The Hot Flash Club Strikes Again

by Nancy Thayer

  Claudia sniffed. “I suppose I’d better phone Dr. Monroe to ask what he recommends.” She shook her head. “I’m sure he’ll be glad to see the end of me.”

  “Are you making a pun?”

  Claudia looked startled. Then she allowed Polly the slightest sliver of a smile.

  ——————————

  Thursday afternoon, the family went to visit Heather’s brother, Harry.

  Aubrey drove Heather in his Jaguar, while Carolyn and Hank went together in Carolyn’s Mercedes, because afterward Aubrey was taking Heather out shopping while Carolyn was going back to work at the paper company, dropping Hank at home on the way. A fresh crisis with the sales reps for Sperry’s had taken all of Carolyn’s attention over the past twenty-four hours, so much so that now, as Hank drove into Arlington, Carolyn lay back in the passenger seat, trying to still the busy voices in her head and catch a nap, or at least a moment’s peace.

  “We’re here,” Hank said.

  Carolyn opened her eyes.

  The street was pleasant, rows of double- and triple-decker homes tucked behind covered porches, the small yards delineated by mature trees and bushes. The yellow clapboard house needed a fresh coat of paint, and the yard was brown and mucky from melted snow, but the house seemed sound. Hank came around to open the car door for Carolyn, then took her arm as they made their way over the soggy grass to the front door where Heather and Aubrey waited.

  An enormous male with a pockmarked face, black ponytail, and forearms like Popeye’s yanked the door back. “Yeah?” Before they could speak, he grinned. One gold tooth glittered among the gray. “Oh. Yeah. Youse must be Harry’s sister an’ all. Come on in.”

  As they crowded inside, Carolyn sent silent apologies to her baby for the noxious air she’d be sending her way, for the room smelled of nicotine, beer, and males desperately in need of baths. This was the house Heather and Harry had grown up in, and the décor reflected her parents’ taste, overlaid with Harry’s accessories of girlie magazines, crushed beer cans, filthy ashtrays, and unapologetic stacks of videos about Scandinavian stewardesses and horny teenagers. The front room had bronze walls and a gold shag carpet. A thirty-six-inch television loomed in one corner. A gold and avocado plush sofa faced the TV, and next to it, in a wheelchair, sat a man, glowering at them as if he were the giant and they were a collective Jack, having just climbed up the beanstalk.

  “Hello, Harry!” Heather kissed the top of her brother’s head and gave his shoulders a little hug. “How are you feeling, sweetie?”

  “Been better,” he growled. In jeans and a black T-shirt with a Metallica logo, his shaggy, dark hair curling down into an unkempt beard, Harry exuded the rude power of a buffalo.

  Heather beamed, as if he’d just said something brilliant. “Harry, honey, I want you to meet my husband and his family.”

  Aubrey crossed the room and bent slightly, extending his hand. “Nice to meet you, Harry. Sorry about your accident.”

  “Orgh,” Harry replied ambiguously. When he shook Aubrey’s hand, the tattoos spiraling up his arm rippled over his muscles.

  Hank stepped forward. “I’m Hank Wellingell, Aubrey’s son-in-law. This is my wife, Carolyn. We’re glad to meet you.” Carolyn didn’t try to shake his hand; Harry didn’t seem all that thrilled to be meeting them, but she could understand how frustrated a man this obviously physical could be, confined to a wheelchair.

  “I’m Bruce.” The man who’d answered the door had a tad more personal proficiency. “I hang out here to help Harry, now that he’s injured an’ all.”

  Everyone said hello to Bruce, then Heather asked him to bring in a couple of the kitchen chairs, and they all settled into an uneasy circle.

  “Tell me about your injury, Harry,” Aubrey invited. “I hope you’re not in any pain.”

  Harry grunted, his lips curling in disdain. “Water heater fell on my back. Idiot I work with let go when we were trying to take it out of a house and install a new one. Crushed a vertebra and stuff.”

  “That’s terrible,” Hank commiserated. “What’s the prognosis?”

  Harry’s mouth hung open.

  Heather rushed to help her brother out. “Do the doctors say you’ll walk again?”

