“I’m glad you’re doing better. You sure know how to worry a guy,” he said.
“Thank you for being there for me, Jeff. I hope it’s the last time I need you. Are you getting ready for turkey day?” Pam asked, hoping to change the topic.
“Well, my plans just fell through. My sister-in-law called and my brother is sick. Flu, they think. Do you have extra room at your table?” Jeff asked.
It was uncharacteristic of him to be so forward. Pam thought for just a second before she answered him. Having a stranger there might be a good thing—a buffer to ensure against any intense conversation. “My friend! Please do come. I’m cooking about the same amount of food I did when we were expecting thirty people,” Pam said.
“Great! Thank you so much. I was hopeful you would have room for me. Can I bring anything? I was taking vegetables to my brother’s,” Jeff said. “Roasted root veggies and sautéed mixed mushrooms.”
“Vegetables would be fine. We have a few standards at our house that I’ll make, as well.” Since Jeff was a graduate of the Culinary Institute of America, she added, “Very non CIA…green bean casserole and spinach-and-artichoke casserole.” She started laughing.
“Oh wow! With canned soup and canned French fried onions? I love that!” Jeff said.
“Okay, let me get back to my pies. I’ll see you tomorrow at five sharp,” Pam said. She hung up the phone and was just turning to go to her room to freshen up when the phone rang again. Thinking it was Jeff again she allowed her jocular mood to show through her voice, sing-songing, “Hello.” But it was her mother.
“Someone’s in a good mood today. Must be nice to have something to be happy about,” Nelda growled.
“Yes, Mother! How nice to hear from you today. What can I do for you?” Pam said, turning back to the kitchen. She’d wash mixing bowls while her mother complained. “How’s the patient today?”
“She’s running me ragged, that’s how she is. But Marie isn’t why I’m calling. I noticed you didn’t invite us to have dinner with you tomorrow,” Nelda replied.
“I wanted to have dinner with my children here. I noticed you didn’t invite us there, Mother. Since my husband just died six months ago and I’ve been ill, it would be the least you could have done,” Pam said. She wasn’t taking any crap from Nelda about Thanksgiving.
“Well!” Nelda exclaimed. “Having a little tragedy in your life doesn’t give you the right to be disrespectful to your mother!”
Pam could hear Nelda begin to weep. Oh crap, I don’t want to make her cry.
“We’ve spent every holiday with you since Genoa was alive! Daddy and I drove her out to Babylon the first year you lived there, and she died two weeks later. All she could talk about was what a wonderful time she had! Why’s that have to stop? Why? If you are too tired to make dinner for us, for heaven’s sake, ask for my help! I can’t read your mind, Pamela.” Nelda stopped to blow her nose, snorting loudly into the phone.
Pam pulled the phone away from her ear. Maybe she was being unreasonable. She’d only wanted to be alone with her kids to be free to talk. But now Jeff was coming. “I see your point. Well, of course, if it means that much to you, come.” What would Steve and Marie do if Nelda came here? What about Bernice? Oh, for God’s sake. “You might as well bring everyone else. Just let me know by tonight how many are coming so I can set the table.”
Nelda agreed and said she’d call after dinner. Pam walked toward her bedroom to get out of her flour-covered athletic suit and the thought crossed her mind that she’d better warn the children about Marie’s appearance. What she had hoped to avoid was about to be realized. Maybe she would let them think that Marie was a crystal meth addict.
24
Ashton and Jack slowly fell into a new routine that would take them to the end of Jack’s life. During the week, they got together every morning for coffee before Jack traveled downtown to his office. Rarely, they would meet for sex; although they didn’t call it that. Jack would call Ashton in the middle of the day and ask him if they could “reconnect.” “I miss you,” he’d say. Ashton never refused him. They would lie in bed together and hold each other, Jack often falling asleep for a few minutes in Ashton’s arms. Even Jack’s breathing concerned Ashton; was he the only one who noticed how sick the man was? After Jack’s death, it was clear that no one else did notice. Jack continued meeting Maryanne at the diner, but he went up to her apartment less and less often. He still refused to talk about her to Ashton. He stopped seeing Dale and the others.
