Chronicles of a Midlife Crisis (7 page)

I set up appointments to view the apartments tomorrow, and then decide to grab a burger. That’s another reason I’ve got to get my own place. I need to start eating better—especially if Annika’s going to see me in the buff. Christ, even the thought of it makes me nervous. But the rumbling in my stomach makes me think of Sam. I wonder what Lucy’s been feeding her? I’ve always done most of the cooking. It’s not that Lucy can’t cook, but she always says she’s too tired. Or she doesn’t get home until eight o’clock and it’s too late by then.

I throw on my coat and head downstairs. It’s raining, of course; it’s February. But I decide to walk to my favorite burger joint. It’s only a few blocks away on Davie Street. Lucy and I used to eat there all the time after a night out on the town. Suddenly, I feel my cell phone vibrate in my pocket.

“Hello?”

“Hey. It’s me.”

It’s like she knew I was thinking about her. “Hey Luce. What’s up?”

“Uh … not much. What are you doing?”

“Going to grab a bite to eat.”

“Oh. I was just going to make something for Sam and me. Maybe … enchiladas?”

Lucy knows I love her enchiladas, and it’s pretty clear this is an invitation. But I can’t go there. “Good. How is she?”

“Well, that’s why I called … to let you know that she’s fine. She’s kind of quiet and grumpy still, but that’s nothing new.”

“She’ll come around. It’s bound to take her a while to get used to this.”

“Yeah … and we’re still in agreement that it’s best not to ground her?”

“I think so. Things are hard enough for her right now.”

There’s a pause on Lucy’s end. Then: “It would cheer her up to see you. I could make enchiladas tomorrow night instead. You could come over for dinner …?”

I sigh heavily before answering. “Tomorrow’s not good. I’ve got a couple of appointments … to look at apartments.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah …” “Some other time then …”

“Sure. I’ll call her. Maybe take her out for a burger.”

“That’s a lot of red meat, Trent. Don’t forget what your doctor said.”

And there’s that tone, that mothering, condescending, holier-than-thou tone. I’m talking about bonding with our daughter, and she brings up my fucking cholesterol.

“I gotta go. Tell Sam I’ll call her tomorrow.” I hear Lucy start to say something, but I hang up.

Lucy

“
I INVITED HIM TO DINNER, AND HE SAID NO
!” I wail into the phone.

“I told you, he’s going to need some time,” Hope says patiently. “Just like it says in chapter four.”

“What?”

“Chapter four in
Until He Comes Home
. Haven’t you been reading it?”

“Uh … I haven’t gotten that far.”

“It’s all about the elastic band effect. Like, how our men are connected to us by an elastic band, and if you let them pull away, eventually they’ll snap back. But if you try to pull them back before they’re ready, they’ll continue to stretch the band until it breaks.”

“Oh.”

“Read it, Lucy. It makes so much sense. It’s exactly what I did with Mike and now our marriage is stronger than ever.”

“Right. Okay.”

Hope continues. “And how’s Sam? No more hitting the bottle?”

“No,” I snap, defensive for some reason. Perhaps that reason is that Hope’s daughter, Sarah-Louise, is annoyingly perfect. She’s an excellent student, a talented trombonist, and never gets drunk at school—or anywhere else for that matter. Sarah-Louise seems poised to follow in the footsteps of Hillary Rodham Clinton, or some other highly intelligent, extremely successful, if slightly drab, female. In contrast, Samantha seems poised to follow in the footsteps of Courtney Love.

“Trent and I talked to her and she’s learned her lesson. She won’t do it again,” I say, with more confidence than I feel.

“See?” Hope says. “You’re still parenting as a team. In chapter eight, I think it is, Dr. Ladner talks all about maintaining parental unity as a way to bring you back together.”

“I’ve got to go,” I say, pulling my Forerunner into the parking lot. “I’m back at the office.”

“Okay, hon. Let me know when you and Sam can come over for dinner again.”

“Will do.” I hang up, and hop out of the truck. Hurrying to open the hatchback, I remove an enormous red-foam lobster costume. Cody has been “tricked” into being the mascot for Central High’s basketball team, The Lobsters. It’s so ridiculous. What kind of school would name their basketball team The Lobsters? And how can Wynn Felker, a grown man, allow himself to be dressed up in such a stupid costume and follow such a stupid plotline?

I struggle through the doorway, down the narrow halls, and into the props room. Just as I dump the cumbersome costume, my boss, Bruce, appears in the doorway.

