Adventures with Max and Louise (26 page)

A second voice, lilting and gay: “Fabulous. I’m thinking a microfiber love seat over here with something bright. Maybe those brushed nickel bookshelves I showed you at Kasala. And that Asian dark wood bed . . .”

Charlotte, dressed head to toe in white cashmere, rounds the corner. Her aggressively smooth brow furrows at the sight of the wrinkled bed. Her eyes work their way up from the foot of the knotty pine headboard, where my clothes are tangled in a messy knot. Her gaze rises toward me with laserlike intensity. I clutch the sheets desperately to my chest. The last time I saw her she was behind the wheel of her Mercedes, picking up Chas from high school tennis. An imposing woman, time has only made Charlotte sharper, refined her down to her essence.

“Who are you, and what are you doing in my guest bedroom?” she demands.

“I’m, uh,” I stammer, trying to kick-start my brain.

“Trying to sleep!” Louise yells. “Get out, bitch!”

Chas bounds in, bathrobe flapping, “Mom, what are you doing here?”

“Ahem,” Charlotte turns her face, waving her hand at his penis.

The decorator smirks, covering his eyes with fanned fingers. “Well,
good
morning.”

Poor Chas flushes barn door red as he spins around, tying his robe securely with two knots.

“Okay, Mom, back up. Give us some privacy, okay?”

Charlotte is in no mood to listen. “Is she a friend of yours, Chas?”

“Mom, you said you were going to be here next weekend,” Chas says, opening the closet and throwing me a bathrobe. “Sorry,” he grins weakly at me. “I’ll take care of this.” He turns to his mother with crossed arms.

“You cannot just rush in here like this. I had plans.”

“Well, Brian wasn’t available next weekend. I had to charter a helicopter to get him up here this weekend. We only have three hours to go through this place, and I didn’t know you had, um, a guest.” Irritation creeps into her voice.

I struggle to get the bathrobe on under the covers while Brian, the decorator, measures the wall by the bed.

“Okay, whatever. Mom, remember Molly Gallagher from Seattle Prep?”

Charlotte raises her eyebrows and gives me a cold little smile. “Molly, how nice to see you, dear. How are you?”

“Fine,” I squeak.
Fine except I am naked, and there is a gigantic screwdriver lodged in my brain, and you, inexplicably, are here, in my bedroom.
Why is it that my friend’s mothers immediately transport me back to childhood? I try to muster up some courage, but being the only naked person in the room makes it difficult.

“Why don’t we give Molly a chance to, um, get decent,” Charlotte spits out, as though I’ve been caught pole dancing, not sleeping, in her country home.

“Why you gotta use a helicopter, woman? You coulda just rode your broom!” sneers Louise.

Brian snaps his measuring tape shut with an irritated slap. “Okay, fine, I’ll start over in the living room.”

“That’s a great idea!” says Chas.

My cell phone rings from the bedside table, vibrating against the wood. Everyone in the room mutely watches it quiver its way across the surface like a flopping fish, waiting for me to answer. Chas finally grasps the situation: my phone is too far from the safety of the sheets. He steps forward and hands it to me. I answer, grateful for the distraction.

“Molly, it’s Liz. You’re not going to fucking believe this!” she screams in my ear.
I’m naked and talking to my date’s mother, I’ll believe anything.
“The
Today Show
is doing a live feed from the Pike Place Market. I got you a cooking segment. I ran into a crew member at the hotel last night, and after buying him and his whole stupid crew drinks for two of the longest hours of my life, I got the producer’s room number and went up there with a huge bottle of Dom. Turns out she’s from Seattle, and she’s a huge Diner X fan. She wanted a copy of the cookbook, the whole bit. Anyway, it’s a show on food. I thought you could do that Thai fish salad. I’m ordering the range delivered to the street right now. You’re going to do it by the big pig statue, wherever the hell that is.”

She finally runs out of breath. I wait a moment, afraid to burst her bubble.

“Are you still there?” she asks, waiting for me to erupt in excited screams.

When I explain to her that I am currently two and a half hours outside the city limits, I have to hold the phone at arm’s length to avoid puncturing my eardrum with her shrieks.

“Do you know what a spot on the
Today Show
means!” she howls.

“Yes, but—”

“Do you know what it’s like sitting in a hotel bar all night with six guys talking about fly-fishing?”

