Once More with Feeling

by Cynthia Baxter

  The shrill ring of the telephone catapulted Laura out of her reverie. Her fantasy wasn’t the only thing she was reluctant to abandon. The idea of climbing out of the warm bathtub in which she lay, surrounded by more bubbles than she’d ever seen outside a Doris Day movie, was even worse than giving up her starring role in a delicious daydream.

  But figuring it was probably Cam calling, Laura leaped out of her sudsy sanctuary. Quickly she wrapped herself in a towel, then dove for the phone. Standing in the middle of her bedroom, watching drops of water slide off her skin and onto the carpet, she felt like the heroine in a movie, risking cold and flu and permanent rug stains in the name of love.

  “Hello, Laura. It’s Roger.”

  Suddenly she felt like a cold, wet puppy cowering between two trash cans. “We need to talk. I’ll be right over.”

  Her heart sank. Even her half hour of self-administered hydrotherapy was of no use in warding off the instant tensing of her muscles.

  It couldn’t possibly be good news, she thought, giving herself a cursory drying off, then pulling on jeans and a T-shirt.

  Sitting at the kitchen table with Roger, her stomach in knots as she waited for a bomb to drop, was painfully familiar. Yet even in the midst of the familiar tableau, Laura recognized that something was different.

  He no longer belonged here. He was out of place among the coffeepot, the canisters, Evan’s paintings stuck on the refrigerator with magnets shaped like Hershey’s Miniatures. He was no longer a part of her life. The time for her to be sitting opposite him, waiting for the answer to the question What now? had passed.

  Slowly her ties to him were unraveling. With each week that went by, with each day, she grew more and more distant from him. She became less the wife. She even became less the ex-wife. Instead, she got that much closer to being simply Laura Briggs.

  With that realization, Laura felt the roller-coaster car soar upward. And the sensation of the wind in her face was exhilarating.

  Still, something was up. Roger sat a few feet away, his expression earnest. The bomb he was carrying, she suspected, was of nuclear proportions.

  Like any good general, he wasted no time.

  “I want to buy out your share of the house.”

  Laura blinked, taking a few seconds to absorb what he’d just said.

  In a calm voice she asked, “Can you afford it?”

  He shifted his eyes downward, away from her gaze. Suddenly he’d developed a new fascination with the pepper shaker.

  “I’m not buying it alone.”

  Laura swallowed hard ... and waited.

  “Melanie and I are moving in together.”

  She stared at him, a thousand different thoughts flitting through her head. I can’t let this happen! screamed a voice only she could hear. It’s my house! Why should he live in it? Why should that woman live in it?

  She also heard the voices of her friends. “I told you so,” Claire told her in the fantasy that played through her head, her voice hard with disdain. “That’s so typical. Men can’t bear to be on their own, so they grab the first welcoming pair of arms that comes along.”

  She could imagine Julie’s sympathetic clucking as well. “Oh, Laura. You must be terribly hurt. But keep in mind it’s only because he’s so needy. The man’s still in shock.”

  Yet through her initial jolt pushed another thought, one that was much more rational. Shedding the house would be almost as liberating as shedding Roger.

  It was true that part of her longed for the familiarity of the place she’d lived in for close to a decade. It was also the only home Evan had ever known. The idea of slaying put, madonna and child in their natural domain, seemed like the path of least resistance.

  Yet staying here would tie her to the past. This, after all, had been their house. First Roger and Laura, then baby made three. The further she got away from playing me role of the heavy in a rather lopsided triangle, the more enticing the idea of shedding all the trappings of her past became. If she really was going to close the book on this chapter of her life, it made sense for the next chapter to have a completely different setting.

  The daydream she’d played over and over in her head, of packing up her things and walking out, was about to become real. She imagined herself outside in the yard, peeking into the window. From there she watched Melanie Plympton, living in this house. She saw her sleeping in her bedroom, showering in her bathroom, making coffee in this very kitchen. Laura expected to be jealous. Instead, the feeling that rushed over her was more along the lines of glee.