“Oh good, you’re back. We need Wynn to try the costume on right away. Bring it to wardrobe.”

“A little help here please …” I retort, as Bruce starts to walk off. Would it kill the guy to offer to carry the lobster to wardrobe? I’m already sweaty and disheveled from lugging the fucking thing in here. Okay, and maybe I’m a little crabby since my husband had hot sex with me on the living room sofa five days ago, and now he won’t even come for dinner when I’m making his favorite dish.

“Right,” Bruce says, realizing it’s probably best to help me without comment. “Sorry.”

I hold one Styrofoam claw as we maneuver our way to wardrobe. Technically, I would have thought a costume would be wardrobe’s responsibility, but apparently it falls under props. When we arrive, Wynn is waiting there. As usual, he’s surrounded by a number of sycophants whose only job seems to be to make sure he’s exceedingly happy every minute of the day.

“Here it is,” Bruce says, placing the costume before our illustrious star. “Why don’t you try it on?”

Obediently, Wynn steps into the foam lobster. Kelly from wardrobe and a couple of Wynn’s assistants begin to pull the costume up around him. They’re fiddling with the snaps around his waist when he says, “I don’t know about this …”

“What’s wrong, Wynn?” obsequious assistant #1 asks.

“This costume … It’s stupid.”

“It’ll be really funny, though!” Kelly tries.

“It just seems dumb,” Wynn continues. “Who would have a lobster for a mascot?”

In the background, one of the production people is urgently calling the director. “Wynn doesn’t like the lobster … Okay … okay. You’d better get down here.”

“The basketball team is the Central High Lobsters!” another guy from the production department says nervously.

“Yeah, I know,” Wynn snaps. “But, why would a team call itself The Lobsters?”

“It’s funny!” Kelly cries.

“Lobsters are quite fierce and aggressive,” the first production person says, hitting redial on her cell phone.

Obsequious assistant #2 jumps in. “Wynn’s right. It’s stupid!”

“What do you think?” It takes me a second to realize Wynn is addressing me.

“Uh …” I can feel Bruce’s eyes on me. Obviously, it’s in all our best interests to talk Wynn into wearing the lobster costume. If he refuses, I’ll have to drive back out to Burnaby to look for a tiger or a bear or whatever they come up with next. But I simply can’t deny that the lobster-as-mascot idea is preposterous.

“It’s preposterous. No high school basketball team would call themselves The Lobsters. They’re bottom-feeding crustaceans.”

“Yeah!” Wynn says, extricating himself from the red foam. “It’s preposterous.”

Just then, Kev flies into the room. The stress is written all over his twenty-eight-year-old face. “Hey, Wynn fella, what’s up?”

“The whole lobster thing is stupid,” Wynn begins.

I take this as a cue to duck out. Bruce is there to protect the lobster costume, and I’m sure I’ll be the first person he tells when they agree on a suitable mascot.

On the way back to my office I step into the women’s restroom. As I expected, all the lobster-lugging exertion has made my face a little shiny. I wet a paper towel in the sink and dab at my forehead. It seems the lack of expression lines has increased the shine factor. My forehead looks a bit like the side of a porcelain toilet now. But I’m still looking better than I have in months, maybe even years. If Trent had had the decency to come over for enchiladas, he would have seen that. The last time he saw me I had red eyes, a red nose, and was still living in frown-line city. Tossing the soggy towel in the bin, I head into the hall.

I’ve almost reached my office when I hear, “Hey!” I turn, and am startled to see Wynn Felker loping toward me.

“Uh … hey,” I say, glancing quickly over my shoulder to make sure he’s actually talking to me.

Wynn walks right up. “Thanks for the support back there. I’m Wynn.” He holds out his hand.

“Yeah, I know,” I say, taking it briefly. “Lucy.”

“Nice to meet you, Lucy.”

He’s smiling at me in that charming Hollywood way, probably expecting me to faint or start crying at any moment. Instead I say, “What did you decide about the mascot?”

“They’re taking it back to the writers. All I know is that I’m not gonna be lobster-boy.”

“Good for you.” I prepare to continue to my office, but Wynn seems in no hurry to leave. He does, however, notice that I seem a bit anxious.

“So … do you want to grab some lunch or something?”

