Wellesley Wives (New England Trilogy) (4 page)

“Well, if you think sleeping around is living,” Lily put her fingers up as if to put quotation marks around the word
living
, “I feel very sorry for you. That makes you no better than the dogs in the street. I would have thought your level of engagement with your husband was slightly more advanced than that. Then again, I suppose dogs don’t have pre-nups,” Lily added angrily.

Both women fell silent. That had been a low-blow on Lily’s part and it hurt Rosie. Her father had insisted Marcus sign a prenuptial agreement to protect her wealth. It always made Rosie feel guilty to think about it. She thought it had demeaned Marcus in some way, and she knew that he felt it, too.

Lily was the first to apologize. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have mentioned the pre-nup.”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” Rosie snarled. “Look, just forget it. What Marcus and I do in our spare time is our business.”

Lily raised her hand. “Actually, you’re right about one thing, it is your business, and only your business. And to be honest, I want no part in it. I cannot express to you what a mistake I think you’re making. And to show how much I object, I’m withdrawing my offer to watch Natasha.”

“What?” Rosie looked at her sister open-mouthed. “You can’t be serious!”

The girls locked eyes. Lily was fiercer than Rosie had ever seen her. “I’m deadly serious. You and Marcus are obviously having a bit of a rough patch, but if you go down this road, you’ll do untold damage to your apparently already fragile marriage. I am in no way helping you to self-destruct. I’m sorry, but as far as I’m concerned, wherever you go on vacation, Natasha is going with you.”

Rosie was speechless as Lily rose from the table, rummaged in her purse, and threw down a twenty-dollar bill. “I’d also rather pay for my own lunch, thanks,” she said and swept out of the restaurant.

As she exited, the waitress arrived. “Here you are, ma’am. Your large black.”

Rosie’s mood plummeted as she realized it really was her job to phone her little sister and apologize. It was pretty clear that Lily had said nothing to their mom about the fight, but even so, Rosie was going to have to make peace between them. Worse than that, by fighting with Lily, she’d lost her babysitter. As a last resort, she’d hoped to ask her mother, but Popsy had been in a rush this morning and it wasn’t the time to ask for such a big favor.

One thing Rosie was certain of, she had to get away with Marcus soon. And it would have to be to one of those swinging clubs because he more or less told her that she could come if she wanted, but he was definitely going. If she didn’t tag along, she was going to lose him after only four years of marriage. The idea of that was worse than any wild getaway could be.

Naturally, Rosie was worried about going on a vacation where it was just a big orgy, but other people swore by them. She’d watched some late-night shows on what they called “the lifestyle,” and all the couples seemed perfectly happy with the arrangement. She would just have to ignore Lily’s conservative attitude and embrace this new experience with her husband.

Chapter 3 

Sandra, the Friend

“Happy birthday, gorgeous,” Sandra gushed as she climbed into the passenger seat of Popsy’s car. “You know, I really should be driving. It’s your birthday. You should be able to have a drink or three.”

    “Relax.” Popsy smiled at her old friend. “It’s going to be a long day, and I’m going out later with Peter. Besides, I’ll allow myself a glass or two to celebrate.”

“So,” Sandra squeezed her friend’s leg, “how does it feel to be fifty?”

Popsy groaned as she pulled her car out into traffic. “You know I can’t believe I am. I mean, I actually feel the same as I ever did. To be honest, I think I’m still in my late thirties or even my early forties, but fifty? God, where did the time go?”

“I know. It’s unbelievable, right? I’m forty-five. I mean,
forty-five
!”

Popsy made a grunting sound. “Sandra, where I’m standing, forty-five looks real attractive. Just keep doing those tummy crunches and running those marathons.”

“You know it. Actually, I think I need to up my game,” Sandra added, sounding gloomy for a moment.

Popsy noticed and changed the subject. “How’s Jack? Working twenty-four-seven, I assume?” Jack was Sandra’s husband and Peter’s business partner.

“Yep. Don’t they always?” Sandra had slipped back into her happy mode. “How do they keep going? I mean, when is it ever enough?”

Popsy smiled surreptitiously. She remembered having the very same conversation with Jack’s first wife some twenty years earlier. Peter may have been a workaholic, but Jack worked even harder.

