"Just keep looking,” Lyla said. “The address is 1502 and this is the fifteen hundred block. It has to be here somewhere."
I glanced at the gas tank and made a few mental calculations. “I'm going to have to stop soon."
"Not until we find this place. They're supposed to have Vera Wangs on ultra-clearance."
I squinted across the seat in her direction. “Okay, it's weird enough that you're getting married. And aren't pregnant."
"Hey!"
"Now you're driving all around town trying to find a Vera Wang wedding dress? This is not the cynical, fashion-challenged Lyla I know."
She let out a contented sigh, and I was disturbed to realize I recognized her dreamy, far-off demeanor. “I know, I know. But when I met Armand ... Oh, Maggie, he's just perfect. Did you know his grandfather is Ernest Hemingway?"
"Sure.” I'd talked until I was blue in the face trying to convince her that the story had holes in it. She wouldn't hear of it. But then, what harm did it do? Armand was a great guy. Delusional, but great. “But where the hell is this dress shop? I'm going to need to stop for gas."
Lyla flipped the map and looked up ahead. “Well, there's a gas station right up there on the left. Let's stop there and you can fill up while I get the phone book and look up this place again."
I broke out of the groove I'd made in the road and started up the block. I glanced at the shop fronts around us, looking for the address again. That's when I saw it.
"Oh God, Ly! Look at that."
"Look at what?"
"That little green Victorian with the wrap-around front porch!"
She squinted as she looked at my dream house. Obviously she didn't see it in quite the same way. “You mean that run-down little dump with the peeling paint?"
I pulled over and glared at her. “It's not a dump. Okay, it could use some new siding and maybe a couple new windows, but can you just imagine what it would be like to redo it? Armand and I could have our shop there."
Saying Lyla's expression was skeptical would be giving her too much credit. She looked at me like she was wondering how to wrestle the keys out of my hand so she could drive me to the loony bin. “I still cannot believe you guys want to go into business together. You do realize that most businesses lose money the first three years, right?"
"Of course we know that.” Whether we believed it in our optimistic stupor was another matter entirely. “But now that Ted's working for the Knicks, we have a little extra cash for me to back the new business. And with you and Armand getting married, it makes perfect sense!"
Lyla was still doubtful, but her expression softened. “All in the family, right?"
I nodded like an over-anxious puppy. “Exactly."
She folded her map and laid it across the seat. “Come on. I think I see a ‘For Sale’ sign on the thing. Let's check it out."
The place turned out to be perfect, and I fell in love harder than I had for Ted in my hormonal teen years. I signed a contract three days later and Armand and I worked for months refurbishing the place Lyla had described as a dump. After nearly a year, it was finally starting to look like a business.
"Funny, I thought you were a redhead. What's with the Colonial Cream curls?"
I pulled my head out from under the cabinet and glared at Armand. “For a guy who's wearing his wife's Flashdance tee shirt, you've got a big mouth."
"Touché.” He grinned. “This is going to be nice when we finish it. I'm glad you and Ly found this place."
I beamed. I was warm inside and out as I looked around what was now my house. My Victorian. After knocking out a wall to expand the kitchen, new windows, a new paint job, and more drywall dust than I cared to think about, it was just about done. Another month and we'd be open for business.
"I don't know if I'm so glad.” Ted came down the stairs with his hand wrapped in an old scarf. “The good news is that the light in the upstairs bathroom is re-wired. The bad news is I may never play the piano again."
"Big baby,” I teased as I took his hand. “For one thing, you don't play the piano. For another, the cut's not that deep.” I grabbed a bottle of peroxide out of the first aid kit and started swabbing away the blood.
"I don't know,” Ted said. “I was thinking I might add piano to my act. May even take lessons."
My body went rigid, and I could see Armand tense out of the corner of my eye. Ted had finally admitted that he'd become a regular performer at a place called The Mermaid. Performing meant, in this case, lip-syncing to old Judy Garland recordings while wearing drag. I was trying to be supportive. I really, really was. But some old tapes your parents plant in your head are hard to re-record, and my tapes didn't have Judy Garland on them.
