by Kim Cano
Each outfit was beautiful. There weren’t any prices listed, but I guess if you have to ask… Heck, what did I know, I shopped at Target. I checked the link on where to buy. Boutiques I’d never heard of popped up, and Neiman Marcus. Yikes! I knew that one, the most expensive department store in the mall.
I noticed an “about us” button. I clicked on it, and there was a picture of Sabrina. I let out a sigh. She looked better than ever.
I thought of Justin. Why had he never mentioned her name? Not even once? He often talked about his other clients.
I read what was written in the “about us” section. Instead of providing juicy details about Sabrina, it was a statement describing the company’s artistic vision. Boring.
I scanned down to the end of the page. There was one interesting nugget. It said Sabrina was carrying on where her parents, Don and Monique, left off.
Out of morbid curiosity, I Googled their names. Again, a bunch of links popped up. The one that caught my eye was “Fashion Industry’s Tragic Loss.” The article went on to describe the untimely death of Don and Monique Bergman. While vacationing in Indonesia, their privately rented plane went down after leaving Bali. The wreckage was found between Bali and Java. The cause of the crash was unknown.
After reading the article, I felt sad. And a little ashamed. I was behaving like a nosy old lady. Disgusted with myself, I logged off the computer and went to bed.
•••••
Sunday morning we got up early, ate breakfast and headed to the train station. On the ride there, Tyler talked non-stop about Josephine.
“Did I tell you she went to a special college for art?” he said.
My mom and I glanced at each other and smirked. Of course we knew that.
“No honey,” I replied with interest, “you didn’t.”
I let him rattle on as we bounced around in our seats. The benches weren’t very comfortable on Metra. And, of course, our train hit every single stop.
“Did I tell you she went on vacation with her friends for a whole summer to Europe?”
“Nope.” I figured he was going to tell me, though, and that story would cover the rest of the trip downtown. I sat there nodding and responding in all the right spots as he spilled the details.
As I listened, I felt bad we’d never taken Tyler on a vacation. I know he heard Justin and I dream out loud about our travel plans, but they never materialized. I hoped travel would be in my son’s future. Justin would like that.
I heard them call the final stop. Then we gathered our belongings and caught a cab to the Art Institute. Tyler loved the big stone lions out front, so we took some pictures there, before heading inside.
We wandered aimlessly for a while. Then we found ourselves in the modern art section. Mom liked the paintings, but I didn’t. I know they’re supposed to evoke a feeling instead of be about something, but I didn’t care. I thought they were ugly. All I could think was how could paint be randomly splattered around and end up in a museum?
“What do you think T?” Mom asked Tyler.
He gave it some thought. “I like it,” he said. “It makes me feel happy.”
“See, he gets it,” Mom ribbed me.
“It must be me,” I said. “I’m not in touch with my emotions.”
After I spoke the words I realized they were true. I hardly felt anything anymore.
“Where to next?” I asked, switching the subject.
“The restrooms,” Mom replied.
After hitting the bathroom we located the Gauguin section. It was filled with pieces bursting with vivid colors and tranquil scenes. Tyler was in Heaven. He walked around slowly, taking them all in.
“These are my favorites,” he said.
“I thought you might say that,” I replied.
Tyler kept going back to one painting. “I think this is the best one.”
I walked over and read the plaque. The piece was called “Day of the God.” It depicted a Polynesian beach scene with some kind of religious ceremony.
“You’ve got expensive taste,” I joked. “Maybe they have a poster in the gift shop.”
Tyler smiled back. He was having a great time.
We walked until our feet throbbed. Then we stopped at the museum cafe for lunch. Once we sat down, it made getting back up almost impossible.
Our last stop before leaving was the gift shop. They sold posters, even the one Tyler wanted, but he stumbled onto a sale section with last year’s Gauguin calendar. That was a better deal, because he got a bunch of pictures for the same price as a single poster.