  “Maybe. Got to let it mend. See what happens. May need an operation.”

  “Are you satisfied with your physician?” Aubrey leaned forward, hands on knees. “Because I have a cadre of excellent physicians and I’d be glad to arrange for them to look at you, to see if there’s anything else that can be done, or if—”

  “My doc’s fine.” Harry folded his arms over his chest. Even in a wheelchair, he looked like a bouncer.

  “It’s always good to get a second opinion,” Hank observed.

  Harry didn’t answer but stared mulishly at the ceiling.

  Aubrey persisted, “If there is anything we can do, let us know. If you need money for doctors, medication, nurses, anything at all . . .”

  A light gleamed in Harry’s black eyes. He looked at Heather. “I don’t need charity. My sister’s helped me enough.”

  “Well, I respect your attitude, but I wouldn’t want you to think of any financial help we can offer as charity. You’re part of the family now, after all.”

  Harry’s lips curved in a private smile. “Think not.”

  Aubrey glanced at his wife as if seeking interpretation.

  “She’s ashamed of me,” Harry clarified, glowering. “She’s too good for me.”

  “That’s not true, Harry!” Heather objected, clenching her fists.

  “She’s right.” Aubrey hastened to back up his wife. “In fact, Harry, we’ve been talking. If it would make things easier for you, we’d be glad to have you come live with us for a while. We’ve got a big house, lots of room, a housekeeper during the day.”

  Harry’s smile had an oddly demented quality about it. “Nice of you to offer.” The look he cast his sister seemed strangely threatening. “I’ll think about it.”

  “Is there anything else we can help you with?” Aubrey asked. “I assume your health insurance is covering most of your medical expenses. Are you receiving disability pay?”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Harry’s momentary good humor fell away, his face sullen again.

  A silence fell over the room. Carolyn glanced at Hank, and back at Harry, who slumped in his chair.

  “Time for his pain pill,” Bruce announced, adding, “he’ll probably fall asleep when he takes it.”

  “Of course. We don’t want to stay too long.” Aubrey rose. Once again he shook hands with Harry, and this time, with Bruce. Heather kissed her brother on top of his head again, receiving a growl in return. Carolyn and Hank nodded good-bye and gratefully escaped into the fresh air.

  25

  Friday night, Alice left the Jacuzzi and headed into the locker room just as the yoga class ended. She’d planned the timing precisely. She was here as a kind of casual Hot Flash Club spy, trying to get a sense, just for the fun of it, of how the four new kids were bonding.

  The locker room sounded like an aviary as women of all ages, shapes, and states of undress chattered and called as they changed into or out of street clothes. Alice pulled on sweatpants and sat on a bench to tie her sneakers.

  A pregnant woman sat down next to her, heaving a sigh.

  Alice smiled. “Hello, again. I remember you from the Jacuzzi last month. How are you?”

  In response, Carolyn cracked an enormous yawn, hurrying to cover her mouth with her hand. “Sorry! Don’t mean to be rude! I’m just so wiped out by the end of the week. I don’t know how I’m going to find the energy to take care of a baby and do a decent job at work.”

  “Don’t worry. You’ll manage, I promise. I did. I raised two sons, as a single mother, while working full-time.” She smiled, remembering. “Damn, I was busy! But it was fun. You know, I felt like Wonder Woman.”

  Carolyn looked skeptical. “What line of work?”

  “I was in charge of personnel for the Tr
ansContinent Insurance Company which recently became TransWorld.”

  “Really.” Impressed, Carolyn studied Alice more closely.

  “Yes, and you know what? My two jobs—mother and administrator—complemented one another. I found myself using the same skills for both.”

  “Really.” Carolyn looked thoughtful. “I’d like to—”

  “Okeydoke, slow poke!” Julia bounded up. “We’re all ready to go!”

  “Yes, and I’m starving,” Beth added, pulling on her fleece vest.

  “I’ll just grab my coat and purse.” Carolyn pushed herself up off the bench. “Nice talking to you.”

  “I’m Alice.” She held out her hand.

  “I’m Carolyn.” They shook.

  “We’ll see you at Leonardo’s!” Polly called.

