The Girls of Mischief Bay

by Susan Mallery

  “Friday is our exchange day. My week starts when they get out of school. I have the kids this weekend, but they’re spending a night with my folks.”

  “So no curfew.”

  “Don’t. You’re only teasing.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  Conversation shifted to his work and the big hotel project. As he described it, Shannon felt as if she’d heard a conversation like this before.

  “Do you know John Eiland?” she asked.

  “John? Sure. His company is installing all the plumbing. Why?”

  “I know them. Pam and I are friends and I hang out at their house every now and then. I’ve been to the big Memorial Day barbecue they have.”

  “No way. Was last year your first one, because it’s the only one I’ve missed. I’ve been going since I was a kid and I would have remembered you.”

  She laughed. “It was my first. I met Pam at Mischief in Motion. It’s an exercise studio. We take a class together three days a week.”

  He shook his head. “What I would pay to see you work out.”

  “Really?”

  “Too much? Sorry. I’ll get my mind back in the game. John’s a great guy. And Pam’s a sweetie. She reminds me of my mom.”

  “What are your thoughts on Lulu?” she asked. “Cutest dog ever or frightening genetic experiment?”

  “A test. Okay, I’m good at these. Um, great personality, very well trained and the weirdest-looking dog, ever. What’s up with the clothes?”

  “She’s naked. She gets cold.” Shannon sipped her wine. “And I agree with you. I love Lulu, but the spots, the pink skin. It’s not natural. Dogs should shed. It’s nature’s way of keeping us humble.”

  Their first course arrived. Caviar on some kind of leaf with three drizzled sauces. There were also tiny shaved white things—turnips, so they said.

  Adam stared at the dish. “You first.”

  She grinned. “So you’re not the wild adventurer type.”

  “I can be. But turnip and caviar? Who thought that up?”

  “The famous chef in the back.” She lifted the leaf and took a bite. The saltiness blended with the faint bitterness of the leaf, while the shaved turnip piece was surprisingly sweet.

  “It’s really good.”

  Adam looked doubtful but followed her lead. He chewed and swallowed. “I don’t hate it.”

  “Then you need to write a review.” She looked around the restaurant. “Pam and John came here for their last anniversary. They are such a great couple. I love watching them together. It makes me believe that true love is possible.”

  “Otherwise you don’t believe?” he asked.

  “Not exactly. I think it’s hard for people to stay together. I’ve never gotten married. You’re divorced. My friend Nicole, she’s the owner of Mischief in Motion, is having trouble in her marriage right now.”

  “That’s never easy,” Adam said. “What’s going on?”

  “Her husband decided to write a screenplay. Only he didn’t discuss it with her first. He just quit his job. He hasn’t worked in nearly a year. They have an almost five-year-old and Eric barely helps out at all. I feel so badly for her, and I have no idea what to say. It’s hard.”

  “You’re a good friend.”

  “Thanks. I try. Now, tell me about your kids,” she urged.

  He smiled. “They’re great. Char—Charlotte—is going to be nine in a couple of months. Sometimes I swear she’s pushing thirty instead. She’s bossy and she would draw blood to protect her little brother. She loves anything princess-­related and can’t wait to start wearing makeup. She’s beautiful and I’m terrified to think about her starting to like boys.”

  He paused. “Oliver is my little man. He’s all boy. He likes trucks, building things and breaking things. He’s six. He’ll be seven this summer.”

  She could hear the love and pride in his voice, which was very appealing. She’d dated plenty of guys who didn’t seem that interested in the families they’d already created. “Do you like having them half the time?”

  “I’d rather have them all the time, but I accept the compromise.”

  “Are you and your ex friendly?”

  “We get along. I regret that my marriage failed, but I don’t miss our relationship, if that makes sense.”

  “It does. I like that you don’t call her names.”

  “Why would I? I married her and chose to have children with her. Calling her names means I’m the moron.”

  Their server appeared to remove their plates. Conversation flowed easily throughout the rest of the meal. It was after ten when she and Adam left the restaurant. He handed her ticket to the valet, then pulled her to the side of the waiting area.

  “I had a great time tonight,” he told her.

  “Me, too.”

  “Next time maybe you’ll let me pick you up. You know, like a real date.”

  She smiled. “Next time I will.” She leaned in and lightly kissed him. His mouth was firm and warm. She drew back. “You have the kids this week, right? So we’ll keep in touch by text?”

  He looked startled. “You’re okay with that?”

  “Sure. It’s way too soon for them to know about me.”

  “Thanks for understanding. Or to repeat myself…wow.”

  She laughed.

  He put his arm on her waist and drew her against him. “About that sleeping together thing.”

  “Not a chance.”

  “You’re amazing.”

  “You are the only man I know who would say that after being told he isn’t getting laid.”

  “I’m special.”

