When Angels Cry

by Jennifer Edwards

  “Come on, Sarah, what’s up with you and waiter man?”

  “Oh no you don’t. Don’t try to change the subject on me. If you tell me about your cable distraction, then maybe I’ll tell you about my waiter man.”

  Marie drew in a deep breath and stretched like a feline. I could see that she wasn’t wearing a bra. Her breasts still had a youthful lift. She always had great breasts. I remembered that she never breast fed her babies.

  “About a month ago,” she began, “I was watching this film, ‘The Secret Lives of Housewives.’ The kids were with our new nanny, Rebecca, whom we had hired six months prior, a pretty eighteen-year-old from Scotland. I hadn’t been feeling very sexual toward David for a long time. I knew it wasn’t uncommon for women to lose some of their sex drive after children, so I didn’t give it a second thought.”

  “You don’t think it may have been something to do with his propensity toward your underwear?” I interrupted.

  “No . . . it really didn’t. In fact, I began to find it a little endearing. It was more than that. I joined a book club a few months ago and became friends with a woman. I found I could talk to her about everything.” She stopped to sip her wine, and I took a big swig of mine.

  “So that’s a good thing. You made a friend, but what does this have to do with some movie?”

  “It was based on a true story about these married women in a small town, who were saying the same things that I had been feeling . . .” She stopped again and looked away.

  “Marie? Why is this so hard?” I asked. “We have been friends our whole lives.”

  “Sarah . . . I’m gay!” She blurted out.

  Music swelled in my head and “At the Copa Cabana” began.

  “Sarah?? Snap out of it!” Marie, all too familiar with my tendency to faint, tried to get my attention. Marie had her glass of water in hand, ready to toss it in my face if needed. She knew that sometimes prevented me from face planting. Just as I was focusing, my friend Dwight brought out an amuse bouche from the chef.

  One look at my face, Dwight asked, “Is everything okay?”

  “Oh yes, Dwight! Thank you for asking!” I said in a ladylike voice. “I just need a shot of tequila if you wouldn’t mind!” I popped the chef’s treat in my mouth without even asking what it was. The blood rushed back to my head.

  “I thought you’d understand, Sarah . . . out of everyone!” Marie began to cry.

  “Hey, hey, wait a minute, Marie. It’s not that I don’t understand what you just told me, I just don’t get why you didn’t open up to me about this before. Jesus, Marie, you and I delved into that for a while. Any time I brought it up with you, you acted as if it never happened. I’m a little hurt that you didn’t feel you could talk to me.” I reached into my purse and grabbed a tissue and handed it to her. She blew her nose long and hard.

  “I’m talking to you now, Sarah!” Tears were still running down her face. “I didn’t totally understand what was happening. I’d been with several women over the years. I think I got married to avoid the issue.”

  “Wait a minute!” I stopped her. “Several women? I never knew any of this!” I suddenly felt very territorial. “I thought I was the only . . .” I sounded like a five-year-old.

  Marie just shook her head.

  “You guys ready to order?” Dwight was back.

  “No!” we said simultaneously, staring at him.

  “I mean, not yet . . .” I tried to sound a little less hostile. He set my tequila down and gave me a puppy dog look before he left. I downed the shot immediately. It was like fire in my throat and burned all the way down to my belly. It was perfect.

  “Marie, why don’t you order? And I’ll have the same. I’m going to the ladies room. Excuse me,” I said, and pushed back my chair. I had to take a breather. I needed to wrap my head around what Marie was telling me, maybe deal with the stain on my shirt, and apologize to sweet, sexy Dwight for snapping at him. As I entered the hallway, Dwight was on my heels. He caught my arm.

