The best part about committing would be that it would buy him almost two years to get out of it—plenty of time to win his parents over. Maybe Brynnie would help him. She had passed on Brown. Elle and Win had survived. They would be okay with it.
Four felt better. He smiled back at his dad. That was a money plan. Even better, all the thinking about the Naval Academy had taken care of his hard-on.
Four nodded his head toward Brynnie in thanks for the heads up that their dad was looking at them. It was a legit move. She was probably a dyke—but whatever, he didn’t care. Maybe she would hook up with a betty. That would be something.
Four wished he could see more of Tabby’s boobs. No, he shouldn’t think about her anymore. There would be no privacy on the plane, no place where he could rub one out. Four lifted the front legs of his chair, and leaned back. He hoped the press conference wouldn’t drag on forever. He couldn’t wait to get back home. Back to lacrosse. Back to the parties. Back to his friends. Back to Tabby.
Chapter Forty-Four
Lady Gaga: “Born This Way”
June 6, 2017
1:55 p.m.
Brynnie
Brynnie slowly turned her head from side to side as she considered “Blondie.” The name offended her—it implied blonde hair was somehow superior and should be celebrated. It was 2017, for Christ’s sake! It would piss her off even more if she weren’t enjoying such a killer high. Four’s contraband chocolate bars must have been made with synthetic weed—she’d only eaten two squares and was stoned out of her mind.
Brynnie had been shocked when her brother told her about bringing the edibles on the plane with him. It certainly explained why he ran off and hid in the bathroom when the security officer boarded the plane. What a complete dumbass! She enjoyed pot as much as the next person but, seriously, had he not thought through what would have happened if he had been caught? Idiot.
But as Four pointed out, he hadn’t been caught, so after scolding him on his stupidity, she had agreed to imbibe with him. Going to Tokyo Disneyland high would be a blast, and there was no point in wasting what he had. Besides, Brynnie wanted the chance to bond with her brother. She had decided it was her responsibility to make Four a better person. She would teach him to see outside of his box of white privilege and entitlement.
Brynnie laughed thinking about how surprised her brother had been to learn she had gotten high before. He was such a simple person. Maybe it explained why her parents, especially her mom, always seemed to give him a pass. But that was okay, Four was going to be her next project and Brynnie never failed.
She considered Blondie again. The robot did look like her mom, there was no denying it. Too much so to be entirely coincidental—or was it the THC creating irrational thoughts? No, there was more to all this. Brynnie was sure of it.
Her mom had been so shocked to see Akimoto. She had tried to mask her surprise, but something was up. Elle was impeccable in social situations; she could talk to anyone. But not Akimoto. She had seemed uncomfortable around him all night—she hadn’t even touched her dinner.
What was the story there? Had the two of them dated? It wouldn’t be surprising. Tak carried himself in the same confident manner of her dad, and Brynnie guessed her mom was attracted to all that hyper alpha-male energy. She would ask more about it later, when she could be alone with her mom. Elle would be honest with her. Over the course of the trip, Brynnie and her mom had regained their connection. Things between them were back to the way they were before—easy, trusting.
In her mellow THC-induced state, Brynnie admitted she had been hard on her mom, and it hadn’t been entirely fair. After all, Elle was a good mom. She really was. It was just so frustrating that she got caught up in all the bullshit of her stupid-ass society friends. Brynnie couldn’t stand any of them—a group of vacuous, anorexic blondes prancing around in their tennis outfits, proudly announcing to everyone their utterly useless existences. “I have nothing better to do than play tennis.”
Aubrey was the worst. The type of woman who would relate most to the character of Amy in Little Women. Oh, but that’s right, Aubrey didn’t read—she didn’t have time. WTF? What kind of person thinks not reading is an attribute? And busy? Doing what? Fixing imagined problems and creating drama where there was none because she had nothing better to do?
Aubrey didn’t have a clue. There were problems in the world, many of them to be sure, but not a single one involved women who relied on spouses with seven-figure salaries to bankroll their meaningless lives.
There was so much important work to be done, so many ways these women could be making a difference. Instead, they poured all their time and energy into ensuring their children would be admired by others. It was the highest form of narcissism—their children were reflections of themselves, so it mattered what they wore, where they went to camp, what grades they got, and where they went to college. Country Day moms toted their children around like they were nothing more than expensive accessories to show off.
It was disgusting. At least Elle allowed Brynnie to make her own decisions, albeit at times begrudgingly. Still, she couldn’t understand why it was so important for her mom to have the Country Day crowd’s approval.
Her mom was better than that. She had a master’s degree in social work. She was smart. Empathetic. She cared. Brynnie understood all of this and had even called her mom out on it, asking her if she was happy, if she was living a fulfilled life.
Maybe it had been unkind, but it had to be done. To a certain extent, Brynnie thought it had been effective. Her mom had been a different person on this trip, away from all the Country Day tennis moms. She was more relaxed and easy-going. She was even eating like a normal person. Yesterday, she had mentioned going back to work. This pleased Brynnie. She would even forgive her mom the fillers she had recently gotten. It was an incredibly vain thing to do, but at least she had done it sparingly.
