I point at her runaway beauty aid, and she starts screeching again. “I don’t know why I bother gettin’ all dooded up to sit in this place.” She turns back to the computer screen. “Okay, I am gonna find you a big unit waaaayyyy far away from your secret one.” She lowers her voice on the word “secret,” even though we’re alone, and begins searching for the perfect spot for all of my treasures.
I experience a twinge of sadness thinking about moving all of my beautiful furniture to storage, and living in the den of seventies drug-induced decorating, mixed with a dollop of insect corpses, complete with actual shrine worthy relics. But there’s no rush. I am merely preparing, just in case I decide to get rid of my place.
“What wrong, Doll?” Mabel reaches across the desk and pats my hand. “I’m sorry I’ve been so down on your plans. I’m just a little jealous. I’m sure it will all work out just fine.” She bends over to retrieve the new contract from the printer, and the effort of bending at her considerable waist has momentarily taken away her breath. “Woo, it’s hot in here. Must be the hot flashes again. You’re too young for that mess. Anyway, just sign here…”
What seems like another hour later, I am back at my desk, munching on the roast beef sandwich and Doritos I grabbed from downstairs. Someday I will eat like an adult, as I swig down an ice cold Coke.
“Hey, you are definitely going tonight, right? And what the hell happened with Claire yesterday? Vinnie always picks the worst days to be sick.” Gina stands in my doorway with her own lunch, shaking the bag, which is obviously her way of asking for an invitation.
“Come in, close the door, though. I don’t want Cecilia overhearing. When she got wind of yesterday’s escapades, she was on the phone in two minutes, ordering Claire a get well basket.” I shake my head and crunch on another delicious fattening, greasy chip.
Laughing, she plops down in my guest chair, and pulls out her Wendy’s salad. If that was all I ate for lunch, I would gnaw off my own arm by…
A commotion at my door interrupts my train of thought. I look up and see Cecilia and Amanda attempting to walk through my door together. They are both giggling and holding their sides while trying to tell us what’s so funny.
“Jesus, what now? We’re trying to have lunch in here.” I give them my sternest school marm look.
“Wait, I’ll tell you.” Cecilia composes herself while Amanda continues to do the pee-pee dance. “We were talking about college. We both went to VCU, and guess what?”
Gina throws up her hands. “You both slept with the entire basketball team?” Amanda’s laugh turns to a pout. “I’m sorry. You’re not the one…never mind.”
I shake my head at Gina and peer at Cecilia, willing her to spit out this hilarious discovery.
“We both had Professor Hollister for Intro to Entomology.” They both start laughing again. I think Amanda may actually pee on the carpet. “It’s the easiest science course and we both hate science.”
I swear they must be smoking something out by the dumpster. “Wait, does this hilarity have anything to do with Steve’s junk again?” If they were going to tell me they saw his junk that would not be funny, so I can’t figure out where they’re going with this.
Now they are doubled over and Gina is mouthing the word “junk” at me and tilting her head like a curious dog.
Amanda calms down this time, wiping her teary eyes. “I don’t know why it struck us as so funny. Probably because of how icky bugs are and how much he likes them, and some of the things he would say in class were so serious…” She is about to imitate her serious professor, when she softens and says, “But actually we shouldn’t be laughing. We both had him around the time…you know…” She lowers her voice to a whisper. “It was so sad about his wife. She was so pretty and…”
Cecilia grabs Amanda, clearly regretting her impulsive desire to share their news with me. “Yes, well sorry. We’ll be going now.” Amanda waves as they turn to leave, but she pokes her head back in the door. “Oh, and Rebecca, we wanted to tell you that Samantha, the front desk receptionist, has been gone most of the afternoon and no one knows where she is.”
Before I can ask a follow up question, they’re gone.
Gina’s eyes follow them out the door. “What was that all about? Silly girls. And where the hell is Samantha?”
“Claire did mention that she’s noticed she’s been missing a lot lately. Brandon said every time he calls the main number it goes to voice mail. She doesn’t report to me…shit, no I think she does now. Well, I don’t care. I am eating my lunch before I go on a manhunt.”