We took a cab to the train station, and once we boarded, we fell silent. On the ride home we all had our eyes closed, waiting for the conductor to call out our stop.
Chapter 9
Back at work Monday I was restless. I couldn’t concentrate. When I punched out at the end of the day, I checked voicemail and was excited to find a message from Henry. He was calling on behalf of Sabrina, inviting me to come this Sunday. I could return the book, have lunch, and go swimming.
What irony. Finally I would be swimming after all. Just not at the gym. I wondered why I didn’t just tell the truth, at least to my own mother. Then I remembered the awful situation with my dad, and I decided I couldn’t do that. Not yet. Not until I was sure about everything.
Throughout the week I put more focus on the family workout routine because I’d have to wear a bathing suit in front of Sabrina soon. I knew it was childish, but I felt every abdominal crunch was a tiny boost to my fragile ego.
Once the time came to try on the swimwear, I was bummed. It was worn-looking and plain. I didn’t have the cash to buy another one, so I’d have to just deal with it. On a mission, I rummaged through my entire closet to see what else I had that made me look cute. After digging for twenty minutes I found nothing. I hadn’t bought new clothes in a long time. I guess I stopped trying once Justin was gone.
I thought about what Barb had said to me, that I was depressed. I studied my reflection in the mirror and sighed. I used to look nice. Justin always complimented me. But I had let myself go.
Saturday night, before bed, I thumbed through Sabrina’s John Waterhouse book again. I wondered what feelings these pieces evoked. As I turned the pages, I got a sense of them. Romantic, mysterious, and tragic. I closed the book and looked at the art in my room. They were Tyler’s drawings. Islands, bugs, pieces of fruit. He sure was coming along as an artist. It gave me a warm, fuzzy feeling inside. I let that feeling usher me into a deep sleep.
When I arrived at Sabrina’s on Sunday, she answered the door herself, and was dressed down, like a normal person. Maybe she’d realized how nutty she looked in the chiffon gown.
I pulled her book out of my bag and handed it to her. “Thanks,” I said. “I really enjoyed it.”
She took it from me and reached for my coat and bag. I looked around and wondered where Henry was. Maybe it was his day off. Surely servants got a day off. Then I realized I was being politically incorrect and made a mental note to switch the phrase to hired help.
“Follow me,” Sabrina said, interrupting my inner dialogue. “I have a surprise for you.”
She turned and I began walking behind her, down the hallway. I hesitated for a split second when I realized we were alone. I don’t know why, but I got a little frightened.
We arrived in her bedroom, where I glimpsed a bouquet of yellow daffodils sitting in a vase on the dresser.
A familiar ping gripped my gut. A reminder to stay alert, to remember why I was here.
Sabrina reached into her closet and pulled out a hanging bag. “This is for you,” she said.
I reached out and took the bag from her. When I unzipped it and revealed its contents I saw two brand new designer outfits.
“I thought you might enjoy these,” she said. “I know you work in an office, and I think these pieces will be just right.”
“Thank you,” I replied, finally getting words to form in my mouth, “but I can’t accept these.
They’re too expensive.”
“No they’re not,” she said, waving them off like it was no big deal. “They’re samples left over from the show.”
I’m smart enough to know (from watching Sex and the City) that runway samples were a size two. These were a six—my size. How the hell did she know my size? Something about this felt terribly wrong.
“What do you think?” she asked.
My first thought was “you’re giving me a present because you’re guilty about something, and you’re trying to make up for it.” My second thought was maybe rich people just did stuff like this; maybe it was normal, like giving half your sandwich to a co-worker who forgot to pack lunch. I’d have to decide on a correct answer to continue this charade, so I broke down and gave in to the truth. An embarrassingly selfish truth.
“I love them,” I replied. “I was just thinking I needed to get out there and buy some new clothes.”
We smiled at each other, then I took another glance at the daffodils sitting on Sabrina’s dresser. When my gaze returned to her, she wore a poker face.
