A refreshing change from the stained-ochre walls and brown refrigerator.
“So,” Madeleine said, pulling up a whitewashed stool. “What could I possibly have to do with your husband?”
It was not easy telling a relative stranger that I’d mentioned her name as an alibi so I could spend a night with an ex-boyfriend. Fortunately, Madeleine had very little interest in my private life, aside from the fact that Griff was in Alaska interviewing Hunter Christiansen.
She was far more interested in Wade Rothschild and the fact that he was living off Libby.
“Do you mean to tell me that this guy who could afford to buy her the nicest house in town is forcing her to pay half the rent of a crappy walk-up downtown?”
I told her I suspected it was more than half. “I’ve been thinking about it, and Wade’s predicament is more complicated than it would seem. Having come to know the guy slightly, he acts like a man who’s been hurt, who doesn’t trust people easily.”
“And no wonder.” She slid off her stool and went to her shiny Sub-Zero refrigerator. “Do you know what it’s like to have that kind of money? No one is your friend—or your girlfriend—just because they genuinely like you. Or maybe their feelings are sincere, but you can never be sure because you’re so rich, there’s no way to tell if it’s you they’re after or your bank account.”
I watched her pour out iced teas for both of us. “So, what’s the answer?”
“If you’re Wade Rothschild III, I guess the answer is to run away and hide in your mother’s backyard.” She slid the glass to me. “Lemon?”
I nodded.
She rolled a lemon on the wooden counter thoughtfully. “Then again, that’s not entirely fair. A year or so ago, I did a follow-up documentary forVH1 on some of those rich kids, just to see how well they adapted to adulthood.”
“And?” I got a spoon and went on a hunt for her sugar. Three grains, nothing more.
“I’d say about half of them had been in and out of rehab. Another quarter had followed in their parents’ footsteps: homes in the Hamptons, kids in the same private schools they’d attended, et cetera. But there was one guy I met who really impressed me.” She handed me a lemon slice. “He’s the heir of a hotel family, just like Wade. Super rich, just like Wade.”
I squeezed the lemon and listened, the germ of an idea beginning to take seed in my mind.
“Instead of living a lavish lifestyle, he became a musician, married his college sweetheart, and raised five kids. He also put ten million dollars toward a charity he and his wife founded so underprivileged minority kids could get scholarships.” She tasted the iced tea and sighed. “That’s what I don’t get. Why doesn’t Wade do what he did? Why doesn’t he give his money away if he hates it so much?”
Perhaps, I thought, no one explained to him that when it came to having money, generosity was always the best option.
Maybe it was about time someone did.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
There were far more pressing matters in my life than Libby and Wade—like my marriage, for starters. But as each day passed without so much as an email or phone call from Griff, as each hour of silence tolled the mourning bell of our life together, I found myself increasingly preoccupied with their future instead of my own.
And so, the day before our June Penny Pinchers meeting, two days before Griff got home from Alaska, I decided to take action.
“Call Wade and pretend to be interested in buying his yurt.” I handed the phone to Viv, who had stopped over with Steve to check on my well-being.
“You’re procrastinating,” Viv said, handing it back to me. “You can’t face the fact that your marriage is over and so you’re spending all your waking hours focusing on someone else instead of meeting with Toni and getting prepared for Griff’s big announcement.”
She was so blunt about it, as though we were discussing getting rid of old carpet instead of an old husband.
“It won’t do any good, anyway,” Steve threw in. “The guy is a confirmed vegan, or whatever. He’ll never change his ways.”
“Yes, he will, and he’s a freegan, not a vegan.” I clasped my hands together in prayer. “Please, Viv. If Libby answers, she’ll know right away it’s me and she’ll be suspicious.”
Viv groaned and called Wade while I listened in. Five minutes of chatting and she’d arranged to take a tour of his yurt with an eye toward purchase.
“Like I’d even stay at a Red Roof,” she said, hanging up, “never mind sleeping in a tent.”
