Wellesley Wives (New England Trilogy) (20 page)

Should she get a full wax job down under? Would it be obvious she’d had a baby? Oh God, this was a bad idea. Her boobs would be droopy compared to the young women in the photos. Babies and breastfeeding did that to you. Before Natasha her body was fine, but a lot had changed.

If somebody had told her that within a few years she would be considering going on a swingers’ vacation with her husband, Rosie would have laughed. She was a one-guy-gal and vice-versa. The problem was that it seemed he wanted a different “one-gal” every day. At least he’d had the decency to discuss it with her so they could do something about it together. This wasn’t half as bad as Lily and Jack.

Lily had been so two-faced and Jack a total jerk—the lowest of the low. Compared to Jack, Marcus was a prince. Honorable and honest. He just had a voracious sexual appetite. She would have to learn how to live with it, or else she might find herself in the same position as poor Sandra. Yes, she decided, things could be a lot worse. A whole lot worse.

Marcus walked in. “Hey, there you are, babe. I wondered where you’d gone to.” It was impossible to miss the photographs of frolicking and scantily clad couples on her computer screen.

“Whoa.” He was on it in an instant. “This looks great, doesn’t it? Broader Horizons,” he said. “Mmm, I like the sound of that.”

Rosie didn’t answer. He knew she was reluctant. She’d made it clear enough.

“Come on, it’ll be wild,” he said. “We’re in this together. The only reason you’re not into it is because you’re too repressed. You were the ultimate party girl when we first met. Where’s the wild child gone?”

She wanted to say that the “wild child” had dilated to ten centimeters and breastfed for ten months and now she was a Yummy Mommy, but Marcus didn’t want to hear that. He wanted a vixen. She smiled weakly.

“I’ll help you find the old you,” he said as he took over the keyboard and moved around the website with a lot more confidence than she had. Marcus was enthused and laughed out loud. “Playroom.” Without much delay, he headed straight for the booking option. There was a discount rate available for mid-February.

“You’re talking about Valentine’s Day? That’s supposed to be a time for us,” Rosie said.

“This is for us,” Marcus said.

She didn’t argue.

“So, can I book this?”

“No. I have to check the dates out with Mom first. What if she’s not free to take care of Natasha?”

“She said any time was good.”

“Yes, but what about Dad? Marcus, we can’t rush them. Let me ask her if the dates are okay, and then we can make a decision.” This was only half-true. The other half was that she was still trying to come to terms with the notion they were really going to do this.

“Well, the dates are good for me and the price is great. So if she’s okay to take care of Natasha for that week, we’re all systems go. Right?”

Against her better judgment, Rosie agreed.

She was relieved to go into their normal playroom and watch the mind-numbing entertainment of
Scooby Doo!
There was something reassuring about that cowardly dog, and Natasha loved cuddling up to her on the sofa. She’d often told Rosie that she liked television, but she liked it much better when mommy watched it with her.

Her daughter gave her such pleasure. It was so fulfilling to be loved unconditionally. As far as Nat was concerned, Rosie was perfect. “You’re the most beautiful Mommy in the world,” Natasha had told her earlier. “I think you’re a queen.” With praise like that, how could she not feel wonderful?

Marcus, however, wasn’t so happy. He was always trying to change her. “Where’s the girl I married?” he would say. She laughed at him but knew he was right. She’d changed so much. Rosie had been a party girl when she was a flight attendant. She and Marcus had whooped it up all over the world. They were platinum members of the mile-high club. They’d even had sex in the cockpit of a jumbo jet halfway across the Atlantic while three-hundred unsuspecting passengers watched
Casino Royale
while eating chicken or beef.

The difference for Rosie was she’d “been there, done that,” and she’d well and truly finished with that phase. Marcus still wanted to live that high life. There was no question they were on different flight paths. She was the one who’d changed, so it wasn’t fair to blame him. He hadn’t fallen in love with a homely, mommy type. Marcus had loved her because she was up for anything, anywhere, anytime. Thinking back, she knew they’d been good times. Very good.