Jack’s first wife, Olga, couldn’t stand it. She’d given up competing with his business empire and had walked out with their three little girls almost two decades earlier. Jack managed to find the time to acquire another wife, but he didn’t want any more kids and Sandra had bent to his will.

Sandra was a decade younger than Jack, and as a newcomer to their social circle, she’d been star struck by their lavish lifestyle, wealth, and general comfort. She would have agreed to anything just to become the second Mrs. Hoffman. Though Popsy reckoned that she’d paid a very high price for her level of wealth.

Sure, she got the title of being wife, but without the kids. Life was very lonely because Popsy knew how much Jack was away. During the first years of their marriage, Sandra had tried to travel with him, but she was always left behind in a strange hotel room for the duration of their visit. The novelty of travel soon wore off.

So Sandra took up running. She ran and ran and then ran some more.

Jack and Sandra had been married for about thirteen years now, and Popsy considered them as settled as her and Peter.

“Tell me about today’s party. Who is Jenny having, and what are we supporting again?” Sandra asked.

Popsy laughed. Sandra was always upbeat and a powerhouse of energy, but she was definitely a little scatterbrained.

“It’s for The Children’s Hospital in Boston. Remember? Tell me you’ve brought your checkbook.”

“Naturally.” She tapped her Chanel handbag. “I knew it was a fundraiser, I just couldn’t remember which fund we were raising.”

“I know that feeling. Isn’t it getting a little crazy? There seems to be so many of these lunches at the moment.”

“Well, we don’t have to go to all of them, girl,” Sandra said.

Both ladies fell into companionable silence and let the New England countryside unfold around them. Already fifteen miles outside Boston, Wellesley was not too thickly settled. Well-kept clapboard houses lined the perfectly tended streets in a nice, tidy, spacious order. But moving out toward Marlborough, using the back roads as Popsy did, the countryside became less populated, and there were even fields with cattle and orchards.

The New England fall never failed to impress. With literally millions of deciduous trees, the color explosion was like nowhere else on the planet. Locals called it the “crimson tide.” The green leaves of summer gave way to deeper shades of red, and the wave of change slowly swept over the land from north to south. Every year it was different because the depth and range of colors depended on how many inches of rain the trees got in the spring, how much sun in the summer, and how cold it was in autumn.

Whatever the combination of factors, there was simply nowhere as beautiful as the Northeast in the fall. Fiery oranges clashed with brighter yellows, while mad magentas fought with the deepest burgundy. The combination was invigorating and was almost always set off against a clear and astonishing azure sky. The result pulled in the tourists, or “leaf peepers” as they were known, by the millions.

Sandra, it seemed was also drinking in the autumn colors. She sighed in contentment. “I love this country.”

Popsy said, “I hope the winter’s not too cold.”

“Why? It’s a great excuse to pull out the furs, darling,” Sandra said. “Maybe it’s even time to buy a new mink.” She looked at Popsy. “And we all know how ladies get minks . . .”

Popsy and Sandra chorused the answer together. “The same way minks get minks!”

They laughed at the old joke, and Popsy glanced sideways at her friend. “Sandra, you are wicked.”

“Me?” She pretended to look affronted. “I think you mean
us
, dear. And, yes, we are wicked.” There was a house decorated for Halloween with a life-size witch sitting on its front doorstep. “We are the wicked wives of Wellesley,” she said with a witch’s cackle.

“Wicked but wonderful,” Popsy replied in a more refined tone.

“Perhaps.” Sandra looked pensive for a moment, but equally quick, she snapped back to reality. “We are due a visit to the fur vault in Bloomingdales. I love that place, and anyway, I assume you’ll spend a lot of time in Florida when the snow arrives.”

Popsy nodded. “I like to get away from the cold. I love autumn—the crispness, the colors, the cycle of life and all that. I wouldn’t even mind the winter if it snowed less.”

Sandra shook her head. “Oh no. The snow isn’t the problem. It’s cleared away so fast. It’s the dark nights I hate. The clocks go back next week, and it’ll be getting dark by lunchtime. It’s terrible.”

“It’s not that bad.” Popsy laughed. “It gets dark at tea time, perhaps five or six o’clock but no earlier. Think of those lovely log fires and romantic candlelit dinners you can have with Jack.”

“Yeah, right.” She examined her new French manicure. “The last time I had a log fire evening with my husband was . . . was . . . I don’t remember.”

