The Hot Flash Club Chills Out

by Nancy Thayer

  Once more Adele paused to take a drink. Her cheeks were flushed.

  “And then,” Adele continued, “one summer, Amelia and Ford had an affair!” She fluttered her hands in the air. “Such a to-do it caused! It was 1930, the year I was married, so I remember it well. They had their rendezvous in various ‘secret’ spots on the island, but of course they were seen and people began to talk, and then everyone was on the lookout, and by August everyone but poor Cornelia and Pascal knew about the affair.” She shook her head sadly. “That Amelia. She was a troublemaker. But such a beauty.”

  “What happened?” Faye prompted.

  “Well. Pascal and Cornelia found out. The affair ended. Ford moved his family back to New York. They kept the summer house, but didn’t come back to it for years. The married couples made up with their spouses. Amelia had a daughter, little Nora. So of course Cornelia had another child, Lucinda.” She sighed, and the gleam in her eyes faded. “It’s sort of terrible, how someone else’s love affair can be so entertaining to outsiders. Really, it just deepened the hostility between the Pettigrews and the Paynes. All those children grew up side by side in the summer, all those healthy children with all the wealth in the world, and they were all taught to hate each other.”

  “So the Paynes and the Pettigrews never made amends?”

  “Never. Now, of course, all those children have grown up, had their own families, and ‘gone aloft.’ Of all her siblings, only Lucinda Payne is still alive. What’s sadder, Lucinda’s two sons—she had just the two children—are both dead. While Nora’s two children are alive and flourishing. So I suppose Nora Pettigrew Salter is the ‘winner’ in the competition between the two families. Which is, no doubt, one of the reasons Lucinda is so bitter.”

  “How sad,” Faye reflected. “To hate someone because of their parents’ animosity.”

  “Yes, and they never got to know one another as individuals.” Adele shook her head. “It’s the way of the world, I suppose.”

  Faye could see the older woman was tired. “I should go. Let me put these albums back in the box for you.”

  “Thank you, dear. I am ready for a little nap. Can you can see yourself out?”

  Faye rose. “Of course. Can I get you anything first?”

  Adele waved her hand. “I’m fine. I appreciate your coming and listening to an old woman’s ramblings.”

  “It was fascinating,” Faye assured her. “Every moment.” And she meant it.

  40

  The July meeting of the board of directors of The Haven finally ended. Most of the directors left, hurrying to enjoy the summer evening.

  The Hot Flash Club, all of whom were on the board, remained seated around the conference table. Every single woman looked miserable.

  Shirley unbuttoned her suit jacket. In spite of the air conditioning, she’d been stifled in the stiff, severe garment. She wore it because she needed to look corporate and capable, and because the heavy fabric hid her nipples, which tended to poke out like a couple of metaphorical exclamation marks when she got nervous.

  “Well!” she said, forcing a smile. “I’m glad that’s over!”

  Alice pounced. “I can’t believe you want to sell The Haven.” She was so angry her head ached.

  “I didn’t say I want to,” Shirley reminded her with teeth-gritting patience. “I only presented the offer the Rainbow Group made. What would you want me to do? Pretend it didn’t happen?”

  “But you do want to sell, don’t you?” Alice prodded. “You didn’t need to say so to make it apparent.”

  Shirley unscrewed the lid on her bottle of water and took a hearty swallow. “Alice, it’s a very exciting offer, financially speaking. And—”

  “But The Haven is your baby!” Alice cried. “Your dream come true!”

  “That’s true. And I’m very proud of what I’ve accomplished. And it means the world to me. But Alice, give me a break. I never thought it would require so much administrative work. Just because I’ve managed to do it doesn’t mean I like doing it.”

  “Yes, well, that’s certainly been obvious the last two weeks. You’ve hardly been here.”

  Faye, Marilyn, and Polly silently watched the discussion between Shirley and Alice, their heads flapping back and forth like fans at a tennis match.

  Faye broke in. “Alice, it’s summer. The Haven’s membership isn’t nearly as active in the summer. Plus, there’s Nantucket. When will any of us ever again have the opportunity to stay, rent-free, in a Nantucket house in the summer? And we owe that to Shirley.”

