by Joy Fielding
“I hate that term,” Cindy said, stronger than she’d intended. “Women-in-jeopardy,” she repeated, taking another sip of wine, emboldened. “It’s condescending. You never hear people say men-in-jeopardy. And, I mean, isn’t that what drama is all about? People in jeopardy? Why is it somehow less valid when it concerns women? I’m really sick of that attitude.” Whoa, she thought. Where had that come from?
Neil leaned back, lifted his hands in the air in a gesture of surrender. Cindy braced herself for his comeback, some smart remark that would put her in her place, reduce her to the role of angry, man-hating feminist. Instead he said, “You’re right.”
I’m right? she thought, relief washing over her, like an unexpected shower. She tapped her heart with her open palm. “I don’t think anybody’s ever said that to me before.”
He laughed. “I guess I’ve just never really thought about it, but now that I do, I see your point—all drama is about people in peril, at a time in their lives when they’re at risk, when they have to take a chance, make key decisions, get out of sticky situations, save themselves. The term ‘women-in-jeopardy’ is condescending. You’re absolutely right.”
Cindy smiled. He must really want to sleep with me, she thought. “Did Trish tell you I haven’t had sex in three years?” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them.
Neil’s hand froze as he reached for his glass. “I don’t think she mentioned that, no.” Slowly, carefully, he brought the glass to his lips, then took a long sip of wine, holding it in his mouth, almost as if he were afraid to swallow.
“You think it’s breathed long enough?” Cindy asked, enjoying his discomfort.
He gulped it down, exhaled deeply. “Definitely breathed long enough.” The waiter approached, and asked if they’d reached a decision about their order. Neil grabbed for his menu. “Forgot what I wanted,” he said sheepishly, blue eyes quickly scanning the night’s offerings. “I guess I’ll just have the special.”
“The calves’ liver sounds wonderful,” Cindy said, thinking how nice it felt to be in control for a change. When was the last time she’d felt in control? Of anything? “And I’d like the endive and pear salad to start.” Suddenly she felt ravenous.
“I’ll start with the calamari,” Neil said.
“Good choice,” the waiter told him before departing with the menus.
What was the matter with my choice? Cindy wondered, feeling oddly slighted, her power already deflating. What was the matter with her? What on earth had possessed her to tell a virtual stranger she hadn’t had sex in three years? Trish’s accountant, for God’s sake. What he must think of her! “Have you noticed the days are getting shorter?” she asked, a bit desperately.
Neil looked toward the windows that embraced the east and south walls of the tony restaurant. “I guess they are.” He looked back at Cindy, the look in his eyes a mixture of bemused curiosity and wary anticipation, as if he were slightly afraid of what she might say next, but was looking forward to it just the same.
“So tell me all about the joys of accounting. Are there any?”
“I like to think so,” Neil answered, his voice a smile. “There’s something very satisfying about numbers.”
“How so?”
“Numbers are what they are. They’re very straightforward. Unlike people.”
Cindy nodded her agreement. “I can’t imagine you have much trouble with people.”
Neil shrugged, lifted his glass in a toast. “To people.”
Cindy clicked her glass against his, avoided his eyes. “So, I guess you were always really good at math, right?”
“Right.”
“I was horrible in math. It was my worst subject.”
“English was my worst.”
“My best,” Cindy said.
There was a moment’s silence. “Can we go back to talking about sex now?” Neil asked, and Cindy laughed in spite of her desire not to.
“Can we just forget I said anything about that?”
“That might be difficult.”
“Can we try?”
“Absolutely.”
Another moment of silence. “Look, I’m obviously not very good at this.”
“At what?”
“This whole scene. Dating. You know.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Well, I’m not exactly a sparkling conversationalist.”
“On the contrary. You sure got my attention.”
Again Cindy laughed. “Yeah, well, sex is a cheap way to get someone’s attention.”
“Not always so cheap.”
Cindy quickly finished off the wine in her glass. “So, what did Trish tell you about me?”