  It’s as if she’s stepping into my old life, she thought. Melanie’s moving into my house with my husband ... and, at least part of the time, my kid. She probably thinks she’s getting a great deal. But along with the Italian bathroom tile that’s perfectly aligned only because I nearly got into a fistfight with the contractor, and the miniblinds that got sent back to the store three times before they were finally right, she’s inheriting all the dissatisfactions and disappointments that I put up with all those years.

  Melanie, Laura thought, trying not to look smug, you want my old life? You’ve got it. Let’s just see if it makes you any less miserable than it made me.

  * * * *

  After Roger left, one more ramification of his sudden and completely unexpected announcement hit Laura. If he was moving in, she was moving out.

  Sitting at the kitchen table, looking around at what up until this moment she’d thought of as “her kitchen,” an old fantasy of where her life would end up as a result of having made the decision to leave Roger came back to haunt her. She saw herself in a tiny apartment—a walk-up above a deli, or worse yet, in someone’s basement. Her new kitchen would have cracked, yellowed linoleum, faded wallpaper featuring dancing fruits and vegetables, an eternally dripping faucet, and a refrigerator that dated from the Great Depression, its freezer possessing a special snow-making feature.

  The longer she sat at the kitchen table, the more colorful—and disastrous—the image of her nightmare apartment became. The shower would produce hot water only on alternate Tuesdays. Cockroaches would regularly hold conventions in her pantry. A motorcycle gang would move into the apartment next door....

  When the phone rang, she raced to answer it. She hoped it was Cam, calling to scare away the demons. Instead it was Gil Plympton, suggesting they get together for lunch again—same time, same greasy spoon. She was glad for the chance to have someone to commiserate with—especially someone who was a party to all that was going on. A sympathetic ear was precisely what she needed to counteract the terrifying sensation that the rug was being pulled out from under her—not only the rug, but also the floor, the basement, and the foundation.

  Driving to the Starlight Diner, she glowered at each house she passed. Why were those people able to live in nice, comfortable homes—homes with linen closets and crawl spaces and water heaters—while she was about to find herself without an address?

  It wasn’t fair. All her life she’d been a respectable citizen who toed the line, filed her taxes on time, paid her parking tickets the very same day she found them tucked into her windshield wipers, and even used longs to pick out her bagels and rolls at the supermarket. Yet it was she, not they, who was being forced to move in with the cockroach motorcycle gang and the antique kitchen appliances.

  Hurrying inside, Laura spotted Gil sitting at the same table as last time. He looked considerably more cheerful as he nursed a cup of coffee and perused the encyclopedia of selections that constituted the Starlight’s menu.

  “Hey!” he greeted her, standing and kissing her on the cheek. “Thanks for coming.”

  “It’s good to see you, Gil.” Sliding into the booth, she studied him carefully. There was a light in his eyes she knew hadn’t been there the last time she’d seen him. “You look great.”

  “I feel great. In fact, I’ve never been better.” He was so animated that Laura suspected the cup of coffee in front of him wasn’t his first.

  “No on
e has a right to feel this good on a Tuesday,” she countered, pulling off her jacket.

  “These days I find myself feeling good on Tuesdays, Thursdays, Sunday nights, Monday mornings....” Wearing a lopsided grin that gave him a charming Mr. Potato Head look, he shrugged. “Laura, I’ve got to thank you for introducing me to Claire.”

  Ah. So it wasn’t the caffeine. “You’re welcome, but it’s not as if I invited you both over for the home version of Love Connection.”

  “I’m convinced it was some kind of cosmic thing,” Gil said, his eyes rising up toward that great dating service in the sky. Suddenly he leaned forward. “Has she said anything to you about me?”

  “Oh, you’ve come up in the conversation once or twice.” Laura didn’t dare let on that she already knew his favorite color, his favorite song, his favorite TV show, and what kind of underwear he wore. “It sounds like you two are really hitting it off.”

