When Angels Cry

by Jennifer Edwards

  I dialed the fire department as fast as my fingers would allow. I hoped my grandpa Reginald would be on duty.

  When I heard the sirens blaring up our driveway and saw my grandpa behind the wheel, I ran full tilt into his arms and cried like a baby, sobbing and pointing up the stairs. Whatever semblance of control I had was totally lost in my grandfather’s arms.

  In my teenage years, I learned that my mother had discovered that my father had begun an affair shortly after Rachel’s death. He had taken a job teaching an adult class at night and had met a nurse. As angry as I was with my father for his betrayal of all of us somewhere, down deep, I understood it. My mother had become cold and calculating. Each time she took another handful of pills, it was a form of blackmail. I was the unlucky one who always discovered her . . . and saved her. The same routine would play out each time with my father sobbing at her hospital bedside. I would try to keep Henry distracted. Without realizing it, I gradually began to squelch all pain and almost all my emotions.

  • • •

  I was around the same age as my mother had been at the time of these episodes. Having had my own experiences with a cheating spouse, I developed sympathy for my mother. As I stared down at her peaceful, sleeping face, I surprised myself with an emotion I was not used to feeling. A sincere love for her.

  Switching off the light at the door, I found Manuel waiting for me in the hall. He was holding a box that he handed to me.

  “Miss Sarah, I think you should have these things . . .” He looked as if he had been crying. I took the box and thanked him.

  I flipped on the overhead light in my room and placed the box on the bed. I really wasn’t up for finding out what piece of the past it held. All of a sudden, something hit the window and then again. Looking out I was surprised to see Terry in the driveway tossing pebbles. I opened the latch and raised the glass.

  “Hello Terry . . . What are you doing?”

  “Come down, and I’ll explain!” he answered. I had a smile on my face as I skipped down the stairs. Once outside, I found a very contrite young man.

  “Sarah!” he said, kicking a stray pebble from under his foot.

  “Terry!” I answered back.

  “I don’t know if I can apologize enough for . . . well, forcing myself on you and . . .”

  “Forcing yourself?” I cut him off. “You didn’t do anything of the kind, Terry.” I hooked my arm through his and guided him down the pathway leading to the little pond out back. “I’m a grown woman. I certainly wouldn’t let something happen to me unless I was a willing participant.” As we walked, I sensed that he began to relax a little.

  “When I was little, I remember so distinctly how I felt about you.” Terry said. “You were the model girl. I ended up comparing every future girlfriend to you. Maybe I found the closeness you had with my sister intriguing . . . I don’t know. Anyway, when I saw you a few nights ago, after not seeing you in years, it triggered something in me, and I just couldn’t help myself.”

  We stopped just shy of the pond. Several bullfrogs called out for perspective mates. I took a deep breath, and looked at Terry square in the face. “Terry, you are a magnificent young man. I enjoyed the kiss we shared . . . maybe too much . . . but the truth is you are Marie’s baby brother and I am much older than you. The whole thing is just way too complicated for me. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t love the way you look, the way you kiss . . . it’s just . . .”

  “Got it!” he interrupted. “I just really wanted to say that I was sorry, that’s all. Although I’m not really sorry, if truth be known. At least I got the kiss I have dreamed of for the last twenty years!”

  The two of us started to laugh. We laughed so hard that we had to hold each other up. As we calmed down, we smiled warmly at each other. We walked arm in arm to the front of the house. When we rounded the corner, the hair on my neck stood to full attention as I realized my mother was standing in the doorway in her nightgown.

  “Rachel?” she called into the night air.

  “No, Mama, it’s Sarah,” I responded.

  “How dare you stay out this late, Rachel? What in the world are you thinking?” She raised her voice. I felt my body collapse slightly against Terry. “I have to go.” I said, apologizing to him.

  “I know, but we should talk soon about all of this.” I kissed him on the cheek and thanked him for his frankness and walked over to my mother.

