“They’re all right.” Laura confided. “They’re Wiccans who strongly identify with the goddess Diana. Diana wasn’t big on men, so the Dianas are usually lesbians, but a lot of them are straight out-and-out man-haters. They’ve been really, really hurt, and they take it out on the entire gender.” Laura sighed. “It gets weird sometimes. If you’re speaking out against intolerance and are, in fact, intolerant yourself, it can get a little tricky.” She watched Suzanne deliberately not watching Molly and Sandy, four rows ahead of them, for a moment. Laura dropped her voice to a whisper. “So, she told you this week, huh?”
“I’m still trying to take it in, I think. Not that I’m upset, or anything,” she added hastily. “It’s just . . . You know, for eighteen years, I thought my kid was a righty, and whaddya know, she’s a lefty. I’m gonna need a few days on that one, is all I’m saying.” She sipped her drink thoughtfully. “Can I ask you a question, Laura? And tell me the truth.”
“When have I given you otherwise?” Laura asked haughtily. “Shoot.”
“If you met Molly, just on the street or in the store, or something, would you have known?”
Laura considered this, watching Molly for a minute. Molly felt the weight of her stare and turned to find its source, but rather than looking hastily away, Laura blew her a big kiss. Molly stared at her, and to Suzanne’s great relief, laughed.
Another one of your weird friends, she mouthed at her mother, and Suzanne shrugged her shoulders: Guilty.
“The answer doesn’t matter either way, does it?” Laura asked.
“Just answer, you big jellyfish.”
“Well, maybe,” she said finally. “It wouldn’t be my first thought, but by the end of the conversation, I think I’d have come to the conclusion.”
“Oh.” Suzanne tried to keep her voice neutral, but it didn’t fool Laura at all.
“Is that such a bad thing?”
“I saw a play last year, at the West End Studio Theatre, called Stopkiss,” Suzanne said morosely. “In it, two girls were viciously beaten up by a guy who saw them kiss on the street.”
“Oh, honey . . .”
Suddenly Molly was right in front of them, pulling along her new friend Sean by the hand. He looked both a little uncomfortable and a little curious.
“Hi, Sean!” Molly sang out, pulling out a chair next to Suzanne.
“Hi, Sean.” Sandy’s greeting was somewhat less enthusiastic.
“Sean’s going to sit with us,” Molly announced.
“I thought you were going to sit over there, with Sandy’s . . . friends?” Suzanne asked, hoping she’d used the right word. If she offended Molly one more time, the kid might just go off to college and never come back.
“We were, but now we’re sitting here,” Molly said simply. “Better view.”
Four rows back? Suzanne wondered. Clearly, something was up.
“He’s a friend of Grandma’s,” Molly told her, all but shoving Sean into the chair she’d pulled out. She found two more in the row in front of them, and she and Sandy settled into them.
“I’m afraid that doesn’t narrow it down,” Suzanne told Sean. “My mother knows the planet. I can go into the drugstore to pick up some gum, and the cashier tells me to wish my mom a good day. Or a cop will follow me a few blocks, and I pull over to see what he wants, and he tells me he just wants to know if my mom’s donating to the Policeman Safe Parks project.” She shook her head, smiling a little. “She’s like a movie star who never made a film. I call her The Mayor.”
“She has—how can I say this?” He wrestled with it for a minute, then decided on “a presence, that’s for sure. My dad would have called her a rig.”
“What’s a rig?” Suzanne asked, amused.
“You know, I’m not sure,” Sean admitted. “But he always used it in terms of people who were really funny, or strong, or both. I think he meant people who were rigged up different, better than other people.”
Satisfied, Molly sat back down in her seat in the row ahead and continued her conversation with Sandy, but she seemed to be keening her ears in their direction. Obviously there was some sort of plot afoot. Suzanne wondered what the hell it was, and if the plot included a need for bail money.
“Anyway,” Sean continued, “it must be nice having her for a mother. I’ve only talked to her a few times myself, but the whole group is always going to her for a shoulder to cry on or to find that extra boost or to ask for gum and a Band-Aid. You name it, she’s the girl.”
