Vanity Fare (25 page)

“And you’re upset about that.” If Lissa were any more empathic, she could sell readings for two dollars a palm.

“Yeah,” I admitted. “He’s nice. At first, I thought he was an arrogant prick, which he’s not. I mean, he’s arrogant, but he’s also really nice. And incredibly good-looking.”

“So what are you going to do about it?” She sure sounded better. She was like my mom in that way: Dangle an available man for Molly in front of her, and she’d perk right up.

“Nothing.” I sounded as glum as I felt. “I asked him out, if you can believe it, and he said no. And he just told me he’s leaving town.”

“So make him not want to leave.”

“What, seduce him? Lissa, remember who you’re talking to.”

“I didn’t say tie him down and blow him.”

“Lissa!” I was shocked; Lissa just didn’t talk like that.

She giggled. It seemed the tragedy had worn off to be replaced with hysteria. “Well, I didn’t say it. But you’re charming, Molly, and if Aidan likes him, and he likes Aidan, that’s more than half the battle. Remember, that British guy—”

“Simon,” I interjected.

“Yeah, Simon, didn’t even like Aidan. So you didn’t like him, even though you said he was gorgeous.”

“Well, this one is gorgeouser.”

“That’s not a word.”

“Listen to you! When did you turn into the English grammar expert?”

She got sad again. I shouldn’t have reminded her. “I’m not. Tony used to—”

My tone was sharp. “Fuck Tony. Tell me, how big was he?”

“You mean—?”

“Yeah. I’m guessing small. He was small, right?”

She giggled again. “Yup.”

I sighed. “Happens all the time. Dr. Lowell calls it overcompensating.”

“You talk to your therapist about penis size?” Her tone was incredulous.

“Well, not in so many words, but yes, we’ve discussed overcompensating.”

“Does that mean Hugh . . . ?”

I let out an evil chuckle. “Yup.”

“Thanks for listening, Molly.” I heard her begin to laugh again. “Men have no idea we talk about this kind of stuff, do they? I mean, if they did, they’d be so freaked-out they’d probably undress in the dark. Instead of parading around like they’re Brad Pitt in
Troy
.”

“Or giving it a name.” I waited for Lissa’s squeal. It was louder than I thought.

“So what was it?” she said, after she finished howling. “Ouch! You’ve got a set of lungs on you. I can tell you, but you have to promise to tell everyone he knows.”

“Promise.”

“Hef. As in Hugh Hefner.”

I waited for her laughter to subside. “Did he dress it up in pajamas, too? Or have you put bunny ears on or anything?”

“No. Maybe that would’ve made it more fun. I wonder if his new girlfriend has any regrets about going out with the three-minute egg. At least she’ll never miss one of her favorite shows—they can do it in the time it takes for a commercial break.”

“Ouch back at you! That was one good thing about Tony—it might’ve been small, but he knew what to do with it.”

“Honey, you’ll find someone—”

She interrupted before I could continue. “I know I will. And I promise not to be so needy when I meet someone else.” She paused. “As long as you promise, too.”

She had me there. “Okay. I promise.”

“Mommy!” The yell came from down the hall. Aidan did not believe in walking an extra few feet so he could get my attention without screaming.

“Speaking of needy . . .”

Lissa laughed. “Go take care of that boy of yours. Love you.”

I hung up and yelled back. If he wasn’t going to walk extra, neither would I.

“What do you want, honey?”

“I’m hungry!”

“Be right there.”

If there was only going to be one man in my life, I was glad it was Aidan.

I fed Aidan the leftover pastries
I’d snagged from the party to keep him from starving in front of my eyes while I made his second dinner. He was a growing boy, he liked to remind me.

Mom, thankfully, had gone out with her friend to see a movie—her friend’s treat—and I didn’t have to deal with her nosy questions.

I made us some chicken stir-fry, doubling up on the rice so we would be eating authentic Chinese entrée-to-rice proportions. I would’ve been proud of myself, only I’d had to do that in order to stretch the meager amount of chicken I’d bought. At least I didn’t make rice and beans every
single
night.

Aidan started to get cranky around 9:00
P.M.
, so I marched him to bed.

Leaving me alone with my thoughts.

So I called Keisha to avoid my thoughts.