Neil sat back in his chair, gave the question several seconds thought. “She said that you were bright, beautiful, and extremely picky when it came to men.”
“Which is a nice way of saying I haven’t had sex in three years,” Cindy heard herself say before throwing her hand over her mouth. “God, what’s the matter with me?”
“You haven’t had sex in three years,” Neil answered with a sly smile.
A wave of heat spread across Cindy’s face and neck, like a sunburn. She felt all eyes staring at her. “Maybe I should just make a general announcement. Hell, I think there are some people in the far corner over there who might not know.”
“Why haven’t you had sex in three years? Are you really that picky when it comes to men?”
“Prickly is probably a better word,” Cindy admitted. “Men don’t like angry women.”
“And you’re an angry woman?”
“Apparently.”
I’ve always had trouble dealing with your anger, her ex-husband had told her.
“You okay?” Neil asked.
“Yes. Why?”
“I don’t know. You just got this funny little look on your face.”
“I’m fine,” Cindy said. “I mean, other than the fact that I feel like a total idiot, I’m fine.”
“I think you’re charming. I’m having a great time.”
“You are?”
“Aren’t you?”
Cindy laughed. “Actually, yes. I am.”
“Good. Have some more wine.” He filled both their glasses, then clicked his glass against hers. “To angry women.”
Cindy smiled. “To brave men.”
(Memory: Tom’s voice on the answering machine: Hi, it’s me. Look, there’s no easy way to say this, so I’ll just come right out with it. I’m leaving. Actually I’ve already left. Call me a coward, and a few other choice words I’m sure you’ll think of, but I just thought it was better if we didn’t speak in person. You know I’ve always had trouble dealing with your anger. Anyway, I’m at the Four Seasons Hotel. Call me when you stop swearing.)
“So, Trish tells me you work in Hazelton Lanes,” Neil was saying.
“Yes. A friend of mine owns this neat little jewelry store. I help her out three afternoons a week.”
“How long have you been doing that?”
“About seven years.”
“Since your divorce?”
“Trish told you about that?”
“She said you’ve been divorced seven years.”
This was the part of dating Cindy liked least. The emotional résumé, where you were expected to trot out your dirty laundry and bare your soul, vent your frustrations, recount your pain, and hope for a sympathetic ear. But Cindy had no interest in trotting, baring, venting, and recounting. And she’d long since given up on hope. She took a deep breath. “Okay, I’m going to get this over with as quickly as possible, so listen carefully: My husband walked out on me seven years ago for another woman, which was no huge surprise since he’d been cheating on me for years. What was surprising was that my older daughter chose to go with him, although I probably shouldn’t have been so surprised because she was always her father’s little princess. Anyway,” Cindy continued, glancing toward the phone in her purse, “my settlement ensured I didn’t have t
o worry about finding a job, which was good because I only had a high school education, having eloped when I was eighteen. Still with me?”
“Hanging onto every word.”
“After I got married, I worked at Eaton’s for a couple of years, selling towels and bedding and exciting stuff like that, helping put my ex through law school, pretty standard stuff, and then I got pregnant and I quit work to stay home with Julia, and then two years later, Heather came along, something for which Julia never quite forgave me.” Cindy strained to keep her voice light. “Witness her decision to go live with her father.”
“But you saw her, didn’t you? Weekends? Holidays?”
“She was a teenager. I saw her whenever she could fit me into her busy schedule. Which wasn’t too often.” Cindy felt her stomach cramp at the memory.
“That must have been very difficult for you.”
“It was awful. I felt as if someone had ripped my guts out. I cried every day. Couldn’t sleep, wondering what I’d done wrong. Sometimes I could barely get out of bed. I honestly thought I’d lose my mind. That’s when Meg, my friend, offered me a job working at her little boutique. At first I said no, but eventually I decided I had to do something. And it’s been great. I work three afternoons a week; I take off whenever I feel like it. And to top it off, my daughter’s come back.” Again Cindy glanced toward her purse.
