Smart Women (14 page)

“Yes. How’s the weather down there?”

“Gorgeous.”

“And how’s Uncle Morris?”

“Wonderful. Playing eighteen holes a day and watching his weight. We’re both on low sodium. My pressure’s been up lately. How’s Sara?”

“Just fine.”

“When will I see her . . . Thanksgiving? Christmas?”

“Maybe Christmas. We’re going to Minneapolis for Thanksgiving.”

“Minneapolis? What’s in Minneapolis?”

“A friend.”

“Since when do you have a friend in Minneapolis?”

“Since summer.”

“I see.”

If Andrew was interested in getting back together he was going to have to make the first move and he was going to have to make it before Christmas, because Lewis had already asked her to join him in Hawaii for the holidays and she was seriously considering his offer.

B
.
B
. STOOD IN FRONT
of the massive stone fireplace in Clare’s living room. It was a dramatic two-storey glass house, on top of Flagstaff mountain, with an overall view of Boulder, especially dazzling at night when the city was lit. It had been put on the market three years ago by the family of a wealthy alcoholic Buddhist who had driven off the mountainside one night and Clare had bought it, through B.B., a week later.

She looked around at the party guests. Oh God, there was Clint, the politician who called her Red. He spotted her and waved. She looked away. He got the message. If he ever said a word to anyone about her, she’d deny it.

She had met him at a party at the mayor’s house several years ago. She’d had too much to drink and had flirted with him. He was going to run for Congress in the next election, he’d told her proudly, letting his hand rest on her ass. He was young and very good-looking and when he offered to drive her home, she accepted. He took her to his place and fucked her quickly on the living room floor. She couldn’t remember much about it except that while he was pumping her he’d whispered in her ear in Spanish.

She’d seen him a few times after that. Once she’d had a flat and had taken it into Big-O to be repaired and he had been there, buying a new set of tires for his Jeep. He had greeted her warmly. “Hey Red . . . how’re you doing?”

“Excuse me?” B.B. had said.

“It’s me, Clint . . . don’t you remember?”

“No,” she’d told him.

“The mayor’s party . . .” he’d said, reminding her.

“Oh, yes. The mayor’s party. Nice to see you again.”

She had read about him in the
Daily Camera
recently. He wasn’t running for Congress, but he was a candidate for the state legislature and had a good chance of making it.

And there was Margo, across the room, talking to Caprice, who owned an antique shop in town. Margo was wearing the suede suit that B.B. had helped her select. Margo looked up, saw B.B., said something to Caprice, then headed toward her.

“Hello . . .” Margo said. “How are you?”

“I’m all right,” B.B. answered.

“How do you like the suit?” Margo asked, turning around for B.B.’s inspection.

“Maybe you should have gotten the next size,” B.B. said. “It looks a bit tight across the chest.”

“Really?” Margo said. “It’s very comfortable . . . I’m sure it will give as I wear it.”

“I suppose so.”

“Have you met Robin yet?” Margo asked.

“Yes. Now the only ex-husband who’s missing is yours.”

Margo laughed. “It’s not likely that Freddy will come to Boulder. He thinks it’s the end of the universe.”

“Speaking of ex-husbands,” B.B. said, “I hear you’re pretty chummy with mine.”

Margo looked into her wine glass. “We run into each other . . . we live next door . . .”

“He can be quite charming, can’t he?”

“I suppose so.”

“But thoroughly unreliable.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Have you, by any chance, seen Sara this weekend?”

“I saw her for a minute,” Margo said. “She seemed to be having a good time.”

“I don’t like her spending too much time over there.”

“I know how hard it is,” Margo said. “Every time my kids fly east to visit Freddy I’m convinced I’m never going to see them again.”

“How would you feel if Freddy moved into town and expected to have the kids every weekend?”

“I wouldn’t mind the every weekend part as much as I would having him in town. But I’d adjust. I’d have no choice.”

N
O CHOICE.
That’s what Clare had told B.B. at lunch earlier in the week. “Face up to it,” Clare had said. “He’s here . . . Sara wants to see him . . . there’s no point in setting up an impossible situation. Let her go . . . let her spend the night . . .”

