Wife 22: A Novel
Page 30
Pawnshop—a time capsule. Who knew?
6 hours ago
Helen Davies
Wanted: VP Food and Beverage Division in Boston. Startle me. Sell me. Pitch me. See LinkedIn for more info.
7 hours ago
93
John Yossarian is married.
Lucy Pevensie is married.
I guess congratulations are in order?
You, too.
I take it things are going well then?
Things?
With your wife?
Things are becoming clearer with my wife. They are, however, becoming less clear in all other areas.
Like work?
Yes, like work. I’ve been looking for another job. It’s time for me to leave the Netherfield Center.
Because of me?
No, because of me. I crossed the line. You didn’t do anything wrong.
I’m very sorry to hear that.
Don’t be.
Well, if it makes you feel any better it appears I crossed the line, too, at work. I definitely will have to look for another job.
Oh, no, Wife 22. : (
It’s all right. It’s my fault. I made the mistake of mixing up my love for the kids with my love for the job. I was tired. I got sloppy. I should have quit a long time ago.
What now?
Now I make amends.
94
Still sick. Once again, the house is empty except for Jampo and me. William took the kids to the pool and Caroline and her parents went into San Francisco to look at apartments; she may have to get five roommates in order to afford living in the city, but she’ll move out by the end of the month. I’m going to miss her terribly, but I take comfort in the fact she’ll only be a BART ride away.
I can’t stop thinking about Helen’s Facebook posting. I go to her LinkedIn page to find out more about the job. After reading the detailed description for the VP of Food and Beverage (and having spent the last month being the lucky recipient of William’s gourmet meals and various sundry food obsessions), I know this would be the perfect job for William—a job that would perhaps even qualify as his pipe dream—however, there are three big obstacles. One: William is far too proud to apply for it himself; two: the job is in Boston; and three: me. I’m sure Helen still hates me. But maybe, after all these years, I’ve finally been given the opportunity to set things right.
An hour later, I hold my breath, utter a quick “Please, God,” and press Send.
From: Alice Buckle
Subject: A voice from the past …
Date: August 13, 10:04 AM
To: Helen Davies
Dear Helen,
I have owed you a real apology for years. Actually I owe you a few apologies, but first, the big one—I’m very sorry about William. I want you to know I did have standards. I believed in the sisterhood. Up until that point I had never been the “other woman” in a relationship and I never intended to become one. But something happened between William and me that was—well, it was unexpected. It just sort of carried us away. Neither one us was looking for it. I know that’s a cliché, but it’s the truth.
I’m sorry that I flirted with him behind your back. I’m sorry that I didn’t invite you to our wedding (I wanted to, I knew it was the right thing to do, but I let myself be talked out of it). But mostly I’m sorry that it’s taken me twenty years to apologize.
And now, in a strange bit of comeuppance, I find myself in the uncomfortable position of asking you for a favor. I’m writing to you on behalf of William. I saw your job listing for the VP of Food and Beverage: William would be perfect for it. He’s too proud to apply himself, but I’m not too proud to ask you for a chance to throw his hat in the ring. I don’t want any special favors, I only ask that you don’t hold me against him.
I’ve attached William’s CV.
All the very best,
Alice Buckle
95
Alice?
Hi Dad.
I have something 2 tell u.
I have something to tell u 2.
Been clning house. Dump runs. Salvation Army. Pawnshop.
Pawnshop? Why?
Wanted 2 buy Conchita some jewelry.
In a pawnshop?
Don’t make fun. Pawnshop has many treasures. Asked Conchita move in w me.
You’re kidding!!
U don’t approve?
Of course I approve. I think it’s wonderful!
I thought I done with all this.
With all what?
U know what.
Romance?
Sex.
Love, Dad?
Yes, love.
:’(
Why u sad, sweetheart?
:-#
I’m your father. U don’t have to B embarrassed.
I haven’t always told you the truth, Dad.
I know that, honey.
Things are kind of hard around here.
I had a feeling something was going on. U been so far away.
I’m really sorry. I’m feeling a little lost.
Do not give up. U be found soon. Good thgs on their way 2 u.
Oh, Dad. How do you know?
Becos I sent them in the mail.
96
Pat Guardia
Can’t believe she almost didn’t do this. Loves her husband so much.
1 hour ago
Pat Guardia
Somebody kill me now.
3 hours ago
Pat Guardia
Hates her husband with all her heart.
4 hours ago
Pat Guardia
Water just broke. Going to the hospital! Have never been more in love.
6 hours ago
“Hello, baby,” I whisper, looking down at Pat and her newborn in the hospital bed.
