The Trophy Wives Club

by Kristin Billerbeck

  “He doesn’t hurt yet, Lily. I wanted him to hurt!”

  “And you wanted him to love you, and you wanted him to appreciate you, and he didn’t do those things either. Did you ever think that he doesn’t feel the appropriate responses because he’s just shut out of his emotions, period? Imagine if you put this kind of energy into a healthy relationship. You might actually enjoy your life.”

  “I enjoy my life.”

  “What do you like to do? For hobbies, I mean?”

  “Besides eating tubs of chocolate frosting, you mean? I used to like to run on the beach and in my neighborhood. I could go for miles, and all my problems were left behind in a cloud of kicked-up sand. I’d plug in the iPod and go. Once in a while, I’d get lost in the neighborhood and have to ask for directions back.” I sigh wistfully.

  “So what stopped you from running?”

  “The motel wasn’t in the best neighborhood, and I just could never get motivated to drive to the beach, so it just sort of faded into the background. Underneath the frosting.”

  “Can’t you go get real chocolate at least?” She shakes her silky tresses. “From here on out, you don’t do anything to hurt Jay that hurts you, you promise?”

  “I guess so.”

  “If you get fat and out of shape, does Jay hurt? Or does he say, ‘Oh, I dodged that bullet.’”

  I’m not saying the answer to that out loud. “So you want me to start running? That’s why you brought me to lunch? I’m getting dessert, by the way.”

  “I brought you to lunch so that I might show you living well is the best revenge.”

  We drive to the south side of town, and I have to say the neighborhood is getting a little dicey. Gone are the neatly manicured lawns and brushed-silver address numbers, and now we’re seeing a lot of wrought-iron gates and bars on the window, and I don’t even want to know when the last gallon of paint was sold here.

  “You do realize we’re in an SLK in the hood?”

  “I do,” she says calmly.

  “And that this is L.A.? The southside? And that carjacking is a relatively normal scenario?”

  “Yes, yes, and yes.”

  “And you feel safe because of the 352 under the front seat of the car?”

  She laughs. “Yeah, right.”

  “We only get an hour for lunch,” I say, worried about my growling stomach as much as getting shot for our ride.

  She pulls to the side of the road on a street that has no sidewalks, where the houses are all slightly larger than the one-car garage that makes up the curb appeal—or lack thereof.

  “Do you see this house?”

  It’s sallow green, the roof has places where it’s missing shingles, and the windows are covered in thick, jail-like bars. The grass is totally dead, but makes a final resting spot for an old Chevy on the former front lawn. There are greasy tools lying about and several, let’s say underemployed, men in barrio jackets leaning on the car.

  “I rented a room in this house after my divorce,” Lily explains.

  “Why? And can you tell me while we drive, please?”

  “Because I didn’t have any money, why do you think?”

  “Fascinating, let’s get to the living well part of the story.”

  “I paid $150 a month, and I got a job at an Italian pizza place to make the rent, took my son with me, and we got to eat all the pizza we could during the day.” She shivers. “I still can’t abide the stuff.”

  “You have a son?”

  “Jason,” she nods. “He’s twenty now attending UOP, majoring in architecture.”

  She does not look like she could possibly have a twenty-year-old, she barely looks thirty herself. “You had a son here?”

  “It was all we could afford.”

  “Okay, I’m appreciating all that’s been given to me. I will bow down and kiss the glass tiles in Lindsay’s place when I get home. Can we go now?”

  She stares forlornly at the building. “I’ve come a long way, baby.” She looks to me. “You have to learn how to dream again, Haley. How all things are possible.”

  “I’ll daydream all afternoon at the office. Let’s go. You never told me how you got a divorce. Did you get a divorce? I mean were you married to Jason’s dad?”

  “I got married at eighteen to my high school sweetheart. He was a quarterback and had big dreams of playing at Texas A&M, but when he didn’t make the cut, he took me to Ohio, and we got married instead.”

  “So your parents didn’t approve?”

