The Hot Flash Club (26 page)

“The gym? But you’re so slim!”

“True, but Lila tells me my posture’s bad, I slump, and I need to work out or I’ll start looking like a hunched-over witch with a hump on my back.”

Faye laughed ruefully. “Young women can be brutal.” “It’s all right. Actually, I’m grateful for Lila’s advice. I really like Faraday, and I want to be attractive for him. I’ve been isolated too long. You and Alice and Shirley are bringing me up to speed. Which reminds me, Alice phoned. She’s nervous about her date with Gideon. Afraid she might go to bed with him.”

Faye laughed. “You both have dates tonight, right?”

“Right. And I’ve got to get ready. I just wanted to thank you again, Faye, for everything.”

After saying good-bye to Marilyn, Faye wandered to the kitchen window and looked out. Flowers and newly budding trees lifted and fell in the gentle, intermittent breeze. Faye was restless. She turned from the window. Once again she experienced a sensation of emptiness inside, so vast and vague she didn’t know whether she was hungry or melancholy, or both.

Faye fixed herself a cup of tea and called Shirley, simply because she knew Marilyn and Alice were out. Of the three other women, Shirley was the one with whom Faye felt least affinity. Shirley’s thin, energetic presence made Faye feel fat by comparison. Plus, Shirley was kind of eccentric. On the other hand, Faye admired her for wanting, at sixty, to start a new business.

“Faye!” Shirley shouted into the phone. “I’m so glad you called! I’ve had the most amazing day! I attended this management seminar Alice forced me to go to, and it was
awesome
!”

“Tell me about it.”

“Are you sure? Do you have time?”

“I’m sure. I’d love to hear about it.”

“Good, you can tell me whether or not I’m making any sense.”

“I know nothing about business—”

“Maybe not, but you’re so much smarter than I am.”

“Am not,” Faye protested, laughing, but she couldn’t help but feel complimented. “But go ahead.”

“First of all, I’ve got notes on my five-year plan, want to hear them?”

“Absolutely.” Faye settled at the kitchen table and sipped her tea. A few moments later, she rose, found the notebook she kept at the little antique desk where she paid her bills, and returned to the kitchen table, making notes as she listened.

After a while, Faye said, “Shirley, if you’re planning to offer so many services and maintain this large a staff, you’re going to need a pretty good-size building.”

“I know, believe me, I’ve been thinking about that. But I met the nicest man at the conference. He told them this is a great time to buy a place because the economy’s in the toilet, so it’s a buyer’s market.” Shirley giggled. “Almost sounds like I know what I’m talking about it, doesn’t it? I—”

“What man?” Faye asked.

“Jeez, Faye, chill! You sound like my mother! His name’s Justin Quale, isn’t that the classiest name? He’s not a real estate broker, but his brother, Jake, is. Over lunch, Justin and I talked, and he says he can think of several places that might be perfect for my retreat. So tomorrow he’s taking me to look at a few.”

“Shirley,” Faye said, “I’m going with you.”

“Why?” Shirley inquired, her voice shrill. “Because you think I’m a moron?”

“Of course not—”

“You
do
! You do think I’m a moron! You think I’m going to take all that money you and everyone else is investing and give it to some man simply because he flirted with me, right?”

“Nonsense, I don’t think that at all,” Faye lied, crossing her fingers.

“You think I’m not capable of being a sensible businesswoman who makes shrewd judgments.” Shirley’s voice thickened with tears.

“Shirley, calm down.”

“Here I was, thinking you and I were friends, that someone as classy as you would even stoop to being a friend to someone like me; here I am, thinking I’ve changed my life, I’m a brave new woman, I swallowed my fears and went to that seminar, and I thought people thought I was smart, but you think
they
think I’m just a naive, gullible little birdbrain who will give her money to the first man that—”

“Stop it, Shirley!” Faye shouted. She felt terrible! She’d never meant to humiliate Shirley, she had to do something to save Shirley’s pride and their budding friendship. “I want to see it for my
own
purposes!”

Shirley hesitated, then asked in a small voice, “You do?”

“Yes,” Faye affirmed in a ringing voice. “I do.” She had no idea what she was talking about.

“What purposes?”

What purposes?
Faye wondered desperately. She opened her mouth, and nothing came out.

“Faye?”

“Because—” Faye began, mumbling at first, and then speaking out triumphantly, “because I’m going to go back to school, get a degree in art therapy, and be the art therapist at your retreat.”