“Go ahead,” says Pat. “Take off his hat. I know you want to smell him.”
I slip off the blue knit beanie and breathe in the sweet, milky new-baby-head smell.
“Oh, God, Pat. How can you stand it? He’s gorgeous. And he’s got a perfectly shaped head. How did you manage that?” I ask.
“Only twenty minutes of pushing,” says Tita proudly.
“Only because Liam is my third,” says Pat.
Shonda hands Pat a pink box wrapped in glittery ribbon. “I know I’m supposed to bring something for the baby, but tough. You’re the one who needs a present right now. Miracle Serum of Light Complexion Illuminator. Not that you need it, sweetheart.”
“It sounds like a church,” says Tita.
“Oh, it is,” says Shonda. “Once you start using it, you’ll be worshiping at MSLCI’s altar forever, trust me.”
“You finally got your boy,” I say.
“What am I going to do with a boy?” says Pat. “All I know is girls.”
“Cover his wee-wee when you change his diaper,” I tell her.
“And how long should she refer to it as a wee-wee?” asks Shonda.
“A month, two months tops,” I say. “Then you can graduate to penie.”
“None of this wee-wee and penie silliness. You should call it a penis from the beginning,” says Tita.
“You feel very strongly about that, Tita, don’t you,” says Shonda.
“I hate it when people make up ridiculous names for their hoo-hoos,” says Tita.
“Do you want to hold him?” Pat asks me.
“Could I? I already washed my hands.”
“Of course. Go sit in the rocker with him.”
She carefully hands me the baby. He’s asleep, so I tiptoe over to the rocker. Once I’m seated, I take a good look at him: the perfect bow-shaped lips, the tiny fist curled up against his cheek. I sigh happily.
“You could do it again, Alice,” says Pat. “You’re only forty-four. My friend just got pregnant and she’s forty-five.”
“God, no,” I whisper. “I’m done with all that. My babies are nearly grown. I’ll just have a baby vicarious
ly through you. I’ll take him anytime you need a break. Day or night, you just call and I’ll take him,” I say. “I mean that, Pat. I’m not just saying it.”
“I know you’re not,” says Pat.
“You’re crying, Alice,” says Tita.
“I know,” I say. “Newborns always make me cry.”
“How come?” asks Shonda.
“They’re just so vulnerable. So defenseless. So pure.”
“Uh-huh,” says Shonda.
“You’re crying, Shonda,” says Tita.
“So are you, Tita,” says Shonda.
“I’m not crying,” says Pat, sniffling.
We’re all in different parts of the room, but it feels like we’ve joined hands. This is what happens with the Mumble Bumbles—this sudden sort of swelling and gathering each other up.
“When I was young, forty-five seemed so old,” I say. “My mother seemed so old.”
Liam uncurls his fist and I slide in my pinkie. He grasps it tightly and brings it to his mouth.
“But now that I’m almost forty-five it seems so young. My mother was such a baby. She had so much life ahead of her.”
“And so do you,” says Tita softly.
“I’ve gotten everything all wrong. Zoe doesn’t have an eating disorder. Peter isn’t gay.”
“Just because she passed away doesn’t mean you can’t speak to her, Alice,” says Shonda.
“That marriage study was a stupid idea. I screwed up at work.”
“The conversation never stops,” says Tita.
I nestle my face into Liam’s blankets. “He’s so beautiful.”
“She’d want you to pass her, Alice,” says Shonda.
“Please, please let me take care of him sometimes,” I beg, standing up.
“To not pass her would be a betrayal,” says Pat.
“I feel like I’m saying goodbye,” I say.
“Not just goodbye, but hello,” says Tita. “There you are. Hello, Alice Buckle.”
I walk to Pat’s bedside, tears streaming down my face, and hand Liam back to her.
“Everybody dreads their tipping-point year,” says Tita. “They think if they just don’t pay attention to it, it’ll go away. I don’t know why you all make such a big fuss. Not when this is what’s on the other side of it.”
The Mumble Bumbles gather around me and soon we’re a crying, hugging mob, one tiny human in the middle of us, the future, his finger pointed up toward the sky.
97
FESTIVE ITALIAN POTLUCK AT NEDRA’S HOUSE
6:30: Standing in Nedra’s kitchen
Me: Here’s the pasta sauce. I brought two kinds. Mushroom and three-cheese.
Nedra: That’s very nice, but you’re an hour early.
Zoe: Is Jude home?
Nedra: In his room, darling. Go on in. What time does the movie start?
Zoe: Seven.
Nedra: Have fun!
Me: I thought we could go over the maid-of-honor responsibilities.
