The Penny Pinchers Club

by Sarah Strohmeyer

  “That’s excellent!” Sherise had said during our last Penny Pinchers meeting when I revealed that after many weeks of effort, I had little more than $2,500 to show for my sacrifice of Starbucks and DVDs, new boots, HBO, and Christmas gifts. “That averages out to $250 a week.”

  “Yes, but . . .” I looked over to Velma who, content as usual, knitted along, listening. “According to the budget Velma worked out, I should be saving $500. I’ll never get to $16,000 by this summer.”

  “It’s DrugSave’s fault,” Opal said. “You’d be at least one hundred dollars richer if it hadn’t been for me and that fight I had with the manager.”

  During darker moments, it crossed my mind that Opal had intentionally used me to provoke the manager. After all, why didn’t she get her own in-store rebate slips instead of making a big fuss by yelling to me? Whenever I had these thoughts, though, I’d chastise myself. Out of all the Penny Pinchers, Opal had helped me the most and to attribute ulterior motives to her was ungrateful and wrong.

  Wade put down the NewYorker he’d borrowed from upstairs. “I’m telling you, Kat, forget all this coupon stuff. Unless you’re minding it every minute like Opal does, it’s a trap. My approach is much more logical. If you don’t want to spend money, don’t spend money. This spring you’re coming with me to Dumpster-dive.”

  “You mean steal,” Steve said.

  “No. I don’t mean steal. If I’d meant steal, I would have said steal.”

  But Steve would not give in. “Just like entering private property without permission isn’t trespassing, right?”

  “So what that I take other people’s trash? It’s only going to be thrown out, anyway. And let me ask you this . . .” Wade held up his finger, a sure sign he was turning the heat up a notch. “Which is worse? Killing a cow, a sentient being, only to throw away the meat simply because some arbitrary expiration date has passed? Or making sure that a loving animal’s life wasn’t wasted.”

  “Okay, you two.” Sherise stood and spread her arms like she was physically splitting them apart. “That’s enough. How about we take a breather for ten minutes and get some fresh air.”

  Wade and Steve grinned sheepishly. Ever since Steve announced that this was his last meeting because he’d been hired as a cop in the Rocky River Police Department and couldn’t fit us into his morning schedule, Wade and Steve had been at loggerheads, with Steve telling him in no uncertain terms that if he caught Wade rifling through garbage on private property, he would arrest him.

  “Steve’s a jerk,” Libby said under her breath as we slipped out the back door into the gray December day. “He is on Wade’s case for no reason.”

  “He’s not a jerk. He’s just under a lot of pressure these days as a single father during the holidays.” I handed her a Christmas cookie, a reindeer with a broken leg, as a substitute for the cigarettes she was trying to quit. “Give him a break. It can’t be easy with two boys begging for snowboards and Xbox 360s.”

  She took the cookie and frowned at the gimpy reindeer. “I dunno. If I keep eating like this, I’m going to be the size of a house and then Wade’s never going to ask me to marry him.”

  “First of all, if he loves you, he loves you. It has nothing to do with size.” I, who had no compunction these days about ruining my waistline, took a bite of a frosted angel. “Second, since when did you want to get married?”

  “Since I walked into the meeting last summer and saw him and just . . . knew.” Her shoulders slumped as she nibbled on the cookie. “He is the most gorgeous guy in the world, Kat. And smart. And sexy. And so well read. I can’t believe he likes me. Me! Libby Wilson. Housecleaner.”

  This was where I was tempted to remind her he lived in a tent, but my better side held off. “You are not just a housecleaner, Libby. You are one kick-ass chick, a survivor, a”—I tried to think of what she was—“woman roaring.”

  But Libby was lost in thought over Wade. “The problem is,” she added, “I see you and Griff and even though you seem like you’re happy on the outside, the perfect married couple and all that, I run into him with Bree now and then and I think maybe marriage is not all it’s cracked up to be.”

  My cookie had somehow ended up on the sidewalk, broken into pieces. “What do you mean,” I began, unsure which part of her statement was more offensive, “that you ran into him with Bree?”