“Do you keep her in there?” Neil asked.
Cindy smiled. “Sorry. It’s just that she was supposed to call. Anyway, sorry about unloading on you like that. Can we do us both a favor and never mention my ex-husband or my divorce again?”
“I’ll drink to that.” They clicked glasses.
“Your turn.” Cindy leaned back in her chair, sipped on her wine. “Family history in fifty words or less.”
He laughed. “Well, I was married.”
“For how long?”
“Fifteen years.”
“And you’ve been divorced for how long?”
“I’m not divorced.”
“Oh?”
“My wife died four years ago.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.”
“She woke up one morning, said she wasn’t feeling quite right, and six weeks later, she was dead. Ovarian cancer.”
“How awful. Trish didn’t tell me.…”
“I doubt she has any idea. I’ve only known her a short time, and all she asked me was whether I was married, and if I’d be interested in going out with her friend.”
Cindy shook her head. “And you, poor man, said yes.”
“I said yes.”
“Do you have children?”
“A son. Max. He’s seventeen. Great kid.”
Cindy tried picturing Julia at seventeen, but the years between fourteen and twenty-one had pretty much melted together in Cindy’s mind, like chocolates left too long in the sun. All those years lost. Years she could never get back.
The waiter was suddenly standing beside them. “Endive and pear salad for the lady,” he announced, as if she might have forgotten. “Calamari for the gentleman.” He put the dishes on the table. “Enjoy.”
“Thank you.” Cindy lifted her fork, stabbing it into her salad as she stole another glance at the phone in her purse. Hi, Mom. Sorry about not calling earlier, but I’ve had the most incredible day. But Cindy’s phone remained stubbornly silent, and Julia remained, as ever, tantalizingly out of reach.
SIX
THE phone rang at just after 2 A.M., cutting through Cindy’s sleep like a dull blade. She flung her arm toward the sound, knocking the back of her hand against the night table beside her bed, and crying out in pain as she groped for the receiver. “Hello?” she said, barely recognizing the sound of her own voice.
“I understand you’ve lost your daughter,” the caller said.
Instantly Cindy was wide awake, her body rigid, her feet on the floor, poised to run. “Who is this?”
“It doesn’t matter who I am. What matters is, I found her.”
Cindy’s eyes shot through the darkness to the window, as if Julia might have been spirited through the slats of the California shutters and was now hidden among the leaves of the red maple trees in the backyard. Her heart pounded loudly against her ears, like a restless ocean surf. “Where is she? How is she?”
“You should take better care of your children,” the caller scolded.
“Please, can you just tell me where she is?”
“You know what they say, don’t you? Finders, keepers …”
“What?”
“… losers, weepers.”
“Who are you? What have you done with Julia?”
“I have to go now.”
“Wait! Don’t hang up. Please, don’t hang up!” Cindy felt the line go dead in her hands, as if Julia herself had just died in her arms. “No! No!”
“Mom?” a frightened voice called from the doorway. “Mom, what’s the matter?”
Cindy spun around, the blankets falling from her naked body as she jumped from the bed, her pupils dilating with disbelief as she absorbed the identity of the person walking toward her. “Julia! You’re here. You’re all right.” She threw her arms around her daughter, wrapped her in a smothering embrace. “I was having the most awful nightmare. It was so real. But you’re okay. You’re okay.” She kissed Julia’s cheek and forehead, felt Julia’s skin grow colder with each brush of her lips. “My poor baby. You’re freezing. Come get into bed. What’s the matter, darling? Are you sick?” Cindy maneuvered her daughter into her bed, Julia’s body going limp as she lay back against the pillow, her blond hair floating around her face, like seaweed in a shallow lake. “Everything’s okay now, sweetheart. Mommy’s here. I’ll take care of you.”
Julia stared at her mother through cold, dead eyes. She spoke without moving her lips. “This is all your fault,” she said.
Cindy screamed.