"What time is it?” Armand asked. I wasn't sure if it was an attempt to change the subject or an honest inquiry.
"A little before three.” Ted acted as if there wasn't a giant purple elephant sitting in the middle of the room.
"Ah, I have go,” Armand said. This time I was pretty certain he was just trying to get out of an awkward situation. “Ly has an ultrasound this afternoon. We might get to find out what sex the baby is."
"That'll make those raging hormones worthwhile,” I said. Something about frying pans and fire ran through my head, but I kept cleaning my husband's hand. “See you in the morning, Armand."
"Yeah. Bright and early."
I swabbed long after the blood was cleaned off. I swabbed until the cows came home, I think. Finally, Ted pulled his hand back. “It's fine now. Sorry. I didn't mean to embarrass you."
"You didn't.” But somehow my eyes couldn't meet his.
"Yes, I did. You can admit it."
I took a breath, letting it out slowly. “I'm sorry, Ted. I'm trying to be on board with this. I really am. It's just ... hard. You know."
"Yes, I know.” He came over to me and backed me up against the counter, nuzzling my neck as he went. “Say, you want to christen this place?"
I should have jumped at the chance, I guess, but it was a little difficult for me to make the leap from picturing my husband in a dress to getting excited about him being out of one. “Not right now, hon. I've got paint all over me."
He pulled away looking stung. “Yeah. Bad timing, huh?"
"Sorry.” It seemed lately I was saying that word more than any other.
Ted retreated to the opposite side of the room and washed out the paintbrush Armand had left behind. “You know, I'm kind of glad I was able to get you alone this afternoon."
"Ted, I told you, not now."
"Not that.” He flashed me the smile that stole my heart to begin with. Seeing it at that moment made me tired. “I want to talk to you about something."
"Sure. What is it?” I didn't really want to know, but what else could he tell me that could possibly come as a shock?
"You've met my friend Ryan, right?"
"Yeah."
Ted scrubbed at the paintbrush. “He let me in on this opportunity I want to consider."
I worked with my own paintbrush, covering old stains like I wish I could in my life. “What kind of an opportunity?"
"I've been thinking I want to invest in a club."
"A club?” I was hoping it wasn't what I was thinking.
"Yeah. A place in Atlantic City called the Pink Squirrel. It's a drag club on the south side of town."
It wasn't what I was thinking. It was worse.
"Atlantic City?” My voice was cool, controlled and calm. But trust me, inside I was screaming, “Are you freaking crazy? Atlantic City? A drag club called the Pink Squirrel? Have you lost your freaking mind?” But to keep from screaming it out loud, all I could manage was a curt, “Isn't that a bit far away to be keeping tabs on from here?"
Oy! You'd think one day I'd learn to keep my mouth shut.
"That's part of what I want to talk to you about.” He came over to me again and put his hands on mine. I could tell he was excited; his eyes were almost glowing. “Baby, I am so proud of you taking this l
eap, you know that?"
I looked around me and smiled uneasily. “Thanks."
"This place is great. It has terrific potential. Which is why it's unfair of me to ask what I'm going to ask. But I have to, Maggie. I have to."
The smile turned to a tense line. I could feel my teeth grinding. “What?"
"I want to move there. To Atlantic City. The guy who owns the place now wants me to come buy him out. I'd get the chance to be onstage every night. And the place is a steal."
"Atlantic City?"
"Do you know how long I've waited for something like this to come along? And to finally have the guts to admit what I want to do with my life?"
"The Pink Squirrel."
"All these years denying what I really wanted to do. And seeing you blossom here, Maggie, shows me that I can have my dream, too. That I don't have to care what anyone thinks. I can be who I want to be, just like you."
"In Atlantic City. As in casinos-and-cheap-showgirls Atlantic City."
"Yeah, they have casinos. And I think you'd have a great time there. There are tons of restaurants looking for good chefs. You'd get a job in no time."
