Double Trouble

by Deborah Cooke

  “Nobody made you be the goody girl.”

  “But once you start, you can’t stop. Every bit of praise and affection was based on my being good. On my doing the right thing. Of my not disappointing anyone. What kind of life is that? I was keeping my shoes clean and playing parentally-approved games and being a nice young lady - - while you, you were running through the mud with the boys having a whale of a time. You’re lucky I didn’t kill you in your sleep.”

  “Is that what good girls do?”

  “No, but I had no idea how to not get caught. You were always the one with the devious mind.”

  “Ah, go easy on yourself. You picked pink for our room. I’ll need traumatic counseling about that color for the rest of my life.”

  We chuckled together, then I gave her the eye. “Is that why you left, to give a test drive to the bad girl coupe?” I did not ask why she’d come back. Not yet.

  “No.” Marcia sobered, then looked around for somewhere to butt out.

  “In the sink,” I suggested.

  She eyed the kitchen zone while she was there, marveling. “This is so cool. It’s so you.”

  Was that a hands-off warning? Who knew.

  “Thanks.” I drew deep again, waiting.

  Marcia folded her arms across her chest. “You know, the problem with other people’s expectations is that you get so used to fulfilling them that you forget to stop and think for yourself. We were supposed to go to university, but not to learn anything. We were supposed to snag a man and get married and make babies.” She eyed me warily. “You have to know that after all my years of being good, it really made me mad to realize that this hunky guy was only chasing me because he thought I was you.”

  I butted out in turn, not saying anything. I wasn’t going to make this easier for her.

  “So, you’ve probably figured out that I lied to him. I mean, why not? It started as a joke, just something to pull your chain.”

  “Like the picture?”

  She shook her head. “That was so mean. And I loved it, you know. I loved how it ripped you up.” She looked away. “I didn’t know then that you’d slept with him, Maralys. I thought you’d just gone out once.”

  I declined to provide the details that a/ we had never actually gone out together and that b/ I had conceived a child. Some things are better left alone.

  “And then, I kind of liked James. What I really liked, though, was that he was so eligible, so handsome, plus had such a good family, such a promising future. I loved that Mom and Dad adored him. I loved that he was so determined to marry me.”

  “Did you love him?”

  “No. But I thought he loved me and I thought that would be good enough.” She shrugged and smiled at her own youthful assumptions. “I certainly appreciated the advantages of marrying him. And besides, that was what we were supposed to do. Leave school, get married. I was living up to expectations. And I was flattered that he was so hot to trot, if you must know.”

  Oh, I knew what was coming. I scored another smoke and lit up, then Marcia did the same. She watched me, her eyes knowing.

  “He told me about the mole,” I admitted.

  “Yeah. There was a rude awakening. He was still crazy for you. I was so angry. I felt so cheated. I lied and lied and lied, because I thought he deserved it. And I was afraid not only that tossing him back would make everyone angry with me, but that you might snap him up after all.”

  “That wasn’t going to happen.”

  “No. Not only did you hide out, but when you came back, you blew him off. Then I wondered what the hell was wrong with him. Then everyone expected kids from us, so I had to have kids, as if that would solve everything.” Marcia laughed and shook her head, blowing smoke in patterns. “Maralys, I have spent my whole life being so fucked up. I can’t even believe it.”

  “So, what’s changed?”

  “Thank you very much,” she retorted and we laughed together. Yeah, we’re sisters still, down there deep. You just have to poke us hard with a stick to get us to admit it.

  She ground out her butt in the sink. “I met this guy last year and I knew he was all talk, but his talk was all for me. And I went for it. I was so low that it seemed I couldn’t make things any worse. And you know, I wanted to do something bad for a change. I wanted to be naughty. I wanted to find out what I wanted, instead of just wanting what everyone told me that I wanted. So I slept with him. And I asked for a divorce. When James wouldn’t give me one, I tried to get even.”