It wasn’t until I turned down the private road to Wade’s mother’s house that I finally understood why Wade got so defensive when Steve referred to his yurt as a tent. It wasn’t a tent. It wasn’t even close, unless the Big Top and Barnum & Bailey’s Circus is one’s idea of a pop-up.
Wade’s yurt was about as wide as our house, twenty feet in diameter, and set on a cedar platform. With its domed roofline, it looked like someone had chopped off the top of a muffin and set it down in the backyard of the former Mrs. Rothschild, where it fit in nicely on the new green spring grass, with banks of pink roses and a fragrant English garden making for an elegant backdrop.
I parked my car and slammed the door just as Wade threw aside a lightweight door. He stood, barefoot, in his jeans and navy T-shirt, wearing a puzzled expression. “Where’s your sister?”
“She couldn’t come. I’m her substitute.” I trudged up the grass, my heels slipping into the moist sod beneath. “Well,” I said, taking a gander at the white structure. “Isn’t this something.”
“I told you it wasn’t a tent.”
“I see that.”
He held open the door. “Come on. I’ll show you inside.”
Inside was one big room cordoned off into a kitchen area, a sleeping area, and a living area, including a small woodstove. Wooden rafters led to an opening that could be pulled tight. It was comfortable and airy and the cedar floor made it feel like a tree house.
“There’s a bathhouse I built out back with a composting toilet,” he said, like that would flip my switch. “Libby talked me into building a sauna for the winter. It’s pretty sweet.”
Thank goodness he brought up Libby. “You know,” I said, looking around, “I’m surprised Libby made you move into her place.”
“Oh, she didn’t make me move.”
I opened and closed the small woodstove. “No?”
“She likes this place.”
I went over to the kitchen, where a tiny refrigerator hummed. It reminded me of one I’d had in college. “Then how come you’re moving?”
“My mother. She’s the one who wants it gone.”
Mother, I thought. Figures.
“Now that you’ve seen it, are you interested?” He swung his arms. “I’m thinking maybe four, five grand. You could live in it fine after your husband leaves. Either that or . . . he could live in it. Great temporary housing for couples going through divorce.”
“Graves are even better.” I helped myself to a seat on Wade’s futon with its Navajo blanket. “You ever been married,Wade?”
“Nope. Nor do I plan to be. Look at you and your husband. Twenty years and . . .” He drew his hand across his throat. “That’s it.”
This might be more difficult than I’d hoped. “Marriage is a risk, but when it works, it’s great. Just because my husband and I went wrong somewhere along the line doesn’t mean it’s not for you.”
“Trust me. It’s not for us.” Antsy, he stood on tiptoe and touched the beams. “This thing’s extremely easy to break down and build back up. Unlike”—he smiled—“marriage.”
I patted the futon. “Sit down and let me have a look at that bump.”
Like a dutiful child, he sat and let me paw through his hair until I found the scar. “Healed nicely. You can barely tell.”
“That was Libby’s doing.” He sat up and finger-brushed his hair forward. “She rubbed cocoa butter on the scar. Gave it elasticity. If it hadn’t been for her, I’d probably have
died or something. She stayed awake all night and held a mirror to my face to make sure I was still breathing.”
“Wow.” I acted impressed. “She must really love you.”
“That’s the truth. I’ve never had anyone care for me like she does.”
“Not even your mother?”
He flicked a glance at his mother’s white ice palace, just barely visible through one of the clear vinyl windows. “Are you kidding? My mother only cared about me as long as my father was in the picture because I was her link to him and his money.” He shot me a look. “Libby told me you found out about . . . everything.”
“Word gets around when you’re the town’s resident multi-multimillionaire.”
Standing, he put his hands on his hips and said,“That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? You don’t want to buy the yurt, do you?”
“No,Wade, I really don’t.”
“You want me to marry Libby and make her a Rothschild, bring her into that sick world of disgusting wealth, the kind of money that separates soul from body. You don’t know what you’re pushing, Kat, because you haven’t lived it.”