Lunch? Is he joking? Why would Cody Summers want to have lunch with me? What would we possibly talk about? Acne medication? What to wear to the prom? Of course, Cody Summers is just a persona, but I doubt Wynn Felker and I would have much more in common. We could discuss various school mascots, but how long would that take? Ten minutes? It would be awkward and strange. “I’m just gonna eat at my desk. I’ve been trying to get home early for my daughter.”

“That’s cool. How old is your little girl?”

“Fifteen.”

“No!” Wynn says, and he really does look shocked.

“Yes!” I say, imitating his tone.

“It’s just that … you don’t look old enough to have a teenage daughter.”

“Well, I am. And she’s a big fan of yours.”

This prompts the return of his Hollywood cockiness. “Tell her I said hello.”

“I will.” And I hurry on to my office.

Trent

“
ANOTHER ROUND
?” the waiter asks. He’s all chiseled and tanned and Ashton Kutcher-ish; obviously, a wannabe actor.

I look to Annika. “What do you think? One more?”

Annika giggles. “I don’t know if I should. One more of these martinis and I won’t be able to drive home.”

“I’ll get you a cab.”

“Come on,” Ashton Kutcher says, giving her a blinding smile. “One more.”

“Okay,” she says gleefully. “If you two are gonna gang up on me.”

The waiter leaves and I lean across the tiny table toward Annika. “What a cheeseball.”

“Who?”

“The waiter. Where do they get these guys? Do they grow them in a lab or something?”

Annika peers toward the bar. “He is really good-looking, but I thought he was nice.”

“He’s gotta be an actor,” I continue, watching him punch in our drink order. “I think I recognize him, actually. Yeah … he was Alien #3 in the last episode of
Star Hunter
.”

“You watch
Star Hunter
?”

“No … I was just joking.”

“Oh.”

There’s a moment of tense silence. Lucy would have laughed at that joke. But if I was with Lucy the joke would never have been made, since we’d never be having drinks in this hip bar with the handsome waiter. It’s only 5:30. If I was still with my family, I’d be heading home to make Sam dinner and Lucy would still be at work for at least two more hours.

I look over at Annika, who’s fishing a cranberry out of her martini glass with one finger. It suddenly occurs to me that bashing our good-looking server is probably making me look really old and insecure. It’s not like I feel threatened by Ashton, but I have to admit, he’s probably more suited to Annika than I am. I struggle for something to say … something light and fun that will show her I’m not jealous of some two-bit actor. But what? I’m about to mention the upcoming Justin Timberlake concert when Annika speaks.

“So … have you talked to your wife lately?” Her eyes are downcast, staring at the last two cranberries in her drink.

“Yeah,” I say, affecting nonchalance, “just about Sam … making sure she’s okay.”

Annika looks up. “And is she?”

“I think so. I’m going to see her this weekend.”

Her eyes return to the table and she fiddles with her coaster. “Have you and your wife made any plans … about the future?”

I’m not exactly sure what she’s asking, but I try to placate her. “We’re not rushing into anything, but … I rented an apartment a couple days ago.”

“That’s great,” she says, beaming as though I just won the lottery. “Why didn’t you say something?”

I shrug. “I just did.”

“It’s just that …” She looks shy suddenly, girlish. She’s even blushing a little. “I’ve been fighting my feelings for so long because you’re married, but … I really like you, Trent. I just don’t want to move forward with this if you’re still trying to work things out with your wife.”

Fuck. What am I supposed to say to that? I don’t see Lucy and me working things out anytime soon, but one day? I can’t deny that it’s entirely possible. I mean, we have a history together— not to mention a daughter, a house, a couple of cars … “I really like you too.”

“I want to fuck you tonight,” she says, causing me to choke a little on the last sip of my drink. Annika laughs at me, not in a mean way, but I can’t help but feel foolish. It’s got to be dead obvious that I’m not used to such an overtly sexual expression.

I clear my throat. “That sounds like a good plan,” I manage.

Annika laughs again, just as Ashton appears with two more martinis. I’m thankful for the booze and the distraction.

“Here you go,” he says, placing the bright red concoctions before us. “You two have fun now.”

“Oh, we will,” Annika purrs, suddenly not shy and girlish at all.

Lucy

“
OH MY GOD
!” Camille squeals. “Wynn Felker invited you out for lunch?”

“Shhhhh!” I peek out the doorway of the props room to make sure no one has overheard. “He said we should grab a bite,” I whisper, after confirming the all clear. “It was just casual. He wanted to talk about the lobster costume.”