Hit & Mrs. (15 page)

When Gemma said she wanted to have her makeup done, they all decided to do it. They had a fantastic time being turned into women they didn't recognize. Bette was a real surprise. She only ever used Chap Stick, and there she was with Sugarplum lips. Linda insisted on taking all kinds of pictures. They even got one of the cosmetic girls to take several pictures of all of them together. It finally felt as if they were on vacation.

Eventually they wandered upstairs to the clothing department. Linda picked out several outfits and four pairs of high heels, which weren't at all practical for traipsing around New York, but she didn't care—she was still in mourning over her favourite Jimmy Choos.

Linda was also unconcerned about the amount on the price tags.

The other three were thriftier, even though she insisted they put their purchases on Stuart's card. Gemma picked up a few tops for her kids and Augusta found some pretty jewellery for her girls. Bette grabbed a quilted bed jacket for Ida and a gold-plated lighter for Izzy.

The four of them met back at the cashier.

“As soon as I pay for this,” Linda said, “I'm going to run into the dressing room and put on this pantsuit.” She held it up for her friends to see. “Isn't it gorgeous? It's DKNY.”

“I'm not going to ask how much that is,” Augusta said.

“Neither am I,” Linda laughed.

The three friends stood aside once they placed their items on the counter. Linda then piled her clothes and chosen shoes on top of them. The clerk ran up the purchases.

“That will be $4,783.26.”

Linda passed over the Platinum Visa card and didn't flinch. Her friends' mouths were open. She glanced at them. “What?”

“Almost five thousand dollars,” Bette whispered.

Gemma shook her head. “You can't spend that much.”

“Why can't I?”

“You better put my gifts back.”

Linda dismissed them with her hand. “No indeed. Most of this is mine anyway. We deserve this after the misery we've been through.”

The clerk looked up from her register. “I'm sorry, but this card has been declined.”

Linda looked at her. “Pardon me?”

The clerk maintained a neutral tone. “It's been declined.”

“But that's not possible. Do it again.”

The clerk swiped it again with the same result.

Linda's cheeks started to flush. “I don't understand it. This has never happened before.”

Bette came forward. “I had that happen once. Sometimes the magnetic strip wears out.”

Gemma stepped up too. “That's it, Linda. You've worn it out.” She looked at the clerk. “Could you punch the numbers instead?”

The clerk nodded. She punched in the numbers.

Declined.

Linda stamped her foot. “I don't believe it.” She rooted through her wallet. “Here. This is my American Express. Put it on that.”

The clerk swiped the card and looked up. “I'm very sorry, but this one has been declined as well.”

By then there was a lineup of shoppers who were getting impatient or downright nosy about the unfolding drama.

“This can't be happening,” Linda said. “I don't understand it. Now you won't get your gifts.”

“That doesn't matter,” Augusta reassured her.

“Of course not,” Gemma said.

Linda's hand suddenly flew to her mouth. “Oh my God, it's Stuart. He's found out about the card somehow. He's doing this to get back at me.”

“Is that possible? How would he know about it already?” Augusta asked.

“How does he know anything? He's always one-upping me, the two-timing jerk. I'm almost sure he's behind this.”

The clerk looked over Linda's head to the crowd behind. “I'm sorry, but if you're not purchasing these items I'm going to have to ask you to move aside. There are other customers waiting.”

Linda stepped away from the counter, pulled out one of the tissues she'd stuffed down her bra that morning, and wiped the corner of her eyes. “What am I going to do? I have no clothes and now I can't buy any.”

Her friends gathered up the clothes and shoes she wanted and hustled her off to the side.

“Sure, you can buy some,” Augusta patted her hand. “I'll put it on my Visa card.”

“I have a little money too,” Gemma said.

Bette looked distressed. “I'd give you some if I had any.”

“I can't let you do that.”

“What are friends for?” Augusta gave her a hug. “Now, what do you really need?”

“A pair of slacks and some high heels. My feet are killing me in these loafers.”