Perhaps Rosie needed to rediscover her fun side. Surely at twenty-eight, it was a little early to be hanging up the stilettos in exchange for furry slippers. She was turning twenty-nine in January. Life was flying by. If ever she was going to do something as wild and crazy as this, it should be now. Maybe an alternative vacation wasn’t such a bad idea. Nobody would know, and it would certainly put the spark back in their relationship—maybe even an inferno.

She smiled. What was she so scared of? It was terrific motivation to lose the couple of pounds she’d put on. Many women would jump at the chance to sleep with someone other than the one they were chained to in wedlock. If it all went south, well, they’d just come home and chalk it up to experience. Marcus was right. Life was for living. They’d been dead for long enough. She jumped off the sofa, upsetting Natasha’s snuggle.

“Sorry, angel. Mommy just needs a quick word with Daddy. I’ll be right back.” She nodded begrudgingly.

Marcus was easy to find because he was still in the study checking out the various swinging resorts. He spun around when she entered the room.

“You know what? You’re right. I don’t know what I’m scared of. Let’s just do it,” she said.

“You’re kidding.”

She shook her head. “No, I’m not. Book it. Mom said she was happy to take Natasha any time, so let’s just go. By the way, she thinks it’s a golfing vacation, so let’s keep it that way, all right?”

Marcus smiled like
Scooby Doo!
“Wild child is back in the house,” he announced as he logged back into the vacation booking page. “And I’ll pack my seven iron!”

“Marcus!” She laughed and went to stand over him. “I’m going for a run. I’m going to run every day between now and then, so I’m in good enough shape.”

Marcus looked up. “Babe, I think you’re perfect just the way you are.”

She headed out of the study. “Thanks, sweetheart, but you’re not the one I’ll be trying to impress.”

Chapter 17 

Popsy & Peter

By Wednesday, Popsy was hoping to see some real improvement in Peter. These were difficult times, what with the business being up in the air and the situation with Lily. She thought her younger daughter would’ve at least tried to make contact by now, but part of her was relieved she hadn’t. Popsy was still furious with her. Bad enough she wanted to shack up with a much older man, but why did it have to be Jack? Of all the middle-aged, lonely old souls in America, she had to pick a married one—and Peter’s business partner. She still couldn’t fathom it and had no real desire to dwell on it, either.

    Peter was always able to temper her moods. She needed him home. Thankfully, the doctors had seen nothing troubling in his tests the day before, so it looked as if his heart attack was due to the stress build up at work and compounded by Lily’s little bombshell.

Popsy had resolved to get Peter away from everything. The idea of the castaway shack on a tropical island was still strong in her mind. She’d even picked up a CD in the supermarket the day before. It would be the soundtrack for her new car, and it was called “Tropical Island Rhythm.” She’d expected the likes of Bob Marley and Shaggy. Instead it was instrumental, all pretty bland, but what else could she expect for three bucks? And it was still better than listening to the depressing newscasters talking about the economic downturn and double dips.

When she drove to the hospital, she switched it on to get that summer feeling. The sound of steel drums and calypso filled the car and helped transport her to another world. Living in some remote location that didn’t have internet access sounded like bliss. She would go barefoot most of the time and get a deep tan. The only stress on Peter’s heart would be when he was making love to her in their hammock bed.

The reggae music flowed as Popsy glided her Ferrari into the gas station. The young guy who came out was obviously delighted to be filling up such a beautiful car. She slid her window down.

“Premium, I’m guessing,” he said, pointing to the most expensive gas available. She nodded and got out of the car. “Fill it up, please. I’ll pay inside, I want to get some things in there, too.”

Popsy wandered into the gas station and headed straight for the magazine stand. She’d decided to get a few for Peter to cheer him up, but then a travel magazine caught her eye. The cover was a picture of alabaster sand being lapped by exquisite aquamarine water. Her CD—bad though it was—had definitely put her in a calypso frame of mind. She picked it up. It put Rosie’s holiday plans into her mind. Lucky girl! She had phoned the night before to confirm the dates. Mid-February was fine by Popsy, but she’d have been happy to do it sooner. She was dying to spoil her granddaughter rotten by letting her stay up late to watch Disney movies and taking her into Boston to buy her the most exquisite little outfits. It was like being the mom of a toddler again. They were the best years of motherhood, even with the sleepless nights and childhood illnesses. At the time, it had seemed so frantic with the constant need for new clothes as her daughters had grown so fast. Little children, little problems, big children, big problems, she thought, bringing it back to Lily.

