Club Sandwich (43 page)

“Brett!” He climbs out of the bed. “Hey girl!”

They embrace.

“You are a sight for sore eyes! And look at you. I think I picked up the weight you dropped.” She reddens.

“Are you kidding me? You look great. Just how a woman should look. Did you know Marilyn Monroe was a size 12?”

That’s Rusty for you.

My ear actually sweats up the receiver, the lineup of calls has been so extensive. Krystal. Debbie. Lou. Brenda. Not Mitch. Not yet. Dani, then Brian, who is crying and crying, now Dani again, who
whispers into the phone, “He’s stoned, Ivy. I have no idea where he got it.”

“Oh no. What’s he on?”

“He got Darvon somewhere. I think he raided my mother’s medicine cabinet.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“I wish I was. So anyway, he’s in no shape to go to the bistro today.”

“I’ll call the guys.”

“Thanks.”

“Hey, it’s not your problem, Dani. You want to bring him over here?”

“No. I have off today.”

“I can’t thank you enough.”

“I’ve chosen this path with Brian, Ivy.”

“For the life of me, I can’t figure out why.”

“It’s like Mick Jagger says, ‘You can’t always get what you want, but you get what you need.’ ”

“You’re too nice for this.”

“Fact is, Ivy, I’m not very nice without it.”

I still don’t understand. “I’m going to keep this from the others.”

“Good move.”

“Dani, do you love him?”

“Funny as it may seem, I do.”

We part. And I wipe my sweaty ear with a napkin.

Brett slides into the driver’s seat, and we’re off to the hospital.

“I’ll get out of your hair tonight, Ive.”

“You don’t have to leave. In fact, why don’t you stay in Mom’s room? Brian and Dani have it all cleaned.”

“No, thanks. I can’t run away from the man forever. But I needed a break, and this was good.”

“You’re always welcome.”

“Well, I may take you up on it, but let’s hope I don’t have to.”

“Have you been going to church at all?”

“No. And I know I should.”

“Why don’t you meet us on Sunday? Then we can go down to the hospital from there. If Mom’s still in.”

“I may just do that.”

I have no idea how Brett’s situation is going to play out. Maybe she’ll decide to make it work no matter what. Maybe she’s more afraid of being alone than living with Marcus.

What a day! Mom was sitting up in bed, eating her liquid diet, enjoying a cup of tea when we walked in.

Rusty and I relax on the couch now, talking with VH1’s
Behind the Music
in the background. I love the Metallica episode for some reason. But this one is about Nirvana, which just doesn’t do it for me. I mean, I feel sorry for Kurt Cobain, sorry that he was so lonely and depressed. Something about the boy always made me want to mother him. But his music never reached my soul.

“How you doing, hon?”

“It was so nice to kiss her cheek and watch the smile come to her lips, Rust. It’s like she’s on her way back to us.”

“I sure hope so. Dorothy needs to have more time with her grandchildren.”

“You know, difficult as she could be with me, she’s never taken it out on the kids. Not like Mrs. Waxman.”

“Lyr was telling me about that. I don’t know how Bernie and Debbie can stand it.”

“Me either.” I tell him about Debbie’s late-night forays into our kitchen.

“Hey, whatever works.”

“I hope you didn’t have delusions of coming back to Beaver Cleaver Land.”

“Face it, hon, it never was really fifties around here.”

I hug a pillow to my chest. “Mom looked better than she has in months, don’t you think?”

“Well, I guess I wouldn’t know. But it was good to hear her laughing. I think the kids were a boost.”

We’re riding a high wave. And a little voice whispers, “Enjoy it while it lasts.”

Oh, shut up.

I let myself in through the back door, completely ready for a cup of tea, bless Reuben and the new coffee maker. Instant gratification has become more important than ever now that my days run hither and yon. Whatever hither and yon means. I need to start making supper, but first, a moment of decompression.

Lyra bounds into the kitchen. “Stop!”

“What?”

“I’ll make that. You’ve got to get ready.”

“Ready? For what?”

“You’ll see. Go on up. There’s a surprise on the bed. We’ve been
busy all day. It’s been so much fun. Hurry!” She pushes me gently. “You don’t have all day, Mom!”

I slip out of my coat, hang it on the back of a kitchen chair and run up the steps. On the bed an outfit is all pressed and ready. A new outfit.

“You all go shopping today?” I yell.

Lyra appears at the doorway. “Yep. Look, a new pantsuit. Isn’t it great?”

