Club Sandwich (27 page)

I’m glad I have this big couch now. Here we all sit: me, Debbie, Dani, and a lady named Krystal who answered our ad in the paper and actually showed up. Debbie’s in the housewife uniform of jeans and a sweater. Dani looks like a hooker, and Krystal wears one of those fancy sweat suits only heavy African American women can get away with. And with aplomb. An amazing arrangement of braids and curls crowns her head.

Why can’t I have that much sass?

I settle into the cushions. “Why don’t we introduce ourselves and tell one interesting accomplishment or happening in our lives?”

“I’ll start.” Debbie straightens her jeans. “My name’s Debbie Meyer. I have two children, Bennie, age eleven, and Lynnie, age four. My husband is Bernie. I was known as Chug-a-Lug in college, and I’m sure you can figure out why!”

Well, this is a good start.

“Ha!” Krystal. “I’m Krystal Percy. I’ve got one daughter, five years old, named Toinette. I’m a preacher.”

Whoa-ho.

“Dani?”

“I’m Dani Hoskins. My daughter is four too, Debbie. Rosa keeps me from being wild.”

Debbie almost chokes on her coffee. Danielle laughs.

“I’m a trainer at Gold’s Gym in Timonium. My interesting accomplishment could well be the ability to tie a cherry stem in a
knot, in my mouth, in less than five seconds. But with Chug-a-Lug here, I’ll go a little more tame and say that my favorite TV Land show is
Family Affair
, and I actually shook the hand of Brian Keith when I was six.”

Debbie sets down her mug. “I loved that show! And to think what eventually happened to Buffy!
Buffy
, for cryin’ out loud!”

Krystal rolls her eyes. “Girl, I know. And that Jodie boy disappeared after
Sigmund the Seamonster
, didn’t he?”

Well, we’re really off to TV Land now. No prob. I know a little bit about each of these women and the people they care for. Krystal has a bedridden father and all that entails. Debbie’s mother, Matzo-Ball Waxman, screams at her all day long. Dani’s mother is as helpless as she is sweet. If they want to escape to TV Land, so be it. I’ll go right along with them.

“And therefore I shall say to ye, ‘Repent for the end is near!’ ”

What? Who?

I bound from my bed and run down the steps. Did Harry leave the television on last night? It sounds like one of those charismatic women preachers. But then again, “The end is near”? That’s a bold statement for anyone to make these days!

“Turn from your wicked ways! Repent of your sins!”

“Mom?”

She stands by the fireplace, facing out, arms waving. Her skin shines an eerie gray in the light from the powder room. I realize she’s losing weight. But her stomach has become so sensitive, and she eats sparingly. She doesn’t look as full, and the skin on her arms
hangs down as she flaps them, punctuating each word with a sweep. “Verily, verily, I say unto thee, except a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God!”

The words of Jesus can’t be wrong.

I walk carefully toward her. “Come on, Sister Starling. Testimony time is over. Enter into your rest.” I mentally cross my fingers, slip my arm around her waist, and stroke the back of her hair.

“Thank you, my sister.”

I guide her back to her bed and tuck her in. Grandma’s wedding quilt snuggles her chin, and I begin to grieve afresh. I’m losing her day by day, and I’ll be here for each of them.

Count your blessings, Ivy, count them one by one.

On my way to the door, I stub my toe on the dresser. I swear.

“So what do you want me to do about it, hon?”

“I don’t know, Rusty. I’m just upset.”

“Look, it’s 4:00 a.m. here. If I could do something about it, I would.”

“Forget it.” Where’s my Rusty? Who is this guy? “It’s just that I’m powerless. If you want me to feel guilty, it’s working.”

If I believed that, I’d be more gullible than Mom, who still thinks Brian is “the one who turned out so well.”

“So how’s the group?” I ask. The current tack is obviously not working. Let’s talk about Rusty. It’s all he’s interested in anyway.

“Fantastic! The boss is working on a European tour.”

“Really?”

“Yep. Spring. Babe, I’ve got to get some sleep. Big travel day tomorrow.”

“Where you heading?”

“San Diego.”

“I hear it’s beautiful there.”

Yep, it sure is. I’ve got to get a grip. I’ve got to get a grip.

“Mr. Moore? I’m sorry for calling at this hour.”

“You okay, Ivy dear?”

“No. I need a good cry. And not by myself.”

“You just come on over. I’ll put on a pot of tea.”

At first, I thought to call Mitch but decided no way. Too dangerous.

So I head next door, and Mr. Moore sits me on a lounger, puts a dining-room chair right up next to it. He sits next to me, holding my hand as I sob and sob.

God, I’m so sick of crying. I feel like such an emotional wimp.

The day-care director crosses her arms.

“Fifty dollars?” I ask.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Schneider. But I think it would be in everybody’s best interest if you found another center for Bellatrix.”

“All right.”

I gather Trixie and her effects, and we head out the door into the cold November afternoon.

“Mama! We going home?”

“Yes, baby. We’re going home.”

“Hi hon!”

“Rusty! You okay? It’s the middle of the day?”

“Just thought I’d call and talk to the kids.”

“Okay.” I turn away from the mouthpiece. “Guys! Daddy’s on the phone!”

They rumble in. Ten minutes later I chat with my husband. Or rather, he chats to me.

The audiences keep getting larger and larger. And people actually ask for their autographs now. Especially down south. Airplay like crazy on the gospel radio stations. On the bus, they slide the dial from station to station and catch a song or two with regularity. He never thought he’d be involved in something this big. It’s like a drug, he hates to admit. But that’s the case. Bringing joy to people, even if only for a little while, is incomparable to anything he’s ever experienced. It’s nice to support them like that, to offer help and hope and therefore, a little mercy. He’s glad to do that for them. And thankful. And honored, even. See, Ivy? It isn’t all about him. He’s part of something far larger.

“And get this! Marlin gave us the news about Europe. Plans are finalized, and we leave after the New Year. Six months we’ll be gone. I’m sorry it’s so long, and I hope you won’t flip, but who knows what kind of audience we’ll garner over there? It could bring in more money than we’ve ever dreamed we’d have, hon. We can hire a nurse for your mom, put
all
the kids in private school, and maybe even add on to the house, a nice master-bedroom suite on the
ground floor, a bed and bath for your mom. It’s all going to work out beautifully.”

I’ve got nothing left to say.

Okay, so now I really have to get to work on this novel. Ten grand for the advance, a third up front, which will pay for my kitchen renovation and Mom’s room. Lou talked me into a new stovetop and an extra oven. Rusty will be thrilled, as well as Brian. I wish I could say my brother’s tail rests between his legs, but no. That would be too much to hope for.

I fire up Old Barbara, buzz off this week’s column, this time about taking advantage of our right to vote. Tony loves it.

Now. The book.

My basic story: a woman, pregnant, turns on her stalker, the father of her child, and the hunted becomes the hunter. What started out as a story of female empowerment will become another male-vigilante tale. But it’s a break, and I’d be a fool not to take it.

Okay. Jane becomes Nick.

I have six months to revamp this sucker.

Chapter One

Jane was tired of looking in her rearview mirror.

Well, that’s no good anymore. Universal change from Jane to Nick.

Nick was tired of looking in his rearview mirror.

Hmm, that doesn’t work either.

Oh great.