The Hot Flash Club Strikes Again (9 page)

Carolyn laughed. “Good luck getting him to eat them.”

“Oh, he’ll eat them if I fix them,” Heather said confidently. “I want him to live a long time, after all.”

Carolyn met Heather’s eyes. The little-girl meekness was gone, replaced by defiance . . . even a glint of menace.

“I want him to live a long time, too,” Carolyn agreed mildly. “I hope you can get him on a healthy régime.” She moved away from the desk, toward the door. “I’ll talk to Mrs. B. tomorrow, to tell her to have your name added at the bank.”

“Oh, please, don’t trouble yourself,” Heather sweetly protested, adding firmly, “I’ll tell her myself.”

——————————

Dazed, Carolyn wandered back through the halls and into her private wing, so disconcerted she forgot the chocolate cake. As she passed through her living room and dining room, she drew her hands over the backs of the sofas and chairs, grounding herself in a blessedly familiar reality. In the kitchen, she turned on the kettle and took a packet of chamomile tea from the cupboard. An invisible pressure pushed against her skin, as if her body were a balloon being inflated, making her edgy, uncomfortable. High blood pressure, she thought, closing her eyes and leaning on the counter. Heather’s unexpected metamorphosis had unsettled her.

But why?

Think it through, Carolyn told herself. She was a sensible woman, capable of comprehending that the last few moments with Heather had caused her suspicions to flare up, jumping from Point A, Heather’s transformation, to Point X, which was—what, exactly? What did the most neurotic side of her fear?

Could a dumpling like Heather have designs on the ownership of the Sperry Paper Company! Carolyn laughed at the thought.

Still, she needed to sit down with her father to discuss all the legal ramifications of his marriage. She had to find out if there was a pre-nuptial agreement. How would Aubrey alter his will? Was he giving any of his shares of the company to Heather? Did they plan to have children?

Children.

Carolyn’s heart boinged like a jack-in-the-box. She forced herself to breathe deeply, but she was so light-headed, she collapsed in a chair.

What if young, round, sweet, nurturing Heather had a baby? A little girl, who would rival Carolyn for her father’s love, and for control of the company?

Now she was being ridiculously paranoid.

Wasn’t she?

9

Oooh, isn’t it delicious, lying naked like this,” Julia crooned to her husband as they lay side by side Sunday morning. They’d just finished making love with the kind of blissful abandon that can happen only when a child isn’t within hearing distance. Belinda had spent the night with her best friend, Sarah, and for once they had the house to themselves.

Tim gave a jaw-cracking yawn. “I don’t know whether to fall back asleep or go make breakfast.”

“Breakfast, I think,” Julia said. “I’m starving. Let’s eat in bed, and read the papers, and then nap.”

“I have a better idea.” Tim pulled her hips against his. “Let’s have breakfast in bed, read the papers, make love again, and
then
sleep.”

“Brilliant.” Julia nuzzled him, curling her fingers in his chest hair.

“You stay in bed,” Tim told her. “I’ll make omelets.”

“With peppers and onions and cheese?”

“Absolutely.” Tim rolled out of bed and stalked, naked, out of the room.

Julia stretched like a cat and licked her lips. God, how she’d been craving this spell of grown-up pleasures! She hoped someday she and Tim would have children of their own, and she truly didn’t resent the way her life was ordered by Belinda’s needs. But these moments of satisfaction of her adult desires lent a lusciousness to her daily life, like bands of velvet on a cotton quilt.

Belinda accepted only the sweet breakfasts her mother had prepared for her: pancakes drenched in syrup, cinnamon toast sagging under the weight of butter and sugar, or cereal containing more glucose than grain. Tim, always rushed, usually grabbed a cup of hot coffee and swigged down a glass of orange juice before leaving for work. Julia drank green tea and nibbled a PowerBar as she got Belinda ready for school. Their evening meals centered around cajoling Belinda to eat the foods Julia found repellent—macaroni and cheese, tortellini, fish sticks. Occasionally Julia prepared something just for her and Tim—beef simmered in red wine, linguine with clams—but Belinda felt left out when Julia and her father ate different foods, so very much rejected that she lost all appetite for her own meal. Usually, it was simply easier to eat what Belinda ate.

But couldn’t they change things just a little? Julia wondered as she lay naked on the stirred, warm, sex-scented sheets.

For now, she’d indulge in the food whose aromas now drifted tantalizingly from the kitchen. Next, she’d get out of control with her husband.
Then,
she’d plan ways to incorporate grown-up meals into the food that pleased Belinda.