  “Oh, I don’t run into him all the time, just on Thursdays, when I clean up by Emerly. Sometimes I see him and Bree together, walking, or sitting and talking at that café. You know, the one with the blue awning . . .”

  “Belladonna’s?” It was a bit more than a café. In fact, it was one of the nicer restaurants near campus, the place where parents took their kids out to dinner when they came for visits. “You see them at Belladonna’s?” And here I hadn’t even been to a freaking McDonald’s.

  “Only for lunch. And it’s not like they’re kissing or anything,” she added quickly, finally comprehending that I might not be taking the news so well that my husband regularly was out with another woman. “They’re just talking. Really close talking, though. Realllly close.”

  Sherise opened the door. “The meeting’s started up again. We’ve been looking for you two. Come on.”

  I brushed my crumbs off my coat and shoved my chilled hands under my armpits as we went inside. Curse Griff. Curse him and his stupid girlfriend and their trendy vertical food lunches, the famous Belladonna’s tower of asparagus, hollandaise, risotto, and grilled shrimp. Meanwhile, across town, I’d been subsisting on sixty-nine-cent tuna on thinly sliced dry rye toast and water. So much for our united front in saving money.

  Plunking myself down next to Opal, I let out a grunt and eyed Libby, who nestled into Wade’s arms. Good luck, I thought. Marriage bites.

  Opal said, “What’s eating you?”

  “Nothing.” I tried to rally, sitting up and pasting on a big smile, but I couldn’t even summon the energy to unbutton my coat.

  “I made the mistake of mentioning that I’ve been seeing Griff with his assistant at Belladonna’s,” Libby said.

  “Belladonna’s?” Sherise widened her eyes. “Pri-ceee.”

  “I’ll say. That’s where I used to take my wife on our anniversary,” Steve said. “Before she got sick.”

  Velma reached over and rubbed his shoulder, exactly what I wanted to do. It was hard ragging on marriage when there was Steve, his heart not quite mended over his dead wife, forever giving the impression of being slightly damaged.

  “I’m just saying it’s that expensive,” he said. “Didn’t mean to kill the conversation.”

  “Have you spoken to Griff about this?” Sherise said in her patient financial-planner voice. “Or are you still on the stealth savings plan?”

  This produced a few welcomed laughs. “I thought we were saving together,” I said. “You know: more quality time, cutting back on Christmas, and all that.”

  “Oh, yes,” everyone agreed. No one had splurged this year. Velma had knit everyone socks, and Libby was giving lamps she constructed from odd parts Wade had found in the trash.

  “You’ll be grateful come January when those credit card bills come in the mail,” Opal said. “Not that I use credit cards. I don’t. I only keep them on hand for rental cars. It’s what I’ve heard, though, that those first-of-the-year wake-up calls can be brutal.”

  “So, not to bring up a delicate subject, but how much have you saved?” Sherise asked. “I mean for . . . the divorce.”

  It was embarrassing how little I’d put together. In three months I’d managed to save only $3,400. “I’ve had a setback,” I said. “For the divorce fund, I’ve only got about $3,400. But my new client promises a check any day.” Never mind that the “any day” was two months overdue.

  “How can you say that’s a setback? You have to celebrate every dollar.” Sherise motioned for everyone to give me a round of applause.

  “I just haven’t been motivated. Griff and I’ve been getting along so well and I
thought our saving was bringing us closer together.” I didn’t say this out loud, but it was as if Libby had reopened an old wound and I was angry at her for ruining the progress we’d been making, though reporting bad news was hardly her fault. Logically, I realized that. It was my illogical heart that was struggling.

  “The thing is, now that I find he’s been cheating on our budget as well as on me . . .”

  “You have a whole new reason to sock it to him,” Velma said. “Don’t you?”

  I was confused. “You mean away. Sock it away.”

  “That, too.” She took a stitch. “Though, personally, I’d prefer to sock it to him. Much more satisfying in the short run.”

  “Not so satisfying in the long,” Opal said. “Stick with saving money, honey. Having a pile of it in the bank is a woman’s best revenge.”

  “What’s got you lost in thought?” Griff sat next to me on the couch and put his arm around my shoulders. “Bummed about losing the Lexus?”