Nedra (watching Zoe walk away): This makes me very, very happy. The two of them back together. Does it make you happy?
Me: Did you hear what I just said?
Nedra: Show up.
Me: I’m right here.
Nedra: On my wedding day—show up. That is your responsibility.
Me: Done. I’ll even wear a hideous Queen Victoria dress.
Nedra: I bought you a beautiful dress.
Me: You did?
Nedra: A halter-top. Very flattering. You’ve got great shoulders and arms. You should show them off.
Me: I have something to tell you. About Researcher 101.
Nedra: You don’t have to tell me anything, Alice. In fact, I’d rather not hear it. La-la-la-la-la.
Me: I think it’s over.
Nedra (sighing): It wasn’t over before?
Me: He’s going to try and make it work with his wife.
Nedra: He has a wife?
Me: Stop, Nedra. Please. I just told you it’s over.
Nedra: So you’re going to try and make it work with William?
Me: Well, that’s the funny thing. It doesn’t seem like work right now.
Bobby (walking into the kitchen): Ladies! I know I’m early. I hope I’m not interrupting. But look at this gorge-o bread. Smell it. Here (ripping off the end). La Farine. Just out of the oven. Have a bite.
Nedra: Where’s Linda?
Bobby: She’s not going to be able to make it.
Me: Well, looks like we’ll all be partnerless. William and Kate can’t make it either.
Nedra: What’s Linda’s excuse?
Bobby: She’s divorcing me. I got the potluck. She got everything else.
7:30: In Nedra’s living room
Nedra: I hate to say it, but I knew the twin master suites were the beginning of the end.
Bobby: I want to get high. I deserve to get high. Do you have any pot, Nedra? Alice, you don’t have to sit so far away. Divorce is not contagious.
Nedra: Actually, you’re wrong. Divorce is a sort of contagion. I see it all the time. A man comes in looking for representation and then a few weeks later another man comes in, a friend of the first man, just wanting to know his rights and all, but just in case, he’s brought along a comprehensive list of all the marital assets, the last three years of income tax returns, and a recent pay stub. Alice, you stay right where you are.
Bobby (starting to cry): She wants to move to New York to be closer to the kids.
Nedra (getting up): Bloody hell. Hold on.
Me (sitting next to him on the couch): Don’t cry, Bobby B.
Bobby: I love it when you call me that. You’re such a nice woman. Why didn’t I marry you?
Me: I’m no prize, believe me.
Bobby: I’ve always envied William.
Me: You have?
Bobby: Even after twenty years together, the two of you are still so connected.
Me: We are?
Bobby: It used to drive Linda crazy. She thought you guys were faking it. I told her you can’t fake passion like that.
Nedra (walking back into the room, holding a joint): Success!
Me: Jude smokes?
Nedra (lighting the joint and inhaling): Of course not. It’s mine.
Me: You have your own supply?
Nedra (handing the joint to Bobby): Here you go, darling. It’s the good stuff. Very clean. I have a medical condition.
Me: What’s your medical condition?
Bobby (taking a big toke, and then another and then another): Oh, Jesus, that’s good.
Nedra: You don’t believe me?
Me: No, Nedra, I don’t.
Nedra: It’s in the DSM. It’s an actual disorder.
Me: What’s it called?
Nedra: Middle age.
Bobby (coughing): I have that, too.
Nedra: There’s only one known cure.
Bobby: What’s that?
Nedra: Old age.
Bobby (cackling): Is it the Mary Jane, or is Nedra suddenly really funny?
Me: Mary Jane? Just how old are you, Bobby B?
Nedra (inhaling deeply, then looking at the joint): I’m getting married. Can you believe it? Me? A bride?
Bobby: Will you represent me in the divorce?
Nedra: I wish I could, darling. But I know the both of you. It wouldn’t be fair. I can recommend somebody very good.
Zoe (walking into the living room with Jude): Quick, get the camera so we can take pictures of them and they’ll be so embarrassed and horrified they’ll never touch the stuff again.
Me: Oh, my God, Zoe! What are you doing here? I am not smoking, for your information. I haven’t taken one hit.
Nedra: This is very rude of you. To just walk in on us and invade our privacy. I thought you went to the movies.
Jude: Do you think this is a rave?
Zoe: You do realize pot is much stronger these days than it was when you were growing up?
Jude: Frequently it’s dipped in embalming fluid.
Nedra: In a teenage brain—with an unconnected frontal lobe. Our frontal lobes have been connected for decades now.
Bobby: Blame it on me.
Nedra: Blame it on Linda.
Jude (reaching for his guitar): Well, since you’re all high and everything, would you like to hear a song?