Brynnie saw her dad smiling at her from up on the dais. She elbowed Four as a warning to stop texting and pay attention. Doing so, she noticed a bulge in his pants. Seriously? So fucking gross. He must have gotten a picture from Tabby.
Men and their penises were so elementary. Women and their sexuality were so much softer and waaay more intriguing. You had to work for it. Brynnie thought about the conversation she had had with her mom a few days before regarding her own sexual preferences. She wasn’t surprised it had come up. Her parents would have to be idiots not to wonder.
Brynnie had been honest with her mom, for the most part. She didn’t consider herself a lesbian. Not really. Brynnie believed all humans had both feminine and masculine sides. She recognized both these parts of her being and was open to experiences honoring each of them. She sought not male or female, but human experiences—intimacy didn’t have boundaries. It could be with a man, or a woman, or both at the same time. Who cared? Attraction was too complicated a thing to be explained and given a label. Gay? Straight? Bi? Her sexuality couldn’t and shouldn’t be defined.
No matter how evolved her mom thought she was—“my best friend was gay. It doesn’t matter to me”—she still wouldn’t be able to completely understand Brynnie’s perspective. Besides, the look of relief on her face when Brynnie told her she wasn’t a lesbian had said it all. No, Elle wasn’t ready for the truth. And Win? Forget it. He’d want to understand and he’d try, but as much as her dad was at the forefront of innovation in the technology realm, at his core he was still irrevocably tethered to his middle-class, middle-America upbringing. He couldn’t possibly understand the idea of accessing his feminine side.
As supportive and progressive as her parents were and strived to be, they were still products of their stilted generation. They just wouldn’t get it.
Brynnie had been right not to try to explain herself more. It would only bring up additional questions. It needed to wait. More pressing was how she was going to explain her decision to defer her admission to Reed for a year. Brynnie didn’t want to go to college yet. She had t
he opportunity to work at an all-girls school in Liberia. It seemed so much more fulfilling.
How to tell her mom and dad? It would need to be explained in precisely the right way. Brynnie was skilled at manipulating her parents. She could easily come up with an effective explanation, one they wouldn’t protest, but she didn’t want to think about it now. This had been such a good trip. This was such a fresh high. Brynnie didn’t want to ruin it.
Yes, she had been hard on her mom but, today, Brynnie was proud of her. This was Elle Martin’s moment to shine. To show everyone she was more than the spouse of Win Martin, CEO of Martin Global Industries. She was intelligent, and articulate, and engaged. Her mom deserved this moment, and Brynnie would support her wholeheartedly.
Chapter Forty-Five
Florence + the Machine: “Shake it Out”
June 6, 2017
1:55 p.m.
Elle was alone in the dressing room. Kenji had left, quiet in defeat. She looked in the mirror. With her hair in a perfectly coiffed French twist and in her pearl earrings and subdued makeup, she looked the part she was supposed to play: elegant wife of important man.
Was this how the wives of her clients from the Big YAC had looked?
There was a gentle rapping on the door. It was one of Tak’s assistants. “Mrs. Martin, we’re ready for you.”
Elle stood and straightened her jacket. She had chosen a watermelon Chanel suit for the occasion. With its Peter Pan collar, three-quarter-length sleeves, large buttons, and knee-length skirt, it was very Jackie O. Despite being made of the finest material, the suit was scratchy and a little snug. Elle had been eating so freely, she must have gained weight on the trip.
She looked in the mirror again, turning to consider her backside. Even though the skirt was stretched tightly across her bum, there wasn’t a panty line to be seen. The hotel concierge had been delighted to fulfill Elle’s last-minute request for a pair of red thong underwear. She hadn’t worn a G-string in so long it felt unfamiliar, but it was worth it. Elle gave herself one final look-over and took a deep breath in preparation for the cameras which would be waiting outside the dressing room door.
Elle walked out with as big a smile as she could muster. The camera lights were bright on her face—glaring and hot. Beads of sweat developed under her arms and around her neck. She wished Win could be there to greet her. Seeing him would steady her, but Tak had insisted she enter the conference room alone. It seemed pointless, but she couldn’t argue. Elle tried to ignore the heat and smiled wider as she followed Tak’s assistant into the conference room.
The room was full, more crowded than Elle expected. A red banner with BLONDIE in bold white letters hung on the wall. The U2 song “Beautiful Day” was playing in the background.
Bono’s voice sounded like that of an angel and was reassuring. While Elle now understood that it had been a mistake to place blind faith in music, she would never deny its role in connecting her to what really mattered—a truth larger and more wonderful than she could have ever imagined.
She searched for Win and saw him standing up ahead of her on a dais next to Tak and Tiffany. He looked as handsome as ever. Tall, masculine, and safe.
As the crowd politely applauded her entrance, Elle walked up to the dais. She allowed herself to glance at Tak for a moment. He smiled back at her. If he was at all nervous about what she was going to say, he didn’t show it. It was so Japanese of him—stoic until the bitter end.