  “Yeah.” After much thought, I’d decided not to bring up Belladonna’s or Bree since mentioning her always sent him into a weird seclusion. Better to pretend everything was hunky-dory and to do as Sherise advised: keep my eye on the goal. “Also . . . look.” I gestured to our tree, which was practically raining needles already. “It’s pathetic, and a fire hazard.”

  He considered this. “Fire hazard, yes. Pathetic, no. It cost five bucks, Kat. Plus, we gave it a home. Think of this poor little tree still on a gas station parking lot alone in the cold.”

  There was a time when Griff, Laura, and I would make a big deal of getting the annual Christmas tree, driving to a tree farm in Cran bury Township that offered free hayrides and hot chocolate. Back then we’d spend a fortune on a huge, lush fir that we loaded with lights. If we loaded this thing with lights, it would explode.

  I leaned my head against his chest in a test of the power of positive thinking. Part of me didn’t care what Libby saw. My gut instinct was that Griff and I had grown closer since we’d cut back on our expenses. It was a basic matter of logistics. By not spending money, we stayed at home more and in our separate cars less, watching movies from the library or simply reading on the couch, my feet in his lap, Jasper snoring on the rug nearby. As for Bree . . . perhaps they’d been out on Emerly College’s tab.

  “Buck up.” He gave my shoulder a squeeze. “Just think what it was like for us last year this time before Christmas. You were running around, exhausted and cursing the crowds and the traffic, worried you didn’t get Laura or your nieces and nephews enough gifts. Not worried about me, of course, since I don’t count.” He sniffed.

  I gently punched him.

  “Then, after the shopping orgy was done, you’d be in the wrapping orgy and then the mailing orgy. This would be followed by another orgy of baking cookies and then the ultimate orgy—the over-the-top Christmas dinner that nearly always sent you running for the Prozac.”

  “I never took a Prozac in my life.”

  “Spoken like a true addict.” He kissed my forehead. “Now isn’t this better? The two of us side-by-side on a gray December day simply enjoying each other.”

  “I miss the orgies.”

  “Mrs. Griffiths! What are you suggesting?”

  Snuggling into his shoulder, I inhaled the smell of his wool sweater that always reminded me of Barb Gladstone’s library, the books and fireplace, even if Griff had stunk like a farmhand. “I keep feeling as though I ought to be doing more since it’s Laura’s last Christmas.”

  “As a high school senior. She’ll be back for years. I’m afraid she’s going to be one of those slackers we’re going to have to kick out of the house, if we’re ever going to embark on the next adventure of our lives.”

  Hmm, I thought. What does that mean? It sounded inclusive. And yet . . .

  I kissed his neck, slightly salty and warm, wishing our problems could be resolved. I was so tired of being conflicted, of spending every waking minute wondering if he was or if he wasn’t having an affair. I regularly wavered between moments when I dismissed my fears of divorce as wifely hysteria and other moments of pure green jealousy when Bree called or he went downstairs to his computer for hours at a stretch.

  Which might explain why, instead of kissing more than his neck, I said, “Hey. You haven’t seen my new car.”

  “Would that be the luxury Corolla? What are we waiting for?”

  He bounded off the couch and I led him to the garage. “Notice,” I said, “the fine detailing in the molded-plastic dashboard and the sensuous velour seats.”

  “Yes. I understand 1999 was an exceptional year for the economy car.” He opened the door and feigned amazement. “Are those armrests I see?”

  “Two!” LikeVanna White I spread myself against the hood. “That’s 120 horsepower under me, baby.”

  “And five speeds?” He raised his brows. “Grrr.” He circled the car and wrapped his arms around me. “Why is it that there’s nothing more alluring than a beautiful woman on the hood of a car?” He kissed me gently on the lips. “Especially on a hot rod like this.”

  “Speaking of hot rod.” Seemingly on its own volition, my hand slid down the front of his jeans to find he was already getting hard. “You weren’t joking about the woman on the hood of the car phenomenon.”

  He swallowed. “No, ma’am.”

  “If I’d only known sooner I’d have totally redesigned our bedroom.”