  “Why not? I’d be a fool not to fall for a woman like Claire.” A wide smile crept slowly across his face. “She’s amazing. She’s soft, she’s sensitive, she’s loving—”

  “Claire?” Laura blinked. “My Claire?”

  “—so giving, so caring—

  “Wait. We’re talking about Claire Nielsen, right? A woman who was no doubt a Roller Derby queen in a previous life?”

  Gil had a faraway look, as if he were barely listening. Then his smile changed. “Did I mention that she’s also a very ... passionate woman?”

  “Ah-h-h,” Laura said knowingly. “Now I’m beginning to understand.”

  “Don’t get me wrong,” Gil protested. “The fact that she’s able to express herself so openly during our most intimate moments is only a small part of our relationship. She and I click on a much grander scale. My psychic says our auras are so perfectly matched that they mesh like the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.”

  “Gil, the last thing I want to do is rain on your parade.” Laura spoke slowly, choosing her words with care. “But let me play devil’s advocate for a moment. Isn’t it possible—-just possible, mind you—that your interest in Claire is at least partially rooted in the fact that you’re feeling kind of ... hurt right now? You’re still in shock, recovering from what happened with Melanie, and—”

  “Don’t mention that woman’s name to me.” The expression on Gil’s face suddenly matched that of the most despicable character in Evan’s most violent video game.

  “See that? The fact that you’re so angry makes me think you haven’t yet gotten over her.”

  She was expecting a string of protests. Instead, Gil lowered his eyes. “You’re right. Sometimes I manage to forget her—when I’m with Claire, mostly. But other times ...”

  When he looked at Laura, there was fire in his eyes. “But I’ve figured out what I need to do.”

  Laura shrugged to show she didn’t understand.

  “I have to get revenge.”

  “Revenge?” Just hearing the word made her think of Claire. “What does revenge have to do with anything?”

  “In the cosmic scheme of things, a lot.”

  She was tempted to make a joke about Gil having spent too much time with his astrologist. But his steely look told her this was no laughing matter.

  “There’s got to be some way of getting back at Melanie,” Gil insisted.

  “You mean like trampling her flower beds?”

  “Nothing that tame.”

  “How about ... I don’t know, running a bulldozer through her pots?”

  “Not even close.”

  Laura was growing uneasy. “Surely you’re not thinking of turning her in to the IRS.”

  “Now you’re thinking along the right lines.” Staring off into the distance, he said, “I’ve thought of turning the kids against her. But that would hurt them. She is their mother, after all. No, they’ve already been victimized enough.”

  ‘Tell me about it,” Laura interjected.

  “I’ve thought about trying to break up her relationship with Roger.”

  “Hah! Believe me, being with him is punishment enough.”

  “They’re all good ideas, but not great ideas. Still, there’s got to be a way—”

  “But what’s the point?” asked Laura. “Why is revenge so important?”

  Gil blinked. “For closure, of course.”

  “Closure,” she repeated, not understanding.

  “I need a way to get past my divorce, Laura. I have to let go. That chapter of my life is over. It’s time to move on. The question is, how?

  “And then 1 figured it out. I need a way of evening up the score. Of doing to Melanie what she did to me. If only I could make her suffer a fraction of the pain I’ve suffered, if somehow she, too, could be forced to deal with the same feelings of loss ...”

  “Do you really think that would make you feel better?” Laura asked earnestly.

  “The idea is not necessarily to feel better. It’s to feel you’ve come full circle. That there’s finally an ending to what’s been going on for so long.”

  “You’re not getting that from your relationship with Claire?”

  “Claire is wonderful. She’s easily the best thing to come out of my divorce. But this has nothing to do with her. This is between Melanie and me.”

  Laura took a deep breath. “I’m sitting here wondering if I dare fill you in on the latest gossip about the Clog Lady.”

  “What now?”

  “This morning Roger came over to announce that he wants to buy me out of our house.”

  “And?”

  Laura took a deep breath. “He wants to move back in ... with Melanie.”