But Jack mentioned Sandra’s name more and more often, always in terms of praise. Sandra discovered discrepancies in lot lines of a building project that would save millions of dollars. Sandra wore a Camali knit dress that showed every curve on her body. Sandra agreed to spend the night with him. They never went to his Madison Avenue flat, but always to a hotel. Sandra didn’t want to go to her apartment, either. “If you dump me, I’ll have your memories where I live,” she’d explained. Jack thought she was brilliant; here was a woman who stood up for what she wanted and wouldn’t compromise. Ashton thought that she sounded like a self-centered youngster who would get involved with a married man and not give his wife a thought. Ha ha! What about me? Ashton had been jealous of Pam. He’d never regretted taking time with Jack away from her. They were all amoral pigs.
Sandra Benson put herself in neutral for the long weekend. Tom’s family had traditions that were sacrosanct. He had brunch with his father and Gwen and dinner with his mother and sisters. Football was center stage. They got up early and had coffee together before leaving for Bayside. It was Tom’s responsibility to stop at a local baker and get a pastry tray for brunch and a pie for dinner. Sandra didn’t get it; it was clear from looking at both John and Gwen that nothing like one of the gooey caramel rolls Tom ordered would ever cross their lips.
A few days after their flea market expedition with John and Gwen, Tom had taken Sandra to meet his mother and sisters. His mother was adorable, but he sisters were real bitches. Faith and Emma had deluded themselves into thinking they preferred lonely, celibate lives that allowed nighttime cookie binges and ice cream pig-outs instead of relationships leading to independence from Mom. Tom’s mother, Virginia, was the sweetest little Scottish woman. She had a thick accent in spite of having come to the states forty years before. She worshiped Tom, and her adoration included anyone he was going to bless with their presence. He didn’t bring dates home. His sisters tried to get him to date their friends, and friends of friends. They even signed him up for online dating. But he wasn’t interested. He was waiting for Sandra.
When they pulled up in front of the apartment, Sandra thought she saw a quick motion at the window. They were waiting for a glimpse. They didn’t expect Sandra. Emma thought Tom would have a short, chubby girlfriend and Faith said she’d always pictured him with a small, athletic type, like a tomboy. Both of them held their stomachs in and tried to smile, but it was hopeless.
Sandra’s presence would ruin Thanksgiving for both women. How could they put the feed bags on when Twiggy was in the house? After that initial visit, Emma begged Virginia to let Tom go to his father’s for Thanksgiving dinner, but she was having none of it.
“No friggin’ way! He’s coming here where he belongs,” she said. “What’s wrong with you two?” She knew what it was; they were green with envy. “Don’t let the green-eyed monster ruin your relationship with your brother.”
Faith didn’t argue because her mother was right. If she really cared, she’d enlist Sandra’s help with weight loss and exercise. Didn’t all skinny people love to give diet and workout advice? But Emma wasn’t going there. She was incensed. Tom was just as shallow as the rest of the men she knew. Unless a woman was starving to death, she couldn’t get a second look from a guy. Emma could barely make eye contact with her brother on that first visit and never addressed Sandra once. Thanksgiving would be a horrible day to be gotten through.
For Tom, Thanksgiving morning, at least, was relaxing and
pleasant. Gwen served coffee and put the rolls Tom brought out on a china serving platter. Surprisingly, she took one, put it in the microwave, smeared it with butter that promptly melted all over, and began to stuff it into her mouth. She ate two of the caramel rolls with coffee, and then went to the kitchen to begin putting out the brunch dishes. She had bagels from the bakery in their neighborhood, lox and cream cheese, smoked turkey, chicken livers, cheeses, a platter of bacon and sausage, and a huge frittata. Gwen could put it away. She piled her plate up with food while the others followed behind her.