“So, you’re moving into Steve’s house and I am willing to bet you still haven’t had ‘the talk,’ right?”
“I was going to last night, but he saved my friend’s life! How can I give him grief after that? I am going to take a more subtle approach once I’m there all the time.” I gather my lunch trash and stuff it in the white bag from the cafeteria. I reach for my mirrored compact to check for a Doritos orange mustache…The orange reference reminds me of Noreen. I wonder if Steve even thinks about her as often as I do.
“Well, that’s where you and I differ. I don’t do subtle, but I am Italian.” She picks at the remaining wilted lettuce and continues. “So, you are coming tonight, right?”
Tonight is a Meetup “girls’ night out” birthday celebration for Chris. Wait, it gets better. At the country bar. Yep, line dancing for a woman who wants my boyfriend, and who’s trying to get dirt on me at every turn. Almost all my favorite things in one. If we were having a camping slumber party with ants, it would make the night complete. I am beginning to see Steve’s point about this merry-go-round of exes in our world. We need to work on meeting a new circle of friends.
“I’m going. But I am not staying late.”
I pause and collect my thoughts, changing the subject back to my woes. “You know,” I say as I point my finger at Gina, “You say I am trying to focus on everyone else’s problems, but Luke is still a problem for me.” I glare at Gina and she looks away and then down at her fingernails, mumbling something I can’t hear.
“What?” I ball up my fists under my desk. “Claire told me that the whole time Luke was talking to Violet that he was looking at me, and that’s probably why she moved on to Brandon. She doesn’t know anyone in the group, and neither does Brandon. Luke is a jerk, but he is a jerk I feel responsible for.” I raise my voice slightly. “And I do have very confused feelings…never mind, you don’t understand.”
Gina gets up and comes around to my side of the desk, giving me an awkward standing hug while I’m still seated, smooshing my hair. “Sweetie, I know you’re confused. Luke is your past and Steve is your present and future. I keep telling you this. You know Luke is no good for you, he’s just super-hot and you are second guessing yourself because things feel so unstable with Steve.” Now she’s rubbing my hair, but this motherly gesture does not have the same effect as when Steve does it, or even the girl at the hair sal…
“Oh, and Tony is somewhat of a jerk.” She goes on to tell me about his reaction to her sick child.
“I’m sorry, I know how he is. I keep thinking he’s going to grow up.”
“It’s okay.” Gina gathers up her lunch and puts it back in the bag, dropping it in the trash. “He’s good in bed, so I’m willing to put up with his shit for now. I don’t need a man in my life 24/7. I’m busy raising one.”
At least Steve and I don’t have that problem. Although he mentioned he was going to have dinner with Megan one night this week, and let her see Elsa. Apparently, they have been talking a lot, but that’s good. I can always make myself scarce if she wants to come over. I have plenty of things to keep me occupied.
Yesterday Luke asked me when we can meet to go over his screenplay again while Claire was recovering from her ordeal, and Steve was still in rescue mode. If Claire hadn’t tried to drown herself and stage a public war with her fiancé, I would have hooked her and Luke up on his project.
Gina leaves
after I pinky swear that I will be at The Midnight Cowgirl tonight. I even have a super uncomfortable pair of cowboy boots I bought when I first joined Meetup, and in an effort to fit in, attended one of these events. Steve is so lucky he has bowling tonight, and is a man, therefore excluded from these “GNO” outings. Yee haw…
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
I have a little time, so I rush home to change before going to this ridiculous outing. My outfit consists of ugly, uncomfortable cowboy boots (or are they cowgirl boots?), a shortish denim skirt, and one of those tops that looks like a bandana. It’s off the shoulder, and I keep forgetting that strapless bras and big boob middle-aged gravity are not a happy couple. But if I don’t wear a bra, someone may call the police and have me arrested for indecent…
My phone is chirping, and I see my mother is calling me back. After my talk with Ryan the other day, I decided that I need to face these childhood memories. I’m sure talking with my mom about this as a mature, level-headed adult will dispel my lingering childish fears.