Suzanne frowned. “I’m sorry, Sean, but exactly where do you know my mother from?”
“Shhh, shhh!” Sandy jumped up in her seat excitedly. “Here she comes! It’s starting!”
And indeed, the beehive hairdo and the padded belly of Ida LeClair (the character portrayed by the writer in this one-woman performance piece) was indeed pushing her way to the podium. When she got there, she greeted the crowd with a “Howdy!”
“It’s a retirement village!” Suzanne told her when Molly asked if it was okay to invite a few people over. “I’m not sure they’re going to appreciate a late-night party on the lawn.”
“Oh, we’ll be quiet, Mom,” Molly said, Sandy’s hand resting lightly on Molly’s hip. Suzanne hated how uncomfortable it made her and cursed herself when she had to flick her eyes away. So apparently, after all my liberal preachings and live-and-let-live attitude, at the end of the day, I’m just a bigot. A bigot and a hypocrite. No, she was in no mood for further socializing right now.
She pitched in with the cleanup, sweeping up the dirt the crowd had tracked in. Billy was making sure any uneaten food was distributed, while Laura collected the used napkins and cups. Sean had also stayed to give a hand to Molly, as she balanced on the front counter to take down the IDA’S HERE TONIGHT! sign.
“It’s a weeknight, so if you guys don’t feel like coming,” Suzanne began weakly, “I wouldn’t blame you all if you just wanted to go home and get some rest.” But the Universe, or the Goddess (as Laura would say) had entirely different plans for her.
“We’d be glad to come,” Sandy said drolly, lighting up a smoke. “Won’t we, Sean?”
“Sure, if I’m welcome,” he replied.
“Great!” Suzanne enthused. Turning to Laura, through her too-wide grin, she hissed, “You’re coming, and don’t even think otherwise.”
“Oh, you think I’d miss this?” Laura shook her head. “Try and keep me away.”
And this was how, after an evening with Susan Poulin in Goddess Treasures, the unlikely sextet wound their way together back to Ava’s house.
“It’s not even nine o’clock yet.” Molly stopped and picked up a newspaper and empty cup on Daniel Street, on the way back to Ava’s house. Suzanne recalled with a pang that when Molly turned four, she had declared that she hated litter worse than anything. She had carried plastic grocery bags around with her for several years, for just the purpose of public cleanup.
“Great idea to start these things early, Laura,” Molly complimented her. “Is that a marketing ploy, to give the people time to hang out in the store and be inspired to buy stuff after the readings?”
“That sounds so smart—I should tell people that’s how I planned it,” Laura smiled. “But actually, I planned them to end early way back when my girl Hermione was little, so I could be home at a reasonable hour.” She dug out her cell phone then, dialing the house where her daughter was staying for the evening. When Hermione asked to say hi to Daddy, Billy’s face lit up like a jack-o’-lantern as he grabbed the phone to have a private daddy-chat. Laura watched him, her own face glowing.
“He was so nervous when we found out she was a girl,” Laura explained. “He was all, ‘What am I going to do with a girl? I’ve got three brothers and two uncles. What the heck do girls do?’” She laughed at the memory. “Now, they’re the buds, the best of friends. He helps her make her soaps and lotions, they talk their money talk together, he’s starting to teach her about welding for his artwork . . .”
&
nbsp; “Wow,” drawled Sandy. “My dad didn’t stick around long enough to find out what my name was gonna be.”
That drew an uncomfortable silence till Laura said, “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“I’m not,” she said. “Mom wasn’t. Why should you be?” She and Molly lagged a few steps behind, talking softly.
“What were we talking about?” Suzanne asked finally. Sandy’s words had stopped the warm conversation like a bucket of ice water.
“That’s really something,” Sean pointed to Billy, who was saying a prolonged good-bye to his daughter. “A guy teaching a little girl how to weld.”
Suddenly the light feeling was back, and Laura smiled as Billy handed the phone back to her. “She’s just gone for one night, you know,” Laura chastised him. “She’ll be back in twelve hours.”