“All right, I'll buy your shoes,” Augusta said. “How much are they?”

Linda picked up a pair. “Eight hundred dollars.”

Augusta cleared her throat. “Perhaps a tad less expensive.”

Linda put them back in the tissue-papered box. She held up the least expensive pair. “These aren't costly. They only have a kitten heel.”

Augusta grabbed them. “Great. I'll buy these, and I'll get you this nice sweater too.” She pulled it out of the pile of clothes. Gemma ended up buying her a pair of jeans, a bra, and some panties with her yogurt money. Linda thanked them profusely. She went into the dressing room and changed into her new duds, stuffing Augusta's jeans and bra and Gemma's shoes in her shopping bag. When she emerged she looked a little more pulled together.

“Let's get out of this store,” Linda said. “I have to think about what to do.”

They stepped outside and the sun made them squint, so they quickly put on their sunglasses and joined the lunchtime crowd walking briskly down the street. That's when a man in a suit tapped Gemma on the shoulder. She spun around.

“Excuse me, ma'am. Would you mind stepping back into the store?”

“
What?
Why?”

“We'd like to have a word with you.”

Bette, Linda, and Augusta talked over each other. “What's the matter? What's wrong? Who are you?”

“Store security.”

The blood drained from Gemma's face. “What on earth are you talking about? Are you suggesting I stole something?”

“I'm not suggesting anything ma'am. We'd like to speak to you and would prefer to do it in private, unless you want the whole street to hear me.”

“The whole of New York City can hear you for all I care. How dare you accuse me of something so horrible? I've never been so humiliated in my life.”

Linda pushed her way between them. “There's been a terrible mistake. We know this woman. She'd never steal anything in a million years.”

“If she doesn't come with me right this minute, I'll have no alternative but to call the police.”

“That's ridiculous. I've stolen nothing. Get away from me.”

The man put his hand on Gemma's arm. Linda took her bag and swung it at him. “Leave her alone.”

Suddenly they were all involved as they swarmed around the man demanding an explanation. A whistle got their attention. Two more security guards gestured for their co-worker. “Hurry up…not that fat one, the one running down the street.”

“What did he say?” Gemma shouted.

“Sorry, my mistake.” The guard ran up the street after his colleagues. “He called me fat.”

Her friends were equally indignant.

“I could sue him for slander. Santa Maria, what is it with me and stores? I never want to go in another one for the rest of my life. People call me gigantic and now I'm fat. Am I?”

They reassured her she wasn't.

“I've had five kids, for pity's sake. I can't help it if I gained a lot of weight with each and every one of them. They were big babies. Like that's my fault?”

Gemma continued her tirade down the street while her friends made sympathetic noises. Then she stopped. “I'm starting to hate this city, and on top of that, I'm getting a migraine.”

“Gemma, let's you and I go back to the hotel and you can have a lie down,” Augusta said, “and Linda and Bette can go get Bette's passport sorted. We can meet back in the room.”

“All right.” Linda looked at her watch. “We'll try not to be too long. I've got to figure out what to do about this money situation. Bloody Stuart.”

“Here, give me your bag,” Augusta said. Linda handed it over and they parted company on the corner of 50th Street and 5th Avenue.

Bette suggested she and Linda grab a coffee and a prune danish before they went to the consulate; Linda looked as if she needed some fortifying. So they sat in a crowded café and took a small table near the window. Linda sat on the chair and Bette scooted around to sit on the padded bench that ran down the length of one wall. She took out her cellphone. “I should call Ma and see if she's in a better state of mind.”

Linda dismissed her with her hand. “Don't bother. You'll never make yourself heard in this place.”

Bette nodded. “You're right. I'll wait until we get back to the hotel, but can you believe that stunt? Telling me she'd killed an intruder. The woman is insane. When I get that age, do me a favour and shoot me.”

“I will.”

Bette put the cellphone down beside her on top of her jacket, since she didn't have a purse.