  “No, they did. Other than he was a Caucasian, they liked him well enough. We both went to the same church, we were baptized together, we had a lot of history together. They were upset they didn’t get to plan a church wedding, but life went on.”

  “So what happened? And this is the last time I’m asking before I step on that gas pedal myself.” I’m feeling the beat of other people’s music in my gut.

  She puts her foot to the accelerator again and now I’m no longer worried about being carjacked, but I am worried that the car will take off into the air the way she uses the road like her personal runway.

  “Long story short, he decided he didn’t want to live like a Goody Two-shoes anymore, left the church, left the faith, and started a business selling tools out of a big truck.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s not tragic enough for you?”

  I shrug. “I just thought you were going to tell me he bit the dust doing cocaine or something. Selling tools?” I sigh.

  “How would you have liked to live in that dump? With a little boy who doesn’t understand why he can’t play in the yard?”

  “Oh that’s easy. I wouldn’t have. I would have gone to his tool-selling self and told him to give me my share.”

  “Sure, you would have. That’s why you lied and told Jay you were pregnant because you’re such a tough girl.” She shakes her head. “I raised a straight A student in the hood all by myself, and I drive an SLK and work in the best agency in Hollywood. Don’t be telling me you’re tough, Haley, I got a black belt in being kicked to the curb—without money for diapers.”

  “So did your son ever meet his dad?”

  “Yes, Robby’s parents tried to forge a relationship with Jason, but they felt weird having an Asian grandson, and their prejudice eventually destroyed the relationship. Robby met his son once at an Easter brunch, but”—Lily shrugs—“that was it. So I tried to marry for money and do the trophy thing. I thought my son would have a dad, and our problems would be solved. Unfortunately, I could not live up to my husband’s high standards, and it wasn’t long before we were worse off than where we started. Now I’m a two-time divorcée, and it was then that I decided to rely on the faith of my childhood. No one is going to fix things for you, Haley. You have to fix things for yourself or you’ll just stay an eternal trophy wife.”

  She gazed ahead of her as we continued back toward the office.

  “Anyway, the whole reason I’m taking you out is to tell you that Rachel Barlin is pregnant.”

  “I know that.”

  “You never said anything.”

  “Jay told me. It’s not exactly something I wanted broadcast.”

  “It’s not his baby.”

  “I know that, too. But Jay doesn’t know whose it is. What is with men that they want to be with a woman who is carrying another man’s baby, and they don’t know who the father is? Don’t they read the paper? Don’t they know every man can come out of the woodwork, like with Anna Nicole Smith and demand a DNA test? I mean, I know Jay thinks I’m the one who is dull-witted, but hello.”

  “I do,” Lily whispers.

  “You do, what?”

  “I know who the father of Rachel’s baby is. She told her agent, and I overheard.”

  My eyelids feel heavy. I’m tired of getting hit. I need a respite. “Don’t tell me, Lily. I can’t move on if I continue to obsess over this. I don’t want to hear anything more about Rachel Barlin. America continues to love her, as does J
ay.”

  “They won’t when they hear who the father is.”

  I’m tempted. Oh so very tempted. “I don’t want to know.”

  “So you’re not going backwards?” she asks me. “You’re going to fight for your career?”

  “I’ve got the message, I’ll be clean and sober. No more lies, no more tubs o’ frosting, a little more running, a lot less Jay. Happy?”

  “Ecstatic. See you at TWC tomorrow.”

  She drives me back to work without food. Have I mentioned that I am extremely grouchy without food, or that my boss is currently at the Ivy?

  Chapter 15

  June comes in like a lamb. Stays that way. This is Southern California, after all. I’ve skipped the Trophy Wives Club for months now, and though I’m flaky as all get-out, someone calls every week to invite me. As if that weren’t enough, Lily comes into the office and nags me every Tuesday. And Lindsay makes me feel guilty by asking how far I am in the Bible she bought me. But Bud keeps me so late, and all I want to do each night is get to the condo and go running to shed the day’s stress. The last thing I need is to hear other people’s troubles. I’ve got enough of my own. Well, I’ve got enough of Bud’s at least.