“Well, I was working all day, and she was at school all day, and I only saw her for dinner before she left, so that’s practically two days. Plus, she’s going shopping with your mother the day after tomorrow . . .”
“Just wait till she starts dating,” Ava called out as she came down the steps. “Then, it’s not only that you never see them but they act like they have no idea who you are, or why you’re trying to take away all their fun, when you do happen to catch a glimpse of them in the hallway.”
“We’re here already?” Sean asked, surprised. “That was fast.”
“It’s a small seacoast,” Suzanne groaned. “And Ma, no Suzanne-as-a-teenager stories.”
“I told you before, if you ever called me ‘Ma’ again, all bets are off.” Ava smiled primly. “I just thought I’d come meet your lovely friends, and God knows, with your hostessing skills, I’m going to have to make sure everyone has a drink, because you won’t.”
“Mother, I’d be happy to. I just . . .”
“Just what I thought. Well then, I’ll just have to do it myself.” Ava sighed wearily, and then she instantly brightened. “Tea, anyone? Iced? Herbal? Vanilla Chai? Lemonade? Shout out your poison, or go thirsty.”
“When will you learn?” Laura chided Suzanne, who was holding her head in her hands. “Ava will never be happy unless she’s serving people, and she can’t be truly happy unless she makes those she’s serving feel completely put-upon.”
Suzanne grinned at her new friend. It was good to know she wasn’t the only one Laura could read like a book. Apparently she’d pored over Ava’s story a time or two as well.
Everyone found themselves a comfortable spot in the courtyard while Ava brought out the trays. One of the great things about having snacks at the ready, apparently, was being able to feed large numbers of unexpected visitors at all hours of the night.
“So, after my wife was gone, I decided we needed to move into a new house, get a fresh start,” Sean was saying to Suzanne. He ran a hand through his hair, which was thick and slightly graying, with no signs of receding, Suzanne noticed. That was important—a full head of hair was on the make-or-break list in her mind, and always would be. “I don’t know if it was such a good idea, hindsight being 20/20 and all. I think maybe it was too much change, all at once—not that it matters now, but there were some rough years,” he explained. “I just worry that . . .”
“You can’t start second-guessing yourself like that, or you’ll go crazy,” Suzanne told him. “You made a choice. It’s not like you can change it.”
“Yeah, you’re right. I know you’re right. My oldest two seem okay, but my youngest two . . . it’s years later, and they still can’t seem to get their feet beneath them.” He sighed, lighting up a Marlboro. “I’m sorry,” he gestured with the cigarette, “is this okay?”
“It’s not only okay,” Suzanne put a cigarette between her lips demurely. “It’s encouraged.”
“Hello, Sean.” Ava planted a warm kiss on his cheek. Somehow, she managed to ignore Sean’s cigarette while giving Suzanne’s a disgusted glare. “How are you? The boys?”
“Just fine,” Sean said in his easy manner. “My two youngest aren’t thrilled about having to go back to college after a summer of lying around playing video games, but fine. They would have gotten jobs,” he said hastily, “but neither of them fancy working for their dad for the summer, and that’s about all that’s out there these days.”
“In my day, summer vacation meant doing things outside: beach days, bike rides, stick ball, tag in the park, tree climbing. But this one,” she rapped the top of Suzanne’s head, “I could barely pry the books out of her hand to get her off the couch, and her kid, well, just try to come between that one and a computer.” She shrugged. “What are you going to do? Each generation is more sedentary than the last.”
“That’s why your tush is so much tighter than mine, Grandma,” Molly called out cheerfully. “All those years at the swimming hole gave you a great start.”
“I don’t see anything wrong with your tush,” Sandy said softly, though the comment somehow traveled across the yard to Suzanne’s ears.
Is this fun for you? Suzanne asked Laura’s so-called Goddess. Are you trying to make me lose my shit in front of all these people? And it’s not intolerance. I don’t want to hear anyone, male or female, commenting on my daughter’s “tush” right in front of me.
“This is just unfair.” Brandon came down the steps. “Here, I spend the past week being my loving, adorable self, and you reward me by throwing a party and not telling me.”