  Carolyn waddled off after the other three women.

  Alice smiled.

  ——————————

  They drove in their own cars but arrived at the same time, hurrying through the cold night into Leonardo’s.

  While they scanned the menus, Beth said, “Can you believe how busy The Haven is?”

  “It’s winter,” Polly pointed out. “Everyone’s desperate to get out of the house and get some exercise.”

  “Enough chitchat.” Carolyn rapped her knife on the table like a gavel and pronounced in her chair-of-the-board voice, “I’m calling this meeting to order. So, ladies, any progress to report?”

  The other three all spoke at once.

  “I’ve moved in with Claudia!”

  “You’ve got to check out the bruise Sonny’s mother gave me!”

  “Agnes made one of her Stealth Raids when Tim was out of town and found me and Belinda alone with—Beth!”

  “Order, ladies, order.” Carolyn tapped her Evian bottle. “I have some juicy news, too, but I think Beth’s bruise should be the first order of business. Beth, what happened?”

  Polly sat back in her chair, enjoying the contentment of loose, warm muscles, the satisfying swell of endorphins exercise produced, and not the least, the satisfaction of having once again done something healthy. Beth and Julia alternated in a dramatic recitation of the Saga of Sonny’s Malevolent Mother and the Ice Skates. Polly responded at appropriate moments with exclamations of shock or censure. But she couldn’t help stepping back a bit in her mind, so that she took in not only the tale that was unfolding, but also the dynamics of the friendship between Beth and Julia, developing right before her eyes. They glanced at each other for the right word, filled in and clarified, built and embroidered, transforming the events of that Sunday into the kind of stories that would become part of the legend of their lives.

  “—so Beth and Belinda and I had just settled down on the guest bed to eat some grilled-cheese sandwiches,” Julia said now, “when I heard a knock on the door, and I thought”—she put her hands to her face like the person in Munch’s The Scream—” ‘Oh, no, not now!’ ”

  Polly laughed along with the others, while in her heart a new kind of sensation unfolded, a sort of bittersweet leaflet, with the present on one side, with a faded, blurred facsimile from the past on the other. If love could be ranked, then she would put her son, David, number one, followed closely by her husband, Tucker. But love didn’t really fall into such limiting hierarchies. As Julia and Beth collapsed with laughter about the dreadful Agnes, and Carolyn looked on indulgently, Polly envisioned that confrontation, remembering in the same moment all the times she and her best friend, Franny, had groaned, gagged, and chortled about Claudia’s snotty façade. As much as she had loved Tucker, and he had been her best friend as well as her lover, she just couldn’t have made it without Franny’s friendship. For one thing, even though Tucker complained thoroughly, colorfully, and often about his mother to her, Polly knew she couldn’t do the same to him. It was too close. It broke an unwritten rule, like the one that dictated that you could criticize your own child, but when your best friend criticized hers, the best course was to champion that child. Polly could refer to Claudia as that dried-up piece of beef jerky to Franny, never to Tucker, and in turn, Franny made fun of her own mother-in-law. Not to mention, occasionally, her husband.

  Franny had moved to Tucson a few years ago because her husband’s allergies and Franny’s arthritis required more sun and heat than New England could provide. They’d kept in touch by phone and e-mail, but it really wasn’t the same as sitting down at the kitchen table over a cup of tea or curling up on the sofa with a bottle of red wine. Oh, and the shopping they’d done together! Polly sometimes found herself standing in Filene’s Basement, a bargain garment in her hand, stunned by the shock of loss of Franny’s companionship and guidance.

  It was a mystery to her how Claudia had managed to live her life without a best friend, or at least a few close friends, but Polly reminded herself how Claudia had been raised, how appearances were primary, how, in her world, you never let down your guard to expose your faults. Too bad, for friends loved you, faults and all.

  “Want to know something amazing?” Julia’s face was flushed, her eyes sparkling. She was beautiful, Polly thought, almost like a cartoon heroine with her short black hair and brisk motions. “Last fall, when I got stressed, my hearing crashed. This time, with Beth there, I didn’t even have a momentary blip. So it’s got to be psychosomatic, which is an enormous relief.”