  “By spending as much money as you could.”

  “Yes.” She took a deep breath. “And then I ran away with my lover to New Mexico.”

  “Where is he? What’s his name?”

  “It doesn’t matter. I realized just after we got there that I didn’t want him. It wasn’t him, it was escape. It was the chance to be bad.”

  “Trust me, it’s over-rated.”

  “I needed the chance to make a mistake, Maralys. Look at me! I’m thirty-eight years old and I have no idea what I want from life. I’ve lived the whole thing like a robot, always doing what I’m supposed to do next. Never questioning it. Never insisting on what I want. Hell, I don’t even know what I want.” She paused and studied me. “Except that I want to find out what it is.”

  “Where does that leave your family?”

  Marcia smiled. “It leaves James pretty much where he was when we started. And the boys, well, they’re big enough that they don’t need me around all the time. Maybe it’s better for them that I’m happy, or at least vital, instead of the household doom and gloom committee.”

  “Did you really want to stay home with them?”

  “Hell yes! I wanted the classic set-up. I didn’t want to work. I wanted the easy way out. It was a shame that it took so long for me to get pregnant, but not doing it with your husband very often can affect that, I hear.” Marcia sighed. “I wanted what Mom told us we should want. I wanted to not have to work as hard as she had, and I wanted it because she said she wanted it for me.”

  We stared at each other for a long moment and suddenly I had to know. “Do you dream of her?”

  “All the time.” Marcia swallowed. “She’s in our kitchen, washing dishes and cleaning up. She’s dressed like something out of a 50’s fashion spread in red and white, even wearing little gloves with red bows on the back and a hat with a bit of netting. Dressed for church even though she’s doing housework. The kitchen literally sparkles. I had this dream over and over again.”

  She looked at me, hard, as if she expected me to challenge her on this. “And then, last summer, the ending of the dream changed. Mom opened the window over the sink, looked over her shoulder and winked at me, even though I didn’t think I was actually there. Then she lifted her arms and flew out the window. I ran and looked, but there was only a bird flying higher and higher, disappearing into the sky.” She sighed. “I knew that I had to leave then. And so I did.”

  Marcia cleared her throat and rummaged for another butt. “I’ve been taking some dream interpretation classes, in Santa Fe, and…”

  I lifted one hand. “Don’t tell me. I like the understanding I have of your dream right now.”

  “Do you dream about Mom?”

  I smiled. “Yes. She kicked my ass into the labyrinth.”

  “What?”

  “It doesn’t matter. She was right. She really did know what was best for me, just as I think she did for you. What are you going to do now?”

  Marcia drew heavily on the cigarette. “Well, James and I have made our deal. I haven’t got much in my wallet, but I figure I rode on his dime for a long, long time. It’s partly my fault that there’s not much there anymore. I’m going to go back west. I like it there. I like how new and fresh it is, and how people can shape their own expectations. I don’t know what I’m going to do, but I’m going to find out what I really want.”

  I nodded, understanding better now what had driven my sister to make the choices she had.

  “I’m sorry, Ma
ralys,” she said softly. “I’m really sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” I forced a smile.

  Her answering smile was just as uncertain. “I’m scared, Maralys. I think sometimes that I’m too old for this.”

  “You’re never too old to go after what you want.” I made another one of those impulsive offers that keep drawing me deeper into the net. “You can call me if you need advice.”

  Marcia stubbed out her smoke, then took a step closer. “I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I’d like to try to be sisters the way other people are sisters.”

  “I’d like that, too.”

  You knew we had to hug. It’s the only way to end a scene like this. Although actually, it ended with the caterers shouting for the elevator and Lydia appearing with them and the mirror ball finally getting into gear.

  And when I looked around five minutes later, Marcia was gone.

  * * *

  The question was, where was James?