  “Mama, let’s get you to bed,” I said as I looped my arm through hers.

  “Rachel, Rachel, Rachel . . .” she continued, “Don’t you know how upset your father would be if he knew you were out with some boy?”

  “I know, Mama‚” I replied as I led her back up the stairs.

  “You are his favorite, you know . . .” she confided.

  “I know . . . Mother . . . I know,” I said, feeling how sad this was becoming.

  Once upstairs, I guided her back toward her bed. She pulled back the covers and climbed in. I tucked her in snugly. She looked up at me and said “You are a great daughter, Rachel. One that a parent will always be proud of.” She turned her back, plumped her pillow and that was it. No more conversation . . . done.

  I bit my lip in a feeble attempt not to sob. When had all this happened? When did dementia start taking over my mother? And what could I do about it? I backed out of her room as quietly as I could, and made my way into my own room, where I plopped on my bed. I put my head into my hands feeling as if I might implode. Instead, I got up and opened my laptop to check my e-mails. I had four. The first was from Phoebe, my older girl.

  “Hey, Ma . . . hope it’s going alright. Call me. Need to speak with you regarding life changing decisions I am making. Spoke to Dad already, and he’s on board . . . love ya, P.”

  “Oh Christ,” I thought, “what on earth could this mean?” Last time Phoebe made a “life changing decision” it involved a stripper pole and a tongue piercing.

  My second e-mail was from my publisher: “Sarah dahling . . . love the pages . . . keep it up . . . so to speak . . . LOL!!! Just had an offer from Playboy channel to make “Lust in L. A.” a TV movie!!! Will let you know! Love and xxxxx’s Sybil”

  Ewwwwwuuuu . . . Playboy Channel?? Doesn’t Spielberg read trashy novels? I could write Jaws meets Deep Throat only the shark won’t have teeth! I’m flexible!

  My next message was from Lily, my baby . . . “Mama . . . I miss you so much. I am having a blast at school though. My sociology professor is unbelievable, and all the pre-med is uber challenging. How’s Nana? I was thinking of coming up there for Thanksgiving? Love you ooodles and ooodles . . . LILY!!! xoxoxoxoxox”

  Oy! Thanksgiving!? I hadn’t even realized that it was coming up and I hadn’t even begun to think about it. I used to be so on top of the holidays when the kids were little. I had one area of the garage dedicated to Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter! The front lawn always looked like Walt Disney and Martha Stewart had mated.

  I didn’t even want to open the fourth e-mail when I saw it was from Brad. Opening his e-mails was like opening up a can of worms . . . maggots even. He still knew how to push my buttons. Now that he was banging someone else, I didn’t feel the need to subject myself to his manipulations that cause my angina.

  I needed to get some sleep, and whatever he had to say could wait until the morning. I closed my laptop and began to undress. To bathe or not to bathe, that was the question. I’ve always loved a bath, especially before bed. The submersion of my body into a lovely pool of warm water brought on the most blissful, tranquil feeling. I read somewhere that a girl who positioned her vagina just below the tap’s running water was guaranteed the ultimate experience! I must have wasted most of the world’s supply of water, trying to achieve that ultimate experience she spoke of. Never happened for me. However, it became a chapter in The Bitches Brew.

  Maryann arrived in London, on a typical, rainy October evening around six p.m. She had arranged a longer layover as her college roommate, Liza, now liv
ed there and she wanted to spend some time with her.

  Liza had worked as a flight attendant too, but for different airlines. They didn’t see one another that much anymore.

  Maryann loved the sounds of the English taxi cabs. They always sounded as if they might fall apart.

  The cab pulled up outside Liza’s flat off Kensington High Street. Maryann texted her friend that she had arrived, and was on the street below. She paid her driver, and saw the front door fly open. Liza stood there grinning from ear to ear.

  Maryann didn’t even open her umbrella, she just ran up the stairs and into her friend’s arms.