And then suddenly someone was at her side, touching her shoulder, stroking her arm. “Mom! Mom! What’s the matter? Mom, wake up. Wake up.” And then something wet on her cheek, a rhythmic thumping at the side of the bed.
Cindy opened her eyes, saw Heather trembling beside her, the moonlight through the bedroom shutters drawing a series of broad horizontal stripes across her face. Elvis was on his hind legs at the side of the bed, his eager tongue extending toward her face, his tail slapping enthusiastically at the sideboard. “What’s happening?”
“You tell me. Are you all right?” Somewhere behind Heather, something stirred.
Cindy arched forward, strained through the darkness past her younger child. “Is someone there? Julia? Is that you?”
“It’s me, Mrs. Carver,” Duncan replied, joining Heather and Elvis at Cindy’s side. He was wearing only the bottom half of a pair of blue-and-white-striped pajamas; Heather was wearing its matching top.
“Oh.” Cindy quickly pulled the covers up around her chin. “My robe,” she said, motioning vaguely toward the foot of the bed.
Heather reached for the green-and-navy terry-cloth robe, draped it across her mother’s shoulders. “You must have been having a nightmare.”
Cindy stared blankly toward the foot of the bed, the details of her dream already receding, bursting like bubbles against the night air, evaporating, taking Julia away. “A nightmare. Yes. It was awful.”
“You want some warm milk or something?” Heather asked. “I can make you a cup.”
Cindy shook her head. “Is Julia home?”
Even in the dark, Cindy could see the frown on her younger daughter’s face.
“Her door’s closed,” Duncan volunteered.
“It’s always closed,” Heather reminded him. “You want me to check?”
“I’ll do it.” Cindy secured her robe around her and climbed out of bed. “You two go back to bed. Get some sleep. It’s late.” She followed them out of the room and into the wide hall, stopping with them in front of Julia’s door, Elvis licking at her bare toes. Her fingers stretched toward the doorknob.
“She
’s gonna be real mad if you wake her up,” Heather warned.
She’s going to be really angry, Cindy corrected silently, too tired to say the words out loud. She felt the doorknob twist in her palm, heard the loud creak as she pushed open Julia’s door. Cindy poked her head inside the room, her eyes straining through the darkness toward the bed.
It was empty.
Cindy knew it instantly, even before Elvis went charging past her and began wrestling with the stuffed animals propped against Julia’s pillows. Heather ran after him, stubbing her toes on several of the CDs scattered across the blue carpet, and swearing loudly.
“Shit,” she cried as Cindy flipped on the overhead light.
“Good thing Julia’s not here,” Duncan observed wryly as Elvis began barking.
“Where the hell is she?” Cindy surveyed the mess that was her daughter’s room. Discarded clothes lay scattered across the floor, on the bookshelves lining one wall, on the walnut desk propped against another, and over the back of the black leather chair in front of it. A hot pink mini-dress was draped across the top of the white shutters; a pair of outrageously high-heeled sandals hung from their straps on a bedpost.
“She’s probably at Dad’s,” Heather said, shooing Elvis off Julia’s bed.
“Then why hasn’t she called?”
“Because she’s Julia,” Heather reminded her mother. Then, “Maybe she’s with Sean.”
“I thought they broke up.”
“So?” Heather asked.
Cindy nodded, wondering whether she could call Sean at this hour of the morning.
“Don’t even think about it,” Heather warned, as if reading her mother’s mind. “She’s fine, Mom. Stop worrying. You can bet she’s not worrying about you.”
“You’re right,” Cindy said, trying not to picture Julia lying bleeding and alone in some ditch at the side of a dark road. Or worse.
“You never said how your date went tonight.” Heather stared at her mother expectantly.
“It wasn’t a date.”
“Yeah, okay, so, the question is, did you connect on a deep intellectual and spiritual level?”
Cindy pictured Neil’s wondrous dimples when he laughed, felt the touch of his skin as his hand repeatedly brushed up against her arm as he walked her home, tasted his sweet breath as he leaned in to kiss her cheek good night. “We connected.”