She Makes It Look Easy

by Marybeth Whalen

  “Maybe after?” she said, slipping out of her cover-up and grabbing towels for the shower. “Let’s get ready and go get an early dinner. I thought tonight we’d just watch movies here in the room? We can save our big going-out night for tomorrow.”

  That sounded lovely. Every minute of this weekend had already been exquisitely lazy. I sighed deeply and lay on my back, propping my head on my arms. “I could stay right here for the rest of the night,” I said. “Just bring me some food and I don’t need to move. If there’s a good chick flick on, all the better.”

  She giggled. “That’s why I brought you, Ariel,” she said. “You’re so easy to please.” I heard the shower door shut and closed my eyes. I thought of her saying I was easy to please and knew David would beg to differ. Funny how I was different with different people, I mused as the noise of the water lulled me to sleep.

  When I woke up, Justine was fully dressed and standing on the balcony again, the wind from the shore whipping her hair around as she spoke into the phone, an angry expression on her face. With the door closed, I couldn’t hear what she was saying, but I knew it wasn’t good. I wondered what had happened—and whether I should ask. I watched as she lowered the phone and stood for a few minutes, staring out at the ocean. Then she dialed a number and started talking again. Mark followed by her mother? I wasn’t sure, but I wondered why she didn’t just come and talk to me. I would’ve understood. Feeling like a voyeur, I turned away and slipped into the bathroom to shower before she caught me watching. She would tell me when she felt ready. This weekend was about growing closer and forging a new kind of friendship. And it was only just beginning.

  Justine was gone when I woke the next morning. I looked around the room, remembering that I was there without the boys or David, far away from family responsibility. I grinned and kicked my feet like a little girl waking on Christmas morning. The hours ahead of us stretched out long and blissful. I sat up and decided to make coffee to get myself going, ready for whatever adventure the day would bring.

  I was nearing the end of my second cup when Justine bounced into the room, glistening with sweat and smiling broadly. “This place has a great gym,” she said as she reached into the refrigerator and grabbed a bottled water. She took a long pull from it. “I didn’t dare wake you though. You looked like you were enjoying your sleep.”

  I smiled and drained the last of my coffee. “Yeah. Sleep is a precious commodity. I can exercise another time.”

  “Hmm. Not me.” She bent at the waist and touched her toes as silence filled the kitchen. I looked out the window at the beach. I had never been to the beach before and not gone out on it.

  “Think we can go to the beach today?” I asked, sounding like one of her children instead of an adult with an equal vote. Why, I wondered, was I letting her call all the shots?

  She made a face. “I know this sounds weird, but I just don’t care for the beach all that much. All that sand everywhere.”

  I suppressed the urge to say, “The sand’s the point.” I shrugged instead and pulled my knees up to my chin, wrapping my arms around my calves. “So then what would you like to do?”

  “Shopping?” she asked. “Lunch somewhere we’d never take the kids?”

  I thought about it for a moment. Unwilling to let her entirely plan our day, I countered, “How about we shop and have lunch, then come back here and lie by the pool for a bit, get some sun?”

  “Sounds great. Then we’ll get all prettied up for our big night out!”

  “Do you have something planned?”

  “We’re going dancing!”

  I rolled my eyes and looked out the window. I had thought she was kidding that day at the pool. “Eh, you might need to go without me. I am not into grinding with a bunch of young kids. We’re sort of past that stage of life, aren’t we?”

  Her tone was cutting. “Speak for yourself.” I looked over at her, shocked. She grinned like she was just joking around, but there was that—something—behind her eyes that made me think she was very serious. My friend wanted to go dancing for some reason, something apart from me and my mature outlook, apart from rationale. This weekend was about more than just a new friendship; it was about doing something different from the norm. Justine didn’t want to be the queen of the neighborhood this weekend. She wanted to be anonymous, out of character. Some part of me understood that.

  “Fine, you win,” I said with a laugh that sounded more playful than I felt. I was irritated. “If you want to go dancing, then we’ll go dancing.”

