Close to Home

by Cynthia Baxter

  “To witness what I otherwise might suspect is only partly true?” Nikki countered, nipping her nearly waist-length braid of thick black hair over her shoulder. “I mean, I’ve known you for almost ten years now, Jessie, and I’m fully aware of your tendency to ... shall we say, embellish?’’

  “No, it’s the absolute truth, I swear. I’m not exaggerating. And the reason I wish you had been there is because I could have used your help. I mean, there I was, trying to make polite conversation to a woman who . . . who actually giggles when her husband the hardware store owner talks about male and female electrical plugs. Oh, listen to this. I almost forgot the best part. You’ll never guess what he calls her.”

  “Oh, dear. This sounds like something I don’t really want to know.’’

  “Go on, guess.”

  “Obviously not anything as obvious as ‘Lorraine’ ...”

  “Nope.” Jessica’s eyes were shining with triumph over the little bit of absurdity she was about to share. “Are you ready for this? He calls her Lolly!’’

  “No! And you mean she doesn’t strike him or anything?”

  “Nope. She acts as if she actually likes it.”

  As the two women giggled like schoolgirls, Jessica thought about how good it felt being with her best friend Nikki, laughing about an evening that only a short time earlier had seemed disastrous. It was almost like the old days, when the two women had taken long walks around Manhattan together, pointing out the interesting-looking people they passed on the street or momentarily interrupting their conversation to admire a dress or a pair of shoes in a store window. The fact that Nikki and her husband, Jared, had also moved to Long Island once their family of four outgrew their place in the city was a source of great joy— and an equal amount of relief—to Jessica.

  She and Nikki had started out as what Jessica always thought of as “elevator friends.’’ It was a part of city living, in fact one of its greatest benefits, as far as she was concerned. Seeing the same people in the elevator so often that eventually you struck up a conversation; feeling as if you knew each other even though, in reality, you rarely spoke and never spent more than thirty or forty seconds together at a time.

  In Nikki’s case, it was her flamboyant way of dressing that had first caught Jessica’s attention. Long before the two women had ever spoken, with the exception of the occasional, “Hold the door, will you?’’ or “God, is this thing broken again?” she noticed the tall, model-thin resident of one of the floors above hers, which translated to ownership of both a terrace and a magnificent view, who wore arty clothes, carried large funky tote bags to work, and sported the most outrageous collection of earrings she had ever seen. There was something memorable about the way she carried herself, too. This was the way New York women were supposed to be.

  When they finally did start talking to each other, it was about the most mundane matters: the need to borrow a subway token to avoid the Monday morning line at the station, the probability of rain, the rumor that the nicest doorman on the staff was being fired. Jessica eventually said something about her job, then discovered that Nikki worked for an art magazine. Finally, they began walking to the subway together, planning lunch dates, and dropping by each other’s apartments for coffee and taking those long walks together—in short, easing into what seemed to be a friendship that was simply meant to be.

  Nowadays, of course, they did their strolling at shopping malls. And they kept one eye on their children as they chatted:

  Jessica with Sammy in his navy blue Aprica stroller, Nikki with her double MacLarens, in which one-year-old Allison gurgled happily and four-year-old Kimberly came up with an endless list of reasons why she was too old to sit in a stroller.

  “So how did Mr. McAllister take to your new neighbors?” Nikki asked, tossing her braid over her shoulder once again.

  “David? Oh, I don’t know. I really didn’t get a chance to talk to him about it. At the time he seemed to be getting along with Jim—that’s the husband. But you know David,’’ Jessica went on with a shrug. “He’s so good at pretending. For all I know, he could have thought Jim Denholm was the brother he never had, or he could have thought he was a total fool. I’ll make a point of getting the lowdown tonight.’’

  “Ah, yes. Those intimate late-night talks. And they say men don’t like to gossip!’’ Nikki sighed. “I can remember how Jared and I used to have our little tête-à-têtes lying in bed, talking for hours and hours, sipping champagne and playing footsies underneath the covers. Now, of course, we have them among a cast of thousands, many of whom are guzzling chocolate milk.”