“You’re right,” I said, standing, too. “I haven’t. But neither, in a way, have you. You haven’t lived the full potential of your money.”
I reached into my purse and pulled out a DVD of Madeleine Granville’s follow-up documentary on children of the super rich. “There are tons of stories of people just like you, Wade, with your wealth and resources, who instead of running away from the world and hiding in their mother’s backyard have had the courage to do just the opposite, to meet the world head-on and make it a better place.” I handed it to him. “Watch this and see. There’s one guy in here who reminds me of you.”
He fingered the DVD tentatively, like it was radioactive. “You’re not telling me anything I don’t know, Kat.”
“Look, if you were with any other woman, I would never have come here and rudely suggested you get married. But this is Libby I’m talking about, a friend who’s spent fifteen years scrubbing my toilets, a woman who is willing to live with you in poverty because she loves you.”
I pushed him down on the futon. “She knows what it’s like to live at the short end of the stick,Wade. As, after rifling through Dumpsters to survive, you do, too. Don’t you see? She’s your destiny. Together, the two of you can achieve amazing things.”
Wade rubbed his brow. “You don’t know. You can’t possibly begin to understand.”
“You’re right. I can’t. But I can help you see there’s another way to live,Wade, which is what the Penny Pinchers—you included—taught me. Another way to live.” I tapped the DVD in his hand. “See you at the next meeting.”
Because I was pretty sure it was going to be his last.
Madeleine opened the heavy bathroom door of the Rocky River Public Library and headed toward Viv and me. She’d dressed down for the occasion, I thought, donning simple black pants and an understated cream sweater. She looked nice.
“Do you think he’ll recognize her?” Viv whispered.
“I doubt it. It was years ago that they met. And she won’t say a word. She just wants to observe.”
Viv was unsure. It was Sherise’s last meeting before she moved to New York and the idea of bringing in a stranger, a non Penny Pincher, felt wrong to her.
“Thanks for letting me sit in,” Madeleine said, adjusting her bag. “A group of strangers meeting once a month to trade coupons and savings tips. Could make a great documentary down the road.”
Viv brightened. She liked anything having to do with TV.
We shut up asWade and Libby strolled down the hall, hand in hand. Wade was in battered jeans and a button-down shirt, usual fare. Libby was dressed as nicely as usual, in a skirt and light spring sweater.
Aside from the perfunctory hellos, Wade took no further notice of Madeleine.
“He is so different from when I interviewed him years ago,” she gushed. “He would never have been caught dead in ripped jeans and Birkenstocks. The guy used to drive a Maserati.”
Viv said, “Unbelievable.”
Sherise opened the door. “We’re going outside. It’s such a beautiful day, I can’t stand the idea of being holed up in a dark basement.”
She was right. The first Wednesday of June was a far cry from the biting cold one in October when I’d stood outside the library with Libby, too chicken to face a group of savers.
The air was fresh with hope and the heady perfume of day lilies planted along the library’s back wall. We settled ourselves under a spreading oak, Viv with Steve, Libby with Wade, Velma on a folding chair Steve had brought, and Sherise on a blanket. Opal sat in the middle guarding the coupons from a sudden breeze and handing out lemonade. I couldn’t help remembering how odd she’d seemed months ago, how stern when she bragged about buying co-op gas. Such a contrast to what she was, a true Earth Mother.
“Okay, everybody,” Sherise began. “You can bet this is a pretty bittersweet meeting for me. I start my new job next week, so this is my last one. But I am determined not to cry!” She held up a finger. “And the first person who makes me has to help me move.”
That did it. Opal and I, about to hug her, snapped our arms down, fast.
“I thought so.” She smiled. “Anyway, one of my duties is to pick a successor to lead this ragtag bunch. I am open to suggestions, starting immediately.”
I raised my hand. “Opal. She’s been here almost as long as you, Sherise, and there’s no one who knows more about saving.”
“No can do.” Opal shifted sides and leaned on her left thigh. “This is the last year the kids will be home-schooled, much to my regret. They took a vote and they want to become corrupted by the public school system. Therefore, I have to go out and . . .” She mumbled a curse to the blue sky above us. “Get a job.”
