The Hurricane Sisters (25 page)

I was quiet for a moment. On my father’s grave, she was right.

“Oh! My! Word! You’re right! Well, I’m inspired to bring my family together and I’m going to do it, starting tonight!”

“What are you making?”

I hadn’t gotten that far in the thought process.

“I have no earthly idea
what
to cook!” I laughed at myself then.

“Make baked ziti! Please? Remember how much we loved baked ziti when Ivy and I were little?”

“Okay, I will! With garlic bread and salad and peaches and ice cream!”

“Mom, that sounds amazing. I’ll be there as soon as I get out of work.”

“Just one thing I need you to do for me, okay?”

“Sure, what?”

I told her I wanted the night to be fun for all of us. I wanted laughter and teasing—but only if the teasing was kindly delivered—and I wanted stories of their best memories to be told across the table.

“Why in the world?”

“Let’s just say Mom’s feeling nostalgic, okay? How’s that?”

“It’s okay with me. Did you ask Maisie to come?”

“No, she’s got her hands full with Skipper. I’ll give Ivy something to take home for her.”

That sounded reasonable to her. There was no need to tell her that Maisie was on my naughty list at the moment. As soon as Maisie realized that she was, she’d do something nice or she’d say something nice to be in my good graces again. Maisie was the queen of passive-aggressive behavior.

It was one more trip to the grocery store and the butcher and I surprised myself by remembering how to cook baked ziti. It smelled like my children’s childhood. The bread was in the small oven and I had prepared a big board of antipasto with olives and cheeses and dried meats with another loaf of bread for dipping in two different flavored olive oils. Clayton opened a bottle of a pretty good Barolo and he even made a vodka martini for me. Ivy and Ashley had yet to arrive.

“Dirty, right?” he said as though he couldn’t remember.

“Yes, I like it dirty,” I said and wiggled my eyebrows at him.

“What’s come over you, Liz?”

He didn’t even grin. True, he was a cool character but in the old days he would’ve grabbed me and made a big silly smacking noise on my neck or something like that.

Maybe he had convinced himself that I didn’t want him anymore and therefore he could justify an affair? Was that how the business of infidelity worked?

“What’s come over me? Clayton? Are we ever going to have sex again?”

“Of course we are. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Well, then, one of us has to make a move, right? Send a signal?”

“And you’re thinking tonight might be good?”

“Why not?”

“Well, let’s see what we can do about that.” He finally smiled at me. At least he smiled at me.

The front door opened and closed and my heart lightened to hear the voices of our adult children fill the air. When they reached the kitchen, they gave me a kiss, acknowledged their father with hugs, and poured themselves glasses of wine.

“Wow! Mom! This looks delicious! I don’t know where to start!” Ivy said and picked up a little chunk of aged Parmesan marinating in olive oil and cracked pepper. He popped it in his mouth. “Like butta!” Then he went to work on the prosciutto, winding a slice around a little ball of mozzarella. “Here, Pop!”

Clayton put it in his mouth and said, “This is good. Quite good. Actually.”

“Quit hogging the whole board!” Ashley said, reaching over Ivy for a piece.

“Oh, please,” he said. “Wait! Mom? Do I smell
baked ziti
?”

Ivy came around the island and took an oven mitt from the counter, opening the larger oven, peering inside.

“Yes. I made it for y’all but especially for you.”

Ivy’s sass dissolved right in front of me.

“It was always my favorite.”

“I know that.”

“I love you, Mom. You know that too, don’t you?”

“Ivy? I love you with all my heart. I do. And you too, Ashley. And you too, Clayton.”

“What’s happened, Liz?” Clayton said.

Everyone stopped talking.

“I’m not sure,” I said. “I guess I just want us to all be how we used to be. With each other, I mean. Somewhere along the line there was a shift and I want to make things right.”

“I don’t know about a shift, but I think this is going to be a wonderful night!” Ashley said, pushing her hair back from her face.

That’s when I saw the scab on her forehead that went into her hairline.

“What happened to you?” I asked.

“Oh, you know those black high heels I love so much?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Well, they’re dangerous little monsters. I was out with Porter and I slipped and fell. Unfortunately, there was a corner of a wall right there waiting for me and I slammed into it before I landed on the ground.”