  “Dwight, I’m so sorry for snapping at you . . .” I had barely gotten the words out of my mouth before he pushed open the door to the handicap restroom and shoved me inside. He locked the door behind us. His long fingers were all over me as we kissed and stumbled and banged into the walls. Before I knew it, my pencil skirt was pushed up around my waist and Dwight’s trousers were down around his ankles. He spun me around to face the wall and yanked down my panties. He thrust himself inside me from behind. I heard a squeal escape from my mouth. Dwight wrapped one arm around my waist and dropped his other hand between my legs. I felt my body explode and stifled a scream. I’d never experienced anything like it before. Fast and furious. As Dwight climaxed, we collapsed on the bathroom floor in a panting heap. We put ourselves back together not saying a word. When we rose from the floor, we stood nose to nose.

  “Hello Sarah,” Dwight said with a smile.

  “Hello, Dwight,” I said, kissing the tip of his nose. He opened the bathroom door and let me out first.

  I found Marie hanging up her cell phone. “I was just trying to call you. Where did you go?”

  “Long story!” I said, adjusting my skirt.

  “Your lipstick is all over your face.”

  Dwight came over to the table to take our order and my lipstick was all over his face, too.

  Marie looked from one of us to another. All she said was “Nice!”

  I reached into my purse again and brought out another tissue. This time I handed it to Dwight, indicating he should wipe his face off. He took the cue and excused himself for a moment.

  When he returned, Marie ordered the salmon special for both of us. As we ate, she continued explaining her story. The woman in the local book club Marie had joined became her lover. She was also married and wasn’t willing to leave her husband. It started off innocently enough, but soon they were going out after the book club for coffee or ice cream. Then they began to meet before book club to discuss the current topic with each other, before hearing all the babbling women’s points of view. One night they took a long walk. Both had seen the same Lifetime movie. Before long, they were confessing their attraction to one another. They began skipping the weekly club and heading for a small motel nearby. It became more difficult. Marie was ready to tell the world she was gay, but her lover wasn’t willing to risk it. They decided not to see each other anymore.

  Marie told David about her sexual preference, which didn’t seem to surprise him. He didn’t want Marie to leave him and came up with what he considered the perfect solution. He suggested that he would continue to dress in women’s underwear, and she could pretend he was a girl! Marie explained to him that he was missing the point. All that was left were the divorce papers and the custody agreement regarding Emily, her fifteen-year-old daughter. She wasn’t worried about Oliver and Mason. Oliver, a successful architect had his own apartment. Mason was in college. Marie wanted to move back to Marin to be closer to her parents.

  As I listened to Marie’s story, I felt a disconnect. Maybe it was because my feelings were hurt that she hadn’t included me in her identity crisis and everything she was going through. At the same time, my mind was pre-occupied by what had just taken place in the bathroom. I was shocked by the passion that had risen in me. I felt as if Dwight’s cock was still inside me. For the first time in my life, I actually felt connected to the power of my sexuality. Odd to think a handicap bathroom had something to do with it.

  Marie continued to speak, trying to explain to me the huge decisions she was making. “I feel completely emancipated, like I’m finally living in my truth.”

  “Well, I think that’s wonderful, Marie. I really do.” I wanted to support her, “Are you seeing anyone at the moment?”

  Marie shook her head. “I think I need time for myself right now, you know? It feels like I’m on some spiritual journey. In fact, after Thanksgiving, I’m taking a month and going to India!!”

  “India?” I asked. “Why India?”

&nbs
p; “This time it was Oprah. You see, there was this book . . .” she began.

  “Eat, Pray, Love?” I interrupted, knowing the answer.

  “Yes! Oh my God, have you read it?”

  I didn’t have the heart to tell her I couldn’t get through the book. I felt the whole going off to chant somewhere a little dated.

  “I’m going to an Ashram then on to work in an orphanage.”

  “Wow. Cool!!” I responded, trying to seem sincere.

  We finished and another server came to the table, a young woman this time. “Do you ladies want coffee?”

  “Where’s Dwight?” I asked.

  “He’s on his break.”

  Marie and I declined the caffeine and asked for the bill. Needless to say, the two of us fought over who would cover it. Marie won and paid.

