Significant Others

by Baron, Marilyn

  “By the way, how is Winnie the Pooh getting along with Rex?”

  “He’s been sniffing her butt.”

  “She’s an old lady, at least in doggie years.”

  “Rex doesn’t care. He wants to hump her. He’s a male dog.”

  “Sounds more like a horn dog.”

  “And now that your dog is peeing all over my house, Rex wants to mark his territory. He’s all worked up and he’s frightening Kayla.”

  “Kayla?”

  “Our new guinea pig. Grant brought her home yesterday.”

  “Whatever for?”

  “Now that he’s seen Rex with Winnie he’s worried that Rex is lonely. So what’s up?”

  Where should I start?

  “Well, my mother saw Jesus in a tree on the golf course and Marc is screwing Trisha, his temp, and Hannah walked in on them in our house today—”

  “Stop, wait, halt, this is too much even for me to process on Georgia 400 in the middle of an ice storm. Luckily, I’m the only driver stupid enough to be out on the road. But my boss needs me to Fax her a report I wrote before she goes into her 4:30 meeting and—forget about me, let’s start with Marc screwing his temp. Are you sure about that?”

  “I have pictures,” I said, “Barbara calls it evidence.”

  “Your sister-in-law Barbara? Barbara the Barracuda?”

  “Yes, she’s my divorce lawyer.”

  “You’re divorcing Marc?”

  “What else can I do? Hannah is a mess. No child should have to go through that. No wife should have to.”

  “When did Hannah see them? I thought she was in Aruba with Ellie’s family.”

  “Well, yes, she was supposed to be, but apparently the Winslows are getting divorced, and I guess Hannah feels if she wants to experience marital enmity, she doesn’t have to fly all the way to Aruba when she can get plenty of it right in her own home.”

  “Oh,” Vicky said. “And that made you feel like dirt.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Vicky, I don’t have time for this. Isn’t there some place I can just fly to and get a quickie divorce?”

  “You don’t have time for your own divorce?”

  “No, there’s too much going on, what with the merger or buyout or whatever it turns out to be. And now this Max person wants to take my mother on a cruise, and—”

  “Hold up. Who’s Max?”

  “He’s some totally nice old man whose significant other was just hospitalized with Alzheimer’s and he has this extra ticket for a seniors Christmas cruise, if he survives that long, and my mother thought that—”

  “Do I need to come down there?”

  “No, I’m okay.”

  “Actually, it sounds like your mother has it all together,” Vicky said. “On the other hand, there’s my mother. She went to get her botox shot yesterday and she told the doctor she didn’t want to look like a guppy. And the doctor said, ‘You don’t want to look like Angelina Jolie?’”

  “So your mother is doing okay?”

  “You know she’s been dating this Senator and she’s been spending most of her time at his farm in Virginia,” Vicky continued. “Last week they were in town and she insisted he buy her a nice piece of jewelry from Tiffany’s. Well, he told her there’s not going to be any jewelry buying on this trip, because Holland, that’s his name, has his heart set on a new manure spreader. She argued that she’d like him to buy her an emerald to go with her eyes, and he said, ‘Not unless it comes in John Deere green.’ It’s all about priorities, Honey. I say if your mother wants to go on a cruise and find a little well-deserved happiness with an old geezer, let her. She’s been through a lot, losing your father. Now let’s get back to Marc.”

  “Hannah and Marc will be flying in tomorrow, and I’ve got to get my mother packed up and moved back to Atlanta. That deal has a deadline, and we can’t keep a man like Hammond Reddekker waiting. And we have a closing the day after Christmas.”

  “The only things that are going to be closing around here are the roads. And I’m not sure Marc and Hannah can even get out of Hartsfield tomorrow. Everything is socked in.”

  “Well, maybe they’ll drive. They said they’d be here tomorrow, and I need a game plan. That’s the real reason I called you, to get your opinion about how I can ambush Marc the minute he walks in the door.”

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “Well, I thought about hitting him over the head with a frying pan. My mother has this nice, heavy cast-iron skillet.”

  “That has possibilities,” Vicky said. “What else?”

