City Mouse

by Lender, Stacey;

  “Shit, Jessica, those look amazing on you,” Tami said, surprising me as she came up from behind. “Really.”

  I looked in the mirror. She was right. The smooth, dark material had just enough give and just enough rise to cover my stomach. In the back, strategically placed pockets flattened my behind. I looked about five pounds thinner. “Wow,” I said.

  “You should get them,” Tami said. “You should get two.”

  “That’s the spirit!” chirped Carolann, reappearing right next to me with her clipboard.

  Tami then stripped off the pair of jeans she was trying on and bent over to pick up a new pair. I was shocked to see her bare ass and it looked like she didn’t have on any underwear—how gross for a jean try-on party! But then down the middle of her butt cheeks I saw a thin sliver of red thread, like something straight out of the Frederick’s of Hollywood catalog. I owned a few thongs but nothing even close to that skimpy. I had seen Tami in a bathing suit yet this was different—her butt cheeks, a G-string, right in my face—it was way more of Tami than I ever needed to see.

  She turned toward me and I noticed she had a tiny monarch butterfly tattoo above her hip bone.

  I blurted, “I like your tattoo.”

  “Thanks, hon,” she said, zipping her pants up. “Do you have any?”

  “Uhhh . . . no.” The thought had never crossed my mind. Actually, it had once, at four o’clock in the morning during spring break in Cancún senior year, but the second Liza and I walked through the door of the tattoo parlor we totally chickened out. And thank god. A rainbow peace sign on my ankle would look ridiculous now.

  Tami said, “It’s for my mom who died when I was nineteen. Breast cancer—seven months, just like that.” Then, without skipping a beat, she eyed herself in the mirror and said, “I never liked boot cut on me. I think I’ll get the white ones. Do you want to try these before I put them back for somebody else?”

  The thong, the tattoo, just like that—I couldn’t even eke out a no.

  Tami said, “Sorry, didn’t mean to lay that on you.”

  “No, no,” I stammered, “I’m the one who’s sorry.”

  She flung the jeans over her arm. “No worries, chica. Let’s grab these goods while we can and get in line to pay.”

  I reached for my pocketbook and then remembered I’d thrown it in the pile in the other room. “I have to get my bag, I’ll meet you.”

  I walked down the dark hallway and tried to figure out what it was that bothered me about Tami’s reaction. Something seemed amiss in her too-casual way. What did I expect her to do, break down crying in the middle of a party about something that happened more than fifteen years ago? I had no idea what it felt like to lose a parent, fortunately; there was no way I could judge what was right or appropriate for someone who had experienced such a loss.

  I opened a door to what I thought was the room with the bags and it took a second for my eyes to adjust and realize I had stepped into some kind of storage room by mistake. I flicked on the light and could tell immediately this was no ordinary Costco closet; it was more like a bunker, lined with floor-to-ceiling shelves stocked with gallons upon gallons of water and cases of oats and canned tomatoes and Carnation powdered milk. Perfectly lined up rows, ten deep. Huge plastic buckets and industrial bars of laundry soap. Peas, corn, Chunky Hearty Bean & Ham Soup, and oversized cereal boxes, and I literally jumped when I saw four gas masks staring up at me like skulls from the future.

  I had read once in a magazine about people who were convinced the apocalypse would hit at any moment—“preppers,” they called themselves, proud of their stockpiled survival supplies that not only included food but also arsenals of ammo and guns. But I had thought they lived in the back hills of Kentucky and northern Montana, not the suburbs of New York City.

  Then I froze: there on the wall was a brown lockbox that looked about rifle-size. I am standing in a room loaded with guns. Guns and Clorox and a ten-year supply of Cap’n Crunch. Holy shit. I quickly shut off the light and closed the door, making a beeline up the stairs to get out of there.

  At the checkout table I still felt shaken but managed to find my credit card and handed it to the man with the cash box. “Sorry, sister, cash only,” he said.

  I rummaged through my wallet and luckily was able to scrape together enough to cover it. I would have been happy to pay full retail for two pairs of flattering new jeans, but for the price of not even one, I had two, and besides stumbling into Carolann’s bizzaro bunker, I was glad I’d come to the party after all.