Tim raced into the room, looking frantic. “Can’t you hear? Someone’s knocking on the door!”

“I’ll get it.” Julia’s limbs felt warm and heavy as she rose from bed and slipped into her black silk robe.

“Thanks. I’ve got to get back to the kitchen or the omelets will burn.”

Julia sauntered down the hall to the front door, wondering who would be knocking on a Sunday morning. Kids selling magazines for Little League?

She opened the door.

“Oh! It’s
you
!” Belinda’s maternal grandmother, Agnes, stood there, looking offended. “You gave me a fright! I’ve been knocking for
hours
! I’m just longing to see little Belinda.”

Julia found herself backed against the wall as Agnes stormed into the house. Clad in yellow sweatpants and a matching sweatshirt adorned with a faux needlepoint rendition of a basket of kittens, her white hair bobbing around her chubby face like a bunch of bubbles, Agnes was a living Trojan horse, hiding beneath her grandmothery surface the heart and mind of Vlad the Impaler.

“Tim?” Julia’s voice cracked with tension. “Darling, Agnes’s here!”

Agnes was set on charging down the hall to Belinda’s room, which would have taken her near the kitchen, where Tim was preparing breakfast in all his naked glory.

Julia had to stop her.

“Agnes!” she cried, and with a desperate smile, threw her arms around Tim’s first wife’s mother, hugging her tight. “It’s so good to see you.” Gripping Agnes’s shoulders fiercely, she chirped, “But you look different. Let me see now. Is it the hair? No, I don’t think you’ve changed it, it’s the same beautiful color. I know! You’ve lost weight. Come on, confess, you’ve been dieting, haven’t you?”

Agnes preened, looking down at her pumpkin-size belly. “No, dear, I haven’t been dieting. I’m so busy, I just work it off.” Returning the assessing glance, she arched her eyebrows. “Did I wake you? I didn’t think I could. It
is
almost eleven.” Translation:
Aren’t you a little slut, not dressed at this hour of the morning like a decent woman should be!

Tim came down the hall. He’d pulled on chinos and a white polo shirt, but he was barefoot, and his hair stuck up all over. “Agnes. How nice to see you. Sorry to say, Belinda’s not here. She spent the night at Sarah’s house.”

“Spent the night?” Agnes’s hand flew to her chest as if she’d been stabbed in the heart. “She’s only seven years old!”

“She’s spent the night at the Fergusons’ before, many times,” Tim reminded his former mother-in-law, adding, “All the therapists we saw said it was good for her to do this, to live like a normal child.”

Agnes slumped. “Oh, well.” Then she brightened. “She’ll be home soon, won’t she? I’ll just wait! After all, I’ve driven for three hours.” Her piggy nose quivered. “Something smells good!”

Tim looked at Julia, who looked back helplessly. “I was just making breakfast for Julia and me. Would you like to join us?”

“I suppose so.” Agnes’s eyes raked Julia. “I’m so afraid you’ll catch cold, dear, wearing only your robe and no slippers like that. I’m sure we can wait to eat until you’ve had time to pull yourself together.” Translation:
Trollop.

A protest bloomed on Julia’s lips. Who was this person, telling her how to dress in her own home?

But as Julia opened her mouth to speak, Agnes performed one of her brilliant whiplash maneuvers. “I’ve always wondered whether Annette would have gotten ill like she did if she’d taken better care of herself. If she’d taken a daily vitamin or worn warmer clothing. I always made her wear warm clothes when she lived at home, but after she got married, well, she just didn’t seem to take care of herself.” Agnes’s face sagged with genuine sadness.

Gently, Tim reminded Agnes, “But Annette didn’t die of pneumonia. She didn’t die of anything we could have prevented. Remember, we asked the doctors what caused her cancer, and they told us nothing she did or ate or wore or thought caused it. These things just happen, and no one knows why. Now, come on to the kitchen, and let me fix you a nice hot breakfast.”

“That’s very kind of you, Tim.”

“I’ll just dress,” Julia muttered, heading for the bedroom.

Quickly she pulled the duvet up and set the pillows against the headboard, so the room would look tidy if, or more likely
when,
Agnes peeked in. Honestly, the woman had the instincts of a dope-smelling DEA dog! Julia pulled on a pair of black jeans and a baggy, black cashmere sweater. Sliding her feet into moccasins, she checked her image in the mirror and rolled her eyes at herself.

How could Agnes sense this was the first time she and Tim had had alone for months? The more important question was, why wouldn’t Agnes want Tim to be happy?

In the kitchen, Agnes had settled at the table. Tim hurriedly whisked eggs.