  Marilyn, emboldened by Faye’s remarks, straightened in her chair. She looked especially disorganized today in lemon and lime dotted silk trousers with a worn red plaid L.L. Bean shirt, the sleeves rolled up. “Now that we’re alone, I’d like to say that I’d be delighted to sell my share of The Haven. When I came aboard, I hadn’t met Ian, I was separated from my husband, I was at loose ends. Now I’ve got more than I can handle. Even a monthly meeting is too much for me, especially with all the reports we have to read.” She gestured to the piles of paper in front of all the women.

  Faye said, “I agree, Marilyn. I’m thinking of renting a house on Nantucket for a year or so, and I won’t be able to make the meetings…”

  “Faye!” Polly looked shocked. “I didn’t realize you wanted to live on Nantucket! What about Aubrey?”

  “I don’t think we should discuss personal matters during a board meeting,” Alice said grumpily.

  “The board meeting has been adjourned,” Shirley snapped.

  “And our personal matters impinge directly on our relationship to The Haven,” Faye reminded Alice in a firm but gentle voice. “They always have.”

  “Time out!” Shirley looked at her four friends. “I think Alice is right, and Faye’s right, too. I think we all have a lot to discuss, but we shouldn’t be doing it in this”—she gestured wildly at the room—“this cell. It’s summertime, for heaven’s sake. It’s a glorious summer evening.”

  “You’re right,” Faye agreed. “Let’s go to dinner!”

  Marilyn looked at her watch. “I don’t know…”

  “I do!” Alice shot Marilyn one of her looks. “Everyone at your house is an adult. If they’re hungry, they can order a damn pizza.”

  Marilyn smiled wearily. “You’re right. I’ll just phone them and tell them I won’t be home till later.”

  The Italian restaurant near The Haven was just starting its dinner service. They were escorted to a table set with a snowy white cloth, sparkling glasses, and a low bowl of summer flowers. The air was redolent with aromas of garlic and simmering tomato sauce.

  Shirley said, “I can feel my blood pressure drop.”

  “Mine, too,” Marilyn seconded. “It’s so nice to be in a room I’m not responsible for, getting ready to eat food I didn’t buy, lug into the house, and cook.”

  “You seem a little overwhelmed,” Polly gently observed.

  “I’m exhausted!” Marilyn ran her fingers through her hair, which needed a good trim.

  “What’s going on?” Faye asked. She had only arrived from Nantucket this morning.

  The waiter, a young George Clooney look-alike with thick black lashes and a long slow smile, appeared at the table to take their orders for drinks. When he left, Marilyn confessed, “It’s like I’m caught in a nightmare! People just keep coming to live with us! You know Ruth has the basement apartment, and she’s adorable, but she’s eighty-seven, she needs companionship and I have to check up on her fairly often. I love Ian—or I would if I ever got the chance to see him alone. Angus and his bulldog bumble around the house like a pair of laughing hyenas. Now the beautiful Fiona, wife of Ian’s best friend, has come from Scotland ‘for a while’ because her husband died and she’s grieving. Not to mention, Ian and I have both been teaching summer courses, which—thank heaven!—finished today. I’ll have to read the exams and get the grades in next week and then I’ll be through and I’ll have the month of August free!”

 
; Alice patted her on the back. “Honey, you’re wound up tighter than an eight-day clock.”

  The sympathy made Marilyn’s lower lip quiver like a child’s. “I know. It would help if Ian and I had any time to be together.”

  “Well, don’t you share a bedroom?” Shirley asked.

  “We do, but it’s right over the living room where Fiona sleeps in the foldout bed, and Ian just doesn’t feel right having sex while she’s down there alone and might be able to hear our bed creak.” Marilyn gave a little snort. “I was filling out a form the other day, and where it said ‘Sex,’ I felt like writing in, ‘Not recently.’”

  Everyone laughed.

  Shirley asked, “What does Fiona do all day while you and Ian are teaching?”

  “She watches television!” Marilyn waved her hands in the air. “She sits there all day long and watches the most stupid TV shows! She never tries to help cook or buy groceries. It’s like she’s in some kind of trance.”