  “Let’s get out of here and get a real drink,” Alyson said.

  Not pregnant, I thought.

  A drink sounded good but it was getting late. “Sorry, I can’t,” I said. “Aaron’s away in Austin and I have to get home for the sitter.”

  “Oh, come on, for one drink,” Tami said.

  “Ivy just sent me a text,” Alyson added. “She’s at Varka and already has a table.”

  I really wanted to. There wasn’t any reason to rush home if Noreen could stay an extra hour. The kids were probably asleep already anyway. After a quick call to confirm and wearing my new jeans, I followed Alyson and Tami and a group of other moms out the door.

  * * *

  Varka was packed. Who are all of these people out on a Thursday night? I wondered as our party of five snaked through the crowd, looking for Ivy. I smelled perfume and cologne and passed men in tight black T-shirts and women in off-the-shoulder silk blouses, martinis in hand. Loud music blared from an outdoor patio. There were couples too, tucked away eating and drinking at tables leading up to the packed area by the bar. Since we’d moved to Suffern it hadn’t occurred to me to go out for a date night with Aaron during the week—most nights we barely had enough energy to hike up the stairs from our couch to our bed, let alone leave the house. But it felt good to break out of my normal routine, in a crowded bar on a school night.

  Ivy waved to us from two high cocktail tables pushed together toward the back of the bar. She was with a few women I didn’t know. After meeting a Cheryl and a Lisa and another Jessica, I sat on a stool next to Alyson and caught an edge of their conversation while I scanned the room for a waitress.

  “Not the book fair—then we have to sit there for the whole freaking day with that kid Jacob’s mother and Lily’s mother too,” Alyson said.

  “You mean Jacob, the kid who had lice last week?” Cheryl said.

  Alyson nodded. “Second time this year.”

  “We could all help Carolann with the auction,” Ivy suggested. “When is it, April? That usually doesn’t get started until after New Year’s.”

  Tami shook her head no. “Too much work. I warn you: steer clear. Carolann enjoys the heavy lifting, I say let her do it. If you have to volunteer, you want to choose something easy, like box tops collector. Or do what I do: raise your hand to take the guinea pig home for a holiday weekend—then with a change of newspaper and a little bit of water you’re done with your obligation for the whole year. Just don’t take my weekend, Ivy—it’s Thanksgiving—or I’ll have to fucking kill you.”

  I liked the take-home-the-pet concept but definitely didn’t want to infringe on Tami’s territory.

  Another mom I recognized from the party joined the group. She gave Alyson a kiss hello and said, “Congrats, I heard Jeff hired the same campaign manager who worked on the state senator’s big win last year. That guy’s supposed to be amazing.”

  Alyson rolled her eyes. “Please, for one night, can we not discuss the election? I’m not sure I’m going to make it through another whole year of this ridiculous Ramapo Town Council crap.”

  I had thought Alyson was supportive of Jeff’s political aspirations, or at least she seemed to be when we were out with the couples, nodding and smiling whenever he discussed his ideas for a new sewer system and additions to the police force. From what Aaron told me, Jeff enjoyed his public service side job and seemed genuinely interested in making a difference. I decided not to mention to Aly
son’s friend that it was actually Aaron who connected Jeff with his new campaign manager through a friend of a friend from b-school. And that Jeff was over-the-moon excited to have him on the team.

  I turned to my right to find out what the other women were talking about, to see if it was more interesting than the usual school banter.

  “. . . and I told him the stones on the patio were breaking and what we really needed to do was replace it, not just fix it. But then when I showed him the estimate for a new one, he completely flipped out. And I had thought the price was pretty reasonable for a whole new patio. He just doesn’t have a clue what these things cost. That, and he’s such a cheap bastard.”

  I definitely needed a drink before I could stick my toe into those waters.

  Then Cheryl said to me, “So, Tami tells me you’re from the city. We used to live on the Upper East Side in Normandie Court? I absolutely love the city. I can’t wait to move back there when the kids go to college.”