“No, but—”

“Fly-fishing, Molly. Do you know what exactly is involved in fly-fishing?” Her voice reaches a trembling crescendo. “Nothing! I listened to them talk about standing in a freezing cold stream with some string and dead flies. For two hours! That is the definition of being bored to death. To fucking death! You want to kill me? Make me watch
A River Runs Through It
’ After last night, no one can doubt my devotion to your book. It’s a miracle I didn’t stab myself to death with a steak knife.”

“Look, I am so sorry that you did this for nothing, but I did tell you I was going skiing.”

“I’m not your social secretary!” she hollers. “I’m your publicist. And I just got you on a television show that sells more cookbooks than fucking Amazon dot com. Rushing your book into production has been a logistical nightmare for me, and this is what I get?”

I hold the phone away from my ear and can hear every angry word. Chas eyes me with concern. I burrow my head into my knees, wishing desperately for the strength to yell back. But her screams shoot into my brain like nails, erasing the ability to form thoughts, fight back.

“Liz, hold on a minute,” I bury the phone in the bed and turn to Chas like a blubbering hung-over baby. “Liz got me on a
Today Show
segment that starts in two hours. Can you please tell her that there is no way I can get there? I can’t deal with her right now.” I hold out the phone, willing to abrogate my future, my career, my relationship with Chas for one moment’s peace.

“Don’t you do that, don’t give him the phone!” Louise shouts. “You hang up on Liz and tell him to get his mother the hell out of your room pronto! You do it now, you hear?”

My arm remains outstretched with the phone. The vile mix of alcohol in my aching body has left me incapable of anything but sleep.

Charlotte steps forward, lithe as a ballet dancer, and intercepts Chas, who is about to take the phone. She turns to me. “The
Today Show
? With Katie Couric?”

I nod miserably.

Charlotte lifts the phone from my hand imperiously, raises it to her ear, and places her other perfectly manicured hand on Chas’s shoulder.

“Don’t let her talk,” Louise coaches. “Don’t let her get her uppity nose in this whole mess. This gal makes that Liz woman look like Gandhi. You get her off that phone, Molly!”

“She’s right, luv,” Max adds. “Grab the phone.”

But I am too weak to summon the energy. As Charlotte chatters, she winks conspiratorially as if I am suddenly in her rich girl sorority. Her glacial surface melts as she bonds instantly with Liz. She’s in her element, arranging my life. As Louise frets and moans in the background, the morning goes from strange to surreal.

“Liz, darling, this is Charlotte Bowerman. I watch Katie Couric every morning, even when I am on the continent. I have it streamed in. Listen, dear, I’ll get her there on time. We’ll just hop on my helicopter and have her there in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”

She listens for a moment, examining her French manicure critically and polishing her meteorite-size diamond with her scarf. I envision Liz in her hotel room, dissolving into a gooey mess at the idea of Charlotte having a helicopter at her disposal.

“Mm-hmmmm. Okay. That’s just perfect,” Charlotte coos. “Fine, darling, we’ll see you in forty-five.” Charlotte flips the phone shut and throws it on the bed.

“Get dressed, dear. We’re flying.”

“Stay in bed,” Louise orders. “This family’s tryin’ to kill you.”

Charlotte peers into my messy duffel bag. “Hmmmm. Let me go take a peek in my closet and see if there’s something a little more suitable.” She struts out of the room, leaving me with Chas.

“Sorry about her,” he says, wrapping the robe tightly.

I instinctively pull the covers higher. “Did we, uh . . .”

Chas leans over and kisses me on the cheek. “No, you undressed yourself, and, I have to admit, didn’t look the other way.”

“Look, I’ll just call off my mother, and you can go back to bed if you want. We need a chance to start over. No skiing. No annoying publicist. Just you and me, all right?”

The idea is incredibly tempting. Hearing him call Liz annoying wipes away any lingering doubt I have about Chas. I’m leaning back on the pillow, tempted to take him up on it, when Charlotte marches back in with a crisp tailored cornflower blue blouse. She drops it on the bed.

“Here, this will look lovely with your eyes. I called the pilot, and we’ll leave in forty-five minutes.”

She ruffles Chas’s hair. “Darling, let the poor girl get ready, and go make her some coffee. Isn’t this exciting? Your girlfriend’s going to be famous!”