  “Funny how things change, isn’t it?” Jessica grinned ruefully. “Well, just think. In a mere fifteen years, our kids will all be grown up, and we’ll both go back to being half of a couple again.”

  “Kind of a scary thought, isn’t it?”

  “Uh-oh.” Jessica’s eyebrows shot up. “Don’t tell me things are less than blissful at the Sloan household lately.”

  Nikki sighed. “Oh, I don’t know. It’s just the same old stuff. I’m always mad at Jared because he spends so much time at work. Producing television commercials, no matter how imbecilic they may appear, is not exactly a nine-to-five job, you know. And then when he is around, he’s exhausted, and I’m mad because I want him to take over with the kids.”

  “I know exactly what you mean. And the only time you’re alone with your husband is when you’re too tired to do anything but lie on the couch and stare at the boob tube, right?”

  “Nikki Sloan, this is your life. Oh, Jess, don’t you ever think about doing something exciting? Something like having an affair with some tall, dark, handsome stranger—or at least someone who’s conscious?”

  “Sure, I think about it. The same way I think about winning the lottery or going to medical school or ... or hopping the next plane to Acapulco, alone.’’ Jessica cast a casual glance over at her friend. “But you’re not really serious, are you?”

  Nikki grimaced. “Let’s face it. I’m not the hot number I once was. What am I going to do, invite some hunk up to my place to see my stretch marks?”

  Just then, a good-looking young man walked by, gave the two women the once-over, and then continued on his way. He was wearing a suit and a white name tag—a manager, perhaps, or a security guard.

  “Hey, check that out, Jess, will you?’’ Nikki stopped walking long enough to study him more carefully. “Not bad, huh? For the suburbs, I mean.”

  “God, look at us, will you?” said Jessica. “Two Long Island mothers, cruising at the local shopping mall while we push our strollers, our pockets full of animal crackers, our purses full of baby wipes...”

  “But our hearts full of lust. What’s that expression? Married but not dead?’’

  Suddenly Jessica’s eyes narrowed. “Hey, wait a minute. You are speaking hypothetically, aren’t you? All this stuff about having an affair, I mean. Or am I being naive?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Nikki Sloan, are you thinking of getting it on with the paper boy?”

  Nikki grimaced. “No, thanks. Believe me, pimples lost their appeal for me many moons ago. Although I understand that younger men are in style these days. At least, according to what I saw on Oprah.”

  “Nikki!” Jessica groaned. “Are you really quoting Channel Seven to me? You’re beginning to sound like my mother!”

  “Once an accusation like that was the kiss of death. Now, I’m afraid, my sounding like your mother seems as inevitable as those little laugh lines that aren’t so funny anymore.” Suddenly she grew serious. “Speaking of which, while you were slogging around the kitchen last night, ladling out the beef stew like some farm wife and trying to make civil conversation with Minnie Mouse, I was busy having a traumatic experience of my own.”

  “What happened?”

  “Jared and I went into the city for a party.”

  Jessica brightened. “Sounds like fun! God, I haven’t been into the city since ...”

/>   “But listen! I got all dressed up—at least I thought I was dressed up. I wore nice pants, and this new shirt I got in Macy’s Junior Department, this Esprit thing I thought was really stylish. ... I even put on my biggest earrings. I thought I looked really cool, you know?

  “But when I got there, I realized that what I looked like was a suburban matron. Jess, I was the only woman there who wasn’t wearing Spandex pants. And their hair... it was streaked with all these wild colors, and it stood up all over the place. And the clothes! One of the women was actually wearing tie-dye. Tie-dye! It’s back! Can you imagine? And when she came over to me to say hi, all I could think of to say was, ‘Gee, I can remember the first time tie-dye was in style.’ “

  “Oh, Nikki! You didn’t!”

  “No, fortunately I managed to contain myself. But aside from the fact that I felt like Minnie Pearl, I realized I had absolutely nothing to say to anybody. They’re all artists and actors, and all I could talk about was the new fence we’re planning to get, and . . . and how thrilled I was that I managed to cut back the hydrangeas by myself.