  “Salsa,” she added.

  Oh brother. “You want to eat Mexican?” I teased, masking my consternation. It wasn’t that I was afraid of salsa dancing, it was just that it was the opposite of my idea of relaxation.

  “No, silly. Salsa dancing. It’ll be fun!” She did a little pivot right there, moving her arms back and forth. She looked over at me. “We’ll need clothes for salsa dancing. Hence the shopping trip.” She seemed to be suddenly catching my antisalsa vibes. “Come on, Ariel, live a little. Cut loose. You’re far away from everything and everyone you know. You can be anyone you want just for tonight. Doesn’t that excite you?” She smiled the most genuine smile I had ever seen on her face. For just a moment I saw the real Justine—not just the one she wanted me to know. This Justine was passionate and vivacious, uninhibited. This Justine was, frankly, a little scary.

  “Sure,” I lied, to be agreeable, to make her like me. “That sounds just perfect.”

  Chapter 25

  Justine

  Ariel picked pieces of lettuce out of her salad, making a little pile on the side of the bowl. I pointed. “Don’t you like lettuce?”

  She chewed, swallowed. “Not the stalks.” Her eyes scanned the restaurant, and she leaned back against her chair. “This is so nice. I never get to have lunch with another grown-up.” She pointed to her salad. “And this salad is delicious. Is something wrong with yours? You’ve barely touched it.”

  I thought ahead to what I had planned for that night, thought of the dress I’d just bought: short, black, sexy. Knowing Tom was probably arriving at Myrtle Beach at that very moment made my stomach lurch. I couldn’t do much more than pick at my lunch. “No, it’s fine. I’m just not very hungry,” I said.

  She pointed at my plate. “Then can I have your pita bread?” she asked, as if she was one of my daughters. The way she asked me for things, the way she hung on my words, the way I knew I was very important in her eyes. I liked it, but I also hated it. I wanted her to see the real me and still want to be with me. I doubted there was much chance of that happening. Like everyone, Ariel saw a product I had developed, packaged, and sold. Maybe Mark was right: I should go into sales.

  I passed her the bread and glanced around the restaurant, thinking of how fortunate I was to be eating out, to be able to use such a beautiful condo whenever I wanted. If you didn’t know me better, you’d think I was wealthy. I guess I was, but it hadn’t always been that way, and sometimes the poor girl inside me woke up, looked around, and said, “How did we get here?”

  “I was poor growing up,” I said, surprising myself with my outburst. But for some reason I felt I owed her something in return for providing my alibi, for trying to be my friend. “I don’t know why I said that!” I covered my mouth in embarrassment.

  “That’s what girlfriend getaways are all about,” she said, a genuine smile crossing her face. “Getting to know each other better.” But I wasn’t into all this disclosure. “You can talk to me about anything, Justine.”

  Little did she know that I, in fact, could definitely not talk to her. Especially not about why we were really in Myrtle Beach. But there was no harm in telling her my background, to appease her. “My mom had no way of earning money,” I found myself continuing. “We were so poor I went hungry a lot. I had three outfits to my name. We had to get government help, and even then i
t was hand to mouth. I remembered being scared all the time we were going to lose our house, which wasn’t much to begin with. Eventually we did. I was pretty insecure and a fashion nightmare back then. We ended up moving in with my aunt, who hated us being there. She always put my mom down for marrying my dad, for his leaving, as if it was my mom’s fault.”

  In my mind’s eye I could see my aunt Susan, single and homely, yet prideful that she had the one thing we couldn’t seem to ever get and keep: money. My mom was the pretty sister, but my aunt Susan was quick to point out that beauty didn’t get you very far. She always looked at me when she said that, as if my mother’s beauty was a curse I had inherited instead of a blessing. She had nothing to worry about. Boys didn’t look at me with my thrift-store clothing, bad teeth, and acne.

  “But now?” Ariel asked, her open expression making me want to tell her more. “I mean, your mom’s married, and your dad—or the guy I thought was your dad—is a dentist, right?”

