The Good Life (4 page)

“They are beautiful, aren’t they?”

Ann whirled around and saw her friend, Jesse White, standing next to her. She smiled genuinely. “Where did you come from?”

“A catfight in the lower level powder room,” said Jesse. “Two women just discovered they have the same dress.” Ann covered her smile with her hand. “It was ugly in there,” said Jesse. “I’m lucky to be alive.” Ann laughed. “And your dress,” said Jesse, reaching out to brush the back of her fingers against the fur trim at Ann’s shoulder, “is one of the prettiest I’ve ever seen. Good choice.”

“Thank you,” said Ann. “And you look darling, too, my dear. Are you having fun?”

“I am,” said Jesse. “Everyone at my table is drunk and uninhibitedly telling childhood stories. When Amy Claussen was seven, she caught her father and mother, pants and pantyhose around ankles, having sex in the laundry room one morning before breakfast.”

Ann laughed again. “I want to be at your table. Mine’s boring.”

“That’s because you’re with the boss,” said Jesse.

“And I should be getting back,” said Ann. “Do you have time for lunch this week in your do-gooder schedule? I need your opinion on a few things.”

“Yes,” said Jesse. “How about lunch on Thursday? My pick this time, though, which means real food.”

Ann smiled at her friend. “My parents arrive on Friday, so that sounds like perfect timing,” she said, turning to walk back to the ballroom. When she reached her table, she sat down and picked up her champagne glass. Lisa leaned forward and grinned at her.

 

When Eileen called the following Monday morning, she reported to Ann that she had packed their belongings into two suitcases and three duffel bags that a neighborhood boy agreed to load into their station wagon. She had cleaned the house and washed the curtains and bedspreads. And she and Sam had packed up the canned and dry goods in the cupboard to be taken to the soup kitchen at the Congregational church in town. They could start their journey on Wednesday afternoon, after the real estate agent did her final walk-through to make sure everything was in order. Apparently, Charlene had several potential tenants lined up. Eileen and Sam would take their time, stopping along the way to enjoy scenic vistas and spending two nights in off-highway hotels. Charlene had even printed out a few suggestions from the Internet, Eileen told her daughter. That would make Friday their arrival date—just two-and-a-half weeks, Ann quickly calculated, from her mother’s original phone call. In seventeen days, Ann had done everything necessary to move her seventy-two-year-old parents into her backyard. She praised her mother and told her to drive carefully. And then she made herself a latte and walked out to the guesthouse for the final inspection.

 

The one task remaining was telling Nate and Lauren. They had noticed the painters’ truck in the driveway, but that was nothing new; Ann routinely redecorated rooms in the main house. She had no idea what her children would say, but she was certain it would not be positive. Ann looked at her watch, shut her notebook, and grabbed her purse from the back of the kitchen chair. In ten minutes, she would be at the gym, where she would dazzle her friend, Sally Butterfield, with the final details of the project. She’d invite her back to the house afterward for a latte and a tour. Once Sally saw the guesthouse, she would know just how ready Ann was to welcome her parents into her life.

 

Sally couldn’t believe it was done, even though Ann had been in contact with her almost daily about the progress. They had chatted about fabrics and wallpaper, but Ann, wanting complete credit, hadn’t shown Sally any of the samples.

“They won’t be any trouble,” said Ann, walking with Sally down the path from the kitchen to the guesthouse. “The caregiver is moving in tomorrow. I think we’re all set.” Ann pushed open the door and stepped into the entranceway. “Keep in mind,” she said, gliding into the living area, “that this is a home for two old farmhouse dwellers. It’s simple, it’s country, and yet it’s everything they need.”

“Oh, look at the cows in the kitchen,” said Sally, covering her cheeks with her French-manicured hands. “Cute, Ann. Wherever did you find paper like that?”

“In one of the hundreds of books I pored through,” said Ann. “
Country Elements,
I think.”

“And the furniture,” cooed Sally, “perfect.”

“I wanted something simple,” said Ann, “something they would find comfortable instead of intimidating. The cherry in here is beautiful, of course, but it’s polished and sophisticated. I wanted furniture they could set their coffee mug down on.”

“And you’ve certainly done that.”