“That bastard did what?” Keisha was livid about what Tony had done to Lissa. “How’s she doing?”

“She’s really upset. She thinks it’s her fault he dumped her like that. Can you imagine someone having so little self-esteem?”

“Hello, Ms. Pot? It’s Mr. Kettle calling.”

“Fine, be saucy. Only I don’t think I was ever that pathetic—was I?”

Keisha’s silence was deafening. How did she
do
that?

“Okay, well, thank goodness I’m over that.” I rummaged in my bottom drawer for my pink sweatpants.

“You are, honey. Has John paid you?”

I wriggled out of my jeans and managed to put the sweatpants on without dropping the phone. Now how could I phrase
that
on my résumé?

“Yeah, one of the checks just came. I haven’t been paid for the big project yet, so I called to ask about it.” I couldn’t help the note of pride in my voice.

“Go you! What are you going to do with all that money?”

I snorted. “Oh, maybe pick up a pair of whatshisname Blahniks, a PDA to keep track of Aidan’s playdates, some caviar . . . what do you think? Rent, health insurance, maybe some cans of soup.”

“How’s your mother doing?”

“Oh, you will not believe this. Turns out the inspiration for her day-trading was Hugh saying we weren’t as solvent as we should be. She panicked, tried to save our sinking financial ship, and ended up broke with the chance to lose everything.” I didn’t tell her about Nick. It just felt better as a secret between us.

“Asshole!” Keisha exclaimed. “Does Hugh know you know?”

“You bet. I called him right after Mom told me, and chewed him out.”

“Good for you! What did he say?”

“Er, um, er.”

“In other words, the usual. So next weekend Aidan’s with Hugh, right?”

“Yeah, why? It’s not like I’m going to say anything to Aidan about it.”

“No, of course not. Just trying to keep your schedule in mind. When’s your next scrapbooking extravaganza?”

My natural-born defensiveness surged forward. “Soon, why, do you think it’s lame?” I sounded edgy and shrill.

“Calm down, woman. I was just wondering.”

“With any luck, I’ll have the Marriage Winding Sheet all sewn up by the end of it.”

She gave an approving laugh. “All sewn up. Very clever.”

I drew a deep breath. “And Nick told me he’s leaving soon.”

“How ya doin’ with that?”

“Fine, I guess. Only Aidan spent about two hours asking me why Nick had to leave, just when he had met him.”

“Out of the mouths of babes . . .”

“Yeah, and Nick is a babe. God, Keisha, I’m obsessed. Like, really and truly obsessed. And there’s nothing I can do about it.”

“I’m sorry, hon. Remember how I was about Denzel Washington?”

“I hate to break it to you, but he’s an actor. Not someone you know. Not someone you asked out. Not someone who turned you down.” Just saying it again hurt.

“Okay, you’re right. So what are you going to do about it, Miss Uppity?” She was more likely than Lissa to suggest I seduce him; I was just glad she hadn’t gone there already.

“What can I do? I’ve already asked him out, he’s already said no. My
son
is already in love with him, for God’s sake.”

“Maybe you can ask him to come over for dinner? Like with you and Aidan, not like a date. Just before he goes.”

“Yeah. Maybe.” My tone was not encouraging.

“It’s worth a try, right? Maybe not something you’d do in a—” She let her voice trail off.

“Million years. I know. Listen, I should go. My mom’s coming back soon, I’d rather be asleep—or at least pretending to be—so I don’t have to stay up with her and hear her rehash whatever geriatric thrill movie she and her ditzy friend just went to.”

As I hung up, I wondered why I had allowed myself to get in such a state over Nick. Hm, I thought to myself, could it be because he was good-looking, smart, witty, sarcastic, honorable, confident, and had eyes bluer than the Aegean Sea? That is, if I knew how blue the Aegean Sea was.

Another thing to put on the “million years” list: Find out how blue the Aegean Sea is. Oh, and stop finding the wrong men to like in the first place.

Of Mousse and Men

You don’t have to be a genius to understand this: chocolate, whipped cream, eggs, and sugar. Blended together, they can keep the simplest guy from doing wrong. Are they better than a farm full of bunny rabbits? That’s your call, but we’re thinking you might just succumb to this American Dream.

