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Authors: Evan Marshall

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BOOK: Crushing Crystal
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“I don't think I'm going to be such great company today. Why don't you just go without me?” I pleaded.
“One day in the sunshine is not going to kill you, Prudence. We've already packed your lunch and we're not taking no for an answer,” Sophie said.
Chapter 35
A
s we ate our mozzarella-and-pesto sandwiches that day, I asked the gang if they would start to think I was crazy if I told them I thought I was still in love with Reilly.
“That assumes we think you're sane now,” Chad said.
We sat on a red-and-white tablecloth set on the grass a few yards away from a guitarist who was probably a student at NYU. He wore a scruffy goatee, flannel shirt and no shoes as he strummed songs from Fleetwood Mac. The summer-like weather prompted the fountains to burst with water, and dogs and children quickly jumped in to splash around.
“Wait, are you serious?” Jennifer asked with gravity. “You think you're in love with Reilly? Reilly your husband, Reilly? Reilly, the husband you cheated on, then tried to find a new wife for, Reilly?”
I nodded. “The one and only.”
Sophie asked when I had this revelation. “I didn't even know you'd seen him since the night at the gallery.”
I told her about our dinner a few weeks ago after I got back from L.A. “I was starting to think we could be friends after the divorce was final. Hell, I even introduced him to a woman at the restaurant. Do you guys remember the blond woman with the wide face from cooking class? Anyway, it didn't hit me till a few days later, but Reilly is a good man. A really good man.”
They silently shot each other worried looks. Finally, Jennifer asked why I thought Reilly being a quality person was so appealing. She reminded me that he's always been a decent guy.
“Maybe Prudence finally feels like she deserves the love of a good man,” Sophie piped in as she tried to keep the wind from blowing her hair into the apple juice she was sipping.
Jennifer disagreed. “Not buyin' it. You're into Reilly because you saw some other chick interested in him.” I decided not to tell Jennifer that she had pesto caught between her teeth.
Remembering that the next week was Father's annual Easter egg hunt, I invited them all to come. “Father's on this big getting-to-know-me kick and wants to meet you all. Adrian and Dan can come too.”
That night Matt called to thank me for the flat screen television I sent for his second birthday gift. He told me he was considering mounting it on his ceiling like the couple in the commercial, but that he would hold off on doing so until he arrived in New York. “So we're like ten weeks out, baby? Then we ride off into the sunset for the happily ever after,” he laughed.
Some indie filmmaker. Maybe he could fit a car chase in there somewhere.
“Hey, that reminds me, I still need to get your invitation list,” I said. “Can you fax it to my office first thing in the morning? The invitations need to go out by mid-May and it takes a while for the calligrapher to address all those envelopes.”
“No problem,” Matt agreed. “Thanks again for the screen. Now,
that
was a birthday gift.”
For the next week, I slipped back into my funk as Sophie promised I could. Thankfully, I have a job where I'm not expected to engage my clients with witty repartee. As long as I was polite, I could be as glum as I wanted. In fact, I think many of my clients felt I was working harder for them during my blue period. They seemed to believe they were really getting their money's worth out of me when I greeted them looking like an exhumed body.
When I grew tired of crying at the plight of a spider crawling across my kitchen floor with no escape in sight, I turned on the television, only to be driven to tears by sentimental commercials for maple syrup. Finally, on Thursday evening, Reilly called me.
“Hi,” I perked up hearing his voice.
“Prudence,” he returned. “How have you been?”
“Just great, Reilly. How 'bout you?”
“Fine. Look, I need to swing by the apartment to have you sign some papers. Are you free Saturday afternoon?”
I suggested he come by around noon so we could have lunch and go over the divorce settlement papers. I was already planning what to wear and rehearsing the clever off-the-cuff remarks I'd make. “You know, Sunday is Father's big Easter egg hunt, if you'd like to join us.”
“Prudence, we're getting a divorce,” he said flatly. We're not
doing
lunch and I'm certainly not going to attend any more of your family obligations. I'll be there at noon and out by quarter after assuming we're still in agreement about the division of assets.”