“Eat up! There’s fruit, cream puffs, and chocolate éclairs,” she said. The fruit was presented in a hollowed-out watermelon. Where she found watermelon in Queens in November was a mystery. They took their plates to an enclosed porch that overlooked Little Neck Bay. The setting reminded Sandra of Pam, and sadness tried to ruin her day. She decided to fight it by stepping out of her comfort zone and initiating the conversation instead of making others draw her out, as usual. “So Gwen, what do you do for a living?” Sandra asked, assuming she still worked because she was so much younger than the retired John. Why would they be in Bayside if they could travel?
“I’m a nurse,” she said. “Next year I am going to go part-time so we can start doing a little traveling. Do you travel much?”
“I think I can count the number of times I’ve been out of the city on one hand.” They laughed. “Coming to Brooklyn is in that count.”
“Sandra was born and raised in Manhattan, Gwen. Hell’s Kitchen, right, honey?” Tom asked. Sandra nodded her head yes.
“Brooklyn must have been a tough change for you,” Gwen said. But Sandra shook her head.
“No, everyone says that, but I love it. Williamsburg is completely unpretentious. I feel like I could be happy here permanently,” Sandra explained. Tom reached an arm around her and hugged. “It’s a fallacy, actually, that people from the city never want to leave it—something Woody Allen propagated in Manhattan. We might be afraid to leave. I just have never known anything else. It’s not that I don’t love the city, but I am not thrilled with what it’s become. The familiar is being replaced by the generic. There was a burger joint in my old neighborhood and the rent was raised until he could no longer afford to pay. The usual story. Last week, a friend told me that a national sandwich chain is going in there. Yuck. A coffee chain took over the coffee shop I visited with my mother and sister every Saturday for ten years. It makes me sad. You won’t know where you are when you get off the subway. It could be anyplace in the country.” The clanking of cutlery on china increased as they ate.
“I have no desire to go anywhere. When you say we are going to travel, what do you have in mind?” John asked Gwen. The group laughed.
“I’ll think of something you won’t be able to resist,” she said.
Sandra could see they were in love, devoted to each other. It would be pleasant being part of this family. After brunch, they talked for a while longer and then it was time to head back home before going to Tom’s mother’s house. When they got back to Tom’s apartment, Sandra wished she could feign illness and stay home. But she did some quick deep breathing and the impulse to hide went away. She’d be okay. Just going with the flow was a new discipline for Sandra. She liked being in control but found that relinquishing some of it to Tom was easier than she thought. As long as the conversation wasn’t threatening at his mother’s house, she would be fine.
They were at Virginia’s for less than fifteen minutes when the first comment was made that shifted Sandra’s self-protection mechanism to the front line. They were sitting around a small, round table in the front of the apartment and Virginia was serving tea and hors d’oeuvres. Faith was talking a blue streak about a new computer system her employer had put in and Sandra tried to stay focused. Without meaning to, she let her eyes glaze over and she started daydreaming.
Emma picked up on it immediately. “Shut up for a minute, will you, Faith? You’re boring Sandra,” Emma said.
Tom looked over at her with a “you okay?” expression. She smiled back at him. “Not at all,” Sandra said. “I don’t know much about computers but I’m always willing to learn!” The comment rang false to her own ears, but she didn’t think anyone else noticed.
“You’ll have to put up with us catching up with Tommy when you come around. We never see him now,” Faith said. Sandra kept her smile plastered across her face. What the hell were they talking about? He spent every Saturday afternoon with them.
“Get on with it, Faith. I’m going to fall asleep myself,” Tom said jokingly. But Faith took it seriously.
Sandra thought, Oh great, now the ally is pissed, too.
“Forget it,” she said, pushing herself away. The action made the small table move six inches. The vase of flowers teetered and everyone’s tea cups sloshed. She stomped off toward the back of the apartment with enough gusto that the plates rattled. No one said anything for a moment, and then Virginia got up from her chair.
“I’ll go retrieve Princess Faith,” she said.
Sandra wondered if that behavior was Faith’s norm. She picked up her tea and sipped. She could do anything for one afternoon. Tom patted her knee and smiled at her while they waited. Emma glared at Sandra, piling more food on her plate. They’d only been sitting there for twenty minutes and Sandra already felt like she could throw up, she’d eaten so much. There was still the huge meal to wade through.