24

I’D AGREED TO SCRAPBOOKING AGAIN. I WAS LOOKING FORWARD
to doing something for just me, for once, even if it was something involving glue and cute phrases.

I picked up the bag of scrapbooking stuff and slung it over my shoulder. I’d worn my attempt at Saturday chic, a long black skirt, chunky black shoes, and a crazy-patterned vintage top. I put a rhinestone hairpin to hold my hair out of my face, then spent an extra five minutes making sure my eyebrows were even.

I checked my reflection one last time in the mirror. I was clean, my teeth were brushed, as was my hair, my makeup was good, and I was ready to scrapbook.

It was a good thing I didn’t have a beret, I thought, or I’d pull a Mary Tyler Moore and fling it up into the air. Which, since I was in the bathroom, wasn’t such a good idea.

I heard the hubbub of many women talking even before Caroline opened the door to the apartment. Instead of the usual feeling of anxiety, however, I felt a thrill of . . . anticipation? Caroline swung the door open, giving me a sincerely warm smile when she saw me. I’d already checked; the woman who’d spilled the beans to Natalie wasn’t going to be there, so I was just happy to be among people who might become friends. Granted, friends who thought scrapbooking was a good idea, but friends nonetheless.

“Molly, glad to see you.” She waved me into the apartment, slipping the bag off my shoulder before I even knew she had touched me. I shrugged my coat off.

Caroline’s eyes widened a little when she saw my shirt. I guess classic mom-style didn’t usually include enormous hyacinths printed on fuchsia polyester.

I looked down also, chuckling a little. “It is loud, isn’t it? Oh, and I was trying so hard to be invisible.”

She gave me a disbelieving stare. “You? Invisible? I don’t think so. Come on, most everyone is here already.” Caroline led me into the dining room, the now familiar pieces of memorabilia piled on the table, even more faces than the first time looking up at me as I entered.

“This is Molly. Molly was here last time, for those of you who weren’t able to make it. I think that was Sally”—a gray-haired woman nodded her head, her fingers never ceasing their movement—“Karla”—a fresh-faced twentysomething wiggled her fingers at me. “And Linda.” A dark-skinned black woman about my age smiled at me, every one of her accessories screaming “money.”

“Nice to meet you, Molly,” she said, beckoning me to sit in the empty chair next to her. “Sit here, I want to hear all about you. I love your shirt—Pucci?”

“No idea,” I replied. I sat, opened up my bag, and began laying out the photo album and the remaining items of my marriage on the table. Linda leaned over and cocked an eyebrow at me. “Let me guess. Divorce?”

I nodded, picking up a picture of Hugh from yet another company junket. I gazed over the table and located a Sharpie marker, then drew a mustache on him. I pondered bunny ears but decided the mustache was probably ridicule enough.

“There,” I said in satisfaction. Linda had returned to working on her own project, something that seemed to feature a lot of pictures of shoes.

I found the first empty page and placed the photo right in the middle. I glued it down, then grabbed a piece of light pink paper and a hole punch that cut out hearts. I made four hearts, then put a heart in each of the four squares of the picture. A piece of pink plaid ribbon was lying nearby—probably one of Caroline’s leftover hair ribbons—and I bordered the photo with it.

When I’d finished, Hugh looked ridiculous. It felt good to be vindictive, even if it was something only me and my friends would see. It felt good to be in charge.

I heard Linda laugh as she glanced over at my work. “You are sure putting the voodoo on him, chile,” she said in an exaggeratedly Cajun accent.

“If only it really worked,” I replied. “But it does make me feel better.”

“And that’s all that matters,” Linda said, patting my hand. It felt as if she were my grandmother, although my grandmother would never have worn couture. Or have been black, but the couture thing was probably more of a reach. My grandmother may have been black Irish, but there’s no way in hell she even knew who Coco Chanel was.

“Who’s ready for snacks?” Caroline said, holding a huge silver platter and smiling broadly. I looked at my watch, surprised to see it had been an hour already. Malicious swipes at the ex took longer than I thought.

I rose and followed Linda through the doorway to Caroline’s living room. Tamsin was already there, and she waved at me, patting the seat next to her on the couch. Linda turned to look at me and spread her hand out for me to precede her, dropping herself elegantly on the sofa beside me. She crossed her legs just so, and I wondered if the red patent-leather sandals winding their seductive way up her leg were Manolo Blahniks. I’d never seen any in person before. Did those shoes have the name printed on the sole like my fancy Kenneth Cole shoes did? I caught Linda’s eye and leaned back, embarrassed, before I could find out.