  “Me too,” the woman complaining about the patio said. “Counting the days.”

  “Where did they apply?” I asked.

  She burst out laughing. “That’s a good one! Where did they apply? My oldest just turned four so we’ve still got a ways to go.”

  How was I supposed to know she’d be talking about her plans to move fifteen years from now? Plus, the desperate note in her voice made me feel squirmy.

  I looked up to see if I could find a waitress but there was still none to be seen. “Anyone need a drink?” A few hands shot up and I managed to squeeze through the dense crowd lined up four deep at the bar and returned a few minutes later with four Amstel Lights.

  “Hey, Jessica—look over behind you. That guy is totally checking you out,” Tami said.

  “Yeah, right,” I replied. “Very funny.”

  “He is, seriously! It’s the jeans, I’m telling you.”

  I quickly turned my head and thought I caught a glimpse of a group of guys at least a decade younger than us leaning against the bar, looking in our direction and smiling. I had to admit it felt good being checked out in a bar. Ha! I still have it. I decided I would wear my new jeans every single day from now on.

  Tami nudged Alyson. “Doesn’t the one in the middle remind you of Dr. Mike from Miami?”

  Alyson glanced at the bar and then shook her head. “I thought we agreed not to bring up that night since I almost cracked my head open.”

  Tami said, “Yeah, you almost cracked your head open alright. I hope they offer that sweet condo again at the auction this year—I could really use another break in South Beach. Right about now.”

  “When were you guys in Miami?” I asked. “My parents live there.”

  “Back over Memorial Day weekend,” Tami said. “A bunch of us went on a moms’ weekend away and it was a total fucking blast. We even convinced Ivy to fly her ass in from London—”

  “How’s your house decorating going, Jessica?” Ivy interrupted, shooting a strange glance at Tami. “I am sooooo jealous you have that beautiful brand-new house and get to do it all from scratch. Since we’ve been back I’ve been working on Drew to get the green light to redo our kitchen. And the master bath while we’re at it.”

  “We’re getting there, but it’s a little slow,” I admitted. “I’ve been looking for a dresser for Phoebe’s room and a coffee table for the den.” Not to mention the hundreds of other items on the list: pillowcases and drawer dividers and linen storage boxes from the Container Store. And curtains—I still hadn’t ordered curtains. “It’s been hard to find the time to go shopping. And there’s only so much you can buy on the Internet. Returning’s such a pain.”

  “If you want, I can introduce you to Frederico,” Ivy said.

  “Oh my god, Frederico’s amazing!” a woman at the other end of the table exclaimed. I couldn’t remember if she was Lisa or the other Jessica. “He did my friend’s whole house in Franklin Lakes. And get this—before she hired him, she toured a few houses he decorated, found one she really liked, and said, I’m moving into my new home in October, you have four months to make my house look like this one. Then she gave him a blank check and said she wanted to literally walk in the door with her whole entire house decorated. She didn’t want to approve one single item—she let him buy everything, sight unseen! Custom-made couches, all the beds and all the bedding. Bathroom fixtures, tiles, artwork, picture frames. Everything. Can you imagine?”

  I couldn’t. “What if she didn’t like something?” I asked. I knew a custom-made couch could run upward of ten, even fifteen grand. Who in their right mind would risk that?

  “Anything that wasn’t custom, she could exchange. But guess what? She didn’t return one single thing. She kept it all, down to the knickknacks he put on the shelf above the sink.”

  “That’s crazy, I could never,” Alyson said. “The year we did our house, I can’t even count how many hours I spent with my decorator picking everything out.”

  “I’m sure Jeff can give you a count of exactly how many hours you spent when he paid her hefty bill,” Tami said, raising her eyebrows.

  Alyson gave her the finger.

  “I think there’s something freeing about letting someone else do it all,” Tami continued. “Think about all the time you waste just choosing one picture frame—I mean, in the scheme of the world does it really fucking matter if it’s silver or pewter? Shiny or matte? Etched or plain? All you need is for this decorator fairy to come in, wave his wand around, and voilà! Your whole house is done.”

  “Frederico’s a decorator fairy all right,” Ivy giggled.