  “Yeah. She married him when I was fourteen. I was in middle school.” Before she could think I was some kind of pity case, I added, “I wasn’t picked on because we were poor or anything like that. I was just … kind of invisible. Eventually, after my mom married my stepdad, who had money, I was able to focus more on my appearance.” I gave her my most confident look even though thinking of this story was making me more uncomfortable than I expected. “Soon enough all the boys were asking me out. It was nice. I was visible.” I looked down at the table, pushed my salad around with my fork. I couldn’t meet her sympathetic gaze. “I pretty much vowed that I’d never be invisible again.” I squared my shoulders, smiled, and took a bite of a tomato.

  Ariel picked up her fork. Her warmth almost irritated me. “Well, it worked. You’re the least invisible person I’ve ever met.” I laughed along with her. A moment later she took a bite of salad and followed it with a bite of my pita.

  I forced myself to eat another small bite and chewed methodically, thinking of the only person who had ever really seen me. My cell phone in my pocket vibrated as if on cue. It was a text. He had arrived.

  Chapter 26

  Ariel

  I tugged at the hem of my dress, trying to get it to cover more of my thighs. “I’m not sure this dress was a good idea,” I said to Justine, who had set up camp in our bathroom and was fussing over herself like a beauty-pageant contestant. I studied myself in the full-length mirror, arching my eyebrows with a surprised look, pouting, making kissing noises, faking laughing. Glancing over my shoulder to make sure Justine wasn’t watching, I attempted a dance move. I wondered if I looked beautiful or … ridiculous, a middle-aged woman trying too hard. Justine had talked me into a red minidress I would never have bought without her salesmanship. I justified the purchase because (a) it was on sale and (b) I planned to wear it out to dinner with David for our anniversary in another month. If I had the guts, that is. The more I wore the dress, the more I realized that it wouldn’t exactly fit in a suburban scene.

  Justine came out of the bathroom looking stunning in a black minidress that showed off her tan and her legs. “Ooh la la!” I said with a soft whistle. “The exercise is really paying off,” I added, pointing at her legs. I aimed my camera in her direction and took a few shots of her before she could pose.

  She grimaced at me and waved the camera away. “You really think so?”

  “Yup. You look gorgeous.”

  She looked over at me and gave a nod of approval. “You look gorgeous too.”

  I groaned and pulled at the hem of my dress again. “I feel ridiculous.” At least I was tanner than I had been at the summer-kickoff party. There was that.

  She walked over and stood beside me in the mirror. We took in our reflections. “We are two hot chicks,” she said and bumped me with her hip, grinning. I wondered what she was like as a teenager, if we would have been friends then. “You are beautiful, Ariel. Don’t let anyone tell you any different. Just because you’re a mom doesn’t mean you can’t be stunning.”

  “I know, but—”

  She put her hand up. “No buts.” She giggled. “Speaking of butts, does mine look big?” She turned around and craned her head to see her behind in the mirror.

  “Trust me,” I told her and patted her arm. “Your butt looks fantastic. Mark would be all over you.”

  She snickered. “I don’t know about that. Now … let’s go salsa!”

  The noise of the club was vibrating in my head after two hours of exposure to bass so hammering I felt like my teeth were coming loose from their sockets. I watched as Justine danced with yet another man. She had moved from man to man all night, bumping and grinding like a seasoned salsa-dancing pro. The short lesson at the beginning of the night had been all she needed to get started—the rest she seemed to improvise in the heat of the moment. Of course, the lesson did nothing to make me any smoother than a robot, so after a short while of pretending to enjoy myself on the dance floor, I finally resigned myself to being lame and stepped off to the side. I wished I hadn’t left my camera back at the condo. At least I would’ve been entertained by taking pictures. Somehow, though, I had the feeling that Justine didn’t want this night recorded.