“How you been, lady?” Tamsin asked, touching me briefly on the arm. Our lunch together had mostly been her murmuring sympathy while I poured out my tale of woe into her and Caroline’s ears. Caroline had dreamt up some creative ways of getting back at Hugh, but unfortunately I wasn’t brave enough to try any of them. I did admire her innovative uses for honey, mousetraps, and staplers, though.

“Pretty good, thanks. Do you know each other?” I asked, gesturing between the two women. They nodded, sharing a look I didn’t understand.

“Linda’s my mother-in-law,” Tamsin explained. “I dragged her here today. This is only her second time.”

“Yeah, and I’m still not sure I’m not wasting my time, Tammy,” Linda said, drawling the words out a little.

Tamsin’s voice got a bit sharp. “Because otherwise what—you’d be shopping? You wouldn’t be spending time with your grandkids, that’s for sure.”

Ouch. I was stuck, literally, between the two of them. A rock and a hard place. And me the soft, squishy thing that hated conflict.

“Now, Tam, you know that’s not true,” Linda replied. “I was over there just last week. Is it my fault you don’t invite me more?”

Tamsin blew a heavy breath out from her lips. “I’ve told you. You don’t need an invitation to come see your grandchildren.”

Make them stop, make them stop, I chanted in my head. And then
I
stopped. Why did conflict always have to bother me so much? Why couldn’t I just let them snipe at each other the way they probably had dozens of times in the past?

Because I liked to make everything better. I liked it when people were happy, even if I wasn’t.

And that was the problem with me and Hugh. I was so busy trying to make him happy that I didn’t worry about my being happy. And since I wasn’t happy, and very resentful, I took it out on him. And, being a weak-willed sonofabitch, he bolted.

It was ironic that he’d had the strength of will to do that, and that I was thankful for it. If he hadn’t, we’d still be engaged in our dance of passive aggression: No, you lead. No, you lead. No, you.

It sucked. Our marriage sucked. It wasn’t based on anything besides the shared need to make Hugh happy. And that just wasn’t enough.

My thoughts must have shown on my face, because I realized suddenly that both women had stopped talking and were looking at me. I felt myself flush.

“Oh, sorry, did you say something?”

They both laughed. “Honey, you must’ve been thinking something pretty darn important to take your attention away from our bickering,” Linda said. She swatted me on the arm. “What was it? A new beau?” She leaned in closer and whispered, “A new pair of shoes?”

I heard Tamsin snicker, but not in a mean way. It seemed the ladies had their own regular dance, and it probably was not nearly as nasty as it sounded from the outside.

Dr. Lowell had said something once about repeating patterns, and how people got caught up in trying to make the same set of events result in a different ending. A Sisyphean task, she’d said. Looking at Tamsin and Linda, and thinking about my own interaction with Hugh, I finally got it.

The only way things were going to change was if
I
changed.

And I
was
changing.

The only question was, could I change my situation enough so that Aidan and I could survive?

The only answer was, I had to.

“Ha! This is tremendous!”
Dr. Lowell had the finished scrapbook on her lap and was flipping through the pages guffawing—actually guffawing!—at least every other page.

It was pretty neat. And funny. And clever. And rather nice to look at once you got past the black and the attitude and the goofy catchphrases.

Yeah, it was me. Entirely. Of course I knew that.

My mother had even chuckled a few times, although her mouth had pursed up when she’d seen what I’d done to a picture of me and Hugh on the beach. Who knew Wite-Out could be so effective?

Dr. Lowell closed the book and patted the cover. “I am so, so proud of you, Molly.” She gestured to the book on her lap. “You could never have done something like this three months ago, much less six.”

“Thanks.” I cleared my throat. “It was fun to do, actually. And I made some friends, too. Not people who’ll ever be as close as Keisha, but people I could call up to come over for coffee once in a while.”

She smiled at me. “And your tasks?”

I rolled my eyes. “I’ve done all kinds of things I would never do in a million years, including that,” I said, pointing to the scrapbook. “Not all of it was good, or worked out, but I did it.”