“Why, Faye!” Shirley sounded dazzled with surprise. “What a brilliant idea!”

“Yes,” Faye agreed, more dazzled than Shirley. “It
is
a brilliant idea.”

“Cool. Then I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.”

Faye hung up the phone and made a note on her calendar. The next day was Sunday. Well. She thought she might go to church. She hadn’t been since Jack’s death, and she realized now that she missed it all, the church and its rituals, the congregation and hymns, the flowers. She would go, definitely, and let her autumnal life be part of spring, part of the blue sky, the returning robins, the breeze with its scent of freshly mown grass, the warm sunlight pouring out like a benediction.

39

The doorbell rang. Terror shot from Alice’s brain directly down to her stomach. She didn’t know whether to answer the door or run to the bathroom and barf.

Snap out of it!
she ordered herself, and opened the door. Gideon stood there, soigné in black trousers and a cream-and-black silk shirt that made his dark eyes gleam like jet.

“A little present.” He held out a sheaf of flame red tulips. “They made me think of you.”

She took them, burying her face in the resplendent blooms, using the moment to compose herself. She was so flustered by his compliment and his gift, she was absolutely tongue-tied.

“Thanks,” she managed to squeak. “I’ll put them in water.”

She found a vase in the cupboard above the refrigerator and carried it to the sink.

“It’s a great night out there,” Gideon called from the living room, where he stood appreciating the view.

“Uh-huh.” Alice was so
uncomfortable
, and she sort of itched all over. Was she breaking out in a rash? She felt prickly. Oh, God,
prick
ly. The clear cellophane cone around the flowers appeared to be made of some miracle material that would not respond to her efforts to tear it. She tried to slide it down the long thick bunch of stems, away from the tight bunch of petals. It was like trying to slip a condom off a penis.

Oh my God, couldn’t she think of something other than sex? With trembling fingers, she dug scissors out of a drawer and sliced the cellophane paper so that it fell away from the flowers, but
then
, as she ripped open the little packet of powder that would keep the flowers fresh, a vision of opening a condom packet sprang to mind. She shook the powder into the water, and stirred, then gathered the stems in her hands and inserted them—
sex
again!—into the opening of the vase.

She was nearly hyperventilating as she carried the flowers out to the coffee table. “Would you like a drink?”

Gideon checked his watch. “I don’t think we have time. The movie starts at seven-thirty.”

“Fine. I’ll just grab a wrap.”

“You look beautiful tonight, Alice.” Gideon’s smile set off sparklers in her stomach.

“Thanks.” She hurried to her bedroom, doing her best not to bump into the walls.

In her bedroom, she gave herself one last check in the mirror. She wore new, loose, cream silk trousers with an elastic waist, and a long-sleeved coral tunic top reaching nearly to her knees and cut deep at the bosom, displaying her abundant cleavage. For the first time in years, she didn’t have to barricade her bust behind a panel of fabric. She crossed her arms below her breasts, cradled and displayed to advantage in their new resplendent lace bra, and smiled cockily. “Hello, girls. Nice to see you.”

Then she squinted her eyes critically and bent closer to the mirror. From the rounded swell of her breasts fanned a series of lines upward across the loose skin of her chest. These wrinkles met with the row of rings circling her neck, forming a kind of upside-down triangle. Up close, her chest looked like something the National Geographic Channel would show to explain alluvial flows in deserts or dry stream beds.

Damn! Was she gorgeous or grotesque?

“Alice?” Gideon called from the living room.

Alice wrapped her pashmina scarf around her, crossing it over her chest. “Sorry. Couldn’t find my scarf.”

“It’s pretty mild out tonight,” Gideon told her, opening the front door.

“I often find the air-conditioning in the theaters too cold,” she explained.

He held her hand as they walked through the city to the sumptuous new movie theaters near the new Ritz. As they passed an older woman with white hair, a hunched back, and a cane, Alice experienced a surge of pity mixed with fear—she was seeing the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come, and reminded that she wasn’t there yet. She straightened her shoulders and let the shawl slip, just a bit.

At the theater, Alice inaugurated her new Pee-Panic-Prevention Policy and refused refreshments. Gideon bought himself a big bag of popcorn and a Coke, and as the previews flashed before the screen, he munched away happily. Men don’t worry about being unattractive when they’re stuffing their faces, Alice thought wryly. Gideon was really chowing down.

Maybe he was nervous.