  “You might get a bit more purchase if I do this.” He unbuckled his belt and unzipped his jeans. “Not that I’m issuing requests.”

  It felt so good to be like this with him, so easy, as if there’d never been worries about money or Bree or Belladonna’s or disconcerting emails. Griff slid his hand under my sweater and cupped my breasts, nudging my turtleneck down until, in mock frustration, he said, “Does this thing come off? Or do I have to rip it off with my teeth?”

  It came off. And it was freezing.

  “Ohmigod, this garage is cold.”

  “Yeah?” He grasped me by the waist and hoisted me up. “Let’s see what we can do about that.”

  His hands ran up my thighs, under my skirt, and, for the first time, I felt the thrill of bare skin on chrome. So that’s what all the fuss was about with those Car and Driver centerfolds.

  Griff covered me with his body, sending rays of warmth as his bare thighs pressed against mine.

  “I love you, Kat,” he murmured, breathing heavily, excitedly, as he entered gently and then, after a few purposeful thrusts, more forcefully. “God, do I love you.”

  It was what I wanted to hear, what I needed to hear as I wrapped my legs around him and met him stroke for stroke, finally reaching the kind of explosion that can never be predicted or planned.

  Griff buried his head in my neck and kissed me under the ear. “You are one hot babe on a hot rod.”

  “Ditto.”

  He frowned.

  “I mean reverse ditto.”

  “Better.” He kissed my cleavage and said, “Tell me honestly. Do you think we really can move this car upstairs?”

  I reached for my bra and hooked it on. “Like I said, this afternoon’s given me a whole new perspective on boudoir design.”

  “Now aren’t you glad you weren’t out Christmas shopping?” He languidly stepped into his jeans.

  “Or that we own a Toyota? ’Cause I’m pretty sure the front end of the Lexus is too high for . . .”

  “Mom?” Laura’s voice echoed through the kitchen. “Dad? Where are you?”

  More panicked than busted teenagers, Griff and I hurriedly scrambled into the rest of our clothes. I ducked into the car and tried to smooth my hair in the rearview mirror while Griff ingeniously grabbed a tire gauge and bent down to the rear left tire, as if all he’d been up to was looking after my safety.

  “There you are! Didn’t you hear me calling you?” She was at the door from the kitchen, holding a small box wrapped in brown paper with a red envelope attached. “What’s this?”

 
; I thought she was referring to the box, which I’d never seen before. Then I saw she was referring to the Toyota. “It’s my new car.” I checked the hood to make sure we hadn’t left any dents or other incriminating evidence.

  “It’s not too bad. Connor Richardson has one just like it. Maybe a few years newer.”

  Connor Richardson was seventeen. Seventeen-year-olds now owned fancier cars than I did.

  She held up the package. “This was sticking out of the mailbox when I came home. What’s PharMax?”

  Griff lifted his head from the tire. “That’s the place where your mother used to work before we met.”

  Somehow I knew it was from Liam, though why he would have sent me a present was more than slightly intriguing.

  “It must be from my old roommate, Suzanne,” I lied, practically snatching it from her. “She said she was putting something in the mail for me. How nice.”

  The name NOVAK was handwritten above the PharMax stamp in cryptic block handwriting—distinctive to me, unintelligible to most. Including, thankfully, my daughter.

  “Open it!”

  “I can’t! It’s a Christmas present.”

  “Then at least take off the brown wrapper so we can put it under the tree. That would give us a grand total of seven whopping presents.”

  Tapping her on the nose, I said, “Now who’s acting like a seven-year-old instead of a seventeen-year-old? Wanna go test-drive my new wheels? Dad will give you another lesson on driving stick, and I promise he won’t yell or grip the dash.” I slid the package under a box of garbage bags by the door while Laura got the keys on the counter and Griff finished with his duty of checking the tire pressure.

  He lay the gauge on his workbench, thought for a bit, and said,“I didn’t know Suzanne still worked at PharMax.”

  “Oh, sure. She’s got so much seniority there, she’ll never leave.” I was dying for those two to skedaddle so I could see what was in the box. The curiosity was killing me.

  Laura came back and jangled the keys. “Ready?”