  I have, however, been attending church. In the back pew and reading my Bible, it brings me comfort.

  I bought a treadmill. And I finally picked up my car from the broker after he sold the first one when I didn’t pick it up. It’s darling. A Mini Cooper in blue with a Union Jack flag on its roof. It’s rumored to have once belonged to Rod Stewart, but the broker couldn’t tell me for certain because of confidentiality clauses. I ravaged the glove compartment looking for a leftover Oil Changers’ receipt or abandoned registration paper, but there was nothing. So it’s Rod’s. I’ve decided and besides, it makes me sit up straighter when I drive it.

  I pick up my next check this week, and with it comes the knowledge that I don’t need it as desperately as I once thought. Lindsay and Ron will come over to help me invest it properly, as they’ve done with the others. My threat for the $250,000 went unheeded. Jay knows me too well. I don’t have the strength to fight for money. I’m not like him; as long as I’m clothed and fed, I’m happy. Maybe a little spree at Sephora here and again…some online shoe purchases at Zappos during lunch hour, and, really, it doesn’t get any better than that.

  I only wish I didn’t have to see Rachel’s belly grow on the tabloids. I feel as though its been sent from below. As though this ache will never go away. And please, could she have some dignity and lose the cropped shirt with her naked belly on display? But like I said, I’m content with my settlement. Didn’t Anna ask me that question eons ago?

  At this rate, I can put a down payment on this condo soon. Perhaps not this one I’m living in, but a condo. I can look up Lily’s old neighborhood, perhaps. Though I’m tempted to keep living here if Lindsay will have it. Even if it is a little lonely. The neighbors are complete snobs who want nothing to do with me (most of them are ancient former actresses, and at least one of them has some type of bandage from plastic surgery on at all times.) However, I’m within walking distance of the grocery store, coffee shops, and especially restaurants, if I get home too late.

  I tried at first to be a good neighbor. I offered to feed one of their cats when she was gone, and she just snapped she wasn’t going anywhere. I’m sure that meant she’d be only gone for a few days to the rehab center after the face-lift, and the cat could fend for itself. I don’t know who these women want to look beautiful for—they never leave the house—but I can say quite plainly that I have more wrinkles at twenty-eight than they do.

  My doorbell rings, and I arrange the stuffed mushrooms on the platter. “Just a minute!” I call.

  I put the plate back in the oven to stay warm and wipe my hands on my apron before opening the door. It’s not Lindsay; it’s a messenger.

  “Delivery for Haley Cutler.”

  “That’s me.” I sign for it and I tear into the envelope. The doorbell rings again, and Lindsay and Ron are on the front stoop. “Come on in,” I say absentmindedly.

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s my check from Jay. The rest of it, not the ten thousand from the agreement. It’s all twenty thousand that’s left.” I look up. “I think I’m free.”

  “Not free if you got all that,” Ron quips. “Well, it’s a good thing we came tonight then. You owe taxes on that, and we should pay them here and now before it’s gone.” Ron pulls out his glasses. “The best thing the government ever did for themselves was get taxes prepaid out of a paycheck. People have no idea how much it really hurts. When you physically have to write the check, you see how much it hurts.” He takes out his specialty calculator that no human, without his brain, can operate, and punches a few numbers. He lets a long whistle out, which I can only assume is my tax bill.

  “Don’t bother, Ron.” I sigh. “I’m not in the mood to talk money. I won’t cash it, don’t worry.”

  “Haley, what’s the matter? This is what you’ve been waiting for. It’s all over.”

  “Why didn’t he bring this to me himself?”

  “Who, Jay? Probably because he’s following jail bait around to movie sets while she incubates,” Lindsay says. “Duh. It isn’t easy to keep up with a child at his age.”

  “No, not Jay. Hamilton. It was supposedly part of the contract that he see me in person to deliver each payment.” I drop the check onto the entry table. “What changed?”