  As we walked out, she asked if she could bring anything with her on Thanksgiving. I suggested wine, and it occurred to me, I should invite her brother, Terry. “Is your brother going to be with your mother for Thanksgiving? He is more than welcome to join us.”

  “Mother will be in Aspen with her girlfriends for the holiday. I’m sure Terry would love to come. I’ll ask him. You know he’s always had a huge crush on you!” Marie confessed.

  “No, you just imagined it.”

  “Are you kidding? I found little love notes he had written to you when he was ten years old.” She laughed.

  I was surprised that she was aware of that information. At the top of the stairs that led to the parking lot I saw something that made my heart stop. Dwight was at the bottom of the stairs with his arms wrapped around a delicately pretty, young, woman. He spotted us and casually waved. “Hey ladies. Meet my fiancée, Violet.”

  I don’t remember much other than my flesh marrying concrete. Dwight broke my fall as I toppled down the stairs.

  God, I hate hospitals. This visit was particularly humiliating. The only thing broken was the heel of my sexy Dolce and Gabana shoe. I did need a couple of stitches in my forehead. Dwight’s teeth and my head had connected on the flight down the stone steps of Stone Manor. Fortunately, the wound was at my hairline, so my bangs could cover any unsightly scar. I sat behind curtain number one and he and his fiancée behind number two. I was barely aware of the pain in my head, but the wound in my heart was hemorrhaging. I was feeling vulnerable to say the least. I had just had sex with this guy in a bathroom, and minutes later he is introducing me to the girl he’s going to marry? I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Well, I suppose I have to chalk it up to maturity. After all, I am so much older. I should’ve known better.

  I had to keep Marie from giving Dwight an ear full. She was determined to go behind his curtain and yell at him. To add insult to injury, we left the hospital before Dwight was discharged, and Violet was standing outside smoking a cigarette. As we passed, she asked me for an autograph. She had read all of my books. Oy!

  Marie drove me home from the emergency room. I learned that not much had been done to Dwight’s split lip, but his two “perfect” front teeth were loose and he needed to see a dentist soon to avoid losing them. I intended to knock them out of his head first. We pulled up in front of my house, and I thanked Marie for hanging in with me all night.

  “What are best friends for, dummy. Thank you for listening and understanding . . .”

  “Geez, of course!”

  She offered to pick me up in the morning to get my car, which was still at Stone Manor. I promised to call her when I woke up. At the hospital, they had prescribed a few nice, warm, and friendly pain pills I was intending to use. I was hoping to have a long, deep sleep. I could feel my middle-aged body aching as I climbed out of Marie’s car at two in the morning.

  Manuel was sitting in the living room alone when I entered the house. He stood when he saw the bandage on my forehead, “Miss Sarah!! What happened?”

  I explained that it was nothing and that I would be as right as rain in the morning. I was more concerned about why he was up so late by himself?

  He looked at the ground and tried to hide the tears that collected in the creases of his eyes. “Your mother? She didn’t know me this night!”

  Instinctively, I put my arms around him. “It’s the disease, Manuel,” I explained. “And it will get worse. Where is she now?”

  He told me he had taken her to bed a couple of hours ago, but she fought him every step of the way. I suggested we both get some sleep and promised to look in on mother once upstairs.

  I padded into my parent’s room. It was dark with the exception of a small Tiffany lamp on the bedside table.

  “Sarah? Is that you?”

  “Yes, Ma. It’s me.” I walked over to the side of the bed.

  “Where’s Manuel?” She asked.

  “He’s gone to bed,” I answered, happy that she remembered him.

  “Lie down with me, Sarah.”

  I kicked off my remaining shoe and climbed in next to her. Not since Phoebe’s birth had we lain side by side. Not once did I recall her ever holding me close to her. She had never been overly affectionate, even before Rachel’s death. She wasn’t the snuggly kind. As she turned to face the wall, my arms automatically wrapped around her, and we formed mother- daughter spoons. She smelled like baby powder and lemon soap. I was given a pain pill at the hospital and had intended to take another pill once home, but Mother fell fast asleep in no time and I drifted shortly after.