Chapter Twenty-Six

W
E LEAVE
C
HARLOTTE’S
toasty Mercedes in the parking lot, crunching across the snowy gravel toward the shining blue-and-white helicopter waiting on the helipad. Chas treats his mother’s enthusiasm about my television appearance with bemused detachment. He wants my career to grow, and yet, as he mentioned on the way out the cabin door, he’d rather spend the day holed up in front of the fire reading. The way Charlotte picked up the phone and arranged our flight is a glimpse into Chas’s childhood. It makes me wonder if we have enough in common.

Before Mom’s death, Dad and Mom worked hard to send Trina to college. When most girls in her sorority were out on dates, she waited tables at the tennis club, where the Bowermans belonged, running hard for the big tippers. After Mom died, Denise fought to stay in an expensive art school, working nights for an architectural firm doing sketches, constantly struggling, with Dad’s help, to meet tuition deadlines. Although Dad asked me why I didn’t go to college, he was probably relieved not to have to stretch his salary so far, eager to have someone keep house, at least for a while.

As I wait my turn behind Charlotte to climb into the helicopter’s cabin, I realize that Chas simply can’t understand life with limited resources. With one phone call his mother rescued my book’s biggest chance to succeed. Without Charlotte, I would have missed the
Today Show
segment, an author’s publicity dream. Instead we are airborne, flying toward the city, sailing over dairy farms and suburbs toward Seattle, oblivious to the Monday morning traffic snarls below. One cell phone call to the pilot, and the problem disappears. One phone call, and a $300-an-hour air taxi is warming up. As the pilot helps me hobble up the steps into the heated cabin with a “ ’Morning, ma’am,” I grin foolishly, a country bumpkin with a mind-boggling hangover staggering into the queen’s limo.

Chas, Charlotte, and the cranky Brian settle into their seats as though every day in their lives includes a helicopter jaunt, replete with four Starbucks lattes and a copy of the
New York Times
resting on our squishy leather seats.

Brian sips his latte cautiously, wrinkling his pointy nose. “Does anyone have any Splenda?”

As we lift off the ground, Charlotte bends over to the side console and flicks up a wooden panel to reveal a small bar. She points to a row of pale yellow Splenda envelopes near the stirring sticks. “There you are,” she says calmly, leaning back in the seat with her newspaper. She peels back a page and runs a slender finger down the society page. “Oh, look, Brian! It’s Hailey Carlson’s black-and-white ball in Florida.”

Brian bends over to scrutinize the page. “Let’s see who’s had a face-lift since last year.”

Charlotte cracks a tiny smile. “Brian, you’re terrible.”

As we gain height, white-capped peaks give way to dark forests, cascading waterfalls, and craggy logging trails. As a kid I’ve been hiking and inner tubing up here for years, passing these very same mountains on the highway. I can recall every tunnel, waterfall, and roadside curiosity. For the first time, skimming the surface of the mountains like a water bug, I get a sense of proportion. My life up until now has been so small.

“Woooweee!” Max yelps. “This is bleedin’ fantastic. Lift up your shirt so I can get a better look!” I shake my head ever so slightly. “Aw, come on, don’t be daft. How often does a bloke get a chance to fly in a heli?”

I glance over at Chas, who is absorbed in work details on his phone. When we’d first lifted off, he’d peeked out the window, then at me, seemingly amused at my absolute fascination with the view. But five minutes into the flight, he’d unpacked his work and ignored me and the view completely. Charlotte, done with
New York Times,
chats on her cell phone with the same relaxed, slightly bored manner.

I want to scream out loud, “Isn’t this absolutely amazing!” Undoubtedly, they’d stare at me with identical polite smiles that would suck all the fun out of the moment. I fight the urge to shout out the names of the towns I recognize.

“Hey, look, there’s Sunrise! Gosh, isn’t that beautiful. Wow, we just went by the Puyallup Fairgrounds!”

I want to tally every perfect brick red barn I spy. But Charlotte and Chas, with their detached, urbane sophistication, would ruin it. They live in a world with heated driveways and helicopters, golf ball−size gems, and specially ordered convertibles. To them, this is a speedy commute.

I gaze at Chas, utterly absorbed in his work, lanky blond hair falling into his right eye. He brushes it away absentmindedly as he looks out the window, thinking. It is such a handsome face, the face I’ve dreamed of smiling at me for years, so many years, that the reality of it actually happening still seems false. Last night as we’d sat in the ski patrol’s office waiting for the doctor to arrive, he held my hand, squeezing it occasionally to reassure me, asking me if I wanted anything. At one point, I’d laughed, and he’d asked why.