“Bette, what am I going to do about this damn credit card? I was planning on using it all week. I have money in my chequing account but not enough to finance this entire trip the way I wanted to. This was supposed to be a great adventure, an extravagant treat courtesy of my rotten husband but so far it's been nothing but a disaster.”

Bette reached over and covered Linda's hand with her own. “Don't worry. So what if we don't spend quite so much on ourselves? You know us; a bottle of wine and some cheese and crackers make us happy. We'll make our own fun. We always have.”

Linda smiled. “I don't know what I'd do without you guys.”

At that moment, the two ladies sitting beside them left and were very quickly replaced with what looked like three punk rockers, one guy and two girls, all of them sporting numerous tattoos and piercings. Their hair was greasy and the girls wore black lipstick and nail polish. Linda and Bette signalled each other with eyebrow arches and quick nods of the head, code for “get a load of this bunch.” It was entertaining to watch them covertly. They spoke frantically into their cellphone, but they kept their hands over their mouths, so Bette and Linda couldn't quite make out what they were saying—which was just as well, since anything these three had to say probably wouldn't be worth listening to.

Bette and Linda quickly finished their coffee and Danish and were about to leave when the guy spilled his drink, not only all over himself, but also the table and Bette's clothes. Everyone jumped, and general chaos reigned for a moment or two.

“Geez, man, watch it,” he said to Bette.

“Excuse me? You spilled the drink.”

“Oh. Sorry, man.”

He grabbed a few napkins and wiped Bette's chest. She slapped his arm away. “I can take care of myself, thank you very much.”

“Hey, chill. You got the wrong vibe.”

One of the girls spoke up. “Whatcha expect? She's as old as a freakin' goat.”

Bette grabbed her coat and her belongings. “Yeah? Well, at least I don't smell like one.”

They left in a hurry, and when they got out on the street, the two friends looked at each other.

“Can anything else go wrong?” Linda said.

Bette threw her hands in the air. “I finally get felt up, but it's by a kid who looks like Marilyn Manson.”

Linda took Bette by the arm. “You nut. Let's go.”

Gemma and Augusta walked back to the hotel at a leisurely pace.

“I don't think I'm a big-city girl.” Gemma shifted her purse from one hand to the other.

“We live in Montreal. That's a city.”

“Yeah, but New York is New York. I think I'd get swallowed up, like no one would know I was ever here.”

Augusta smiled. “I love where I live. Tom bought that house for us.”

Gemma glanced at her. “Would you ever consider marrying again?”

“When the girls leave home, maybe.”

“Well, well. I never thought you'd say that.”

“I get very lonely, Gemma. It's hard. I always felt safest in Tom's arms. I'd like to feel that again. You're lucky to have Angelo, even if he is thoughtless at times. He loves you, and it must be lovely to lie next to that big man every night.”

“You know, Gussie, I thought I wanted to come here. I thought I was missing something in my life. But I don't think so. I'd have been just as happy to sit in Linda's family room and drink wine with you guys. I really can't wait to get home.”

Augusta laughed. “Me neither, but it'll be our little secret. I don't want Linda to think we don't appreciate everything she's trying to do for us. Of course, maybe we'd think differently about this trip if we were actually having a good time instead of living a never-ending soap opera.”

They were in perfect agreement as they walked along, but they stopped dead in their tracks when a young girl suddenly stood in front of them.

“You're Bette Weinberg's friends, aren't you?”

Gemma and Augusta stared at her.

“It's the young girl from the airport,” Gemma said. “How wonderful. Do you have Bette's purse? We have your bag with your baby's teddy bear in it. We kept it with us in case you got in touch.”

“Is that your little one in your sweater?” Augusta asked. “Where's your stroller, honey? You look exhausted.”

The girl put her hands out as if to stop the onslaught of questions. “Please, we don't have much time. You and your friends are in grave danger.”

Gemma and Augusta looked at each other and then back at the girl. “Is this a joke?” Gemma asked. “What's your name?”

“It's Gracie. Listen to me. When Bette took my bag by mistake, she took something that I smuggled over the border for…for…some people.”