  Beside the fact that he hadn’t called me, even though he must have known that Marcia wasn’t really coming back - for which I could seriously bite him - where was he tonight? The people just kept on coming, all the Ariadne’s and a bunch of tech connections and the Morelli’s and the neighbors and some artists who Antonia must have found under a rock from the looks of them.

  Whatever. Put your contribution in the bar and let’s dance.

  The joint was jumping and I was glad to have industrial grade floors. The mirror ball made it look like it was snowing in there, the booze was flowing and the cabs were already lining up outside. Nothing like a couple of hot tips to the cab company switchboards to have them sniffing for business. The caterers had laid an awesome buffet, complete with some primo sushi. A friend of Tracy’s was playing DJ, the music was good and there was serious acreage for the dance floor.

  And there was absolutely no sign of the guest I most wanted to see. I trusted him, I reminded myself, and went to adjudicate a fridge allocation dispute between the barkeep and the caterer.

  I felt warm fingers on my back and knew, just knew, whose they were.

  “Dance?” James murmured beside my ear.

  I glanced back and pretended not to recognize him. I also pretended to not be thrilled to the bejabbers to see him. “Do I know you? You look vaguely familiar.”

  He grinned. “The disappearing man, at your service.”

  I poked his shoulder. It was as hard as a rock. “So are you real, or an illusion?”

  “Come dance and find out.”

  “Maybe, maybe not. Convince me.”

  He raised his fist to his chest as the music changed to a slow romantic piece. “You’re breaking my heart here. After I bribed the DJ and brought you a present, too.”

  “There are gifts involved?” I let myself perk up. “Why didn’t you say so?”

  James laughed, not fooled in the least, and it was heaven to dance with him. He was wearing his tux, no slouch, this boy, it was custom and very sexy. Mmm. There was that cologne too. I took a deep appreciative breath and settled closer. The small adults darted by, overwhelmed by party and people and food…but mostly by hardware. I was surprisingly cool about this, but then they were well behaved.

  “No questions?” James asked, his lips wonderfully close to my ear. “I’m surprised.”

  “I’m trusting you, Coxwell, and it’s just about killing me. Don’t push your luck.”

  “Time for presents, then. Look in my pocket.”

  I flicked a glance to his face, but he wasn’t telling. I kept one hand on his shoulder and he continued to lead me around the floor. One suit pocket crinkled, so I reached in. There was something stiff folded there.

  I was, just for record, disappointed. “This is my present?”

  “No. It’s the first exhibit for the defense in the case of the disappearing man, O’Reilly vs. Coxwell.”

  I smiled and unfolded what was clearly an official document. “It’s your divorce decree.” I stared up at him in awe. “How did you do this? Mine took a year!”

  “I have a few connections.” James winked.

  “This is what you were doing.” I read the damn thing, incredulous and touched as I did the math.

  “I wanted to start fresh, Maralys. We’ve spent a lot of time cleaning things out, now it’s time for us.”

  Well, that was encouraging. I gave him a smile and let him see how much this meant to me. “Thank you.”

  James smiled and his thumb slid across the bare back of my waist. “I know that you’re an old-fashioned woman deep down inside, Maralys. It’s another thing we have in common. I had to see this all resolved, so that everything is in the clear.”

  I felt my cheeks heat. “Thank you.”

  He clicked his tongue and shook his head. “It’s not your present, because you don’t get to keep it. Fold it up and put it back.” I did what I was told, then met the laughter in his eyes. “Now, check the other pocket.”

  I reached in to his other pocket on the outside of his jacket and found nothing. James smiled and danced, content to wait. I unfastened the button and checked his inside breast pocket. “People will think I’m feeling you up.”

  “Let them worry about it.”

  My fingers closed around a box and I met his gaze.

  James smiled in a decidedly Cheshire fashion. “What’s keeping you?” he teased.

  I pulled it out and discovered that it looked a whole lot like an antique jewelry box. It was the size made for a ring.

  “I thought you were curious,” James whispered when I hesitated.