“Can I help?” Julia asked.

“Please,” he said, busy with a frying pan and bread. “I’m making Agnes French toast—”

“I can’t believe you’re eating onions and peppers for breakfast.” Agnes shook her head. “You’ll get terrible indigestion from all that hot, spicy food. It’s so
foreign.
”
Probably what terrorists eat.

“I’ll rescue the omelets.” Julia lifted the eggs from the pan with a spatula and carefully scraped off the burned bottoms. She melted more butter, set the pan on low heat, and covered it. While the omelets were reheating, she said to Agnes, “Would you like some juice? Coffee?”

“Both, please.” Agnes watched with glittering eyes as Tim and Julia moved around the kitchen. When they were all served and seated, she said, “Thank you, Tim. This looks delicious.” She took a bite, then patted her mouth with a napkin. “Oh, my. You’re still using
paper
napkins.” She glared at Julia. Translation: My daughter
always used cloth napkins, and I’ve suggested—politely, of course—that you use them, but
you
obviously don’t care about the finer things in life, so you’ll probably turn my grandchild into a tattooed drug fiend.

Tim spoke up. “I prefer paper napkins. It saves on laundry, and neither Julia nor I have time to iron.”

“Yes, I realize that.” With a grimace, Agnes applied herself to her French toast.

This woman has lost her daughter, Julia reminded herself.
Be nice!

“Another thing I’ve been meaning to mention, Julia,” Agnes said suddenly, laying her fork on her plate and skewering Julia with a deadly look. “And this is the appropriate time to bring it up, I think.”

“Yes?” Julia kept her voice light.

“Must you wear black all the time? It’s so
gloomy.
”

Julia laughed. “Agnes, just about all my clothes are black. I like black.”

Tim added, trying to be helpful, “It’s chic, you know, Agnes. It’s urban. It’s artistic.”

“It’s funereal,” Agnes shot back. “I’m sure it makes Belinda think of death.”

Julia’s jaw dropped. “Oh, I don’t think—”

“If it’s a matter of money, I’d be glad to buy a few things for you,” Agnes offered.

“That’s very generous of you, Agnes.” Julia strained to be kind. “But I can pay for my own clothes.” Desperation broke out all over her body in a kind of invisible sweat. She wanted to cry: I’ve changed
so
much for love of this man. I’m trying so hard. I keep the house in perfect condition for Belinda. I eat the food Belinda likes. I never make noise when I have sex with my husband. Do I have to start wearing butterfly-embroidered sweat suits to make everyone happy?

Tim reached over and touched her arm. His lips moved but no sound came out. He frowned. “Julia? Can’t you hear me?”

Julia put a hand to her temple and shook her head like a dog coming out of water. “Sorry, no. That sinus headache’s come back. I think I’d better go lie down. Excuse me, Agnes.”

In the bedroom, she shut the door against Agnes’s pain-filled voice and lay down on the bed, where she curled into a fetal position. Her hearing wavered, then disappeared. A white rush of noise like a waterfall filled her head. Right now, this was a relief.

10

When the monthly meeting of The Haven ended, most board members packed up their briefcases and left the handsome boardroom, heading out to their cars. Shirley, Alice, Marilyn, and Faye remained around the conference table. The formal board meetings dealt with the hard facts, mostly the finances of the spa. The relaxed, more intimate sessions were for brainstorming, casual discussion, letting new ideas drift by. They were, after all, the original founders of the spa; they knew it was their openness to new ideas that had helped them achieve this thriving business.

Alice slipped off her shoes and plopped her feet on a chair, smoothing her silk trousers over her legs. “I’m really happy about the treasurer’s report.”

Shirley nodded. “We haven’t broken into the black yet because of the cost of renovations, purchasing equipment for the weight rooms, and advertising, but few businesses do the first year, and we’re almost there.” She tapped her lower lip with the end of her pen to hide a smile—sometimes she couldn’t believe she was the president of a functioning, profit-making business!

“The spa’s reputation seems to be spreading by word of mouth!” Faye spoke with forced gusto. Her daughter had moved two weeks ago, but she was going to be cheerful if it killed her.

“I know!” Shirley unbuttoned the jacket of the boring boxy suit she had to wear to these meetings, letting her lavender silk shell show. “It’s fabulous. We’re adding a few new classes in yoga, spinning, and Pilates. The Jacuzzi’s a great success, and we’re getting estimates for an indoor lap pool.”

Marilyn took a sip from one of the bottles of water set around the table. “Any problems?”