“Great.” She leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs at the ankles. “And how is your mother doing?”

Oh, Mr. Darcy
. “She’s fine. Aidan loves having her, and she’s proven surprisingly helpful. Fingers crossed, though, that my lawyer will find enough of Hugh’s money so I can help her. Neither one of us wants to live with the other any longer than necessary.”

Her mouth tightened. “I hope you take him for everything he’s got, Molly.” I was surprised at the sharpness in her voice. “He deserves that, for jeopardizing your, and Aidan’s, and your mother’s livelihoods.”

“He does, but I want him to be able to survive, too.” And I did; I didn’t think I could live with myself if I turned the tables on Hugh so thoroughly that he was the one pondering which type of bean to make for dinner. Aidan needed to have both parents relatively solvent; I just wanted some justice.

“And speaking of survival, I want to give you this.” I opened my purse and drew out my checkbook. I tore the written check out of it and handed it to her.

She looked surprised. “Are you sure you can afford this? I can wait. I know things are hard.”

I nodded and kept holding the check to her. “I can afford it. John paid me, and there are some more projects coming up. It’s not nearly what I owe you, but it’s a start.”

“Well, thank you.” She glanced at the clock. “Time’s up. Until next week, then.”

I got myself all put together without too much mishap and took the scrapbook from her, smiling to myself as I saw the cover. “Thank you. I couldn’t have done this without your encouragement.”

“You underestimate yourself, Molly.”

I snorted. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

But I knew, as I walked out of her office and down the hall to the elevator, she was right.

Hugh picked up Aidan early Saturday morning.
I was still so livid with him about Mom’s finances I barely spoke, even though he was making all kinds of puppy eyes at me. Wasn’t going to work, not anymore. Mom was acting all mysterious and headed out to visit a friend in the afternoon, leaving me alone in the house.

It was nice. I spent the day reading and drinking tea, not even changing out of my sweatpants. By the time I’d had dinner—a can of tomato soup and some stale Goldfish—I was ready for a bath. A good long soak followed by a glass of wine sounded perfect.

The phone rang just as I was about to get into the tub. I eyed the running water and the foaming bubbles for just a moment, then sighed and padded, naked, down the hallway to pick up the phone. Thank goodness there were no windows between the bathroom and the phone, or the neighbors would’ve been scarred for life.

“Hello?”

“Molly, I’m glad you’re home.” It was Lissa, her voice almost returned to its normal perky tone. I was so relieved to hear it I sat down. The hard wooden chair on my bare ass reminded me of my state of undress.

“What’s up, hon?” I asked, rising gingerly from my seat. I eyed the other chairs, then shrugged and sat down on the rug. Promptly sitting on a Lego. Ouch, shows me for being a slovenly housekeeper.

“Well, um, I was wondering . . .” It sounded like she held her hand over the phone and mumbled something, then came back. “I want you to come into the city tonight. I need to see you. You’re free, right? I mean, Aidan is with Hugh, right?”

“Yeah,” I replied slowly, reluctant to give up on the idea of a Night at Home with Just Molly. “Why? Is there more stuff with Tony?”

She exhaled loudly. “Yes. Yes, there is. So come in, meet me in the East Village at the bookstore there. You know, the one that doesn’t carry any of your sort of books?” She chuckled as she said the last part. I figured she must be recovering well. That, or she had gone insane.

“Okay. I was going to take a bath, but I can—”

“There’s no time for that!” Now Lissa’s tone was undeniably urgent. “Just come in. Now. I’ll see you in an hour. And look nice.” She hung up without letting me say anything. I glared at the phone for a minute, then retrieved my bathrobe from the bathroom. There were windows on the way to my bedroom.

Look nice? What the hell? Guess that meant the sweatpants were out.

I pulled on a pair of black pants, a black sweater, and wrapped a gauzy green scarf around my neck. “Look nice” might also mean “try not to look old and pale,” so I threw some makeup on. I was out the door in twenty minutes, wondering what the hell was so important.

Once I got off the subway at Second Avenue, I strode up the street, smiling to myself as I passed the plethora of downtown chic stores. There was a time I would’ve oohed and aahed over the clothes in the window, and I probably would have bought a few of them. Time, circumstance, and Hugh’s inability to hold a job had changed all that.