“Of course, it’s out of here the day my parents move out,” said Ann. “Can you imagine housing guests with this decor?” Sally chuckled.

Ann showed her the bedrooms and bathrooms, which Sally agreed were more than adequate. And she also agreed with Ann that the quilted bedspreads and simple window treatments were as good a match with the bedroom furniture as what had been there before. “It works,” said Ann, walking back through the front door with Sally in tow. “They’ll be very comfortable. Now, how about a caramel latte?”

Sally nodded her head enthusiastically and then, heeling like a well-trained dog, she followed Ann back into the big house.

 

After Sally left, Ann called Mike and left a message, reminding him to meet her and the children at Tony’s for dinner at seven o’clock. She then called Nate and Lauren and left the same message on their cell phones. That would give them more than an hour after football and volleyball practice to shower and drive to the restaurant. Ann told Nate to give his sister a ride, if he wanted his exorbitant car insurance paid that month. Nate would be furious with her interference, but Ann didn’t give this a second thought. She had no time to go to the high school to fetch Lauren.

At four o’clock, when Tony’s opened for the evening, Ann called to make a reservation. She recognized Tony’s voice. “It’s Ann,” she said.

“Well, hello, Mrs. Barons,” said Tony playfully. “Where have you been? Are you eating at The Chart House?”

Ann blushed. “Just once,” she said. “We went once, and the food was
terrible
.”

Tony laughed. “What can I do for you?”

“I need a table for tonight,” said Ann.

“I think I can arrange that.”

“We need something off to the side,” said Ann. “We’ve got some news for the children and there may be some noise.”

“Oh,” said Tony, “are you leaving them?”

It was Ann’s turn to laugh. “My parents are moving in with us,” said Ann, “temporarily.”

“In that case,” said Tony, “I’d better put you in the back room.”

“I’ll see you tonight,” said Ann. “Seven o’clock.”

“We’ll be ready,” said Tony before he hung up.

 

Ann ran the bathwater and slowly took off her clothes. Naked, she walked into her closet. Hands on her slim hips, she glanced at her wardrobe. She chewed on her bottom lip; she had no idea what to wear. She walked back out of her closet and into the bathroom. She stepped onto her scale, already knowing she weighed 105 pounds. At five feet, five inches, she was considered very thin. Her doctor routinely advised her to gain ten pounds and warned her about osteoporosis, but Ann dismissed her advice. She would rather suffer a long list of ailments than put on ten pounds of blubber. She gazed at her reflection in the wall mirrors. While perimenopause was beginning to thicken the waists of some of her friends, Ann’s stomach was flat. Her breasts were circular, firm. Her muscular legs were void of fat, even her inner thighs. Her arms looked like they were cut from flesh-colored limestone. She spun around and looked at her backside. Her rear end was tiny and tight with no sign of flabby, disgusting cellulite, a miracle at her age.

Ann walked up the two steps to reach her tub, and then stepped down into it. She lay back and let the bubbles envelop her. She closed her eyes and tried to predict the kids’ reaction to her news. Would they protest? Would they shrug and return to their dinners? Nate wouldn’t care; Ann couldn’t figure out what he cared about, if anything at all, except his independence. He had always been an independent child. As soon as he learned to walk, at eleven months, he wanted to be on his own. Ann used to chase him around the living room of their old house, both of them laughing as he increased his distance from her. He shunned his crib at two, preferring a “big boy bed” and a dark room for sleeping. There had been one episode of nightmares just past Nate’s fourth birthday that drove him into his mother’s arms. He cried out in the middle of the night, insisting on sleeping next to her and then moving his body into hers, attaching himself, so that they were more like one person than two. And while Ann had tried to whisper away his fears, she was selfishly grateful for the few months he needed her.

Lauren was more verbal, more needy, than her brother. In high school, she had become more circumspect, preferring to confide in her friends, Ann guessed, than share secrets with her. But before that, as late as seventh grade, Lauren chatted eagerly about everything from boys and who liked who to teacher personalities and homework. And Ann had just as eagerly listened, often spending several minutes with Lauren sitting on her bed before Lauren became silent with fatigue. Lauren still opened up to Ann, rarely. But mostly, Lauren—and Nate—chose to talk, eat, and spend most of their time with their peers. They’re normal teenagers, Mike and her friends told her. But Ann felt discarded and discredited nonetheless.

