Hit & Mrs. (5 page)

“Then stop shopping where Nonna shops,” Sophia said. “That's why you look sixty.”

Gemma's mouth dropped open. “You think I look sixty?”

“Well, fifty-five, then.”

Gemma fell back on the sofa. “
Mamma mia
. Get me the phone, Anna.”

Anna hopped up and ran out of the room, returning lickety-split on her spindly legs. Gemma punched in Augusta's phone number.

“Hello?”

“Emergency meeting tonight. You and me at the mall.”

Four hours later, Gemma was stuck inside a pricey outfit with her hands over her head. Augusta laughed so hard she couldn't breathe.

“Will you stop that and help me outta this thing?”

Augusta stayed seated. “I can't get up. If I do, I'll pee my pants.”

A muffled cry of frustration came from underneath the black jersey knit covering Gemma's face. “If Bette were here, she'd help me.”

“Good idea, I have to call her. This is priceless.”

“Augusta…”

Augusta finally struggled to her feet. “All right, all right, bend down a little and I'll grab the top.”

Gemma's hands flapped helplessly while Augusta grabbed the material and gave a big yank. The rip was heard throughout the back of the store. The two of them held their hands over their mouths so they wouldn't have hysterics, but it was a lost cause. They both snorted when a prissy voice called out from the other side of the door.

“Are you ladies having any trouble?”

Gemma looked in the mirror at her sticking up hair and sweaty red face. “No. No trouble. Thanks.”

“This is a store of repute. We won't have it sullied with unsavoury behaviour.”

Gemma blinked at Augusta. “What did she say?”

“Don't, Gem…”

Gemma threw the door open and stood there in her bra and panty girdle, her round rolls bulging out of both. She confronted the stick figure in a suit. “What did you say?

“Ah…I…”

Gemma planted her hands on her hips. “That my friend and I have
sullied
your establishment?”

“I heard a rip.”

Gemma reached over and grabbed the dress from Augusta's hand. “If your clothes were bigger than a size two, maybe that wouldn't happen.”

The snob put her nose in the air. “We don't carry gigantic sizes.”

Gemma turned and looked at Augusta. Augusta turned and looked at the snob. “I think you'd better run.”

Two days before they left, the Book Bags gathered for their regularly scheduled meeting, once again held at Linda's since her house was empty. They didn't discuss the book on their May roster, Joanna Trollope's latest novel. They sat around the kitchen table instead with their maps, brochures, travel guides, pamphlets, and subway routes.

By some unspoken agreement, Linda was the leader. Probably because she was booking as many things as she could over the Internet, before their journey even began. It gave her something to do. A woman can only scrub so many floors in the run of a day. And she was paying for everything, after all. She'd paid dearly.

“Right,” she said. “Here's the agenda.”

“We have an agenda?” Bette said. “That sounds official. I thought this was supposed to be fun.”

“It will be fun.” Linda fanned out all her paper. “But New York is a big city. You have to know where you're going, or at least have a vague idea of where everything is. Otherwise, we'll go around in circles, and we don't have that kind of time.”

“You walk five miles a day,” Gemma said. “I can't keep up that pace, and I certainly don't want to see your swinging ass a mile ahead of me the whole time.”

Augusta poured club soda into everyone's glasses. “Look, we all know what'll happen. Bette and Linda will spin like tops around the whole city and you and I, Gemma, will mosey along. We don't have to do the same thing. We'll see
Mamma Mia
together and eat our meals together, but other than that, let's go where we want. My ideal time is to browse in a museum. I really don't care if I go to Bloomingdale's.”

“Well, I'll come with you, then,” Gemma huffed. “I'm never shopping again.”

Augusta passed the glasses to her friends' outstretched hands. “Which is just as well since you're banned for life from Chez Simone's.”

“She's banned for life?” Bette asked. “What happened?”

“You don't want to know.”

“Can we get back to this, please?” Linda said. “Now, we leave on Monday evening. Since we don't get in until after 7:30, by the time we get a taxi and drive to the Waldorf, it'll be too late to do anything but settle in for the night. Just as well, since we want to get cracking early the next morning.”

Bette rubbed her hands together. “I can't wait. Four nights without the snoring dynamic duo.”

“Tuesday and Wednesday will be our free days. We'll see all the sights, like the Empire State Building, Radio City Music Hall, the Statue of Liberty, Times Square, that sort of thing. Thursday night we have our tickets for
Mamma Mia
. I booked third-row centre seats. We'll have a late meal afterward and then head back to the hotel. We leave Friday morning. How does that sound?”

“It actually sounds like a long time, now that you say it,” Augusta said. “I thought it was four days, travel included?”

“It's four nights. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday. You'll be back home in time to take the girls to the movies on Friday night. An extra day doesn't make that much of a difference, surely?”

“I guess not. I'll buy them something for every night I'm gone.”