  “I could have Donny tackle him. Then I could tie him up and let Donny read Bomber Missions to him, with piped-in music from the 1940s in the background.”

  “That sounds kind of kinky. Not to mention cruel and unusual. Not even Marc deserves to be tortured like that.”

  “I’ve had to listen to it.”

  “I’m sure it wasn’t torture to you. You love your brother. And your brother can barely tolerate Marc.”

  “He just doesn’t trust anyone who isn’t passionate about baseball. My next option is to enlarge the picture of Naked Trisha and hand it to him in a frame with a note saying that I’ve e-mailed a copy to all his partners at the firm. But it would need to be bigger than an 8x10 because Trisha’s ass is sticking straight up and it practically takes up the whole image.”

  “Don’t do that,” Vicky said quickly.

  “Why not?”

  “Um, well, you have to consider the Raunch Factor and the fact that his partners would probably get off on that. You know she used to be a stripper in Café Exotica, that place on Cheshire Bridge by the Expressway, right?”

  “No, I didn’t. That makes me feel so much better.”

  “And she’s also a life coach and an exotic photographer.”

  “Exactly what does a life coach do?” I asked.

  “Whatever it takes,” Vicky answered. “And besides, the firm only pays its temps the going rate—the lowest salary you can pay before they get going. So Trisha probably figures Marc owes her.”

  “Well, what evil, twisted, vengeful plans can you suggest?” I asked eagerly.

  “How about forgiving him?” Vicky said quietly.

  “That’s not the right answer. Is that the best you can come up with?”

  “Look, you’ve seen Trisha,” Vicky said. “Her butt is as big as those whale sharks we saw at the Georgia Aquarium. Marc is obviously trying to send you a message. He’s only interested in one thing—well, two things, three if you count her butt, maybe four if you count her butt twice. You don’t think he’s really serious about her, do you?”

  “That’s not the point,” I reasoned. “I think too much of myself to tolerate that kind of behavior.”

  “Did you ever think he might be going through a phase or something?” Vicky asked cautiously.

  “Like a midlife crisis? That’s not an excuse to act out. I don’t have time for his games. I need to get back to work as soon as possible.”

  “Well I can tell you absolutely nothing is happening in Atlanta. The city is shut down. No cars on the road, except mine, plenty of abandoned cars strewn all over the highway, though. Oh wait, there’s another one. I’m almost at the office and some idiot guy is waiting at the red light. Apparently he doesn’t realize it’s legal to make a right on red. Now it’s green and he still won’t go. The jerk. What is his problem?”

  “Maybe he’s waiting for another color,” I said.

  “Funny. Well, I guess I’m not going anywhere. And neither is anybody else. Nobody’s looking at any houses. Grant and I had a tango lesson scheduled for tonight, and I was supposed to take Rex to his doggy agility class, but those have both been canceled.”

  “Talk about canceled. I’m sorry, but Marc and I will have to cancel our New Year’s plans. I don’t think we’ll even be spending New Year’s together.”

  “What are you planning to do?”

  “Probably a load of laundry.”

&
nbsp; “Don’t you know it’s bad luck to do laundry on New Year’s?”

  “What?”

  “Yeah, if you do, you’ll wash away the ones you love.”

  “Well Marc’s already taken care of that.” I sighed.

  “You two need to work this out ASAP. Isn’t saving your marriage more important than doing a load of laundry?”

  “I don’t know if there’s a marriage left to save.”

  “You two have been married for more than twenty years. That’s got to be worth something.”

  “That’s 140 years in dog years,” I replied.

  “How come I’m just finding out about this?”

  “I was too embarrassed to tell you. You’re always talking about how great Marc is, how great it was that we found each other. How lucky I am.”

  “Well, I might have exaggerated a little,” Vicky admitted. “Marc hasn’t completely evolved. But you’re my best friend, so naturally I’m going to say that.”

  “You didn’t know about this, did you?” I asked suspiciously. Marc and Grant worked at the same firm, and they were best friends. Grant was a criminal attorney. Most of his clients were hip-hop artists, and they got into a lot of trouble. Grant was probably used to this kind of bad-boy behavior. “Has Grant said anything to you?”