"Atlantic City."
"We'd have a whole new life. Away from your parents, away from my parents. Just us. Just being what and who we want to be. What do you say, Maggie? Let's do it."
"Atlantic City."
Ted folded his arms and frowned. “Why do you keep saying that?"
I blinked twice to make the needle jump out of the groove. “But I just bought this place."
"I know.” Ted sighed and tried to put on a cute, boyish face. “That's why this is totally unfair for me to ask. But, Mags, I have to take this chance. You've come out of your cocoon. You're becoming a butterfly. I need to do the same thing, can't you understand that?"
"Excuse me, a butterfly? As in the Mikado?"
His frown deepened. “Funny, Maggie. I don't do opera, no."
"I just don't get it. I mean I'm just in shock here, Ted. What about the Knicks?"
This time, he backed down. Actually, turned completely away. “Well, that's another complication."
"Damn right it's a complication. It's also your job. The thing that puts a roof over our heads."
"Not for long."
Dead silence. I don't think I was even breathing. “What did you do, Ted?"
"I quit."
All rational thought went out the window. “You what?"
"I already quit, okay? I decided this is what I want from my life, Maggie. I want—no, I need to do this. I went into Todd's office and told him I'm buying a club in Atlantic City. Friday's my last day."
I had a sinking feeling in my gut. “Ted, tell me you haven't already signed the papers."
"I knew you'd try to talk me out of it if I didn't."
My head pounded and I felt dizzy. I think my blood pressure was something like 1000 over 800. I was literally seeing red. “Spill it, Ted. I know there's more."
He swallowed. Hard. “I ... uh, well, I kind of sold the house."
I don't remember exactly what happened next, but I feel sorry for the people who had to clean the bits and pieces of my brain off the floor after my head exploded. “What? Sold the house? When in the hell did you find time to sell the house? Were you going to tell me about this? Jesus Christ, Ted, how could you do this? Is it even legal?"
In case you're wondering, yes, even pissed as hell, my mother's voice ran through my brain when I took the Lord's name in vain. I just didn't care.
"Well, yeah it's legal. The house wasn't in your name, Maggie."
"Of course it was."
"No. It wasn't. I bought that house, Maggie. You just took up space."
Ouch. Even if I hadn't been smarting from being sold out of my own home by my husband, even if I hadn't been in utter shock from the news that he was now the owner of a drag club in New Jersey, even if it was not rapidly turning out to be the worst afternoon of my life, that would have hurt. And he knew it.
I was so furious words wouldn't come out of my mouth. Instead, I made a succession of squeaks. I forced myself to stop and took a deep breath that I swore was going to come out as fire. Dragon Lady? At that moment, oh hell, yeah.
Ted, in the meantime, stood there trying to look determined and ferocious instead of like a slimy snake. Had I been rational, I would have noticed that underneath the bravado was a hint of shame, but that didn't occur to me until later. In the end, I realized it wasn't only me he was pushing into an inescapable corner. He was pushing himself, too.
"I'll have my stuff out by the weekend,” I said at last.
He took two beats to reply. “What do you mean?"
My mother's voice rang in my ears as I stiffened my spine. For better or worse, it said. 'Till death us do part, it said. I ignored it. “I can't do this anymore, Ted. I can't continue this way."
Again, a pause. “Are you ... are you threatening to leave me?"
Hearing it out loud made my knees weak. “No, Ted. I'm not threatening you. I'm telling you."
"What?"
"This is a deal breaker, Ted. You sold my home without telling me. You bought a business in another town without consulting me. I can't do it, Ted. If this is what you want, and if you want it enough to sacrifice everything for it, then you do it. But you do it alone."
I'm not sure what I was expecting him to do. Part of me wanted him to take it all back, to tell me he'd sell the club, buy back the house and come home to be the old Ted. The Ted who didn't wear Dolce and Gabbana knockoffs. The Ted who didn't know the difference between Prada and Puma. Part of me wanted it to be a joke, but I knew Ted didn't have a sense of humor. But when he walked out the door without a word, I knew what I didn't want.