“I can put together a little something for us to nibble on here, if you'd like,” I suggested with a toned-down, we've-all-gotta-eat manner.
“We had eleven years to have lunch together, Prudence,” Reilly said. “As for Easter Sunday, I'll be spending the day with Sarah and her parents in the Hamptons.”
If I lived above the second floor, I would have leapt out the window right then. But with my luck, instead of plummeting to my death, I'd lay on the sidewalk with a spinal cord injury while every Keith Haring wannabe in SoHo outlined my body with chalk.
“Sarah,” I said as if I couldn't be happier. “Lovely Sarah from the restaurant?”
“Yes, we've been seeing each other for the last five weeks pretty much every day now,” Reilly told me. “How's that surfer boy from California you left me for?”
Surfer boy?
“You mean Matt?” I asked. “He doesn't surf.”
“Oh, well you'll excuse me from not keeping closer tabs on his hobbies. Other than stealing my wife, that is.”
“Um, well he's fine. He's wrapping up a film about—”
“Prudence,” Reilly interrupted. “I don't really care.”
On Friday morning, Matt faxed his list of wedding guests to my office, then called to tell me he asked Rick to be his best man. “Look, I know you guys aren't crazy about each other, but I finally convinced Rick to do the job so I'd appreciate if you'd back off on him so he doesn't bail last minute.”
Ah yes, the pampered bride am I.
“Wait until you see the outfit Kyara bought for the wedding,” Matt laughed. “You're going to flip out.”
Undoubtedly.
Matt had been given the task of making reservations at cozy boarding houses and comfortable hotels in Europe for our honeymoon. We had decided to tour Ireland, England, France and, of course, Italy. That was the plan. On Friday night, Matt called to tell me we would be spending our first six weeks as husband and wife in the Czech Republic.
“I've already been to those other countries,” Matt explained. “Let's go somewhere a little different. They've got a ton of castles and stuff for you to see in eastern Europe.”
Surely, I have done something to offend the goddess of honeymoons.
“Matt, I have waited all of my life to see Italy and I'm not going to put it off any longer,” I told him. “I'm sorry that we'll have to go places you've already been to, but a lot has changed in fifteen years.
You've
changed. You'll have a different perspective on it this time around. Okay?”
“Prudence, you don't know the kind of deal I got on these tickets,” Matt explained.
“Maybe not, but it's very clear what kind of deal I'm getting here. Cancel the fucking Iron Curtain tour and book Italy, Ireland, France and England like we talked about,” I demanded.
“Let's talk about this when you're feeling calmer,” Matt suggested. “You'll see the whole thing clearer then.”
“I see plenty clear, Matt,” I shouted. “Listen to what I'm telling you. I'm not going to the Czech Republic for my honeymoon. We can go next year to see all the goddamn castles, but for our honeymoon we agreed on Europe. Normal Europe!”
 
 
The next day when Reilly showed up at the loft, I had only one item on my agenda—win him back. He arrived right on time wearing khaki shorts and a white button-down polo shirt. Reilly was now combing his hair to the side, which I assumed was Sarah's influence. He told me he was flying to England on business the following week and that our divorce would be final by the first week in June. What had become of my life? Quickie affair; quickie divorce. Who the hell named me Prudence anyway?
Reilly looked around the apartment and asked if there was anything he'd left behind.
Only me.
“Do you mind if I hang onto your sweats?” I asked. “They're very comfy, and they remind me of you.”
Reilly looked puzzled, then reminded himself to wear a blank expression. “Sure, I've got others. You know, you can get a pair for yourself at Herman's for twenty-four dollars.” We sat at the kitchen table and I poured us both a glass of iced tea.
“Thanks, Reilly. I was bumming around in them last weekend and it reminded me of how we used to laze around in our first apartment together in Philly. Remember that?” I asked.
Reilly smiled recalling our early days. “Do I remember? You used to send me out in the blizzard for all the papers. I nearly caught pneumonia our first winter together.”