I didn’t like the story. It didn’t ring right. Ashley had never fallen like that. She was a gazelle.

“Why didn’t he catch you?”

“Because he was like ten feet away. It all happened pretty fast.”

I went over and gave it a closer look. It wasn’t so terrible after all.

“Stupid shoes,” I said. “Let’s get you a safer pair on Monday.”

Clayton popped up with uncharacteristic generosity saying, “Buy two pairs and give me the bill.”

“Thanks, Dad!” Ashley said. “I should hit the wall more often!”

Well, then the lighthearted mood was restored and we went on to have dinner. As I had asked them to, Ashley and Ivy told stories and because they were talking nonstop, Clayton was eating and drinking nonstop. He opened a third bottle and he was the only one still drinking wine. By the time I put the peaches and ice cream on the table, Clayton was fast asleep on the sofa.

“What happened?” I said to Ivy and Ashley.

“I don’t know,” Ivy said. “He just got up and went over there. Next thing I saw was him kicking off his loafers. But he was smiling.”

“Well, at least he knows better than to put his shoes on my sofa,” I said. “I’d kill him.”

“He’s probably just really pooped,” Ashley said.

“You think?” Ivy said.

“Honey? Your daddy’s hammered,” I said. “This is not good.”

Ivy and Ashley helped me clean the kitchen and I gave them each a large plastic container of ziti to take home. It had been a truly wonderful night, except for Clayton slipping into the deep end of the vineyard. When the kids left, we all hugged and kissed but Clayton disappeared to the bedroom to snore like every hog in hell and without a word to anyone. It was all right. I was going to New York.

I almost didn’t make my flight on Tuesday because there was another tropical storm becoming a hurricane and heading our way. For the record, I flew commercial. If it became a hurricane, they were going to call it Lorenzo. We were already up to the
L
s. That’s how many storms we’d had over the season. Fortunately, it turned out to sea.

Anyway, I was going to put an end to all the suspicion about Clayton and then we’d see what we would see. Either he was having an affair or he wasn’t. It was pretty simple. I would just tell him I came to take in an exhibit at the Frick I’d heard all about. Everyone who read the arts section of the newspapers knew that Vermeer’s
Girl with a Pearl Earring
was there for a short period of time. And I packed a pretty nightgown hoping to pick up where our good intentions left off. We landed at La Guardia and I hopped in a taxi, telling the driver to take me straight to our apartment building.

Our doorman, Eduardo, was very surprised to see me.

“Mrs. Waters! What a nice surprise! I haven’t seen you in a long time.”

“Thanks, Eduardo,” I said, when he took my tote bag. “It’s nice to see you too. How’s the family?”

“You know my daughter got into Princeton? We’re very proud of her.”

“Wonderful! She must be very smart like her father!”

“Like her mother, Mrs. Waters. Like her mother.”

He held the elevator door for me and I stepped inside.

“Do you know if Mr. Waters is at home?” I asked.

Even though Eduardo was dark skinned, he blushed deeply.

“No, ma’am. I don’t know.” He was staring at the floor.

“Okay, thanks.”

He wasn’t getting involved.

The elevator landed at the second floor and I got out. I fished around in my purse for my keys and found them. When I opened the door of our co-op, my heart sank. It was lifeless. Going from room to room only confirmed my worst suspicions. Clayton wasn’t sleeping here. His clothes were in the closet and there was some recent mail tossed on the kitchen counter, but there wasn’t a drop of anything in the refrigerator and not a piece of bread in the drawer. The bed was freshly made, the bathroom dry as a bone. But there was vodka in the freezer and bottled water in the refrigerator. I’d call out for Chinese or Thai food and I’d live until the morning.

The only other sign of life was some dirty clothes that were thrown on the bottom of his closet, shirts and socks and underwear, leading me to decide that he slept elsewhere and came home to change before going to the office.

I’d be in the lobby at seven in the morning to greet him.

Don’t ask how I got through the night without calling his cell and screaming my head off but I did. And at seven
A.M.
I repacked my things, put my bag in the bedroom closet, and went downstairs. I sat on the lobby couch reading the
New York Times,
waiting like a black widow spider. At seven fifteen my patience was rewarded. The elevator door opened and out came my old friend, actually archnemesis, Sophia Bacco, followed by Clayton. They were engaged in a vigorous argument and didn’t notice me at first. I stood up. Eduardo wisely headed for the sidewalk.

