned on me.  “People were betting
on my dating?”

Katelyn bit into
her lower lip and nodded.  “We set it up like a football grid.  Everyone bought
a square,” she said matter-of-factly. 

Suddenly, the
sound of a whistle with decibels loud enough to cause deafness and evoke an
instant migraine pierced my ears.  I cupped my ears.  My head swiveled to look
at the bus driver standing almost shoulder to shoulder with me.  I glared at
the big silver whistle clamped between his lips.  He quickly spit the whistle
from his mouth and let it dangle from the chain around his neck.  His gaze into
my eyes told me he could read my expression, of how I would have enjoyed the
pleasure of tightening the chain around his chubby neck until he lost
consciousness.

“Sorry,” he said,
as he quickly backed away from me, and turned to shout, “Okay, time for
everyone to get on the bus!”

Instantly, I
forgot about the goody table.  We all rushed to say goodbye to our children.  I
kissed Nicholas and reminded him about not going down in the latrine after a
dropped flashlight.  However, the bus driver quickly reminded me Camp Big Foot
had indoor facilities.  The other mothers scoffed at me as if to ask,
what
year were you born?

As the yellow bus
pulled out of the parking lot, I waved wildly at Nicholas and tried to swallow
past the lump in my throat.  However, the tears still came.  As they trickled
down my cheeks, I knew I was crying over finally being able to let go of my
over protectiveness.  However, mostly I cried because my son was hoping Gavin
could be his father.

I tried not to
think about what Katelyn had shared with me, as I was still trying to cope with
twinges of separation anxiety from Nicholas driving away in that big yellow bus
that morning.  Keep a stiff upper lip, I told myself as I drove to Cacey’s
house for the luncheon.

I couldn’t begin
to imagine what kind of surprise luncheon she had in store for all of us
attending.  Her last bash was an evening themed “survival” party.  One couple
showed up dressed in nothing more than strategically placed tropical ti leaves
and hibiscus print bandanas.  Unlike Laura, Katelyn and I, Cacey’s career had
ended and there wasn’t much to do in Sparrow Ridge.  

Her daily
activities revolved around scheduling play dates for her children, chairing
various committees, and hitting a couple of rounds of golf on a private course
designed by Jack Nicklaus.  She lived in a community with houses nestled into
woodsy settings that bordered a lake protected by the DNR.  Cacey referred to
her lakeside house as the “cottage,” all six thousand square feet of it.   

A deluge of golden
sunshine spilled across the huge park-like lawns, as I drove through the posh
community of Sparrow Ridge.  A feeling of celebrity status always overcame me
while passing mansion-like houses with gardeners in large floppy straw hats and
colorful gardening gloves pruning trees and trimming bushes.  However, the woman
getting into a black Mercedes CL glared at me as if she’d seen my face on America’s
Most Wanted.  She’d probably memorized the vehicles the hired help drove and
knew my Chevy Blazer wasn’t one of them. 

Sparrow Ridgeon’s
lived by rules—driving a vehicle under fifty grand would be an atrocity,
documented proof of having a personal trainer gained extra status points, and
decorating their homes without the guidance of an interior designer was
practically felonious.  An au pair was a must for children, and owning at least
one substantial piece of Harry Winston was crucial.

However, it stood
to reason that Cacey would live in the kind of house featured on TV programs
like “Homes of the Stars.”  After all, she was a celebrity for many years, and
like many celebrities, she led a life riddled with highs and lows.

Her first marriage
ended when she was twenty-five.  Mixing marriage with a demanding show business
career, while trying to be a mother to her six-year-old stepdaughter, was like
trying to balance a beach ball on the tip of your nose.  After a second failed
marriage that produced one child, and years of bad relationships that followed
while continuing to lead Hollywood’s lifestyle of the rich and famous, became a
recipe for disaster.  Sadly, it all caught up with Cacey on the set of her
cooking show four years before.  It was a Thanksgiving Day segment.

Generally, Cacey’s
shows were pre-recorded.  The filming staff and the editors kept mum about her
increasing slipups, due to her voracious appetite for alcohol.  Their loyalty
led to leaving scads of film on the cutting room floor.  However, the network
execs insisted on taping a live Thanksgiving show with an audience.  The
segment named “Romancing the Bird” ended up more like “Blowing up the Bird.” 

I comfortably sat
on the couch in my living room and watched the episode, which featured a
Thanksgiving dinner with Cacey and friends.  She was sipping endless amounts of
what looked like water.  However, when Cacey tried to shove an oversized mango
up the bird’s cavity, it was evident the woman was three sheets to the wind. 
Amazing though, was that her diction never faulted.