Ann decided to dress casually, in moss green suede pants and a black and white striped angora sweater. She took some new black shoes out of a box in the back of her closet and slipped them on her bare feet. As if the shoes had been hand-sewn to conform to every contour, the soft Italian leather gently clung to her skin, from her narrow heel to her lacquered big toe. Back in the bathroom, she applied her makeup and then rubbed cream into her hands before reaching for the ring she removed to bathe. Women could barely keep their eyes off the six-carat diamond and sapphire trade-up engagement ring Mike had bought her when she turned forty; their gaze ping-ponging from her face to the ring, face and the ring. She looked at the ring and then herself in the mirror one last time before turning out the light.

 

Tony’s was crowded, but, as promised, a table was ready when Ann walked through the door. It was just before seven when she sat down. Five minutes later, Mike joined her. “I had a four-hour meeting today,” he said, sitting down and loosening his tie. “I’ve never needed a drink more.”

“I beat you to it,” said Ann, holding up her glass of champagne.

“Are the kids coming?”

“Yes,” said Ann. “At least, I hope they’re coming. I left messages with both of them.”

Mike ordered a scotch, which arrived just as Nate, glaring at Ann, and Lauren, ponytailed black hair still wet from her post-practice shower and dressed in jeans and a button-down pink oxford cloth shirt, approached the table. Mike took a long drink. Lauren gave her parents a tight smile, then sat down. Nate stood behind his chair. “That’s blackmail,” he said to his mother. “Ordering me to drive my sister around in exchange for insurance payment is blackmail.”

“Sit down, Nate,” said Mike, putting his white cloth napkin in his lap. Mike was increasingly ordering Nate to sit. Nate had grown six inches in the past year, and while he was nowhere close to Mike’s height, he was closing in.

“I’m serious,” said Nate, yanking his chair out from under the table and flopping down onto the seat. He jerked his head to coax his blond bangs out of his eyes, a frequent maneuver with results lasting only seconds. Ann had stopped riding him about cutting his hair, heeding Mike’s advice to pick her battles. Big or small, she seemed to lose all of them. “She’s a big girl. She can find her own rides.”

“And you’re a big boy,” said Mike. “So you should understand that you, too, can find your own rides. Your car can certainly sit in the garage until you’re mature enough to pay for it.” Nate knew a threat when he heard one. His father would never follow through, but it nonetheless hung there, fouling the air, until Nate took a sip of water from the glass their server just filled.

“I’m Mario,” he said. “Would you like to hear the specials?”

“No,” said Ann. “I’ll have poached salmon and a house salad with raspberry vinaigrette on the side.”

“And I’ll have a Caesar salad and tortellini Alfredo,” said Mike.

Ann frowned and said, “Call nine-one-one when you put in that order.”

Mario smiled agreeably. “And for the young lady?”

“I’ll have what my dad’s having,” Lauren said. “I’m starving.” She put her napkin in her lap and straightened the flatware at her place setting.

“There goes your waistline,” said Ann, taking a sip of her drink.

“Ann,” said Mike, “she’s just come from a two-hour volleyball practice.”

Lauren, who wore a size six contentedly, made eye contact with her dad, a mirror image.

“And I’ll have a cheeseburger and fries,” said Nate.

“I’m sorry, young sir,” said Mario. “We don’t have cheeseburgers.”

“You’re kidding,” said Nate. “It’s the twenty-first century and you don’t have cheeseburgers?”

“Can you check in the back?” asked Mike. “See if they can make him one. If not, bring him a plate of spaghetti and meatballs.”

“If they can make meatballs,” said Nate, folding his arms across his chest, “they can make a burger.”

“Good point,” said Mike.

“Yes sir,” Mario said, and then left the table.

“So,” said Ann, “how was everyone’s day?”

“Perfect,” said Nate sarcastically. “All the teachers praised my work, and I got three touchdowns in football practice. How about you, Ann? Yummy massage at the spa?”

Ann took a sip of her drink. She tried to remember when Nate had first started calling her by her first name. It was in the last year or so, before he had his license, because they were in the car together and it had begun as a joke. And it seemed appropriate then, funny even. He used her name differently now, when he called her anything at all.