  After the Indian take-out and a lot of wine and catching up, Liza said she would run Maryann a nice bath. Maryann sat by the toasty fire and began smelling lovely scents wafting through the air from the bathroom. She could make out Lavender and orange. She walked into Liza’s bathroom to find lit candles, another bottle of wine, two wine glasses and tons of bubbles in her sunken tub.

  “Wow! Is this for me?” Maryann laughed.

  “Well, that is if you don’t want company?” Liza replied. Maryann and Liza had fooled around in college. Where Maryann preferred men, Liza stuck with women.

  Feeling the effects of wine they began to disrobe. Maryann got into the tub first. The water was perfect and the scented candles and the bath salts made a lovely aphrodisiac. Liza got into the tub and laid her body back in Maryann’s arms. Maryann wrapped her arms around Liza. They talked a bit more, and then Maryann began stroking Liza’s breasts. “I don’t remember your breasts as being as lovely as they are now,” she teased.

  “Well, you haven’t touched them in years, my dear.”

  Liza turned to face Maryann.

  “You’re the only woman I have ever been with, you know?” Maryann said.

  “Well, you’re not the only woman I’ve ever been with!” And Liza kissed her friend hard and passionately.

  “I can tell you only kiss men!” Liza laughed.

  “How can you tell that?”

  “Just can!”

  Maryann, always up for a challenge, grabbed Liza’s face and plunged her tongue deep into her mouth. “Mmmmm, that’s more like it,” Liza moaned, “I’m going to show you something special.” She took the hand held shower in her hands and turned it on. There was a dial at the top for varying degrees of massage pressure. Liza turned it to the pulsating setting.

  “Lie back my dear, and I am going to take you to new heights.”

  Liza aimed the shower massage directly on Maryann’s hungry pussy.

  • • •

  I was way too restless, even for a bath. I decided to check the e-mail from my Rottweiler ex-husband. We had barely spoken since our separation, unless it was about the kids. I could never take him seriously after I found him with that spray-tanned, mall rat.

  • • •

  I was in my car, running late, on my way to my agent’s office. It was raining a heavy, torrential rain, the kind of rain Los Angeles isn’t known for. I was concentrating hard on the road when my phone rang. After the news broke regarding cell phone use and brain tumors, the hypochondriac in me had kicked in. I immediately went out and got a hands-free thingamagig. Of course, the thingamagig had fallen between the seat and the armrest, and I was groping around trying to find it. As I was placing it in my ear, I could already hear Brad talking but it wasn’t to me. He must have pushed the redial button on his office phone and did not realize we were connected. I did what any trusting, loving wife would do. I didn’t speak . . . I just listened.

  “I want a dozen red roses sent upstairs to her office along with a venti soy latte. Suite 204.” Brad’s voice was determined, strong and sexy. “No, just bill me as usual.”

  In that moment, my life fell apart. I made a Mario Andretti 180 in the rain and headed for my husband’s office.

  I actually sat in my car for more than an hour, staring at the window on the first floor. I wondered how I would confront him. What would I say? What could I say? Finally, I mustered up the courage to take myself to his office. “Fuck the umbrella,” I decided as I ran full tilt toward the glass doors. I must have looked like a drowned rat, upon entering.

  “Sarah! Nice to see you.” Sidney, the security guard, greeted me as I rushed in.

  “You too, Sid!” I tried to hide the fact that my heart was about to jump out of my chest like Alien and plaster itself onto his face.

  When I got into the elevator, I thought I might puke. What had I just heard? Was I overreacting? Was I totally crazy? Had I misinterpreted what I heard? Brad works so hard that he doesn’t have time for his family. When could he possibly have time for an affair?