  “Then we’re all making progress,” Carolyn said, nodding at Polly.

  Polly pulled her mind into the present. “Yes, I’ve been asked to move in with Claudia, thanks to Carolyn.”

  “That’s good?” Julia pulled a skeptical face.

  “Yeah, I thought she was a horrible old bitch,” Beth said.

  “She is. But she’s ill. She’s dying. She’s also proud, terribly private. If she had her way, I think she’d just crawl off beneath the house like a dying cat. And who knows, when I get to that point, I might feel that way, too. Anyway, she refuses to go into a hospital or care facility. She doesn’t want strangers in her house. She didn’t even want me around, because in her warped mind I’m not good enough to so much as clean up her vomit.”

  “Eeeugh.” Beth shuddered.

  “But once she knew I was friends with Carolyn Sperry, I went up in her estimation.”

  “And,” Carolyn leaned forward, taking over, “she actually was very helpful to me.”

  “Claudia was?” Beth blinked in surprise. “How?”

  “She suggested that Heather might have been pulling a scam with the antiques.”

  Polly watched Carolyn describe the events that unfolded. Carolyn became animated, less stiff, almost girlish in expression and gestures, drawing Julia and Beth closer, entranced. Carolyn’s closer to their age, not mine, Polly thought with a twinge of melancholy. Polly was twenty-five years older than Carolyn, almost as much older as Claudia was than Polly. The other three women had so much of their lives ahead of them, especially the core of most women’s existence: childbirth and raising children. They were having periods while Polly was having hot flashes. Polly imagined that after Carolyn had her baby, she’d find her life too full to have time for yoga or leisurely conversations.

  “Are you kidding?” Julia sat up straight, waving her hands. “You’re just going to leave it there?”

  “What else can we do?” Carolyn asked.

  With a snap, Polly brought her attention on the present.

  “Keep investigating,” Julia declared. “I mean, come on, are you sure her brother’s not faking it?”

  Carolyn gnawed on her lip, thinking. “We’ll find out eventually. My father wants to give Harry some financial support without making Harry feel like a charity case, so he’s trying to find some kind of job for Harry at the paper mill.”

  “Okay, if that works out, then you’ll know whether Harry’s faking it or not, but how long will it be before Harry’s back is better? It could be months.” Julia shook her head. “I don’t like this. I don’t trust it. I’ll bet Heather called her brother, told him to rent
a wheelchair and do a Tiny Tim. Because come on, even if Harry really is injured, two hundred thousand dollars is a hell of a lot of money to hand over.”

  “Most of it was spent on antiques, don’t forget,” Carolyn said. “Well, a lot of it. Polly saw the furniture, too. There’s a ton of it.” She shifted in her chair to get more comfortable. “I don’t see what else I can do. I can’t just plant myself outside Harry’s window to spy on him.”

  Julia grinned mischievously. “No, but we can.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Julia lowered her voice conspiratorially. “What if Harry is faking the injury? Or what if it’s not really as bad as he says? What if he can walk? He’s a young man, right? He won’t want to stay in that house all day. I could park outside his house. He wouldn’t recognize my car. I could take my video camera. If I see him walking, I could shoot him so you’d have proof for your father.”

  “Cool.” Beth breathed. “A stakeout. I’ll come, too.”

  “I don’t know.” Carolyn looked worried. “Wouldn’t that be kind of underhanded?”

  “Isn’t it kind of underhanded if Heather and Harry are cheating your father out of money?” Julia pressed her case. “Look. Heather’s already got a history of sneakiness. She bought furniture, said it cost two hundred thousand dollars. When you confronted her about the checks made out to cash, then and only then did she remember to mention her brother. Smells fishy to me.”

  Carolyn looked at Polly. “What do you think?”

  “I think Julia’s right. Think how relieved you’ll be if Harry really is injured. If you don’t do this, you might spend the rest of your life suspecting Heather.”

  Carolyn capitulated with a giant shrug. “Oh, good grief, all right.”

  Julia screwed up her mouth, thinking. “We’ll need a camouflage car. Something that won’t make Harry suspicious if he notices a strange vehicle parked on his street all day.”