“Hey, darlin’,” Molly called happily. “I thought you were spending the night curled up with your sociology books. C’mere, I’ve got someone I want you to meet.”
Suzanne watched Brandon join the couple—there was no denying that at least for the moment, Molly and this crude girl were indeed a couple—and she felt guilt and relief in equal parts. If Brandon was there, likely little more than conversation would go on.
“Suzanne?”
“Hmmm?”
“You seemed a million miles away—everything okay?” Sean asked.
“Oh.” She kicked herself. Was she spying on her daughter that obviously? “Sure, I’m fine. It’s just, you know. Tough summer.”
“I know what you mean. I heard through the grapevine that you’re in the middle of a divorce?”
“Did you, now? Well, as it happens, the grapevine,” she said wryly, throwing a knowing glare at Ava, who pretended to be too busy with her cookies and drinks to meet her gaze, “would be right.”
“I’m a widower, myself,” he allowed, taking a sip of iced tea. Suzanne was struck with a wave of compassion so huge it filled her chest. When he was talking about getting over Margie and new houses before, her mind had immediately leapt to divorce. Death had never occurred to her.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she stammered. “I . . . I mean, how . . .”
“Is it okay if we don’t talk about it?” he asked. “Recently, I had to kind of go into detail about it, and for now, I’d just rather leave it alone. Plus, I get pretty nervous the first time I’m talking to a pretty lady, so if you don’t mind, I’d rather sit back and listen to you talk. If you want to. About anything.”
Suzanne stopped, mid-exhale, almost choking on the smoke. She turned and looked at him, really looked at him, for the first time. She’d already noticed he was good-looking, but that was just force of habit. Now, she was trying to see if her bullshit detector was in better shape than when Buddy conned her into the paternity confusion.
“You’re willing to sit back and listen while I talk?” Suzanne asked warily. “About anything I want? Even stuff like tabloid fodder or soap operas?”
“Umm . . .” He looked a little disturbed at the prospect before him. “If that’s what you got, then I’m here for you.”
“You’re willing to listen, and you’ll let me pick the topic,” Suzanne marveled. “Are you sure you’re a guy?”
Sean’s easy chuckle seemed to go with his perfect jeans, his casual smile. “Last I checked.”
“You want the wide-screen version,” she asked, “or the Cliff’s Notes?”
> “Hmmmm, that’s a toughie,” he contemplated. “Tell you what, let’s start with the Cliff’s Notes, and if I need clarification, we can always go back to the original author’s work.”
“Okay.” She looked at him sideways, from up under her eyelashes, smiling. He was awfully charming. It had been such a long time since she had paid attention to any man romantically, even just to flirt. Too bad she was too exhausted from a pathetic excuse for a marriage and far overdue divorce, and too overwhelmed with the prospect of college, a newly gay daughter, and keeping a close eye on her mother to even think of letting anyone light her fire.
“Okay. Let’s see. I was seventeen years old, and I had a crush on the coolest guy in class. Not the cutest,” she stressed the point, “the coolest. The one who flipped off Mr. Knauer when he barked at him in class for lighting a joint in study hall. He wore a leather jacket and torn-up jeans, and he rode a motorcycle. Anyway, he wasn’t my type. I’d always gone for the good boys, the college-bound guys—you showed me a guy with a straight-A average and a pocket protector, and I showed you a potential boyfriend. I just didn’t . . . I mean, the idea of dating anyone without a future really scared me, you know? I had zero interest in anyone outside my academic circle.”
“So, what kind of magic did Mr. Motorcycle conjure up to turn your head?”
It was a question Suzanne had asked herself over and over in recent years, always in vain. “It was one unimpressive spell in the end, I’m telling you,” she sighed. “I think, at the time, he was sort of mysterious, and . . .”
“Don’t let her kid you.” Laura leaned into the conversation. “From the start, he brought out the Mommy in her.”
“That’s not true!” Suzanne cried. “It was all about the lust, if you have to know. He actually brought out this, well, this absolute animal in me that I just didn’t know existed until then.”
“Just the sort of table talk every mother enjoys,” Ava remarked, setting down her ever-present tray of iced tea.
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