  “You are.”

  She had more to say but he kissed her and suddenly talking seemed highly overrated. His mouth lingered. Had they been anywhere else, she would have wanted a little more. But they were outside at a valet stand, waiting for their cars. This wasn’t the time to get into tongue.

  She heard a car engine and stepped back. “That’s me,” she said, pointing at her convertible. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

  “Promise.”

  Shannon got in her car and drove away. As she headed for home, she thought about the tingles and the quivers. How just being with Adam made her feel good. This was so much better than the post sex-with-Quinn drive of shame. Something she had to remember.

  * * *

  Pam typed quickly on the laptop in Nicole’s small office, while Nicole sat in the chair beside the desk and waited for the news.

  When she’d first bought Mischief in Motion, she’d only been able to afford basic remodeling and had put every penny into the studio itself. Her small down payment had been supplemented by money from a business angel network called Moving Women Forward. They’d given her advice along with start-up funds.

  With no money left over for something as frivolous as an office, she’d made do with what she had. Her six-by-eight work space was little more than a human cubby, with a desk, two chairs and an overly bright light fixture.

  Not that it mattered much to her. She was in her office as little as possible. Technology allowed all her clients to sign up for classes online. Once they created an account, they could purchase sessions individually or in packages. She received a report every day, the money was automatically deposited in her account and, best of all, she didn’t have to pay for a receptionist. That savings meant that she’d been able to hire a couple of part-time instructors and cut her work hours down to sixty instead of eighty.


  About a year ago, she’d been struggling with her accounting software. She’d casually mentioned it and Pam had offered to help. Now her friend spent about an hour every couple of weeks going over the books and making sure Nicole stayed on top of things like taxes and the mortgage. Because she hadn’t just bought the business, she’d also bought the building. An expense that sometimes had her lying awake at night, wondering if she was ever going to feel that they were financially stable.

  “You’re in great shape,” Pam said as she looked up. “And I’m not just talking about your ass.”

  Nicole smiled. “You’re sure?”

  “Yes. I haven’t had to correct any entries for at least a couple of months. With the automatic payment reminders in place, you’re able to hold on to your money as long as possible and still get the bills paid on time. You, my dear, are turning into a tycoon.”

  “I think tycoons take home more than what I do.”

  “It’s all a matter of perspective.”

  Nicole wished she had her friend’s confidence in herself. Pam had worked in her husband’s company for years so all this came easily to her. She’d also most likely paid attention in school. Nicole had grown up with the idea that an education was for other people and that she needed to focus on her art. All fine and good until the moment when art ended and the real world began.

  Pam tilted her head. “Are you all right? You really are doing well. You’re putting aside money for taxes and into savings every month. The monthly costs are fairly stable and the business is growing. So why aren’t you smiling?”

  “I’m smiling on the inside.” Nicole shifted in her chair. “I’m sorry. I really appreciate the help and you’re right. The news is great. I’m just tired.”

  Pam nodded, but didn’t speak. She was good at that, Nicole thought. Knowing when to ask and when to keep quiet. Was it a mom thing? Would she develop the skill as Tyler got older?

  The silence stretched on a few seconds more. Nicole gave in to the inevitable and sighed.

  “Eric and I aren’t seeing much of each other these days,” she admitted. “I’m always heading to work and when I get home, he’s going out to his critique group or his screenwriting class. It’s hard.”

  What she didn’t mention was that her husband was getting home later and later, often smelling of beer. She understood that a few people in class wanted to go out afterward, but Eric had a family to come home to. She didn’t understand what was happening to him. To them. And the unknown scared her.

  “I know it’s hard,” Pam told her, her tone caring and warm. “I don’t know how you haven’t killed him. I swear to you, if John came home and told me he was quitting his job to write a screenplay, I’d back the car over him.”

  “John would never do that. He’s a responsible guy. Predictable.”

  Pam body tensed a little, then relaxed. “You’re right. And most of the time, that’s a good thing.”

  “When isn’t it a good thing?”

  Her friend shrugged. “After thirty years of marriage, a little unpredictability would be nice.”

  “Is everything okay?” Nicole asked. Because selfishly, she needed Pam’s marriage to be better than her own. Somehow knowing Pam was okay gave her a safe place to be.

  “We’re fine,” Pam assured her. “It’s just…” She drew in a breath. “I’m fifty.”

  Nicole waited for the revelation. When Pam didn’t say anything else, she searched for some kind of meaning. “I was at your birthday party last fall. You’ve been fifty for a while.”

  “I know, but I didn’t feel it before.” She waved her hand. “You’re thirty and gorgeous and you won’t understand, but trust me. One day you’re going to look in the mirror and wonder what happened. It’s not that I’m unhappy with my life. I get the blessings. My kids are still talking to us and coming over to dinner every Sunday. They’re happy. John and I are healthy and I’m pleased to see him at the end of the day. It’s just I didn’t think it would happen so fast. Me getting old.”