  As I neared his closed office door, I knew. What I didn’t anticipate was what was on the other side of the door. Brad’s assistant had left for the day, so I was able to open the door to his office quietly. Brad’s Armani trousers were sitting on top of his Bruno Magli’s, and he was thrusting his trusty six inch into the plump behind of suite 204. I never did appreciate being fucked from behind, but seeing suite 204 spread over the top of Brad’s desk and hearing the moan escape her cupid’s mouth, I wondered if I had been missing out. He was holding on to 204’s hips as if she might actually fly across the room if he didn’t. Then he caught sight of me from the corner of his eye. Without acknowledging me he took his hands off bitchfacecuntwhore’s hips and made a fist just under her breastbone. He feigned doing the Heimlich maneuver.

  “Come on dammit,” he said “You can do it!!” He looked at me straight in the eye and said without blinking “Chicken bone!!” He continued to pump blondie’s chest.

  Very resourceful, I thought. Nice try!

  204 was coughing wildly by this point.

  “I am saving her life!!” He yelled out to me.

  As I turned to leave, 204 exclaimed, “What the fuck? You tryin’ to kill me or somethin’?”

  I headed home through the rain and called a locksmith on the way. The one time I wished I had passed out I didn’t! One thing I was sure of, the locks would be changed before my soon to be ex-husband got home.

  Chapter Five

  Til Death . . . Blah, Blah, Blah

  It was the spring of my senior year in college. Marie had been correct about my unexpected hurling, the morning of her wedding. I was pregnant. Aside from the round the clock vomiting, morning sickness my ass. I threw up every hour on the hour. I had huge veins all over my breasts and chest that were a lovely shade of indigo. I finally got myself to the doctor. Although he took my blood to be certain, he was convinced I was pregnant as well.

  Brad was still in law school, and I was barely twenty. We weren’t even living together, but the thought of an abortion never entered my mind. I had many friends who had had abortions and said it was no big deal. I was all for Roe v Wade, but I just couldn’t do it. To my surprise, Brad just said, “What’s the big deal? We’ll get married.”

  “You mean I don’t have to go into a home with other unwed mothers and have my parents disown me and be ostracized by my friends?” I sobbed.

  Brad shook his head and smiled. “Of course not honey. It’s what we both want some day anyway. It came a little earlier than we planned. Just do me a favor. Don’t say anything to our parents.”

  “Never crossed my mind!” I promised. Honestly, how was it possible? I had obviously found the greatest man on earth!

  We planned the wedding really fast because I was already beginning my second trimester. My mother kept asking for me to wait and have a summer wedding. We lied and said that Brad would be interning at a firm that summer and that it would be too stressful. He was going to meet with a firm, which was the truth, but he had no clue what would happen. Luckily Brad’s mother was all aboard for late spring. She wanted to have the wedding in her lovely garden in Pasadena.

  Marie helped with everything, thank God, including what I should wear that would hide any signs of what was going on underneath the dress. It was an off the shoulder, empire dress in French lace. I wore fl
owers in my hair like the flowerchild I once aspired to be. Brad wore his father’s tuxedo. My parents flew down with my brother Henry. As I waited in my gown in the master bedroom, there was a knock at the door. It was my father. He would be walking me down the aisle. I saw a sadness in him as he stood there.

  “Daddy, are you alright?”

  “You’ll never dance on the table tops in Monte Carlo.”

  “I’m sorry, Dad. I don’t know what that means.”

  He looked deeply into my eyes. “You are so young to be getting married. You should have a whole life before you begin this one.” He glanced at the floor. “I’m sorry I shouldn’t be saying this on your wedding day.”

  I told him that I loved him for it, but I was certain I was doing the right thing. I cupped his face in my hands and promised to dance on a tabletop in Monte Carlo.

  He took my hand and squeezed it. He told me he was pleased to be able to walk, at least one of his daughters, down the aisle. I took it as a compliment. Although I knew the ghost of Rachel loomed over us all that day. It wasn’t until years later that I realized he had been talking about his own experiences. We were later to discover around this time that my dad was having another affair.

  It was swelteringly hot that day, which became my excuse for being sick in Marjorie’s rose bushes. “Poor Sarah . . . she’s so nervous . . . and it is sooo hot today!!” I heard people saying.