A double-breasted gray affair, a cream camisole for underneath, and my new boots at the ready. “Wow.”

“Come on into the bathroom!” Brenda?

“Brenda?”

“Yep. We’re going to do your hair.”

I walk in. “What are you doing here?”

“Used to be a beautician.” She smiles and holds up a pair of professional-looking shears.

This woman never ceases to surprise me.

“Let’s get started. We don’t have time for a proper color job, but I brought an all-over rinse that will just take a few minutes. Put this cape on.”

“Great.”

Forty minutes later she’s snipping away, and I examine myself in the mirror, all pink-skinned, eyes glistening. Lyra leans against the doorframe, smiling, arms folded across her chest.

“Where’s Daddy, Lyr?”

“That’s a secret!”

Brenda digs her fingers into my hair and fluffs. “Isn’t this fun? I love surprises and makeovers, and when you put the two together it’s the best.”

“I won’t fight against it. This is great, you guys. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it, Ivy. I was glad to do it. I’ve cut back on so many of my activities, I was thrilled when Lou called.”

“Lou’s in on this?”

“Most definitely.” Lyra.

The blow-dryer begins, and I watch in fascination as a bona fide hairdo develops before my eyes. Chin-length, lots of fluffy layers, and that rinse colored all my white hairs to platinum.

“I can’t believe it’s me in that mirror.”

Brenda wields a round brush as thick as Trixie’s thigh. “Wait until we do the makeup.”

“Oh, Mom. This is going to be great.”

After Brenda puffs and spritzes my hair, she grabs a makeup case—not a bag, a case—opens it, and lifts out several trays. Now this is a woman who knows how to take care of herself. Which reminds me. I have yet to glory in my day at the spa.

“I hope you don’t mind if I use my own makeup. Trust me, it isn’t old, and I’m very careful. I always use fresh sponges and applicators.”

“See, Mom?” Lyra turns to Brenda. “I swear, Miss Brenda, Mom’s using stuff that’s at least ten years old.”

“It’s not quite that bad, Lyr.”

She crosses her arms in the other direction and gives me the stare.

“Okay, maybe it is.”

Brenda just laughs. “Now turn away from the mirror so you can get the full effect when we’re done.”

I can’t tell you how nice it feels to be pampered like this. I don’t ever remember anyone doing something like this for me.

“This sure is the life.”

I close my eyes and savor.

Youth skips with me down the front steps, and oh, I feel sassy in this fresh outfit, dreamy haircut, and high-heeled boots. And sexy too. Now I haven’t felt sexy in years and years. I think sometimes, when we start having kids, we forget to feel sexy, or we feel guilty feeling sexy, or most likely we’re too darn tired to feel sexy. It’s just too much work, and all those actresses and models have so raised the bar on sexy, it almost takes the faith of a thousand mustard seeds for the rest of us to even begin to compete. Don’t even get me started on those extreme-makeover shows.

But tonight I’m cute, I’m sexy.

And it only took three of us to get me there.

“Oh my!”

A beautiful silver Mercedes, Brenda’s car, idles by the curb. Lou, dressed in a blue pantsuit, climbs out.

“You guys!” I turn to Lyra and Brenda and wave to Lou. “This is so great.”

She whisks around and opens the back door nearest the curb. “Your carriage awaits, my lady.”

“This is too much!”

“And exactly what you all need.” Lou.

“Thanks, you guys!” I wave to the group gathered on the porch. Harry, the kids, Brenda and Reuben. Mr. Moore waves from his porch, and Debbie from hers.

I sit down and swing my legs into the leather interior. Lou slides in and closes her door. “Ready, Ive?”

“For what?”

“How about a nice dinner without the kids?”

“Who masterminded all of this?”

“Who do you think?”

“Rusty and Lyra.”

“The woman’s a seer.”

“So where are you taking me?”

She flits her gaze up in the rearview mirror. “Now do you really think I’m going to answer that?”

“Never hurts to ask.”

Five minutes later, she steers the car onto the beltway, and we chat about décor, Mom, Brian, her husband Neil, who’s taking up boxing in middle age and isn’t that about the dumbest thing you’ve ever heard, a man his age pounding on people, and what is it supposed to mean, who’s he trying to impress, who’s he trying to
kid is
more like it, don’t you think, Ivy? Her son, a boy named Atticus, believe it or not, is trying to get a scholarship at Loyola High School for next year and looks like he may just succeed. And that’s really great, Lou, I mean that. He’s a good kid.