“Oh, but I took care of you,” I teased. “Don't you remember what a great nurse I was?”
The reference was a good one to pull from my arsenal because in those early days, I was like a nurse from a porno flick. Zero medical knowledge, but a firm belief that lots of sex would cure anything. I used to approach Reilly's sick bed like a vixen in my white lace panties, garter belt, push-up bra, heels and nurse's hat I made from computer printer paper. “You know the old saying. Starve a cold, feed a fever, and fuck pneumonia,” I told him. Often, he would tell me he felt a bug coming on, hoping Nurse Prudence would tend to his illness.
The more jaded, soon-to-be-divorced Reilly actually laughed. “Yes, I remember. Those were fun times.”
“It wasn't all fun and games though, Reilly,” I continued my campaign. “We were a great team together. Like when your aunt Beatrice and your father had that blowout over your grandfather's estate. Remember how we mediated between them and got them all squared away? They could have been enemies for life, but we were really pretty skillful negotiators, don't you think?”
“Yeah, that was crazy how they went at each other,” Reilly remembered.
“You were great that day, Reilly,” I said. “You were great every day, really. It was me who was too screwed up to see that.”
He was silent, but I could see him softening under the heat lamp of nostalgia. “Stay for lunch, Reilly? We'll have a little wine and sign the papers like civilized people. Stay. We're not enemies, Reilly. We've had a wonderful time together and now we're moving on to a new phase of life. We don't have to burn the bridge between us, do we? I still love you as a friend,” I reached out and touched his hand. “Stay. We'll have fun,” I urged.
Chapter 36
T
he next morning, Reilly sat up in our bed as if he'd just awakened from a nightmare. When he looked at me, it was clear that his bad dream was our reality. “Oh God, Prudence. What the hell did we do?” he moaned. “What was I thinking? What the hell was I thinking?”
Easy buddy. I wasn't expecting pillow talk and flowers our first time back in the sack together, but this is a bit much.
He rushed to put his clothing on so fast he could have used six arms. Reilly tried to put his belt and both socks on at the same time, which landed him on the floor of our bedroom. The phone rang.
“Oh, um hi honey,” I said to Matt who was calling to wish me a happy Easter. “Happy Easter to you too.”
Reilly stood up shirtless, pointed to the phone and mouthed,
Is that him?
As soon as I confirmed by nodding, Reilly started scribbling on a sheet of paper, then held it up to me to read.
“Payback's a bitch, Surfer Boy!!!!!”
Charming.
“Listen, honey, let me call you later. I'm late for my father's Easter egg hunt,” I said to Matt.
“Shit! Shit, shit, shit!!!” Reilly said. “I was supposed to stay at Sarah's last night so we could take the train to her folks' weekend place today. I'm sure she called my apartment. Shit. Where am I going to tell her I was last night?”
I offered an alibi. “Tell her you were with me. Tell her I needed a shoulder to cry on so you stayed here on the couch. She'll never suspect that we made love.”
“Made love?! We didn't make love, we made a mess of my life. God damn you, Prudence. Every time I've got things worked out for myself, you come along and screw it up.” Collecting his things, he lamented that he ever met me. “I should have gone to goddamn Yale,” he said, attempting to iron his shirt with his bare hand. “Sarah saw me in this outfit yesterday. What the hell am I going to tell her? I am so screwed, Prudence!” He slammed the door behind him after shouting that he never wanted to see me again.
This was not exactly how I'd imagined our big reconciliation going. I thought Reilly and I would wake up in each other's arms, then spend the next few hours lingering in bed, promising each other how different our marriage would be this time around. He would tear the divorce papers up, and run to get pastries while I was in the shower. While Reilly was out, I'd call the calligrapher and tell her to drop my wedding invitations in the trash instead of the mailbox. Later, Reilly and I would go to Father's Easter egg hunt and surprise the gang with the resurrection of our marriage.