  Faye and Polly exchanged glances. “She is in some kind of trance,” Faye said softly. “After Jack died, I couldn’t pick up a paint brush for nine months.”

  “I watched a lot of television after Tucker died,” Polly admitted. “It seemed so…companionable…and yet it didn’t expect anything of me.”

  “Still,” Marilyn argued, “Fiona could stay in her own home and watch TV.”

  “Then someone else would probably move in,” Alice predicted gloomily. “Honestly, I just don’t know, do we ever reach a perfect state? I mean, you, Faye, and Polly, seldom get to see your grandchildren, and that makes you sad. I get to see my granddaughter daily, and it’s wearing me down.”

  The gorgeous waiter returned, setting their drinks before them. He moved with such sensual languor, the table fell silent. They all watched, relaxing, smiling as he moved. The day’s discontents were forgotten in the momentary rush of seeing his classic profile, glossy black hair and thick eyelashes. His English was heavily accented, giving him the exotic air of a Latin lover, and as he took their dinner orders, he focused his total attention on each woman, lingering on words like “cream sauce,” turning the process into a kind of courtship.

  When he walked away, Alice fanned her face. “Lordy! That’s the best sex I’ve had in months!”

  Polly’s cheeks were flushed. “His eyelashes should be registered as lethal weapons.”

  Faye pressed her water glass to her flaming face. “I got a hot flash when he looked at me.”

  “You know what we need?” Polly asked.

  “Oh, yes, honey, I do,” Alice said in a tone that made everyone laugh.

  “A good movie!” Polly wriggled with enthusiasm. “We all need to go together to see some fabulous romantic, sexy movie! Like—like The Bodyguard!”

  “Oh, yes!” Faye pressed the glass to the other side of her face. “That scene where Kevin Costner picks up Whitney Houston and carries her off the stage just about made me faint!”

  Marilyn leaned forward. “What about Richard Gere picking up Debra Winger in An Officer and a Gentleman?”

  “Uh-uh.” Alice shook her head. “I get too nervous when a man has to pick a woman up. I cannot relate to that! Any man who tried to pick me up would incur an instant hernia! Besides, it doesn’t have to be a romance to do me some good. I mean, sometimes all it takes is a man with a wonderful smile.”

  “You’re right!” Faye agreed. “Funny, I can watch the goriest serial-killer movie ever made, but if Denzel Washington’s in it and he smiles just once, I’m happy for a week.”

  “Like that movie”—Shirley cut in—“With Reese Witherspoon, and that man who’s got the sexiest smile God ever gave a human being.”

  “What’s the actor’s name?” Polly asked.

  Shirley frowned. “I don’t know—is it Russell Crowe?”

  “Uh-uh,” Alice said. “I’ve seen every one of Russell Crowe’s movies. Twice.”

  “Why, Alice,” Faye teased, “sounds like you’ve got a little obsession going on.”

  “I like a manly man,” Alice admitted with a grin.

  Shirley was still wondering. “Was it Hugh Grant?”

  “No, but that was another sexy movie, that Bridget Jones one,” Polly said.

  “Lucky Renee. She got to choose between Hugh Grant and Colin Firth.” Alice sighed. “What a choice.”

  “What was that actor’s name?” Shirley pinched the bridge of her nose.

  “What was the movie?” Faye asked.

  Shirley squeezed her eyes tight as she thought. “Something about a Southern girl who makes it big in New York, and then goes back to Alabama…”

  “Sweet Home Alabama!” Alice trumpeted.

  “Right!” Shirley hit a high five with Alice. “I can’t remember the actor’s name, but I’ll never forget his smile.”

  “You know, Polly,” Marilyn said, “I think you’re on to something. Thinking about those movie moments makes me feel as good as if I’d just eaten a box of chocolate.”

  “Romance,” Shirley sighed. “We never stop needing it, I guess.”

  “Plus, movie romance doesn’t have consequences and complications,” Alice added.

  “I know,” Marilyn agreed. “Getting out my tube of K-Y jelly sort of dims the glow.”

  “Not to mention, let’s see, how do I put this?” Polly tapped her lip. “With senior sex, any vigorous activity usually makes romance Gone with the Wind.”