“Why should I give in to his demands?” B.B. had asked.

“Because they’re reasonable. Because if you don’t it’s going to tear you apart. I can see it already. I can see it in your eyes. What do you have to lose by letting her spend the night?”

“Everything,” B.B. said.

“I know you love her,” Clare had said, “but you can’t control her whole life.”

B.B. had nodded, biting her lower lip. “All right. I’ll let her spend Saturday night.”

“Good,” Clare had said. “That makes sense. And you’ll come to my party. I want you to meet Robin.”

“Do you really think getting back together can work?”

“I don’t know. But in four years I haven’t met anyone I’d rather be with . . . and God knows, I’ve tried.” Clare had laughed then. Her laugh echoed through the restaurant. “Let’s have some outrageous dessert. How about sharing a piece of coconut cake.”

“I’ll have one bite,” B.B. had said.

15

S
O HOW WAS
C
LARE’S PARTY?”
Michelle asked Margo on Sunday night. They were having cheese omelets with parsley and sautéed potatoes.

“Very nice,” Margo said. “I met Clare’s ex-husband.”

“He’s not ex,” Stuart said. “They were never officially divorced.”

“Well, whatever . . .” Margo said.

“And?” Michelle asked.

“And what?” Margo said.

“What was he like?”

“Shy, but pleasant,” Margo said.

“Pleasant is such a blotto word, Mother. It has no meaning . . . none whatsoever.”

“I didn’t get to know him,” Margo said. “I barely said hello.”

“Puffin hates his guts,” Stuart said. “He ran off and left them, you know . . . with some bimbo who worked in his bank.”

“At least Clare had plenty of money,” Michelle said. “Some women and children are left without a penny.”

“That’s why you have to prepare yourself for whatever life dishes out,” Margo said to Michelle, “so that you’re never economically dependent on anyone else.”

“Let’s face it,” Stuart said. “It doesn’t matter if you’re a man or a woman. What’s important is money. You can knock it if you want to, but you can’t change the hard facts. Money is power and money is living well and living well is the best revenge.”

Margo lay down her fork. “Where did you hear that?” she asked quietly.

“From Aliza!” Michelle said.

“Aliza?” Margo asked. “Aliza’s an Israeli . . . Aliza’s a Sabra, for God’s sake. I can’t believe . . .”

“You just don’t know, Mother,” Michelle said. “Aliza is such a princess! Everything is
designer
in her house. She even has designer dishes. She’s into spending Daddy’s money as fast as he makes it.”

“Come off it, bitch!” Stuart said. “He likes it too. They have their heads together. They’re not trying to prove anything like some people. Why shouldn’t they live well? They’ve earned it, you know . . . he’s worked hard all his life and her parents were both in a concentration camp . . .” He turned to Margo. “Did you know that, Mother . . . that Aliza’s parents were both in Treblinka during the war?”

“Yes, I’ve heard that story.”

“And that’s supposed to make it okay?” Michelle fumed. “That she spends money like it’s going out of style . . . and all because her parents were in a concentration camp?”

“She doesn’t buy anything more than Mother!” Stuart shouted.

“Mother . . . Mother . . . oh, I just can’t believe this,” Michelle said dramatically, hitting her head with the back of her hand. “Mother doesn’t buy anything. Well, hardly anything. When’s the last time you bought a new dress, Mother?”

“I think it was . . .” Margo began, her head swimming.

“And it wasn’t a designer dress, was it?” Michelle asked.

“Well . . . I might have had . . .”

“You see!” Michelle said, “Mother doesn’t waste hundreds and hundreds of dollars on every dress. Mother is aware . . . Mother has values.”

“You want to wear hospital rags for the rest of your life, that’s up to you,” Stuart said.

“What’s wrong with my scrubs?” Michelle asked, smoothing out her green shirt.