  The longer the night went on, the more impatient I became. This was not, as I had suspected, my idea of a happy getaway. Once again, I found myself questioning my devotion to Justine. I cared for her, but the constant reminders of how different we were had started to wear. I pulled my cell phone from my purse and texted David. “Salsa dancing with Justine,” I typed in. “Supposed to be fun. But I just want to go home.”

  I looked up to see Justine searching the perimeter. When she caught my eyes, a broad, happy smile crossed her face. In that moment I realized it: I was her home base. Her safety net. She needed me. With pride, I smiled back and gave a playful little hip shake. So what if she wanted to escape for an evening. It was only dancing. It was harmless.

  My phone vibrated. David had written back. “Wish I was there to do a little dirty dancing with you.”

  My skin became prickly. “Me, too,” I typed, smiling broadly. I tucked the phone back into my purse.

  I returned my gaze to the dance floor when a man—handsome, young—approached me. “You have a beautiful smile,” he said.

  “Thank you,” I replied, looking away. No sense in encouraging him.

  “Wanna dance?” He pointed to the dance floor.

  “No, thanks,” I said. I didn’t want to shoot him down. I pointed down at my feet, hoping he noticed the diamond on my left hand as I did. “My feet are killing me.” It wasn’t a lie. The strappy high-heeled sandals that Justine had talked me into that afternoon on our shopping spree looked much better than they felt. I looked at the door. I yawned and covered my mouth. I was every bit the middle-aged mom I was pretending not to be.

  He smiled at me. “I’m with you. I’m not really into these places,” he said, probably in response to my yawn. He gestured at the dance floor. “I was dragged here by some friends.” I noticed he did not wear a ring. “Can I at least buy you a drink?” he asked.

  I intended to turn him down, so I was surprised when the word “Sure” came out of my mouth. This was a night for doing things out of character, right? He walked me over to the bar, putting his hand on the small of my back as he did. I held my breath, partly mortified that another man’s hand was on my back, partly relishing the attention, if only for a moment. I moved slightly out of his reach and waited as he ordered me a glass of wine. I had had one earlier in the evening but could justify one more.

  I looked around for Justine but couldn’t find her. I knew now that if she needed me, she’d find me. When my nameless acquaintance pointed to the patio door, I followed willingly, happy to get some relief from the noise and crowd.

  He set the drinks down on a patio table and took a seat. He was very handsome, far from the cheesy sort I imagined would freque
nt a Myrtle Beach salsa club. He ran his hands through his hair, a shock of it falling into his eye. He looked at me shyly from behind it, like a little boy caught doing something he shouldn’t. His eyes were blue. David’s were green. His hair was a dirty blonde. David’s was jet black. He voluntarily came to salsa-dancing clubs, even if he wouldn’t willingly admit it. David would have to be tied and dragged.

  He raised his glass to me. “Cheers,” he said. I clinked it with him and sipped. “My name’s Brian, by the way.”

  “Hi, Brian. I’m Ariel.” He extended his hand, and I shook it from across the table. He held it for a bit too long.

  He turned my hand over, stared at my wedding ring. “What’s that?”

  “What do you think it is?” I smiled.

  He dropped my hand and held his own to his chest like he was appalled. “You’re married?” he gasped, feigning shock.

  I giggled. “Yes. I assumed you knew.”

  He held his hands up. “I had a feeling,” he admitted. “Figured I’d get it out of the way before we went any further. Give you a chance to confess.”

  “Confess?” I asked.

  “Yes. You’ve been dying to clear the air. I get that.”

  I bit my lip and looked away. I was more transparent than I thought. The red dress wasn’t fooling anyone. You could take the wife out of the house but not the house out of the wife. I held up my hands. “You got me. I am not as mysterious as I thought.”

  He looked at me seriously across the table for a moment. “There’s nothing wrong with being transparent. Or loyal.” He took a sip of his drink. “I wish more women were.” He smiled, shrugged. “I was supposed to be getting married next week. She called it off. Found someone else.” He shrugged as though he wasn’t hurt. “That’s why my buddies dragged me here. They’re all inside having a blast. Thought it would get my mind off my troubles.”