Popsy forced the thought out of her head and focused on Natasha again. An entire week was just the right amount of time. Of course, if she had any pressing engagements, Matilda could take her for a few hours. She wondered if Peter would still be at home recuperating. Was there even a job for him to go back to? He wasn’t going to work with Jack any time soon. Maybe he’d retire. Maybe she’d make him. Popsy noticed the attendant had finished filling her car. With her magazines in hand, she went to pay for everything. Popsy handed over her credit card and wondered which island in the Caribbean would suit them best. There were so many: Grand Cayman, St. Barts, St. Lucia.

“Your card’s been declined,” the young man said, interrupting her daydreams just as she got to the Dominican Republic.

“Oh!” Popsy grimaced. “So sorry. Damn thing’s been giving me trouble. Here, try this.” She handed him another card.

“Declined,” he said a moment later, his smile gone. Rather sheepishly, Popsy pulled out another two cards. They were turned down, too.

“Look, I’m really sorry. I have no idea what’s going on,” she lied. “Do you have an ATM? How much do I owe you? Forget about the magazines for now. If I just pay for the gas, how much is it?”

“Sixty bucks. There’s an ATM at the back, just past the coffeemaker.”

She nodded. It’s more than a coffee I need now, she thought as she tried to look calm and walked over to the ATM. How could she possibly have forgotten about the card? She was so distracted with Peter’s turn and the girls’ that it just skipped her mind. Very silly of her, she thought.

Could their accounts be in trouble already? Sandra had been certain that it would take weeks, or even months. Popsy believed her, but all of her cards had been declined, and the cash machine was just as uncooperative.

She wasn’t sure what to do, so she loitered at the cash dispenser while the few people at the counter paid for their things and left. Then she walked up to the cashier. She’d been in here a million times and even half-recognized the guy.

“I’m afraid I have a bit of a problem,” she started uncertainly.

He gave her a response that he’d doubtless trotted out a few times before. “Can you leave the car here and go home to get some cash?”

It was too far to walk, but Popsy wasn’t even sure if she had any cash about the house. She kicked herself now. Why didn’t she keep a small stash in case of emergencies? She used to keep a fifty under the cookie jar when the girls were younger, but now there didn’t seem any need. There were always nearby cash machines and everybody, even taxi drivers, took plastic these days. “No,” she replied. “You see, I’m on my way to the hospital. My husband’s had a heart attack and now something’s happened to our accounts. Can I leave you my name and address? You know I’m good for it.” She tried to sound confident and was pretty sure he would know her from coming in since forever, not that they’d ever acknowledged such a fact.

“Problem is, I’m not the boss. I don’t have the authority to tell you it’s okay.”

Popsy looked around. “Well, where is he?”

“At lunch.”

“At ten thirty in the morning?” she said without thinking. Maybe not the smartest thing to say.

The guy glared at her. “He started at five.”

Popsy felt beaten.

“I have an idea,” he said with a grin. Instinct told Popsy that she wasn’t going to like what he was about to say, but she was open to anything. “Hold on a second, honey.” He winked at her as another customer paid for their gas and left. Popsy hated the way he called her “honey.”

“Okay, how much cash to you actually have on you?” he asked her.

Popsy had no choice but to come clean. “Only a few bucks.”

“I’ll give you the cash,” he said.

She looked at him through narrowed eyes. He was not to be trusted. She knew there was more to come. “Go on,” she said.

“For a fee,” he said.

“Keep talking.”

It was clear that he was enjoying his power trip. She desperately wanted to just leave but knew that he could call the police if she did. Plus, it wouldn’t be that easy to hide a red Ferrari, even in Wellesley where there were quite a few of them.

He took out his wallet. “Let’s see now.” He examined the contents. “Let’s say I give you, oh, one hundred bucks. You can pay for your gas and maybe get yourself lunch, too. Then you come back here tomorrow and give it back to me. With a little interest, of course.”