“Hi, Mom.” My cheerful voice is a tad fake, but I want to start out on a positive note.
“Hello, Darling. You called when I was making your father’s lunch. He’s napping now.”
“Is he okay?”
“Yes, Dear. He’s just old, which is an exhausting condition all by itself. You know how elderly people are. Now what did you need me for? I have to get to my Italian class.”
My mother is in her early eighties but she refers to people as “elderly."
“You’re taking Italian?”
“Yes, I’m going on that cruise with my book club ladies. In the fall? You really should come around more, Rebecca. You have no idea what’s going on with your family.”
I ignore the scolding, although she’s right. “Well, Mom, I actually wanted to give you some news.” I bite my lip and grip my phone tighter. Amazingly, it survived another rice resurrection. “And I wanted to ask you about something, too. About my childhood.”
“Oh, I hope it’s good news. Are you seeing a therapist? Those damn people are always trying to get you to open up and dig deep into your childhood. And they always blame the mother, as if your father was so easy to live with.”
“No, Mom. It’s nothing like that.” I pause to collect my thoughts. “Ryan and I were talking the other day about the house you grew up in.”
“They sold that house a few years ago. You know that. My cousin’s kids were living there and the taxes became too much for them, so we all agreed it was time to sell and share the profits, since none of us want to live there. Don’t you remember, I gave you some money towards your fancy car?”
“Yes, I do remember. What I’m curious about is all of the stories you told us when we were little. You know. The ghost stories?”
My mother laughs. “Oh, that nonsense! Why would you want to know about that? After all, they were just stories. Kids loves ghost stories. Your brother ate that stuff up. Wait, Steve’s wife died, didn’t she? Please don’t tell me you think that woman is haunting you?” When I don’t respond right away she adds, “Rebecca Elizabeth Scarborough, are you annoying that man with this nonsense?”
I wince at her stern tone. “No, I haven’t, but I think he knows it bothers me. I don’t necessarily think she’s haunting me, but the house is creepy. A lot of her things are still there. Pictures.” I brighten a bit and say, “Wait, so the ghost stories aren’t true? And by the way, I did not love them. You scared the crap out of me.”
“Did I? Oh, I’m sorry. You both seemed so enthralled. I never thought it scared you. Oh wait, that’s right. You started having nightmares and then your father ordered me to stop telling tales. Shoot, my memory is going. I need to do more puzzles. Maybe I should take more classes at the college. You know, we can take them for free.”
“MOM!”
“Sorry, Dear. I get off on tangents. The stories. You shouldn’t worry about all of that.” She starts laughing again.
“Well, that’s good to hear. So you made them up?”
“Oh, no. They were all true. That place was infested with ghosts. It was built in eighteen-fifty-two. In the family for generations. And what a family! So much tragic, young death. There was my great, great grandmother who died in childbirth. She was only in her twenties. And then there was the gardener who was murdered on the property when the house was first built—”
“Why would people stay in a house after someone was murdered on their property?”
“My great, great, great grandmother, Rebecca, moved into that house in Newport, Rhode Island, as a twenty-year-old bride. She married a much older man and was thrilled with her high society position. And besides, people didn’t build a mansion in those days, and turn around and list it on Realtor.com.”
“Rebecca? I didn’t know I was named after an ancestor!” Now I feel even more tied to ghosts!
My mother sighs. “Of course you do. I can’t believe how little you remember about this family. Maybe you should go see a therapist and unblock all these suppressed memories.”
Gee, I wonder why I need therapy. “So did anything else happen?”
“There was significant tragedy over the years. At least one suicide—”
“SUICIDE?”