  “For enough money, you can pay anyone to do anything,” Alyson said. “But I’d be much more stressed out wondering whether or not I was going to like what he chose. And it’s not that hard: silver frame, matte with the etched edge, done.”

  Even if we could afford to hire a decorator, there was no way I would want someone to pick out every single item in our house. It wasn’t about control—which I could tell it might be for Alyson—I didn’t want to live in a showcase for someone’s latest designs out of the D&D Building. I wanted to fill our home with pieces that we chose ourselves, that meant something to us. Some items we needed to buy new, of course. But I liked the idea of melding the old with the new and having the best of both, like buying a new lamp for our antique desk, one of the few pieces of furniture we’d brought with us from the city—our first big purchase as a couple, scouted at the flea market on Columbus and 77th the weekend we moved in together. Even though the wood was scratched, we fell in love with its curved edges and hand-carved details. Plus, the length couldn’t have been more perfect. Aaron tested the drawers and noticed the edges were interlocking dovetail joints: the strongest kind. “Built to last. Just like us,” he said, and then he turned to kiss me—a deep, thoughtful kiss that took me by surprise and just about melted me right into the asphalt. There was no way I was ever going to let some decorator tell me that desk wasn’t right for our new “decor.” It was nice of Ivy to offer, but I knew I wouldn’t be calling Frederico.

  Alyson took a long gulp of her Amstel and nudged my elbow. “See over there by the window? That’s Nikki Thompson, the single mom I told you about. Her son Jayden’s in the Threes again this year, the other class. He’s got that borderline birthday and she held him back.”

  In the distance I could make out a woman wearing a long sweater, belted at the waist, smiling up at a good-looking guy with dark wavy hair. I liked her outfit.

  “Divorced?” I asked.

  “Haven’t ever seen a dad at school,” Alyson answered. “Or another mom.”

  Tami said, “We think she had IVF from a donor, but no one’s really sure. Maybe that’s her mystery man. I heard through the grapevine she might be having number two.”

  “Ooh, I’d love to have one more,” Ivy said. “Ruby’s turning three soon and every day I get sadder and sadder. She’s my baby! Drew says no way but I’m not giving up so fast. Another baby and a new kitchen. Is that so mu
ch to ask?”

  “I would die if I found out I was pregnant again,” Tami said. “Another baby? No fucking thank you.”

  I couldn’t believe Tami would say that with Alyson sitting right there! She had to know about Alyson’s fertility issues. Or did she? Maybe Alyson was truly keeping the secret to herself, like I had when it happened to me. Or maybe Tami did know and was putting on a front so everyone else wouldn’t suspect. I tried to give Alyson an empathetic glance without anyone noticing, but she didn’t even look my way, her face a passive mask.

  “I told Chris it’s time for him to get a vasectomy but he’s giving me a ton of pushback,” Tami went on. “He says he’s scared of the pain and of his balls blowing up like balloons. Which I actually heard does happen, but only for a day or two. So last week, I finally gave him the ultimatum; I said, I gave birth to three kids and have been on birth control for—I don’t know—the better part of twenty years. Now it’s your turn. And then I made an appointment to get my IUD taken out next Thursday and told him after then he’s shut out until he gets the snip.”

  I finished the last drops of my beer. This moms’ night out was yielding a lot more information than our usual playdates and coffees. Now I knew that my new friend was withholding sex to convince her husband to get a vasectomy.

  “No more sex? You won’t last,” Alyson said.

  “Me? He won’t last. You’ll see, he’ll cave. Maybe you could convince Jeff to get one too—they can hold hands and go in and do it together.”

  A vasectomy for Jeff? Tami was really laying it on thick. Alyson played right along and said, “Yeah, maybe.”

  Cheryl said, “I don’t see what’s wrong with an IUD. I have one and I love it.”

  “I’ve actually been thinking about getting one,” I said, surprising myself for saying so out loud. “But I heard it’s uncomfortable.”

  “Not at all—well, maybe for a few seconds when they put it in—but after you don’t even feel it. And then it’s wide-open season for five whole years.”