The problem was, what I didn't want was the way it was going to be, and I'd better get used to it.
* * * *
On that entry, the pages in the tattered old book ended. I hid under the stiff hotel sheets as Lyla ate both our breakfasts, and I stared at the last page. I looked at my hands—more accurately, at the empty place where my wedding ring used to give me a callous. Back then, Lyla and Armand were just starting their adventure, and Ted and I were ending ours. It was a turning point for all of us.
Later, as Lyla dragged me through the maternity department at Wal-Mart, I knew I was at another turning point. But how this one would turn out was still a mystery.
Armed with a new wardrobe, sore feet and an appetite that would put Paulina the Drag Queen to shame, I set out to meet my ex-husband for lunch.
When I arrived at the restaurant, he was already seated at a table. I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw he was dressed as Ted and not Tiffany, and was looking darned good in a black polo shirt and jeans.
Stop it, I admonished myself. These hormones were killing me. I replaced the image in front of me with a picture of Ted in a wig and bustier. That was enough to put any latent desire out of my head.
"Hi.” He stood up and pulled out my chair for me. “You look great."
"I look like a whale.” I looked down at my now-you-see-it, now-you-don't belly. Bob had been popping in and out all morning. At least it seemed that way to me.
Ted shook his head. “Nah, you look fabulous. Never let anybody tell you otherwise."
I flushed. Yes, I do that a lot. I'm a redhead. It happens. “Thanks."
We ordered and chatted while we sipped our water, but we were careful not to discuss anything of substance. It always amazes me how couples never really change, and I was stunned to find us falling into old habits. When my salad arrived, I passed him my croutons and onions. When his beer came, he offered me the first sip, just as he always had. As soon as he did, though, we both stopped cold.
"I guess we have something to talk about.” His gaze fell to his plate and he pushed his fettuccini in circles.
"Listen, Ted, I don't need anything from you on this.” I took a deep breath, resolving to stick to the plan that I'd formulated while shopping. I'd done my duty. I'd told him. That w
as all I needed to do. “I just wanted to let you know, to let you decide for yourself what your role is. But the thing is, I'm getting by alone and I can do this alone, too."
"A lot of things have changed for me.” His voice was low and his eyes averted. “You and I are a lot alike, Maggie. Always have been. We were raised with certain expectations that we felt we needed to live up to.” His gaze rose to me, and his eyes were filled with emotion. “You gave me courage, Maggie. Did you know that?"
"How?"
"When you decided to go to cooking school and open your own business, you broke the mold your parents had built for you. It was seeing how happy you were that made me realize I'd denied my own true ambitions my whole life! I wanted to sing. On stage. And face it, Mags, I just have way too much style to perform as a man."
I chuckled and ran my hand through my curls. “Yeah, you've got style all right."
"See, the way you do that! It's great!"
My hand stopped midway through my mop. “The way I do what?"
"The way that, even though I turned your whole world upside down, you still support me."
The words made my heart sink. “You give me too much credit, Ted."
"I don't give you enough."
"No, Ted. You accepted me, even though I turned out to be someone other than who you signed up to marry. And when you ... you know. When you came here, I couldn't accept you."
He smiled and put his hand on my arm, warmth in his touch. “You've always been there, Maggie, and you were there then. You told me to go, to live my own life even though it meant wrecking what you'd worked so hard to build. You accepted me, you just couldn't go along. I understand why you couldn't follow me, why you couldn't join me in this. I get that, Maggie. But you've always been there for me, no matter what.” He moved his hand, his eyes shifting back to his plate. “So I know you're going to understand that I can't follow you in this."
Despite my low expectations, my gut ached. “I see."
"I have a confession to make.” He fiddled with his pasta again. “I know how much you suffered when you lost the baby. I know it practically killed you, physically and emotionally. But deep inside, I was almost glad you lost it. Isn't that horrible?"
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