  “Jess,” Nikki said earnestly, “I’m not cool anymore.”

  “I was never cool,” Jessica offered feebly.

  “It was this moment of revelation, you know? I’ve become something that I swore my entire life I’d never become. There I was, this. . . this suburban matron, standing there in my middle-class Macy’s clothes, talking about crabgrass and my kid’s ear infection, tracking down my husband every five minutes whenever I was afraid I might run out of things to say. I mean, I used to be an associate editor for one of the most influential magazines in the art world. And now, I don’t work, I don’t read . . . I don’t even go to the movies anymore.” She shook her head sadly. “Jessie, I’ve got to do something.”

  Jessica swallowed hard, suddenly feigning interest in a window display of Reeboks. She didn’t dare admit how hard Nikki’s words were hitting.

  “How about dinner at Burger King?” she suggested. “David’s working late, and I’ll bet Jared won’t be back for ages, right? Come on. A little grease and a few thousand grams of carbohydrates will do us both good.” And keep us from dwelling on reality, not always the most pleasant of occupations.

  * * * *

  By the time they came out of the mall, it was dark. Summer was definitely on the way out.

  “God, I hate it when it starts getting dark early, don’t you?” said Jessica. “I find myself dreading being out of the house past five o’clock. I’ll tell you, I’m not exactly looking forward to my first suburban winter.” Jessica grasped Sammy even more tightly.

  “Yeah, it’s no fun living two-thirds of your life in the dark, is it? Even here at your friendly local shopping mall, you end up getting the creeps. Kind of makes you appreciate neon, doesn’t it?”

  It was true; the orange blob-like letters spelling out Burger King, the tailored red letters identifying Macy’s. . . they were like hyped-up versions of the North Star, strangely comforting.

  “Nikki, I don’t mean to sound wimpy, but would you mind walking me to my car? I’ve got a real thing about huge parking lots at night.”

  “Sure. I’ll walk you to your car, and then you can drive us over to mine. I’m back by Alexander’s.”

  As they walked past the shadowy rows of parked cars, their steps were quick.

  “You know,” said Jessica, “every time I’m walking to my car in the dark, I think about all those women who were murdered in that shopping mall parking lot. It was in New Jersey, wasn’t it? Back a few years ago? My mom, good old Violet, used to keep me updated on whatever harrowing details I missed.”

  When they reached Jessica’s blue Volvo, she checked the backseat to make sure no crazy person had climbed in and hid there. Once she saw that she was safe, she strapped Sammy into the car seat and then ushered Nikki and her two kids in. When they drove across the lot to her Audi, Nikki turned to her and said, “Hey, Jessie, thanks. This was really fun.”

  “Yes, it was. I’ve always believed that shopping centers perform the function that churches and community centers once did. A place to keep out the rain, make food available round the clock, provide bathrooms—enough diversion to kill an entire afternoon ...”

  “Yeah, well, that’s not really what I meant.” She reached over and placed her hand on Jessica’s shoulder. “No matter what happens, at least I have you, Jess. I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t.”

  Jessica reached up and squeezed her arm. She knew exactly what she meant, of course. But something about the vehemence of Nikki’s words concerned her. Friendship, after all, was one thing. Desperation was another matter entirely.

  * * * *

  “Hey, hot stuff. Want some company in there?”

  Playfully Jessica pulled back the yellow-and-white striped shower curtain and stuck her head in. Amid the steam and the hot spray of water, she could make out her husband, vigorously lathering up the generous growth of black hairs that decorated his chest.

  As she leered at him, she found perverse comfort in the observation that where a muscular, streamlined torso had once been, there were now the beginnings of what her mother’s generation had so aptly nicknamed a spare tire. The slight thickening of her husband’s waistline was the result of the end of those twice-weekly nights out shooting hoops with the guys plus his gradually diminishing willpower when it came to his two passions: barbecue-flavor potato chips and Haagen-Dazs rum raisin ice cream.