  I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I hoped like hell it wasn’t a diamond. It probably was and I was going to have to love it, just because it came from him. But I hate diamonds. They’re so pale and yes, so pedestrian.

  I flipped open the lid, realized I was wrong, and didn’t mind a bit. Nestled in the worn velvet lining was a gold ring, almost the entire depth of my knuckle. It was serious chunk of gold, thick, its surface beaded in a three-dimensional pattern of two lions facing each other. There was a blood red ruby between the fronts of the lions, a smooth cabochon pebble that had to be worth a fortune.

  The color of the stone made me uncertain of his intent. I looked up, just as James leaned closer. “Do you like it?” He was anxious as I’d never seen him anxious.

  “It’s gorgeous. It must be old.”

  “It was my grandmother’s. My mother’s mother. She wore it all the time and I loved it when I was a kid. It’s a Byzantine piece, though it’s been reworked so many times over the centuries that no one’s sure how much of it is original. I was always catching heck for wanting to play with it in the sunlight.”

  I smiled. “Once a classics minor, always a classics minor.”

  He nodded and smiled too. “Bred in the bone, I guess. Technically, it’s a dinner ring, but when my mom offered it to me, I had a different idea.” James took my left hand in his, then gave me an enquiring glance. It was a novelty to see him looking somewhat uncertain of himself. “I thought it would look good, right there.” He touched my ring finger gently. “You have elegant hands, Maralys, and the personal style to wear such a piece.”

  I gave him a skeptical look. “So, you’re offering it to me as a fashion statement?”

  James smiled, shook his head. “Will you marry me, Maralys?”

  My breath caught. “Depends on why you’re asking.”

  “I told you already. I love you.”

  “Even though I said such an awful thing to you?”

  James shook his head. “You were telling me that you were afraid, and why. If love disappeared when we touched the fault-lines, it wouldn’t be worth much, would it?”

  I shook my head, so very glad James was saying what he was saying.

  “I love you, Maralys, and I don’t intend to stop.” His voice dropped and turned husky. “Marry me.”

  I nodded, then put out my hand. He slid on the ring - it did look damn good - then caught me close. I touched his chi
n and looked into all the myriad hues in his eyes. “Because I love you too, with or without the Byzantine queen rock. I love you, James, and I don’t intend to stop either.”

  “Works for me.” James kissed me in a most thorough manner.

  I only realized when the hooting started that not only had the music stopped but that every single person there was watching.

  “Gawkers!” I shouted and they laughed, all my friends and family. I held James’ hand tightly as people gave us their congrats and I knew in my heart that he had called it right.

  This was the good stuff.

  And I had the brass ring - well, the gold one - to show for it.

  * * *

  Subject: error code

  Dear Aunt Mary:

  What does Error Code 403 mean?

  Lost in the world wide web

  –-

  Subject: re: error code

  Dear Lost:

  403 means access forbidden to the site, because there are too many users already logged on. The line’s busy, essentially. Go wander the ‘net and come back later.

  Or, if at first you don’t succeed, try, try again. :-)

  Aunt Mary

  ***

  Uncertain? Confused? Ask Aunt Mary!

  Your one stop shop for netiquette and advice:

  http://www.ask-aunt-mary.com

  Things were pretty hectic after that, and I won’t kid you that it was easy going. I gave up half of the loft, leaving just my biz there and renting the spare chunk to Antonia, while James gave up the better part of the master bedroom closet. I walked into Art sometimes, but at least didn’t wake up there.

  The summer was a blur of swimming on Tuesday and karate on Wednesday and Beverly’s AA meeting on Thursday and soccer all the damn time. James coached Jimmy’s team that year and they made the play-offs.

  Yes, it’s true. By virtue of the blended family, I became a soccer mom. Yikes. You have to believe that I made a sufficiently compelling fashion statement that the other S.M.’s were compelled to lift their games. And woe to the ref who makes an unfair call against one of my boys. They flinch when they see me coming.