“Yes, my Grandmother Clara’s best friend cut her wrists in the bathtub after her fiancé broke up with her. Right around the turn of the century. Now I am certain that she was the one I used to see at the end of my bed, and the gardener was probably the one rattling chains outside my window. And then there was the poisoning. I know one of the men on my mother’s side died mysteriously after eating, and they could never prove that his wife did it. She was a cousin of my great, great grandmother’s, I think. They lived there for a while after Rebecca died. I think he was definitely the one in the kitchen who—”
“Did anyone in this family live to a normal old age and just die in their sleep? Or better yet, at a hospital?”
“Well of course, but they wouldn’t be the restless spirits. Now tell me again, the wife didn’t die in the house, right?”
“No, she was killed riding her bike.”
“Well, then you should be fine.” She pauses a moment longer than is comfortable. “Hmm…”
“WHAT???” I am giving my mother more power in the ghost busting realm than she may deserve, but my heart is pounding and a sheen of sweat is forming in my strapless bra cleavage.
“I was just thinking. He doesn’t have her ashes in the house, does he? Was she buried or cremated?”
“I don’t know.” I search my memory of early discussions with Steve about Noreen. “I think she was cremated, but I don’t know if the ashes are there.”
“I’m sure you’re fine either way. Modern people who die tragically are probably much more likely to go to the light. After all, they have the benefit of all the movies, like that one with the little girl and the problem in the closet. Speaking of which, my brother’s closet did have a glowing light we couldn’t identify and—”
“Mom please! I’m going to have a heart attack.” I sit down on the couch and Blue and Jewel jump up on me, probably sensing my distress. I have intuitive kitties. Wait, could they be some dead relatives reincarnated? No, I’m mixing up my spiritual traditions.
“Rebecca, you are making too much of this. You don’t live in the man’s house. When you visit, just try to ignore it. And you could gently hint that he could do with some redecorating. You know how lazy men can be. If I died, your father would end up buried in dirty underwear and used paper plates. Actually, no. He would just eat off his chest. You’d have to dig him out of the trash around his chair when he finally croaked.”
“Well, about that…”
“I’m only joking. I’m sure he would at least hire a maid, but he clearly wouldn’t take down pictures and sort through my belongings. That’s what we have children for. Doesn’t that woman have a daughter? I guess she’s too young…”
“No, I’m sure Dad would keel over in filth, but we’d check
in on him. I’m talking about living in Steve’s house. I sort of agreed to move in with him.” I cringe as if my mother can reach through the phone and swat me for making such a stupid decision.
“Ohhhh….well, I think that’s a good thing for you. Frankly, you’re not getting any younger. Now of course I didn’t get married until I was thirty-two, which by my day’s standards was ancient. People probably thought my vagina had withered away, but little did they know that was far from true. Once I made it through the fifties and I was still single, the sixties were much more forgiving of my…tendencies…so how could I let myself get shackled to one man? I may have been a librarian, but late at night not many people visit the library, and that back room with all those boring literary journals was a good place to—”
“MOTHER!!! That’s it! I don’t want to hear about what a slut you were before you met Dad!”
“Well, I don’t think I would say that! You take after me, anyhow. You landed that gorgeous Latin hunk, but what a dope he was. What was his name? At least you got rid of him, even though you missed out on your child bearing years. It’s not like you had any burning desire to be a mother and find a responsible guy to settle down with, but I like Steve.”
She sighs and continues. “You always run from men, Rebecca. I didn’t do that. When your father came along I allowed myself to feel safe and commit. He was in his late thirties when I met him. Very handsome, and he swept me off my feet. You shouldn’t label people. In my day, I was a spinster and your father was a playboy. But really we were just two people enjoying life before settling down and having a family. Of course you are past that point, but I think Steve could be good for you. It’s nice not to have to grow old alone.”
My mother’s speech has me reeling on so many levels. I am not afraid of commitment. Men just try to control me and keep me from doing things I want to do, like…well, I can’t think of anything, but they could. And they definitely become lazy and boring once you live with them. I am not interested in watching a man sit in a recliner until he dies in a pile of his own slothfulness! The lazy boy always ends up in the Lazy Boy! And besides, I want to go out dancing, and there are always more cute guys…I can’t help that…
Afraid of Her Shadow Page 20