  I awoke, in my mother’s bed, still clothed. I had slept so soundly that I didn’t hear her leave the room. As I stretched, I was caught off guard by how much my body ached. “Oh, my God,” I said aloud. I tested various body parts to see if one area of my body might be pain free. I felt as if I had collided with a train. Well, I had fallen down a flight of stone steps. I lifted myself slowly and cautiously from the bed. While I was painfully easing myself toward the study, I noticed a journal resting on the pillow next to mine with a small, handwritten note sitting on top.

  Sarah,

  Please read someday.

  Love Mom.

  I picked up the book and flipped through the pages. They were in Mother’s handwriting. A quick glance revealed dated entries from the sixties up until the eighties. It looked as if Mother had given me a key that might unlock some of the secrets of her world. I felt honored that she was sharing her private thoughts and feelings. I was a bit nervous about what she might have said about her feelings for me. The idea of learning who Olivia Mancuso O’Malley really was intrigued me. I clutched the journal to my breast as I left the room.

  I heard the sound of a vacuum cleaner downstairs, indicating that Vilma, the housekeeper, was here as always on Tuesdays. Only two days remained ‘til Thanksgiving with so much to do.

  The door to Henry’s old room was open at the end of the hallway. My dad had converted this room for Mother to work on her hobbies. Dad thought it would be nice for her to have her own space. She painted and glue gunned just about everything in sight. She was very into it for a while. She made Christmas wreaths for our neighbors. She would sit in her garden and paint the flowers then turn the little gems into greeting cards. A local store actually carried a few of her creations, and she was pleased with herself anytime something sold. She was happy, almost at peace with herself. After a few years that all changed. Her depression seemed to kick in again. She used the room less and less. Her paint brushes dried out into a crusty wasteland of unrealized potential.

  When I poked my head in the door of Henry’s old room, I saw Manuel and my mother inflating an air bed on the floor. “Hey guys,” I said. They both looked up. I asked what they were doing.

  “My grandchildren are coming to stay you know,” my mother stated proudly.

  Manuel added, “We make up this room for one of the girls and Vilma is fixing the room near kitchen.”

  “Wow. That’s great. Thank you!” I realized I hadn’t even thought of where my children would be sleeping. “Thank you, Manuel.”

  “Me too!! Me too!!” my mother insisted.

/>   “Of course, you too, Mom.”

  I planned my day around getting everything from Phoebe’s list for Thanksgiving dinner and picking up my car from the restaurant. I was supposed to stop by the hospital to have the bandage changed, but I figured I could do it myself. How difficult could it be, after all? Lily was flying in with the boyfriend first thing in the morning. Phoebe was driving from San Francisco.

  It occurred to me that maybe my mother would like to get out and go to the market with me. I was surprised she said she would love to go. “Well, you better get a sweater, Mom, it’s chilly out.”

  My mother stood in front of me scanning my face. It appeared that she either didn’t hear me or didn’t quite know what I had said.

  “A sweater?” I repeated. “It’s cold outside.”

  “Oh, yes,” my mother replied as if surprised.

  I grabbed a yogurt and thanked Vilma for helping make up the room next to the kitchen. Manuel entered from the backyard, and I asked him if he would take me to pick up my car so that I could go to the market. “Mom said she wants to come, too.”

  “That is good Miss Sarah!” He still seemed depressed that mother had not remembered who he was. I texted Marie and told her that I was covered for picking up my car and thanked her again. I put the phone away and looked up just as mother walked back into the kitchen. She was dressed, from head to toe, in full gardening regalia. She had on her wide brimmed hat and her Wellington boots over her tucked in overalls. Her tool belt holding her gardening sheers and mini shovel was strapped around her waist.