  “They’re moving in together?”

  The vehemence with which he summarized the recitation she’d just given made her recoil, hoping he’d remember not to shoot the messenger.

  ‘That’s what Roger told me.”

  He was staring straight ahead, his eyes glazed, his hands clenched into fists—even the one still clutching his coffee cup. “I’ll kill him.”

  “Be my guest,” said Laura. “But please wait until he’s taken out the life-insurance policy my lawyer’s insisting on.”

  He didn’t laugh.

  “Look, Gil,” she said, her voice much softer. She sympathized with the turmoil—and the pain—he was so clearly experiencing. “I know this is hard to take. It’s as obvious to me as it is to you that Roger and Melanie are acting in a way that’s thoughtless, impulsive ... and just plain stupid. They hardly know each other. They’re gambling not only with their own lives, but with the lives of our kids.

  “But the bottom line is that whatever cockamamie schemes Roger and Melanie come up with from here on in are not our problem. The kids are our concern, of course, but it’s inevitable that all of us divorced folks end up dealing with the fallout from our ex-spouses’ follies. You said yourself that you’ve got to let go of the past, to accept the fact that your life with Melanie is over. And that you really are better off without her.”

  Gil’s eyes were clouded. “My head hears what you’re saying. But my heart wants to crawl into bed and pull the covers all the way up.”

  ‘Trust me, Gil. You’ll get through this.”

  “She ripped my family apart! Oh, sure, 1 get to see my kids every second weekend. And on Wednesday nights I’m allowed to take them out to McDonald’s. But I miss seeing them in the morning before school and watching TV with them in the evening and ... and just doing normal, everyday stuff....” His voice got thicker and thicker until it trailed off.

  “Look on the bright side,” said Laura, doing her best to sound encouraging. “You’re building a new life. You’ve already found someone new. You’ve got”—she paused, still incredulous—”Claire.”

  “I know.” He swallowed hard. “She told me you’ve met somebody, too.”

  Laura nodded. “I’m crazy about him. I feel as if I’m finally figuring out what love is supposed to feel like, twenty-five years after everybody else.”

  “Better late than never, I
suppose.” Gil stared thoughtfully into space. “I wonder if I ever really loved Melanie.”

  “Of course you wonder. Everybody does. When your marriage falls apart, you can’t help thinking it must not have been built on a very strong foundation. You especially have to be suspicious if you want to believe you’ll ever get a second chance to fall in love again and start a new relationship—this time one that lasts.”

  “I guess you’re right. Besides, my astrologer’s been telling me all along to stay clear of Pisces.” Gil laughed, a little embarrassed chuckle. “How’d you get so smart, anyway?”

  “Easy,” Laura replied, waving her hand in the air. “I write fiction. I just make up this stuff as I go along.”

  “Somehow I don’t think it’s that simple. Hey, this new guy of yours ... ?”

  “Cam?”

  “Cam. Would you give him a message for me?”

  “Sure.”

  “Tell him he’s very lucky.”

  “Do me a favor, Gil,” she returned, smiling. “Pass that same message on to Claire.”

  * * * *

  Laura wasn’t surprised to see new faces at the support group the following Wednesday night, nor that some of the familiar ones were absent. Sitting in the circle, making small talk with Carolyn as she waited for the evening to get under way, she wondered what it was about the group that kept her coming.

  It wasn’t that she needed a diversion. Since Cam had come into her life, she’d spent nearly every spare moment she could with him. Nor was it merely that the weekly update of other people’s ups and downs was much more engrossing than the Wednesday-night lineup of sitcoms. She couldn’t attribute her loyalty simply to habit, either.

  What kept her hooked in was the feeling that she was still on that roller coaster. True, the ride was easing up. The highs weren’t quite as exhilarating, the lows not as devastating. As for the parts in between, they continued to set her heart pounding ... but at least these days she was able to catch her breath. Even so, her car was still very much in motion—and she was still struggling to hold on.