 
 
I was silent for most of the drive to Father's house with Sophie, Chad, Daniel, Jennifer and Adrian. Until we reached the George Washington Bridge, I couldn't think of a thing to say. What would I tell them, “Oh yeah, by the way, I cheated on the fiancé with the soon-to-be–ex-husband who woke up this morning in absolute horror that he was in my bed, then left skid marks at the door after he shouted that all future interactions would be handled through our lawyers.” I said nothing and acted as if I stayed home doing something normal, like making lace doilies as keepsakes for my wedding guests.
Chad and Daniel have a van they use to transport their artwork, so they were the troop leaders for the day. “Give us the skinny on who's who, Prudence,” Daniel asked.
“Okay, Father is the old, good-looking guy. Sophie, he will immediately be attracted to you, which will cause him to blurt out something ridiculous. Carla is his wife, who must be at least twenty by now. Then they've got three daughters, Ashley, Whitney and Paige. Paige is the gothic-looking one with the edge. Of course, we love her. The other two we're kind of neutral to. I've got nothing really to hate them for, and they are my half sisters, but I try to spend as little time alone with them as possible to avoid that awkward ‘hey, stranger sister' feeling. Oh yes, the two older ones have husbands and kids. They'll be there too.”
They laughed. “That's it? They'll be there,” Jennifer echoed.
“Look, you guys will have them figured out in five minutes tops. They're a very dull group, really,” I assured.
Father answered the door with a broad smile, scanning the group. “Well, good golly, this looks like a poster for affirmative action,” he said.
“Father!” I shot. “What kind of rude thing is that to say?”
“I'm just saying you're an ethnically diverse group, that's all. It's beautiful, like the Rainbow Coalition,” he explained.
Just shut up and let's get this over with.
“I'm sorry, you guys,” I whispered as we walked into Father's home. “He's got an undiagnosed disorder.”
Chad swatted his hand as if to say it was nothing. “He's probably just happy to see two black people, a Mexican gal and a couple of gay guys because he thinks he'll get his house cleaned and redecorated for free after the party.” Scanning the foyer, Chad added, “This house could use some serious help, Prudence,” he said, picking up a small figurine from the table. “Modern trophy bride.” He made a face at the large hanging mirror. “Circa 1992.”
The sky was one continuous gray cloud that was threatening rain on a moment's notice. Still, kids dressed in Easter bonnets and pastel blazers rummaged around the backyard searching for dyed hard-boiled eggs. Two teens from the catering company were grilling steaks and burgers at each end of the white canvas tent in the yard. Carla hired a kid from the community college drama program to play the Easter Bunny and hand out treats to the children. The student was one of those intense method actors who needed to know where the Easter Bunny had just come from, what his life was like before the barbecue, and what his motivation was for handing out chocolate eggs to the kids. Every hop was full of purpose. Each time she handed a child a piece of candy, she tilted her head to the side and pursed her lips with an expression that could have either been rueful melancholy or a migraine.
Carla approached our group with her arms extended. She smiled, “Trenton told me you were bringing guests. I'm so glad you all came.” I knew my friends were all wondering what possible problem I could have with the charming hostess, Carla. She shook everyone's hand, and as they gave their names, she'd return, “Carla Malone” efficiently. As if her name might change between introductions.
As I walked out of the rest room, Carla touched my shoulder and asked me to turn around, as if she might help me remove a piece of toilet paper stuck to my shoe. “Oh Prudence,” she said with disappointment. “You really
didn't
do the fanny lift. What a shame.”
Father joined our table for lunch and asked about my wedding plans. “Have you all met this Matt fellow?” he asked the group. Half nodded that they had; the others shook no. “And you think he's good enough for my little girl?” he asked Sophie.
“Well, let's put it this way,” she said slyly. “We always get what we think we deserve,” she winked at me. They all laughed, including me, though it also made me shudder.
Sophie told Father that Jennifer and Adrian were also recently engaged. “Congratulations you two,” he said. “Well, it's just the season for weddings isn't it? And what about you, Sophie? Are you engaged too?”