  “Pam, you’re not old. You’re fantastic. You’re one of my best students. You can keep up with anyone. You’re in terrific shape.”

  “You haven’t seen me naked,” Pam muttered. “It’s nothing like what it used to be.”

  Lulu wandered into the office. Pam bent down and picked her up, then petted her.

  “All I can tell you is pay attention to what you’re doing, because you’re going to blink and it’s going to have been twenty years.”

  Nicole wasn’t exactly sure what she meant, but she nodded, anyway. “I can see that with Tyler. He’s growing so fast. He still thinks watching my old performances is great fun. In a few years he’ll pretend he doesn’t know me.”

  “They do go through that stage.” Pam cradled Lulu in her arms. “I’m glad you had all those tapes put onto DVD. You’ll always have them.”

  “They’re not all that great to watch.”

  “To you, maybe. I’ve only seen a couple, but they were beautiful. You’re a talented dancer.”

  A few months ago talk during class had turned to her former dancing career, such as it was. Pam and Shannon had insisted on seeing proof of her claims to have danced professionally and she’d brought in a DVD.

  After graduating from ASU, she’d done what every other self-respecting dancer did. She’d headed for New York. Armed with determination, a lifetime of her mother telling her that she had to be a star and recommendations and introductions from her instructors, she’d started the arduous process of going to auditions.

  It had taken two brutal winters for her to realize that she simply wasn’t Broadway material. Or off-Broadway. She managed to get hired for two different Rockette shows and had danced for free for a few small productions that no one had seen. But she hadn’t had whatever it was that got dancers noticed. At the end of those two years she’d returned to LA, where at least she could be poor and hungry in a sixty-degree winter.

  She’d been down to her never-to-be-touched emergency five hundred dollars. It was all that stood between her and finding a bed at a shelter. A sign outside of Mischief in Motion had said the owner was looking for someone to teach a dance-based exercise class. She’d been desperate enough to try.

  Nicole had found that she liked the work. Over the next couple of years, she’d gotten certified in several kinds of fitness instruction, including Pilates. Now six years later, she owned the studio. So at least that part of her life was doing well. And she had Tyler. As for her marriage, well, maybe that was a problem for another day.

  “I like what I do now,” Nicole said, knowing that she had been luckier than most. “I just need to get better at juggling.”

  “Balance is never easy. I’m not sure it’s possible.” Pam rose, Lulu still in her arms. “Trust me. I think it’s like those fake holidays created by the greeting card industry. We pay attention to different things at different times in our lives. Sometimes we get it right and sometimes we don’t.”

  “Always with the wisdom,” Nicole teased. “Can I be you when I grow up?”

  Pam smiled. “You’re already grown-up. See? Everything happens when we’re not paying attention.”

  Six

  “I never get tired of that DVD,” John said as he turned off the TV.

  “It’s a good one,” Pam agreed.

  They’d just watched The Bourne Identity for maybe the four hundredth time. She didn’t mind the movie repeats. It gave her a chance to catch up on her
magazine browsing. John didn’t require her to pay attention so much as he liked her to be in the room.

  She set her unread magazine back in the basket by her side of the sofa. The ones she’d gotten through would go into recycling. Lulu, curled up in her bed on the other end of the sofa, raised her head, as if asking if it was time.

  “Ten o’clock, baby girl.”

  Lulu stood and stretched. Ten o’clock was the phrase that meant “last time to pee before morning” or however the dog translated it in her head.

  John got out of his recliner—because yes, they were that couple. The ones with a recliner in the family room. At least they weren’t at the stage of having two recliners. John had suggested it, but Pam knew she wasn’t ready. She was sure the time would come, but not today.

  “You going to take her out?” he asked, which he did every night.

  Pam wanted to ask when he let the dog out. Not that he wouldn’t if she asked. But the routine was him asking and her doing it.

  How did things like that happen? she wondered. How did people get stuck in ruts? It must be part of the human condition—a need to not think about everything, maybe. So the brain found routines and being in a routine was oddly comfortable. Until it became a rut, at which point it wasn’t comfortable anymore.

  Pam smiled at her husband. It wasn’t his fault she was thinking too much these days. “I’ll take her out.”

  John nodded and walked past her. As he did, he paused to lightly pat her butt.

  She would guess he didn’t even know he was doing it. That if she mentioned it, he would look at her blankly. Which was so like him, and mostly endearing. It was yet another routine. A signal that the outside observer would never catch, but that a wife of thirty years knew intimately.

  Later, when he finished in the bathroom, he would look at her expectantly. The question would hang in the air until she nodded and said something along the lines of “I’d like to.” Because the butt pat was John’s signal that he was interested in sex that night.