  Not that she was cruel enough to wish anything as horrendous as fat upon her own husband. It was just that seeing that she was not alone made her feel just a little bit better about those extra seven pounds of her own that had crept up on her just before she got pregnant, the same ones she had been trying halfheartedly to lose ever since Sammy had signed on for permanent membership in the McAllister clan. But even with his little belly, she had to admit that David was cute. Not a hunk, perhaps, at least not in the literal sense, but definitely someone who fell into the cute category.

  However, it appeared that all this was a moot point, at least for the moment.

  “Come on, Jess,” he said in a voice that made it clear from which side of the family Sammy had inherited his annoying whine. “You know I like to get in and out of the shower fast. Look, I’m almost done. Hey, close the curtain, will you? You’re getting water all over the bathroom floor.’’

  Jessica remained undaunted. Water play had never been their thing. Besides, the evening was still young. Sammy had gone to bed surprisingly early, all the excitement of the shopping mail apparently having been too much for the little guy.

  At least as surprising was the fact that Jessica wasn’t exhausted, even though it was past ten. Having had such a nice time with Nikki had energized her, reminding her that she was still capable of having a relationship with someone who could count higher than twelve. She was additionally encouraged by the fact that when she suggested to David that they “make an early night of it,” he eagerly snapped off the television and headed for the shower.

  She went into their bedroom and lit the candle he kept in the top drawer of his dresser. It was their code, a sign developed back in their early days together that at least one of them expected that going to bed would include more than touching feet. She snapped off the lights, tossed her clothes onto the chair in the corner, and slipped on her short silk kimono, the pale pink one he had bought her for their fifth wedding anniversary. Then she switched on the radio, hoping for some mood music.

  But the radio was turned to WCBS. Instead of something smooth and sexy, she was assaulted by Ringo Stair’s toneless voice, warning her that “You Know It Don’t Come Easy.”

  When David ambled in, he was still drying himself. Jessica climbed into bed, luxuriating in the smoothness of the clean sheets she had put on just that morning as she slipped her bare legs between them. She watched him do his little drying-off dance, noting that, as usual, he was not even trying to hide his spreading midsection with his towel. This was a m
anifestation of positive body image that she greatly admired. She decided to take advantage of this rare moment in which they were alone together and both fully awake to make some pleasant small talk.

  “You know, the Beatles may have been fantastic as a group,” she commented, enjoying the view, “but one at a time, they weren’t all that great, were they?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, Ringo started doing this bubble-gum stuff once the group broke up. Let’s face it; the guy couldn’t carry a tune in a paper bag. George Harrison . . . well, I like his twanging guitars and all that, but all this stuff about God . . . ? Paul McCartney, forget it. Too slick ...”

  “And I suppose you think John was too . . . too what? Too revolutionary?’’ David paused in his drying. His voice had taken on a jeering, argumentative tone.

  “Hey, I was simply expressing an opinion.”

  “Oh, really? And since when are you such an expert on music?”

  “I didn’t say I was an expert. But as the old saying goes, I know what I like. All I said was that I don’t like the music of the Beatles individually as much as I do as a group, that’s all.”

  “That’s not what you said. You were just being negative again, attacking some of the greatest musicians of all time . . . and you know how I feel about John Lennon.”

  Of course. She had insulted his boyhood idol. What she had meant as a casual comment, an attempt at pleasant conversation, David had seen as a personal attack.

  By this point the relaxed mood was gone. Had she done it on purpose—unconsciously, of course? Sabotaged what was supposed to be an intimate moment? Jessica was suddenly wired, though her animal passions had suffered a dramatic dip. She would have loved to disappear, to sneak away into that dependable sanctuary known as sleep, but she was much too tense for that luxury. If she didn’t patch things up, she’d be awake for hours, feeling as if she’d just drunk two cups of coffee. And she had already spent too many nights lying in the dark, listening to David’s even breathing, her thoughts racing and her eyes refusing to stay shut.