  “Did you ever check the contract? He probably made that up to get close to you.”

  “Hamilton? He doesn’t want to get close to the likes of me. Trust me.”

  “Well, doesn’t he think you’re pregnant with another man’s baby?”

  “That was a misunderstanding.”

  “It’s not really a misunderstanding men understand,” Ron says. He sniffs the air. “What’s cooking?”

  “There are stuffed mushrooms in the small oven and lamb chops in the big one. Help yourself.”

  “What? No fanfare? No, Martha Stewart presentation?” Lindsay asks. “I live for that. It makes me feel inferior in all ways domestic, and you’re just going to let me down because you’re feeling sorry for yourself? No, no, no. Unacceptable. I came all the way over here with my money magnate husband. I want service!”

  “I thought he liked me.”

  “Hamilton? He doesn’t like anyone but himself, Haley.”

  “He said he was sorry when Jay did what he did, and he never gave me the operation form, even when Jay had ordered him to.”

  “What’s he supposed to say? Here, sign this so I can make money off your pain and suffering?”

  “It’s not Hamilton himself. It’s that I can’t read men at all. When I first met him, I thought him a decent guy. Just like I thought Jay was decent. They both turned out to be complete dogs, and I was clueless until they both had me for breakfast!”

  “You’ve lost me. When’s dinner?”

  “I have this high school boyfriend. Gavin is his name.”

  “What does Gavin do?”

  “He sells windows and doors.”

  “Scintillating.”

  “But he’s the one guy I know is true and decent.”

  Ron coughs. Ron looks like one of those news anchors who specializes in money. He wears bow ties twenty-four/seven with pin-striped shirts and probably hasn’t had hair in this decade.

  “Besides you, Ron, but you’re already taken.”

  “Thank you.”

  “So my question is, why can’t I be happy with a man like Gavin? What is wrong with me that I wait for the sizzle of a man who will totally reject and humiliate me?”

  “I thought you wanted to stay single forever anyway.”

  “I did. I do. But I want to learn something from this. What did I learn?”

  “You learned that you made a stupid choice in your twenties, and it had long-term consequences.” Lindsay calls out the last part as she enters the kitchen and opens the ovens. She grabs
a pot holder and gets out the mushrooms. “These are dry. Haley, you’re slipping, girl.”

  “But how am I a better person after all this?”

  “You lost two hundred pounds of LDL, the bad kind of fat: Jay.” Lindsay pops a mushroom in her mouth.

  “Why am I the kind of woman who can’t be attracted to the right kind of man?”

  “You’re not that kind of woman. Is she, Ron?”

  “You overestimate men, Haley. Most men will believe anything you tell them to get next to you.”

  “Ron! Lindsay, I don’t know how you get anything done with this guy’s sweet-talking.”

  “He talks sweeter to his calculator, but eventually I figured him out.” She winks at Ron.

  “Deep in my heart, I thought maybe…just maybe…if I had a little more sense, kept my head out of the clouds, my face out of walls, I might find someone else and get a second chance. But that was it, wasn’t it? You can’t ever say my husband. You have to admit that it’s your second husband, and that implies failure. You’re always a failure. I will always be a failure. Even if I married Gavin.”

  “You are not marrying the window salesman. You’re not marrying anyone, and you don’t have to say ‘second husband’ if it bothers you.”

  “But even if I stay single. I’m not single. I’m divorced. It’s like having your middle name be failure. Haley Failure Adams Cutler.”

  “Do you need another sermon on grace?”

  “I don’t. You’ve told me it can all go away in God’s eyes. That might be true, but it never goes away in people’s eyes. Look at how the Trophy Wives Club is treated! We’re given a room in a corner and told to stay out of the way. Our roster is kept quiet.”

  “That’s because we don’t want the husbands to feel bad. Do we, Ron?”

  “A secret Bible study. How wrong is that? It’s not like we’re living in the middle of a Communist state.”

  “You don’t even come, I don’t see why you’re complaining.”