Shirley took a moment to consider. “Not
problems,
no. More like challenges. Most of our clients are fairly easy to serve. They want to lose weight, gain muscles and flexibility, learn to relax, reward themselves for tough days at the office or home with special treats. But just last week I did intake interviews on two women with slightly more complicated problems. One young woman has an intermittent hearing problem. She’s seen specialists who can find no physical cause. I referred her to a psychologist and explained that The Haven is a wellness spa. If the cause of her hearing loss is some deep trauma, she needs the help of a trained therapist. I went through our brochure with her, suggesting beginner’s yoga, aromatherapy, and massage. I want to track her progress.”

Faye leaned forward. “I know the woman you mean. Julia something. She seems happy enough. Married, gorgeous, energetic, a bit severe. Her field is photography. She’s in my art therapy course.”

“Good.” Shirley made a note. “Then you can help me decide whether we need a full-time shrink on our team for clients who have more serious problems.”

Alice looked worried. “Good thing we’ve got plenty of malpractice insurance.”

“Yes,” Shirley said, “but aside from the legalities, I want to be sure we can actually help our clients. Another woman, for example, has a more serious medical problem.” She shot a stern look around the table. “This, as you know, is in confidence.”

The other three nodded.

“Since you’re on the board, I can tell you her name. A woman in her late thirties joined last month. She wants help keeping her blood pressure down and relaxing in general, because she’s pregnant, and she already has high blood pressure. Her name is Carolyn Sperry.”

“Sperry Paper?” Alice asked.

Shirley nodded.

“She’s famous,” Faye said. “What a plum for The Haven!”

Marilyn cleared her throat. “I’m not sure I know who she is.”

“Sperry Paper Company is one of the state’s oldest businesses,” Alice told her. “An entire town’s grown up around it over the last century. Aubrey Sperry, the current president of the company, shows up at all the best society functions, plus he’s extremely generous to local charities.”

“Carolyn is Aubrey’s daughter,” Shirley continued. “The founder of the company was a woman, and it’s been handed down from mother to daughter until Aubrey’s mother had only one child, a boy. But Carolyn is the heir apparent, so she’s got to remain involved with the daily running of the company, while at the same time being sure she carries her child, which is a girl, to full term. Plus, her father’s just brought a new wife into the family constellation.”

“And she has high blood pressure?” Faye asked. “She’s got a lot on her plate.”

“I know,” Shirley agreed. “This is the sort of client who makes me lose sleep. I can only advise her. I’m not her boss, her parent, or her doctor, so I can’t insist or enforce.”

“What have you suggested?” Marilyn inquired.

“Beginner’s yoga, weekly massage and aromatherapy. And I tried to get her to join the Friday-night quilting class, because I think it would do her good to build a community, friends with their own problems who will make her feel not so neurotic, friends she can laugh with. But she wasn’t very keen on the quilting group.”

“Maybe she’ll make friends on her own,” Faye suggested. “After all, the four of us met at a party.”

“Maybe.” Shirley shrugged. “Maybe not. She’s pretty standoffish.”

“Speaking of making friends . . .” Alice’s grin had a touch of mischief. “Have we all completed our HFC assignments?”

“Oh, please,” Faye groaned. “Seriously, please, let’s not do this.”

“Too late,” Shirley announced. “It’s already done!”

“Shirley,” Faye said, “I’m grateful for your concern about my health and my happiness, but what the three of you are suggesting is only making me miserable.”

Marilyn looked across the table at Faye. “It really will make you feel better.”

“Don’t even think about the sexual side of it,” Alice advised her. “Just think of what fun it is to make new friends.”

“I don’t need any new friends!” Faye protested, hugging her silk jacket against her protectively.

“But you’ll
like
them!” Shirley insisted. “Let me tell you about my candidate. Teddy Timlin. Actually, he goes by ‘Tank.’ He’s a friend of my old boyfriend Jimmy, and he’s a totally good guy. And—”

“I’m not going out with a man who calls himself Tank!” Faye said.

“How old is he?” Alice asked.

“Does it matter?” Shirley shot back. “We’re not talking marriage here! We’re just trying to give Faye some dating experiences, a little fun in her life, and believe me, Tank’s fun.”

“I think my candidate’s more appropriate,” Alice said.

Shirley shrugged. “Okay, fine, who is he?”

“Glen Wells. Just retired from the accounting department at TransWorld. Glen’s a completely reliable, stand-up kind of guy. I’d trust him with anything. He’s divorced, got two grown children, likes art museums and the symphony and so on—you’d really like him, Faye. You two would have a lot in common.”