  When I didn’t get a response I blew out a breath.

  “Honey, you know I can’t talk about what goes on at the firm. Grant would kill me.”

  “I’m hanging up now,” I said, “on my lying former best friend.”

  “I only lied to protect you.”

  “You could have given me some warning.”

  “What did you want me to say, that your husband is sneaking off with his fat-ass temp every day at lunch?”

  “Every day?”

  I massaged my forehead. I could feel a whale of a headache coming on. In my next life I want to come back as one of those spotted whale sharks at the Georgia Aquarium. The whale shark is the biggest shark and the biggest fish. Nobody messes with a whale shark. Whale sharks are not aggressive, and they eat enormous amounts of squid. I am not aggressive, at least not in relationships, and I like squid, but only if it’s fried. I can picture myself gliding mindlessly through the placid waters of the Georgia Aquarium, sucking up sustenance like a giant Hoover.

  “I’ve got to go,” I said, contemplating my new, unencumbered life as a whale shark, swimming in my giant tank without a care in the world except where my next meal of fried squid was coming from. And I didn’t want to cry in front of my best friend.

  “Honey!” Vicky pleaded.

  “I’m not mad, just tired,” I said, resigned. “I’ll call you later.” I hung up the phone.

  Was I the only one on the planet who didn’t know my husband was cheating on me? I guess the wife is always the last to know.

  Everything used to be easier with my best friend. Well maybe easier for me, sometimes not for her. When we were fifteen, I went out and bought a package of Miss Clairol hair color because Vicky, whose hair was red, decided she wanted to live her life as a blonde. I succeeded in turning my best friend into an Easter chicken. After rinsing her out, I wondered out loud, “Does she or doesn’t she...cluck?” I thought it was funny. Vicky wouldn’t stop crying for days. But we got past that. I hoped we could get past this.

  But right now, besides my mother, the only other woman I was concerned about was Hannah. And I couldn’t wait until my daughter got there. Meanwhile, first things first. I’d go to this dance tonight with my mother. And hope there was something around the corner for her. Maybe for both of us.

  Chapter Seven: Swing Dancers

  This was the last thing I needed. Who was I kidding? I wasn’t ready for this. It was a year ago that Stanley was taken from me. A whole year had passed and I could remember the pain as if it were yesterday. I still wore my wedding ring like a talisman. Helene gently suggested I take it off for the dance, but I refused. It was still too much a part of me.

  The room was crowded and the walls were closing in. I was suffocating. I looked across the dance floor, trying to focus on the horizon and stop the world from spinning.

  The decorations committee had outdone themselves turning the clubhouse into a World War II-era canteen. The mood was kind of romantic. It was very realistic—too realistic, in fact.

  Honey was very popular. She hadn’t sat out one dance. She looked so beautiful. What a shame Marc couldn’t be here to see her in her stylish green dress.

  Looked like it was mostly women dancing with women. There weren’t many available men at Millennium Gardens. Oh, there was a married man asking one of the girls who didn’t have a husband to dance. Everybody got a little chance. That was nice.

  And this was my big chance, according to my daughter and my sister. I was sure this man Helene wanted me to meet would be all wrong for me. The thought of another man was too much. I didn’t want another man. I wanted Stanley back here with me.

  “This was a m-mistake,” I whispered, terrified, literally swaying, but not to the music. I reached out my arm to get my sister’s attention and found myself clinging to her shoulder to keep upright. “It’s too soon. I want to go home.” Stanley, why did you have to go and die on me and leave me alone? You promised you’d spend the rest of your life making me happy. Well, you lied. You’re gone and I’m miserable. I miss you so much.

  I knew I wasn’t being entirely fair. Stan had taken wonderful care of me for a lifetime. If he could have stayed here on this earth a minute longer, I know he would have. That’s just the kind of man he was. But his big heart had simply given out. He fought leaving me, every step of the way. First the operation, then the pacemaker, then, suddenly—and I wasn’t prepared for it; I guess no one ever is—he was gone.