Maybe he was nervous because he was going to try to get her in bed later. After all, he’d brought her flamboyant flowers, he’d called her beautiful, and, walking over, he’d been uncharacteristically quiet. Come to think of it, he
had
planned to take her to another jazz club, but had phoned that morning to say he wanted to see a movie. True, it was a new thriller starring Denzel Washington, but still . . . The movie flickered across the screen while her thoughts wrestled with options. Did Gideon consider a movie more romantic? They
were
sitting there in the dark together. At the jazz club they’d not been able to talk very much, and when they did speak, they had to yell over the crowd. She’d come home hoarse and exhausted. Perhaps he had, too. Perhaps he needed to conserve his energy. Perhaps he was fueling up on popcorn for later exertions.

As if reading her thoughts, Gideon set his popcorn box on the floor, wiped his fingers on a paper napkin, and reached for her hand. The warmth and size of his hand around hers took her breath away. When had she last held hands with a man in a movie? It was so romantic!

Alice relaxed in her chair, inclining toward Gideon. He leaned toward her until their shoulders touched. Electricity zapped through her.
Wow,
Alice thought. Maybe there really was something going on between them. Her shoulder was suddenly as sensitive as the tips of her fingers.

Am I crazy? Am I desirable? An actress with a waist the size of Alice’s ankle sauntered across the screen, nearly vanishing when she turned sideways. I’ll never look like that again in my life, Alice mentally berated herself. Hell, I never looked like that
before
in my life. Gideon’s arm lay partly on the armrest between them and partly against her ample abdomen, which also supported her breasts in their valiant bra. Sitting in the dark theater, she flushed, then rallied, and accidentally on purpose let the pashmina shawl slip way down. Now, in the silver light from the movie screen, the tops of her breasts rose like dolphins in the sea, sleek and rounded, while the wrinkles remained hidden in the dimness. She shifted her angle, giving them a little more exposure.

Ever since her conversation with Marilyn, Alice had thought of nothing but sex. How amazing that Marilyn, who had all the self-confidence of a dead chicken, had gone to bed so easily with Barton Baker and more amazingly, enjoyed herself! Of course, Marilyn didn’t have to worry about being fat, plus she was only fifty-two.

Alice had tried, over the past few days, to diet, wanting to see just how much effort it took to lose five pounds. She didn’t need to read diet books. Over the past thirty years, she’d tried every diet imaginable. She just stocked her refrigerator with diet drinks, fruit, lettuces, and lean meats and forced herself to take a long walk every day.

In five nights she went from hungry and hopeful to starving and stark-raving mad. Thank God Alan had moved into his own place. He didn’t have to hear her sobbing her heart out at the kitchen table, calling herself a failure, a big fat flop, a woman who’d lost her job and, worse, had been such a terrible mother that her son lost his job and his wife. For a few grisly moments, she’d considered killing her pathetic self. But she didn’t have the energy. Besides, she wouldn’t give those assholes at TransWorld the satisfaction.

So she’d dragged her sorry self down to a twenty-four-hour market, bought ham, cheese, bread, mayo, chips, ice cream, eggs, all the stuff the doctors promised would kill you. Back in her kitchen, she concocted a feast, remembering her mama, who had been a big woman, and her father, who’d been a huge man. Neither had died young. They’d been active until their eighties. That would be good enough for her. Especially, she decided as she ate, and the delicious taste and smells filled her senses and refreshed her soul, if she could figure out what to do with the next couple of decades.

So if Gideon Banks wanted a relationship with her, he’d better like her the way she was, and so far it seemed he did. Besides, he was a hefty boy himself. That belly of his—how would they manage to make love? Several images shot through her mind, making her giggle. Gideon turned his head her way, frowning. Up on the screen, someone had just been killed. Alice shifted in her seat and forced her attention on the movie.

When it ended, Gideon asked, “Would you like to stop somewhere for a late-night snack?”

“Why don’t we just go back to my place,” Alice suggested, hoping she didn’t sound too brazen or imperious. Having spent her life barking out orders, she had to concentrate to talk normally. “My son brought over some strawberry angel food cake Jennifer D’Annucio made.” Remembering he was diabetic, she added, “Not too much sugar.”

“Sounds good.”

The air of the May night was soft and full of fragrances. Everyone they passed was laughing or holding hands, and Gideon took Alice’s as if it were a natural thing to do. At her condo, she slid the glass doors open and took their desserts out to the balcony. They sat together in a companionable silence, eating and watching the lights of all the boats sparkle on the water.