“A real job?” Velma said. “But you’ve been a stay-at-home mother for years. What can you do?”
“Pretty much anything, I guess, with a law degree.”
“Where are you going to law school?” I asked, thinking Opal should look into managing DrugSave.
“Went, my dear. Temple Law, right across the river. What? You think I got this pushy naturally? It took three years and two bar exams to develop my thick hide.”
I’d had no idea. There were surprising depths to these people, average folk I wouldn’t have given another thought to had I bumped into them on the street. Velma the secret felon. Wade the secret millionaire, and now Opal the secret lawyer.
“Therefore,” Opal began,“since I have a job and you don’t, I vote for Kat.”
Me? I was flattered, especially when everyone applauded. Viv gave me a thumbs-up and even Wade agreed I’d be perfect for the job.
“You’ve come the farthest,” Wade said. “Aside from Sherise.”
“Which is why you’d be good at running the group,” she added. “Look at you, Kat. Look at how much you’ve done in eight short months, how much you’ve saved.”
Viv said, “How much have you saved?”
“Yeah,” said Madeleine, getting interested,“and where, exactly, did you start?”
“Tell her. Better yet, show her.” Sherise handed me a notebook from her purse and a pen. “Write it down.”
I took a moment, trying to get all the numbers straight. “When I came here last fall, Madeleine, I was too afraid to touch a Visa bill. No kidding. But then, I found my husband was planning to leave me and then I went to see a lawyer, who said I had to have at least $15,000 ready when he did.”
“What a nightmare that was,” Viv said, ripping apart a dandelion. “I’ve never seen my sister so pale as when Toni told her that.”
I pointed the pen at her. “Nor so determined. Remember how you laughed . . .”
“I did not!” She looked around. “I really didn’t. I might have been skeptical, but I had good reason. You should have seen what my sister was like. She once closed down the Bridgewater Mall.”
Velma said, “Go on, Kat. Ge
t to where Sherise and I slapped you with a reality check.”
I recounted that magical and frightening day when the Penny Pinchers descended on my house, Opal rifling through my pantry, Steve just strolling into my bedroom. “As carefree as could be,” I said, much to Viv’s delight, “supposedly to check out my TV.”
Steve said sheepishly, “All I cared about was the TV.”
Viv said, “Yeah, right. You snoop.”
“And then?” Velma said. “Come on. Get to the good part.”
“And then, Sherise and Velma went through my records, even though Velma was not allowed to, by law . . .”
Madeleine said, “Why?”
“Skip it.” Velma dismissed her question with a flick of her knitting needle. “Immaterial.”
“Which was when,” I finished,“I found out that we were $37,000 in debt and that if I wanted to save up enough money for a divorce, I had better change my spending drastically.”
“Whoa!” Madeleine shook her head. “In eight months? How much did you save?”
I wrote the number on the notepad. “By cutting back on utilities, by getting rid of my car payments, lowering my insurance, ditching TV, cable, and movies, as well as, of course, slashing our grocery bills, I was able to save an average of $1,650 a month. Not $15,000, but close.”
Turning the notebook around, I showed them the figure. $13,200.
“Also, we slashed our credit card debt to almost nothing.” My proudest accomplishment, though I’d done that largely through my freelance interior design work.
Everyone applauded except for Madeleine, who gaped at me in shock. Viv blew me a kiss and mouthed, I’m so proud of you.
“My, that certainly is progress,” Velma said. “I can’t say I’ve saved anything, except that the group does allow me to live on my retirement. Oh, I also gave approximately $6,000 last year to The Women’s Prison Project, which fights recidivism.”
“Velma!” Steve exclaimed. “On your fixed income? You amaze me.”
Indeed. How did this little woman with no income to speak of manage to save $6,000 to give to charity?
“It wasn’t hard,” she said. “When you give, you get, you know.”
The Penny Pinchers Club Page 24