“Sophia? Is that you with my husband so early in the morning?”

“Liz! What are you doing here?”

“Hello, Clayton,” I said.

“Yes! And for God’s sake, will you please take him home? He’s hounding after me like a schoolboy!”

“You always were a whore,” I said, evenly.

“And you could never keep a man,” she said.

I lowered my voice to a whisper. “Fuck you, Sophia, and get out of my sight before I scratch your nasty Botox and Restylane face off and feed it to the dogs!”

Everyone was frozen in place. This was not the kind of building where you used an obscenity in the lobby.

“Not
my
face, you won’t.” She all but ran from the lobby to the street.

“I never liked her. So, Clayton? What do you have to say for yourself?”

He began to weep.

“She dumped me,” he said, covering his eyes with his hand, “for an Argentinean polo player. Some asshole named Armando. He doesn’t even weigh one hundred and twenty pounds! He’s only five four! I loved her, Liz. I did.”

He
loved
her?

“Clayton?” I said as quietly as I could, given the gravity of the moment. “Your sorry ass had better hire a lawyer. I’m going back to Charleston.”

CHAPTER 15

Clayton—I Blew It, Didn’t I?

What have I done? I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. And I can’t stop crying. I’ve never done anything so stupid and reckless in my entire life. Sophia is nothing but a self-centered, and I hate the word but she is one, bitch. I mean, she
really
is! There’s a reason why people use those words and they fit her to a tee. Why couldn’t I see it from day one? I don’t know. But when I was locked out on the terrace I got an inkling of what was to come. I should have stopped the affair right then but I couldn’t. I’m so sorry I didn’t.

I
fell
for her like a starstruck kid. I was so foolish! No, I
am
a fool! Liz must have known something really bad was going on to show up at the apartment without telling me she was coming. And now I had blown it with her too.

There was only one way she could have found out. Ivy. Ivy was at the bottom of this! He must have told Liz about Sophia! Or maybe he showed her the picture James took! Oh my God! Whatever. He had definitely done something big enough to prompt an unannounced trip to New York. That film was evidence they could use against me in court! What was I going to do? I might just fly out to California and wring his skinny neck. That’s what.

I mean last weekend? There was Liz trying to make everything right by having the kids over and making an incredible meal. It was like old times. Family dinner. She had flowers on the table and everything. And what did I do? I drank myself into a stupor and then gave her nothing but a
thanks for a great night
. She didn’t even complain. At least she had some grace. If I’d had any at all, I wouldn’t have gotten bombed and I would’ve taken her to the bedroom and done what a good husband does. And Sunday night I just left as though everything was fine between us when we both knew it wasn’t.

I’d been avoiding her for months and she knew it. And she also knew, because women are so damn smart, that if we resumed our intimate life, and that if there
was
something going on with me and another woman, it would be more difficult emotionally and psychologically to continue the affair. But what did I do? I avoided my wife. I had been actively choosing another woman over my wife for months. I just couldn’t help it. I was just like a drug addict, hopelessly addicted to Sophia.

There
was
a time, right in the beginning of our affair, when I really believed that I was in love with Sophia. Maybe at one point I even tried to see myself married to her. But the truth? Recently it had become clear that she’d lost interest and that she was trying to figure out how to end it. Even though she said it was an accident, I should’ve taken the hint when she locked me out on the terrace. In an ideal situation in Sophia’s mind, I’m sure she hoped I’d just go back to Liz and no one would get hurt. But I couldn’t give her up! I just couldn’t. You see here was the thing. Sophia was forbidden fruit. She was the only thing I ever wanted that I couldn’t have. And I thought I was dead in love with her. Now I wished I was dead.

My life was in ruins and I had no one to blame but myself.

Things started to unravel with Sophia about the time James and his Glass took the pictures or the movie or whatever he did. I could trace it back to then. I came back to the city and Sophia told me what happened. That was definitely the moment Sophia began to lose interest. I could see it in her face. She was in it for the game, but she didn’t want to wind up in the tabloids. It wasn’t like she was carrying the weight of celebrity like Martha Stewart or Cindy Crawford but her clients wouldn’t like to hear that she was the home wrecker that she was.