“Would you like to eat lunch first or go swimming?”
The thought of eating and then putting on my suit didn’t appeal to me. “Let’s swim first.”
I followed Sabrina back into the foyer, where she reached for my bag and showed me to the guest bathroom. Once inside, I changed and surveyed myself in the mirror.
I was still average. None of the workouts had made a visible difference.
Oh well, I thought, then slipped on my flip-flops, put my hair in a ponytail and stuffed my clothes back in the bag.
When I stepped out of the bathroom, Sabrina wasn’t there, so I hovered in the hallway, mentally squashing my desire to meander about and snoop. Part of me feared Henry would show up— out of nowhere—with a Coke or Sprite in tow.
“Looks like we’re all set then,” I heard Sabrina say.
I turned and was stunned by what I saw. There she was in a black one-piece swimsuit with plunging neckline. Her long, dark hair was pulled up and wrapped in a salon-worthy twist. I looked down. She wore black kitten heels, too.
A wave of depression hit me as I realized I could never compete with her. She was a Chanel ad; I was a soccer mom.
“Yep,” I said. “All set.”
We walked to the indoor pool area, kicked off our shoes and got in. The water was perfect, room temperature.
“This is refreshing,” I said. “And a lot quieter than the pool I usually go to.”
“Which pool is that?” she asked.
“There’s an indoor pool at the health club, which I’ve been to only a few times, and there’s the outdoor community pool I take Tyler to in summer.”
“That sounds like fun,” she said. “I’d love to have a child to go places and do things with.”
Now we were getting somewhere, getting into her brain.
“It’s fun, but it can be exhausting,” I admitted. “When there’s two of you to share the parenting, it’s easier.”
“It must be difficult for you,” she said.
We had stopped swimming and were just standing in the water, talking.
“My mom moved in with us and helps out a lot. Plus, Tyler is like a thirty-year-old man in a child’s body.”
Sabrina let out a laugh. “I remember Justin saying that.”
Her familiarity with Justin was beginning to get on my nerves.
“That’s my husband,” I said, “always the bragger.”
Did I overemphasize the word “my?”
“Yes,” Sabrina quickly added. “He always spoke very highly of both you and your son.”
I decided to take the conversation back to where I wanted it to go. I was here to learn her secrets.
“So you mentioned the outfits you gave me were leftover from a show?”
“Yes,” she said. “We just had a show in Paris. It went well, but I’m actually rather glad to be back home.”
“Why?” I asked, thinking her insane.
“Oh… it’s silly, really, but I had a run-in with my ex-husband.” Her expression grew strained. “He was with his new wife and baby.”
“Wow. That’s awful. How strange that you’d bump into him there.”
“Oh, it’s not strange. He’s originally from France (like my mother) and after the divorce, he moved back home. My mom enjoyed living in the U.S., but he didn’t; he’d always grumble on about everything. Nothing was ever good enough for him.”
I felt sorry for her. I couldn’t imagine being in her shoes. Having made it through a terrible marriage, getting divorced, and then running into the jerk down the road, with his new, French wife, and worse yet, baby. She’d mentioned wanting a child, so I guessed this chance visit was especially painful.
“Looks like you’re the lucky one,” I told her.
“How so?”
“Because you didn’t get stuck with him.”
Something about the comment caused Sabrina to burst into laughter. “I guess you’re right,” she agreed, then began treading water.
“Plus,” I added, “Who wants to be with a guy for whom nothing is ever good enough? It sounds exhausting.”
Sabrina looked at me, her expression a sad mix of “I’ve already lived it and you just wouldn’t understand.”
No, I thought, answering her in my mind, I wouldn’t.
“Justin would’ve told you to not even bother trying, to just be yourself.”