  I was feeling exactly the same way I did at Stan’s funeral. I could still see all those well-meaning people lining the gravesite with their pitying looks. It was unseasonably warm for December, and I’d been standing outside for so long my legs could hardly support me. I was feeling faint and had trouble catching my breath. I shudder to think what would have happened if Donny hadn’t caught me. I might have fallen into the open grave.

  He was gone, and I knew that by myself I was way out of my element with this business deal. I wasn’t prepared to operate Palladino Properties on the scale this merger would entail. Not without Stan. That’s why I made the decision to sell. Honey and Donny would just have to understand.

  And that’s why the cruise with Max sounded so inviting. Maybe I could get off on one of the more remote islands and never get back on the ship. People would think I’d gone overboard and then I’d be free to live my life the way I wanted to. They already thought I’d gone over the edge, and maybe that was where I should go, over the edge of the world, where no one could find me.

  I realized I needed help. But whenever I approached Honey about asking Marc to review the contract, her reaction was so vehement that I dropped the subject. So I’d had to go behind her back. Marc believed that selling the company was the right thing to do. And I trusted his judgment. Something was obviously going on between the two of them, but it wasn’t my place to interfere in my daughter’s marriage, so I stopped asking. My mother interfered a lifetime ago, and it cost me everything.

  Stan would know just what to do if he were here. I could sell houses, but Stan always took care of the big picture. In fact, Stan always used to tell people, “Can my wife sell houses? Yes, indeedy.” That’s when he started calling me Dee Dee. And the nickname stuck.

  “Don’t you like the way it rolls off your tongue?” I remembered Stan asking. “Dee Dee Palladino.”

  I missed Stan’s cornball sense of humor and the way he drew a crowd, like a circus barker. I missed a lot about Stan. But here I was alone at a dance. My daughter and my sister were right here with me, but they may as well have been a thousand miles away.

  And a dance was the last place on earth I wanted to be. Why had I come? I was all dressed up and looking desperate. Feeling d
esperate. I spent all afternoon getting my hair done and buying a new outfit. Stan used to think I looked good in anything. In fact, he was always telling me, “Dee Dee, you would look good in a burlap sack.” But these people, who could know? They were sweet, but really, when it came right down to it, they were all just strangers.

  “We just got here,” Helene soothed, sensing my discomfort. “I understand that you’re nervous. The first time out in a social situation without Stan. Just stick with Honey and me. You look beautiful in that dress. It’s your color. And doesn’t Honey look fabulous in her green dress? Apparently she’s not at a loss for company. I guarantee, Dee Dee, you’re the most beautiful woman in this room, by far. Oh, here comes the man I wanted you to meet.”

  I looked up at the giant of a man ambling awkwardly toward us. He was as nervous as I was. There was something about him. Something familiar, something tugging at the back of my mind. As he got closer, I resisted the impulse to run. Too late. He was already here.

  “Dee Dee, I’d like you to meet Daniel Moore,” Helene said, as she introduced us.

  Daniel Moore. It couldn’t be. How many years had it been since we had last seen each other? His hair had gone gray, his face was fuller, but he was still as big as a bear. Not stooped over like most of the men here. But tall and imposing. And still as handsome as ever. It was the same Daniel. My Daniel.

  There was no mistake. I couldn’t even move, but he reached out and took my trembling hands into his. Hands I thought I’d never feel again. Warmth I hadn’t known since Stan died, and before, since the day Daniel had left me to go overseas.

  He flashed that dazzling smile I remembered but, my God, he didn’t even recognize me. How could he not know me? But he knew me as Dorothy Lewis, and he’d been told my name was Dee Dee Palladino, of course. When he last saw me I had long ash-blond hair like Honey’s. The blond was faded now and I was wearing it short. Have I changed that much? I guess I’m an old lady now. But he still looked the same to me.

  He really filled out that tux. Big and broad-shouldered, he towered over every man in the room, and he still had the ability to focus those green eyes like a laser, like I was the only woman in the room. His eyes were still bright. Why does he look so familiar? Of course. He looks just like—like Donny. I had to get out of there.