In the mellow night, Gideon spoke of his dead wife, their early years together, the love he carried for her, even now. Alice told Gideon about Mack and his charm and his infidelities, and then she told him about her long-term affair with Bill Weaver. Boldly, she added, “I haven’t slept with a man for many, many years.” That, she thought, should take care of any questions about AIDS and other STDs.

“Nor have I slept with a woman for a long time,” Gideon quietly confessed. Reaching out, he took her hand in his. “Haven’t wanted to. Until now.”

Have mercy!
Alice thought. Her pulse did the jitterbug up and down her arteries. Here it was,
The Moment.
Damn, she thought, why did she bring him out here, where they were sitting in separate chairs? If they were on the sofa, it would be so easy to turn to each other . . .

Like an answer to her prayers, a breeze came up from the water, lifting the edges of their napkins and the hem of Alice’s loose silk trousers. Goose bumps sprouted across Alice’s exposed cleavage, and she hoped Gideon assumed they were caused by the external touch of the chilly air and not the internal mechanisms of her own body.

Gideon said nothing. He seemed to have gone into a trance, staring at the water.

All right, then, Alice thought. He got us this far; I can nudge us along. “Let’s go in.” She stood, hugging herself. “It’s gotten too cool out here.”

She carried their empty plates to the kitchen. Gideon carried their cups of decaf to the coffee table and sat down on the sofa. Alice sat down next to him. Close. She turned toward him, her clothes making silky slithering noises as she moved. She imagined him lifting off her coral tunic, exposing her breasts in their new lace bra. She imagined . . .

“You’re so beautiful, Alice,” Gideon said. He put his arms around her and drew her to him. He kissed her mouth so softly it was like feathers brushing her skin. “Your breasts—” he whispered. “My God.”

Alice took his hand in hers and laid it on her breast.
Boing
went her nipples. Her body lighted up like a pinball machine, lights flashing, bells ringing, flippers flapping, oh, heavenly days, she’d forgotten she could feel like this.
Jackpot!
she wanted to whoop.

But Gideon’s face altered, he pulled away from her mouth, he removed his hand from her breast. He said, “Sorry, Alice. I think I’d better go.” He stood up.

Alice stared up at him, stunned. “Go? Now? Why?”

Gideon walked toward the door. “I’ll call you.”

Alice jumped up. “But Gideon! My body’s been asleep for twenty years, and you just woke it up. And you’re
leaving
?”

“Well, now, Alice,” Gideon mumbled, shoving his hands down into his pockets like a boy. “No need to get angry. No need to rush things, either. We scarcely know each other, after all.”

Alice felt like he’d punched her in the stomach. “I didn’t mean to rush things—”

“I’ll call you,” Gideon said again, and left.

Alice stood there with her mouth hanging open. She couldn’t believe he’d gone. She couldn’t believe he’d kissed her like that, then walked away! What the
hell
had happened? It was as if he was attracted to her, but once she put his hand on her breast, he was repelled. Did she have bad breath? Was she that horrible a kisser? Were her lips chapped? Were her breasts too big? Was she just too damned fat? But then, why had he asked her out in the first place?

One thing for sure, he wouldn’t be asking her again. What had he said, no need for her to get so
angry
? Okay, so she’d shown him a bit of her bossy, angry side, but damn, he’d gotten her all riled up, he’d said he hadn’t wanted to sleep with a woman until
now
. How the hell was she supposed to take that kind of remark?

And if he thought
that
was angry, he was one mistaken man.

She was so confused she wanted to tear her hair out. She was furious, frustrated, and humiliated. Her company didn’t want her professionally, and now this really nice man didn’t want her sexually.

Thank heavens for small blessings. Alan had moved into his own place, so she could collapse on the sofa. She lifted her hands to her face and let the sobs and wails rip from her throat, tears streaming down her cheek, falling plop plop plop on what she had, until then, thought of as her beautiful breasts.

Faraday’s apartment was in a luxurious modern high-rise overlooking the Charles River. Marilyn didn’t know whether to gaze out the expansive windows at the Boston lights sparkling against the night sky or at the three walls of bookshelves in Faraday’s living room. So many fascinating books! Her former self would have selected a pile, stacked them on the coffee table, and curled up on the sofa to read.

Interspersed among the books, in misshapen globs like petrified gnomes, were the rocks Faraday had brought home from his hikes in the most distant places of the globe. Dense, and mute, the rocks were books, too, their fossils and minerals inscribing a hieroglyphic diary of the universe.