  “I hear you,” Alice said, laughing.

  “Books are good, too,” Faye observed. “Now and then a nice juicy romance novel really just hits the spot.”

  “So to speak,” Alice wryly added.

  Polly said, “When I was a teenager, I could get absolutely lost in a romance novel. It’s more difficult now that I’ve lived with a couple of men and know what they’re really like.”

  “Even if the man is lovely, real life has a habit of getting in the way,” Marilyn agreed.

  Alice said, “I haven’t read a romance novel in years.”

  “You probably think you’re too smart for them,” Shirley commented bluntly.

  Alice made a face at Shirley. “I just haven’t had time to read!”

  “I read a statistic somewhere,” Faye said, “that romance readers are happier than other people.”

  “That makes sense,” Shirley said. “Because look, falling in love feels wonderful.” She hesitated. Should she tell them about Harry now? No, this wasn’t a good time. She and Alice were too cranky with one another right now. In fact, Alice was giving her one of her suspicious eagle eye glares. Shirley tried to speak in general terms. “Commitment feels good, too, and living with someone is also wonderful, but in an entirely different way. That falling-in-love thing—it’s like looking at that waiter. It’s physical and—”

  “Mental, too,” Polly cut in. “Or emotional. I mean, I get a romance buzz reading a novel or seeing a movie, but sometimes I can just put on one of my old favorites, like Barry Manilow singing ‘Mandy,’ and I’ll dance all around the room by myself, I’ll feel like I’m soaring, like I’m completely in love with the universe and it’s in love with me! I’ll play the same song over and over and weep and be full of joy at the same time.”

  “I know just what you mean,” Shirley agreed.

  “Barry Manilow?” Faye arched a critical eyebrow.

  “Who does it for you?” Polly demanded. “Pavarotti?”

  “Since you ask, yes, actually.” Faye grinned. “I don’t dance around the room, but I do feel that soaring thing you’re talking about.”

  “For me it’s U2,” Shirley told them. “Bono singing ‘One’ makes me soar. What a rush.”

  “I’ll take Ray Charles,” Alice said. “And you know the weird thing? When I’m there, in that zone you’re describing, I’m not thinking about any one specific man. Maybe I was when I was a teenager, but now it’s like I’m just riding a surfboard on an ocean of feeling, and no other person’s involved.”

  “I know! I know!” Polly hugged herself. “It�
��s like being in love with love. I mean, when I get in that state, I could look at a head of cabbage and think it’s the most beautiful thing on the planet.”

  Marilyn cocked her head. “I wonder why humans are wired like that.”

  “I think it’s just one of nature’s gifts,” Shirley mused. “I mean, life is so full of daily banalities. Answering the phone. Paying bills. Lugging in groceries. Unclogging the toilet. And that’s when there’s no big trouble to deal with. Maybe our ability to have these perfect moments helps us deal with everything else.”

  Marilyn nodded. “That makes sense. Evolution would build in something to flood us with endorphins even if we weren’t of childbearing age, to keep us around to do some of the chores of keeping the new humans alive and well.”

  Alice snorted. “Thank you so much, Dr. Strangelove, for that totally scientific observation.”

  “Well, let’s be brutal,” Marilyn argued. “How many times does the average person get to fall in love in her lifetime?”

  “Three?” Polly guessed. “Four?”

  “Um—thirty-two?” Shirley offered, only half-joking.

  Alice chortled. “Shirley throws the statistics off.”

  “For some people it’s only once. But let’s be generous,” Marilyn continued. “For the sake of argument, let’s say four times. And that falling-in-love rush can’t last more than—let’s be generous again and say four months. So sixteen months out of a lifetime of eighty years, which is 960 months, means that 944 months of your lifetime you’re not going to feel that romantic, life-enriching surge.”

  “God, that’s depressing!” Shirley wailed.

  “Cheer up,” Alice told her. “Here comes Romeo with our meals.”

  41

  The group watched, mesmerized, as the handsome waiter approached, thigh muscles swelling against his crisp black trousers. With smooth, sinuous movements, he set a plate before each woman, reciting the name of each dish with his deliciously embellished accent, smiling into each woman’s eyes.