Sabrina gazed off into nowhere for a while, then looked back at me. “We talked about it,” she said, “while he was working on the bathroom, I think.” She paused, no doubt remembering their time together. “He listened patiently while I rambled on and on about our brief courtship, and the roller-coaster marriage with all its nasty little events.”
“And what did he say?”
“He didn’t say anything then, just worked and listened, poor guy.”
I smirked.
“Since I was full of steam, I continued complaining about my ex’s every indiscretion, leaving no hurtful detail untold.”
“You were really that transparent?”
Sabrina grinned. “Well, I hadn’t meant to be. But Justin was patient. After I was done, he got up, wiped his hands with his work towel, and told me he was going to have to charge me extra for therapy.”
She shot me a smile, which was contagious, and I smiled, too.
“How did you respond to that?”
“At first I was stunned, but then I erupted into uncontrollable laughter. Then Justin said, ‘Mission accomplished, made you smile.’”
Was my husband flirting or just being nice?
Sabrina went on, “He told me he was sorry to hear about my bad experience, and that, unfortunately, these stories were becoming more and more common, but that it didn’t have to be that way. Love could be a simple thing.”
I listened with equal measures of curiosity and concern.
“He said he’d met you in high school. You shared a few classes together, went to prom. After graduation, you moved out and got married.”
“Wow,” I groaned, “Could we have been anymore simpleton? We’re positive bores.”
Sabrina gave me a stern look. “You’re not simpletons,” she stated. “It’s how it’s supposed to be… easy.”
Then, without getting her hair wet, she dove forward like a dolphin and began swimming a lap. I began swimming too. As I did, I thought about what she’d just said. How things are supposed to be easy. I wasn’t sure if that’s how it had always been for us, or if we just stuck together more than the average couple. Gliding through the warm water, without either of us speaking for a full ten minutes, I got lost in my memories.
Then Sabrina stopped. “I’m sorry, Amy. I’m a terrible hostess. Are you getting hungry?”
“Sure,” I said. “I could eat.”
Then, with the grace of a ballerina, she climbed out of the pool. I couldn’t help but notice her perfect posture. Maybe she had taken dance lessons or practiced yoga.
My posture was horrible, with shoulders curved forward, the unfortunate result of working at a desk for over a decade. I’d have to try harder to sit up straight from now on.
After getting out of the water, I expected a towel, even a beach towel would’ve sufficed. Instead, Sabrina handed me a fluffy spa robe with matching head wrap. I needed it as I had gotten my hair wet. She only needed a robe. Her updo stayed neatly pinned in place.
“Shall we?” she asked, motioning to leave the area and change.
I followed her through the house to the guest bathroom. I dried off and put my clothes back on, then ran a brush through my hair. I pulled it into a ponytail with a rubber band, which made me look like a high school cheerleader.
I stayed in the bathroom longer than necessary, thinking. I felt so uncomfortable around Sabrina. Maybe it was the odd, formal phrases she used. Maybe it was the situation.
I liked hearing about Justin, though. Hearing him talk about us, about me and Tyler. It made me feel alive again. Oddly enough, I’d also enjoyed hearing the conversations he’d had with Sabrina. His sage advice and off the wall humor… I hadn’t expected that.
I wrung my swimsuit out in the sink and put it in the plastic bag I’d brought. Then I stuffed it in my gym bag and went into the hallway. Sabrina was waiting there.
“All set?”
“Sure,” I replied.
We went into the kitchen and I sat in the offered chair.
“Can I help with anything?”
“Oh no,” she said. “It’s all been taken care of. I made part of it yesterday and part today.”
She took a pot out of the fridge and set it on top the stove. Then she pulled out a tray and added it to the oven. She seemed to know her way around the kitchen pretty well.
“I just bought a new vegetarian cookbook, so I thought I’d try one of the recipes today,” she said.
My God. I was in a recurring nightmare from which there was no escape.
“Sounds good,” I said as politely as I could muster. “We’ve been doing some of that at our house lately, too—Tyler’s idea.”