Win approached and led Elle to the podium, lovingly placing an arm around her shoulder. She turned and looked at him, holding his gaze for several seconds more than was usual. His eyes conveyed warmth, love, and absolute confidence in her. He gave her a playful wink before returning to his place next to Tak and Tiffany.
Win loved her. He did. And Elle loved him. He was a good husband, a good father, a good man. The best kind of man—she had known it from the moment they first met. This trip had shown her that their marriage could work.
Will it survive this?
Elle adjusted her suit jacket and again felt hot. She worried her cheeks were burning red. Camera lights seemed to be everywhere, making it difficult to see. She looked to the front row and her children.
Four offered a sweet, unaffected smile. He was so handsome, so charming. Elle understood his eternal optimism; everything would be easy for him. Four was the type of guy who rolled into Millionaire Acres ahead of everyone else in The Game of Life, his car game piece effortlessly filled with a gorgeous wife and beach-kissed-tan kids, having picked up a prestigious job and a portfolio of profitable investments along the way. Isn’t this what she had wanted, what she had hoped for him?
Elle spotted Four’s iPhone surreptitiously hidden in his hand under his navy Brooks Brothers sport coat. He had probably been playing a video game or texting Tabby and would likely start again the minute she began to speak. Yes, Four could be shallow and immature, but there was still time. She could teach him to be a better person, to make a difference.
Will he listen?
Elle next focused her attention on Brynnie. As she had with Win, Elle held her daughter’s gaze a few extra beats. Brynnie had ignored Ainsley’s suggestion that she wear an emerald green sheath dress—“That color with your hair? Perfection.” Instead, she looked somewhat like a wandering gypsy in a brightly patterned flowing skirt and peasant blouse, with a large scarf around her neck.
Elle was impressed with her daughter’s confidence and independence. In Brynnie, she had done something right. Something genuine and pure. Brynnie was the person Jimmy would have been if he had been given the chance.
Brynnie gave Elle a warm, expectant smile.
“Are you happy, Mom? Are you living your dream?”
Her daughter’s words had been a slap in the face a few months ago. But now Elle understood. She could be happy. She was right on the doorstep to the fulfilled life she had always desired.
Tucking a stray hair behind her ear, Elle reached for the microphone in front of her. The G-string she wore remained uncomfortable, but she was glad for the reminder of Mitch.
Elle closed her eyes and thought about everything that led her to this exact moment in time.
Sweet Baby James: Jimmy smiling, reaching up for her; Jimmy snuggled against her chest; Jimmy, eyes open and cold next to her in bed. Devastation. Guilt.
Fleetwood Mac, The Doobie Brothers, The Eagles: a dark bar, paper dolls, coloring books, and a black Sony AM/FM radio; her dad, quarters, a glass of maraschino cherries, and a sunburn; Mrs. Whannel in a denim pantsuit, going to the playground hungry, walks to the laundromat. Loneliness. Shame.
U2, Sting, INXS: high school, homework, scholarship applications; fraternity parties, pizza, sorority sisters with credit cards and unlimited funds. Determination. Pretending.
Nirvana, Pearl Jam, Soul Asylum: Japan; Tak, Johnny, and Sato; cigarettes, booze, cocaine, and violence. Escape. Shame.
Green Day, Coldplay, Matchbox Twenty: Win, the Martins, the salesgirl at Nordstrom; graduate school, volunteering, work at a shelter; two beautiful babies and a loyal dog. Redemption. Hope.
The Fray, Mumford & Sons, Imagine Dragons: Country Day, board memberships, society galas, and tennis at the club; the Three Wise Men and Aubrey; feral cats and dogs gnawing on used feminine hygiene products. Fear. Reckoning.
Elle saved her final thoughts for Mitch. He was in a category all his own.
Dear sweet Mitch.
The Ramones, Queen, U2: laughter, adventure, late-night talks and confessions. Acceptance. Sacrifice.
Elle loved Mitch. She owed him this.
Elle pulled her shoulders back and cleared her throat. In the back of the room, she saw Ainsley whispering directions to a cameraman. Everything she was about to say would be documented on tape for eternity. Elle faltered, turning to look at Win behind her and then back out to her children in the front row. They all smiled at her encouragingly.
Family. Future.
Elle thought of Mitch again. He wanted her to live a
life of unadulterated joy, to be happy for them both. Hadn’t he demanded as much in his suicide note?
Elle would honor Mitch’s last request. I will be happy. She wouldn’t let her best friend down. Never again. She would wear sexy underwear until the day she died.
Elle took a long, deep breath and exhaled calmly. Yes. This is what Mitch would want me to do. She cleared her throat and looked directly into the eye of the camera. Confident it was the right thing—the only thing—she could do, Elle smiled as she began to address the crowd.
All she had ever wanted was love.
The Beatles: “The End”
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About the Author
Gayle Erickson is a proud Colorado native and graduate of Colorado College. She spent several years as an English teacher in Tokyo, Japan, before returning to the United States and working in the software industry and nonprofit sector. She and her husband live in suburban Denver with their twin teenagers. Grannie Panties Are UnderRated is her debut novel.
Contact the author at
[email protected]
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