In reply, Faye leaned her elbows on the table and buried her head in her hands.

“Who’s your candidate, Marilyn?” Shirley asked.

“Roger Munson. Ph.D. Works in my department at MIT. In his fifties, divorced, absolutely brilliant.”

“Good.” Alice rapped her pencil on the table. “Three good possibilities. Did you come up with anyone, Faye?”

Faye lifted her head wearily. “I. Did. Not. Please. I don’t want to date!”

“But you have to agree with us in theory,” Marilyn argued.

Faye sighed. “In theory, yes, I suppose I do. Meeting new people is good for us, and dating
can
be rejuvenating. But not always. For example, I was chatting with a young woman in my yoga class, Beth Grey, and she’s just fallen in love, which is wonderful, but her boyfriend’s family’s sending
her
self-esteem into a nosedive.”

“Let’s get her together with Julia and Carolyn,” Shirley suggested. “They’ve all got relative problems.”

“What a good idea!” Faye said. “Now, how should we do this?”

“First,”
Alice remarked drily, “we should finish our discussion about
you,
Faye. Stop trying to wriggle out of it.”

“But I really don’t need a man in my life!” Faye contended.

“What’s the harm in trying?” Marilyn coaxed. “It could be fun. If nothing else, it could be interesting.”

“Yeah, well, it could be
humiliating,
too,” Faye grumbled.

“Hey!” Alice pointed an admonishing finger at Faye. “Remember the first rule of the Hot Flash Club.
Don’t let fear rule your life.
”

Faye shook her head. “I’m not afraid.”

“Then
do
it,” Shirley said. “Start with Tank. I can personally vouch for the guy, he won’t rape or murder you—”

“Be still, my heart,” Faye muttered.

“—and you already know he’s not the kind of man you’d match up with long term, so this is just kind of a fun experiment.”

“We’re not letting you off the hook,” Alice said.

With a desperate sigh, Faye capitulated. “All right. I’ll go out with Tank.”

“Great! I’ll phone him tonight to set something up. You’re free every night, aren’t you?”

Faye snorted. “Thanks for reminding me.”

“Speaking of boyfriends.” Alice skewered Shirley with a look. “How’s Justin?” When Shirley flushed, she increased the pressure. “Has he found another job yet? I mean, he’s been unemployed for, um, how many months now?”

Shirley glared. “He’s
looking
for another job.” Shirley sat up straighter, running a hand over her already smooth hair. “Actually—”

Alice narrowed her eyes at Shirley suspiciously.

Shirley bit the bullet. “I want to hire Justin to teach at The Haven.”

“You’re shitting me,” Alice said.

Shirley’s lips thinned in anger. “No, Alice. I am not
shitting
you. I think a course in journal writing and one in poetry and one in creative writing would be an excellent addition to our programs. I mean, come on, Faye teaches art therapy at the spa—”

Alice interrupted, “May I remind you she does it for no pay?”

“That’s her choice,” Shirley snapped back. “She likes doing it. Besides, Faye’s one of the investors, and she’ll eventually get a profit on her shares, so it behooves her to help The Haven be successful!” Shirley paused, stunned that she’d actually said
behooves
and wondering if she’d used the word correctly.

Alice turned to Faye and Marilyn. “You’re both on the board. What do you think of Justin teaching at The Haven?”

“I think the courses he offers sound interesting,” Faye told her. “And he does have a Ph.D.”

Marilyn agreed. “And whatever salary he’d make would be minimal. As a part-time employee, he wouldn’t be eligible for health benefits. It wouldn’t hurt to give him a trial run.” She gave Alice a level stare. “The Haven was Shirley’s brainchild. She should have creative control.”

Gritting her teeth, Alice gave in. “Fine.”

Shirley was eager to change the subject. “Hey! I know how to get our three new kids together. I’ll invite them to try, for free, a special course combining Jacuzzi with aromatherapy. The three of you can be there, too, you can get them started talking and, when the time’s right, diplomatically slip away.”

“That’s not a bad idea, Shirley,” Alice said.

“I like it, too,” Faye agreed. “Although Julia knows I teach art therapy here . . .”

Shirley said, “So what? Teachers should help judge what works.”

“Plus, I won’t say no to the Jacuzzi and aromatherapy,” Marilyn put in.

“Let’s do it,” Alice said.

Shirley checked her calendar. “Next Friday evening good for you all?”

The other three looked in their appointment books and agreed on the date.

“What a productive meeting this was!” Shirley looked around the table, beaming. “And we didn’t even eat chocolate!”

Alice had the final word. “Yet.”