“I don’t believe it.” Popsy reached over and nudged her friend’s knee. “Don’t tell me the wild flames of passion are subsiding after all these years.”

It was an ongoing joke that Sandra and Jack appeared to have the most passionate marriage that either woman knew, so Popsy was surprised.

“Snuffed out, more like. Poof.” She clapped her hands together.

Popsy now understood the seriousness of this conversation. “Sandra, what are you saying? You and Jack aren’t in trouble, are you? God, you’re the best thing that ever happened to him.”

Sandra gave a watery smile. “Maybe I’m getting too old for him,” she whispered.

“Old?” Popsy shrieked. “How could you be too old? First, you’re five years younger than I am, so what does that say about Peter and me? And second, what makes you think Jack would even want someone younger? He wouldn’t have the energy.”

Sandra wasn’t convinced. “We had a bit of a fight last night. He said I was like an old woman,” she admitted while studying her Manolos.

“I’ll kill him,” Popsy said through gritted teeth as she redirected her attention to the road. “Why did he say something so stupid? You have the figure of an eighteen-year-old, you’re gorgeous and, anyway, he’s never there.”

“I was a little weepy. I don’t know if you remember my friend Katie Meyers? I think I told you about her IVF treatment. Anyway, she just gave birth to beautiful twin girls. I saw them last week, and I guess something inside me just melted. Oh, Popsy, Katie is forty-five and she managed to squeeze two babies out. I felt like this was my last chance, so I brought it up with Jack.”

Popsy pulled the car over to the side of the road. Some things were more important than lunch. She undid her seatbelt and hugged her friend. Words weren’t necessary.

After a while, Sandra continued. “I know I said I wouldn’t push him for children. I know I agreed that his days of babies were over, but I didn’t understand what I was agreeing to.” Sandra wept into her friend’s hair. “Is it so awful to want a baby? Is it so terrible to need what nature intended? It’s not like we don’t have the money. I could get all the help we’d need, so it wouldn’t affect Jack’s life too much. Besides, he’s out of the house so much maybe it wouldn’t impact him at all.”

Popsy didn’t agree. A child would turn their world upside down, but she wasn’t going to argue now. What Sandra needed was a shoulder to cry on and someone to listen.

“I’ve tried to ignore my feelings. I’ve tried to suppress them and tell myself that I’m being selfish. Jack’s daughters are grown, and he doesn’t want any more. That’s his prerogative. He told me that from the word go. I didn’t mean to do a U-turn, but it just happened. What am I going to do?”

Popsy looked at her miserable friend. This time she really was looking for advice. What possible options could she offer that would solve this conundrum? She shrugged. “What are your choices? I mean, if Jack doesn’t want kids, how can you bring one into his life?”

“I could leave him,” she whispered, studying her hands.

“What?” Popsy thought she was hearing things. She stared incredulously at her old friend. “You would consider taking it that far?”

This time it was Sandra’s turn to shrug. “Well, he’s never home. It’s not like I have a full and loving life with him, and he won’t give me the only thing I really want—no, I really
need
. That’s not a good place to stay, is it?”

Popsy’s mind was whirling. In this short conversation, Sandra had gone from contented society wife to dejected, disillusioned, possible divorcee.

“That was fast.” She didn’t mean to say what she was thinking. It just slipped out.

“What?” Sandra gave Popsy a sharp look.

“Sorry, Sandy. It’s just that a few minutes ago you were talking about upping your game. I thought you wanted to get into even better shape—if that’s possible—for Jack’s sake.”

“I never said it was for him.” Sandra gave her a naughty grin. It looked like she was cheering up. “Getting into better shape is for me, if I’m going to get pregnant.”

“So, you’re going ahead with getting pregnant, even against his wishes.”

Perhaps she was uncomfortable with Popsy’s interrogation because Sandra pulled the sun visor down to examine her reflection in the little mirror.

“Popsy, I don’t know what I’m going to do. All I know is that this life isn’t a dress rehearsal, and I’m not going to sit around like some idiot and live a life I may look back on and regret.”

“Now that I get.” Popsy put her hands back on the steering wheel.

“So I’m going to do whatever’s right for me—um, as soon as I figure out what that is.” Sandra glanced at Popsy and half-smirked again. Then they laughed the relieved kind of laughter that follows a teary session.