Only in a flirtation with you, Father.
“Oh not me, sir,” she said. I could have jumped across the table and kissed her for calling him sir. She sounded like a female Eddie Haskell kowtowing black-and-white sitcom dad. “I like to keep my options open,” she grinned like a Cheshire cat. Of course, killing her was also a possibility.
“And what about you two?” he asked Chad and Daniel. Oh no, here comes some ridiculous I'm-going-to-show-you-how-comfortable-with-your-being-gay-I-am-by-saying- something-that-will-prove-the-exact-opposite statement, I thought. “If same-sex marriage were legal, do you think you'd do it, or is it too much like conforming to the rigid definition of a committed relationship that the mainstream has imposed on our culture?”
What?!
I imagined the local president of PFLAG feeding Father lines through a microphone that was discreetly inserted into his ear. There was no way he came up with that on his own. Since when is he able to discuss same-sex marriage from the gay perspective?
“I mean I don't see what the problem is,” Father said. “Can you imagine what a boost to the economy a bunch of gay weddings would be?”
“Ah yes, when fiscal conservatism meets social liberalism, this is what we get, ay Trenton?” Daniel asked. Father smiled. “I don't know if we'd get married. What do you think?” he asked Chad.
“I don't know,” Chad pondered. “I never really felt like we needed it to legitimize our relationship. Trenton's right, it does have a certain middle-class suburban drudgery feel to it.” Then he looked around, reminding himself that he was at a family Easter egg hunt in Larchmont. “Maybe ‘drudgery' isn't the right word,” he apologized. “It could be cute. Married. Married,” he repeated. “Hang on. Let me try it on for a moment. Married. Yeah, it could be kind of kitchy, you know, like an Ozzie and Harry kind of thing.”
Daniel jumped in to save his drowning lover. “Next, we've got to find a man for our Sophie,” he told Father. “Sophie's a single mother, you know?”
“Please no.” Sophie held her hand out, signaling that she would continue with her thought after she swallowed her food.
“I'm so glad Prudence brought all of you out here today,” Father said. “It's nice to see what nice friends she has in the city. Does my heart good to see young people looking after each other.”
Could you please stop looking at Sophie!
Carla yelled at the Easter Bunny that it was time for her to lead the guests in the Bunny Hop across the lawn. Carla pressed the button on her portable CD player and joined the line. Who in the world has the “Bunny Hop” on CD?
 
 
On the drive back to New York, I apologized profusely for Father's behavior. “I didn't think he was bad,” Adrian said. “I didn't care for it when Carla handed me the empty hors d'oeuvres trays to take to the kitchen, but your father was okay.”
“Oh my God, Adrian, she didn't really do that, did she?” I begged him to be kidding.
“Just once,” he laughed. “I told her I was a guest and she said, ‘Of course you are! I knew that.' Then she asked some old white lady to take another tray inside too.”
“Good God, that woman is a witch,” I apologized. “She told me I needed a butt lift, so don't feel too bad. Her stupidity wasn't directed exclusively at you, Adrian.” I rolled down the window and asked Chad to turn on the fan. “Let me give you a little background, Adrian. Father and I are not close. He dumped my mother for Carla when I was twelve, and is now trying to make it up to me and have a quote unquote real relationship.” They all laughed.
“What's so funny?” I asked. “Hey, what is so damned funny?”
Chad put on his best Neil Young voice and sang “Old man, look at my life. I'm a lot like you were.”
Every fucking person in the van joined in for the chorus.
Adrian tapped Chad to ask if he could sing the next verse. “You know it?”
Adrian shook his head eagerly.
“Sing it, brother,” said Chad.
“Sing it, baby,” shouted Jennifer as she took over on the air guitar.
“You guys, I am
nothing
like him!” I shouted, unsuccessfully interrupting.
They cheered Adrian's heavenly voice as it serenaded me with cruel reality. Sophie put her arm around my shoulder and started swaying before the group broke out into another passionate chorus.
BOOK: Crushing Crystal
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