Finally, Virginia returned alone. “Faith will be out shortly. Shall we move into the dining room?”
She led the way into a tiny, windowless room behind the kitchen. She’d fashioned heavy draperies across one wall. The other walls were covered with a gallery of old, framed prints, flea market finds mixed with family treasures. Sandra was of the minimalist decorating school, where form followed function, but she was finding the space more relaxing and cozy than confining, as she’d thought it might be. The furniture was oversized for the small space, with four large armchairs around the table. They’d brought in a kitchen chair for Sandra.
She was uncomfortable being served, but the room was too small for more than one person to be up at a time. Virginia dished the food up in the kitchen and brought plates to the table. She’d taken pity on Sandra, maybe because of her size. The plate she prepared for Sandra had child-sized portions of turkey, mashed potatoes, and stuffing, and a tablespoon of something green. Creamed spinach. She would make it last throughout the meal.
When Tom was done, he announced that he was going to the living room to check out the scores and thankfully, he motioned for Sandra to go with him. No one had directed any conversation or questions to her. They weren’t interested and that was okay with Sandra. She remembered an experience with a high school date. The young man lived on the Upper West Side and had a maid serving the meal. His parents acted like they had never eaten a meal with anyone who wasn’t a member of their church, let alone someone who lived in Hell’s Kitchen.
“What did you say your father does again?” they asked, in disbelief that she could be telling the truth; her father was among the legal counsel for the ACLU. After the meal was over, she politely left the room and told her date to go fuck himself for throwing her to the wolves. She walked home, and on the way, resolved that she would never allow that sort of treatment again. Yet here she was—slipping into a state of not belonging or feeling inferior. The others were still eating. The smell of turkey was making Sandra sick, and she decided to step out of her comfort zone and risk making Tom angry.
“How long do we have to stay?” she whispered. He looked around and shrugged his shoulders. “How about half-time?” he asked.
She nodded her head yes. Fifteen more minutes. When the time finally arrived, she stayed calm and didn’t rush to the door, although she was feeling more and more panicked the longer they stayed.
“Mom, we’re heading out!” Tom yelled to Virginia. “I’ll come by tomorrow for leftovers.”
His mother walked out, a confused look on her f
ace. “You’re leaving already?” she asked. “What’s going on?”
“I’ve got a little headache, Ma, nothing to worry about. I want to get home and lay on the couch.”
Emma snickered.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Tom asked. Sandra pressed closer to the door.
“Emma, mind your business,” Virginia said.
“No, I don’t think I will. You cooked all day yesterday and I think its mean of him to come for dinner and stay for an hour and think that’s enough,” Emma stated, and then, the question they dreaded, “How long’d you stay at Dad’s, Tommy?”
Faith came out of the bedroom and stood in the hallway, waiting. The struggle Virginia was having was clear. Tom stepped back into the living room. Sandra closed her eyes. He was going to get into it with his sister.
“We were there all morning. And you know what, Faith? No one treated my girlfriend like shit over there. No one whined and complained, or expected anything of us. They treated Sandra with respect at Dad’s. Mother,” he said addressing Virginia, “thank you for a delicious meal. You were a lovely hostess. But your daughters are bitches and I’m not subjecting my girlfriend to this again.” He walked over to his mother and kissed her cheek. “Love you, Mom, thank you for dinner,” he repeated. “I’ll be by tomorrow.” He glared at his sisters and turned back to the door where Sandra stood, embarrassed.
They were silent on the walk to his car. He unlocked the door and held it for her while she got in. She watched him walking around the front to his door. She felt a combination of relief and regret. She was hoping for the sense of family that she’d missed since her parents died. But she wasn’t going to find it with Faith and Emma lurking around, no matter how long they hung out at Virginia’s. She may have found what she was looking for at John and Gwen’s, which would make things worse for Tom. He was already walking a fine line between the two parents.
Prayers for the Dying: Pam of Babylon Book #4 Page 14