Margo listened intently, trying to figure out where all of this was going. Was Michelle suddenly her champion? Had Stuart really turned into Freddy or was this just another phase like spewing facts from the
Guinness Book of World Records,
like being unwashed, like experimenting with marijuana? A phase that would pass. But if it didn’t. She just didn’t know.

If only she hadn’t had her children with the wrong partner. She had suspected that Freddy was the wrong partner for her even before she married him. But she’d married him anyway.

T
HE FIRST TIME
Margo had gone sailing with Freddy, they’d capsized in Sag Harbor Bay. She’d lost her Dr. Scholl’s, her favorite sweater, and her prescription sunglasses.

At the time, her older sister, Bethany, who was visiting along with her children, said, “Maybe he can’t do anything right.”

“He forgot to lower the centerboard,” Margo explained. “That’s all.”

“Yes, but if he’s the kind who forgets the centerboard . . .”

“There was a squall,” Margo said. “He was trying to bring us in.”

“Worse yet,” Bethany said, “to panic during a squall.”

“He
didn’t
panic. He forgot. There’s a difference.”

Margo’s younger sister, Joell, who was then twelve, said, “At sailing camp the first thing we learned was control. C-o-n-t-r-o-l.”

“Thank you,” Margo said, “but I already know how to spell it.”

“
And
to remain calm,” Joell said. “You’re hardly ever calm, Margo.”

“It’s not easy to be calm around here,” Margo said, “with everyone telling you what you should do and what you shouldn’t do and judging you every single minute of every single day!”

“Margo, darling,” her mother said, “who’s judging? We all think Freddy is a lovely boy . . . lovely . . . and he’s going to be such a fine dentist . . . I’d trust him with my teeth completely. Don’t get so huffy, sweetheart . . . you’re just upset because you’re about to be married.”

“Upset because you’re marrying the wrong boy,” Bethany whispered in her ear.

That night Margo met Bethany coming out of the bathroom. “Suppose that were true,” Margo said, “about marrying the wrong boy.”

“Then get out of it now . . . while you still can. Don’t make the same mistake as me. I’m telling you, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

“Are you saying you don’t love Harvey?” Margo asked.

“I love Harvey, in a way . . . it’s hard to explain. I wish I’d waited, that’s all. And I’d hate to see you flushing yourself down the same drain. Before you know it you’ll be stuck with babies and a house and responsibilities and you’ll grow to hate it just like me.”

“Bethany, I’m shocked. I always thought you and Harvey had a perfect life.”

“Nobody has a perfect life, Margo.”

“But I couldn’t get out of it now, even if I wanted to . . . the invitations are out . . . there’s a roomful of gifts . . . we have a lease on the apartment . . .”

“Those aren’t good enough reasons to get married.”

“It will be all right,” Margo said.

The next morning, at the breakfast table, her mother, sensing Margo’s anxiety and convinced that it had to do with the sailing mishap, said, “Darling . . . you and Freddy will laugh about this for the rest of your lives. Now eat some toast, at least. At a time like this you need your strength.”

Her father, trying to turn it into a joke, said, “So who pays for the new sunglasses . . . him or me?” Then he laughed and everyone else at the table joined in, even Bethany.

And so Margo had married Freddy and they’d flown off to the Virgin Islands, to Bluebeard’s Castle, for their honeymoon. While they were there they’d met another honeymooning couple, Nelson and Lainie Berkovitz, from Harrisburg, and one day on the beach Lainie had cried to Margo, had cried and confessed that she and Nelson just weren’t able to do it, that it wouldn’t go in and she didn’t know what they were going to do or how they were going to go home and face their families with her still a virgin.

Margo suggested some of the jelly that she smeared inside her diaphragm and Lainie agreed to give it a try. Late that afternoon Lainie knocked on Margo’s door and Margo squeezed some jelly into a paper cup for her. Lainie thanked her very much, then went back to her room where she hoped to convince Nelson to give it another try because by then Nelson was feeling very depressed.

Margo and Freddy laughed about poor Lainie and Nelson and felt smug because they were able to do it with no trouble at all. Of course Freddy did not know that Margo was experienced, that she had slept with James, who had died.