“That will be hard to do if you don't want to go shopping,” Bette pointed out.

“I'm sure they have gift shops in museums.”

“I can see their faces now,” Gemma said. “‘Thanks for the Monet fridge magnet, Mom.'”

They laughed together and raised their glasses. “Look out, New York. Here we come.”

They agreed to meet at the ticket counter at the airport. Linda and Augusta were taking taxis over, but Gemma told Bette that Angelo would drive the two of them there. Might as well save a few bucks.

It took Bette ages to pack; her mother kept getting in the way. She had to go around the wheelchair every time she wanted to put something from her closet into the open suitcase on the bed. She finally gave up and tackled the items in her bureau instead.

“What's that? Is that a black bra?”

“So what if it is?”

“Since when do you need a black bra?”

“What business is it of yours?” Bette hid the bra further down in the suitcase.

“What do you get up to in that fancy car of yours? Are you a hussy?”

Bette sat on the end of the bed. “Repeat that one more time. I don't believe what I just heard.”

“A hussy. One of those women who wiggle around men.”

“You are clinically insane.”

“
What? I can't ask my daughter a simple question?”

Bette jumped up and went around the wheelchair to go and look in the mirror. She pointed at herself. “Mom, look at me. I'm short, I'm pudgy, I've got curly red hair, I live with my parents, I work in a bakery, and I stutter in front of men. Do you honestly think I'm a catch? Do you honestly think that every time I drive away I'm meeting men so I can wiggle around them?”

“Stranger things have happened,” her mother shrugged.

“Not that strange.” Bette looked around. “You're making me lose my concentration. Where was I?”

“You were stuffing a black bra in your suitcase. What's wrong with the ones your cousin Bernice gives you?”

“Bernice is a stick. She wears a 32A. Besides, I think it's disgusting that she gives me her castoffs.”

“Bernice has no social life either. It's not like her bra is being fondled by strange men. They're practically new.”

Bette grabbed her own boobs. “I wear a 38DD. How am I supposed to breathe if I wear hers?”

“You younger generation are way too picky. I suppose you've got black panties in there as well?”

“Can you get her outta here?” Bette yelled to her father in the living room.

“I've been trying to get her out of here for fifty-nine years. It hasn't worked yet.”

Bette pointed at the bedroom door. “I want you to leave my room this minute. I have to get ready.”

“Fine.” Ida reversed back into the hallway. “Treat me like dirt.”

Bette shut the door in her face.

The doorbell rang and Ida drove down the hall and through the kitchen. She stopped at the top of the steep narrow stairs that led to their apartment. “Come in.”

Gemma opened the door and looked up. “Hi, Mrs. Weinberg. Is Bette ready to go?”

“Not yet, she's too busy packing her hoochie-mama underwear.”

Gemma struggled to keep a straight face as she climbed the stairs. When she got to the top, Ida stared at her accusingly.

“You don't need to worry about Bette, Mrs. Weinberg. We'll take good care of her.”

“I'm so relieved the Three Stooges are accompanying my daughter to Sin City.”

Gemma plastered on a smile. Ida didn't stop staring at her. Finally, Gemma looked at her watch. “Perhaps you could tell Bette I'm here.”

Ida put her chair in reverse and continued to stare at Gemma as she rolled back down the hall. She stopped in front of Bette's door.

“Gemma's here. Hurry up or you'll miss your stupid plane.”

Bette opened the door. “I'm coming, I'm coming.”

Ida wheeled toward Gemma again as Bette trailed behind with her suitcase. She and Gemma made excited faces at each other.

“So,” Ida said to Gemma. “What happens if you get lost?”

“What makes you think we'll get lost?”

“You two couldn't find your way out of a paper bag.”

“Mrs. Weinberg, please don't worry. We'll make sure Bette gets home safely.”

Ida gave her famous shrug. “What, me worry? I never worry.”

They continued to look at each other.

“What if you get mugged?”

“Why would we get mugged?”

“You two got mugged on Royal Avenue, didn't you?”

“Ma, stop. That was in sixth grade and it involved a Popsicle and a package of spearmint gum.” She stopped in the doorway to the living room. “See ya, Pop.”

Pop coughed and waved. Bette continued up the hall.

Izzy finally got his breath. “Wait.” He came out of the living room with his cigarette between his lips and fumbled around in his pocket. He took out an old wallet that was clipped to his belt by a chain. “Here. Take a few dollars. In case you get raped.” He passed her the folded up money with his nicotine-stained fingers.

“For pity's sake, I'll be sure to have a good time being raped, mugged, and lost in New York.”

“Listen to your father.”

“Okay. Thank you, Pop.” She took the money and gave him a quick kiss. He blew smoke in her face.

Gemma reached for Bette's suitcase. “Let me get that. I'll take it downstairs. Goodbye, Mr. and Mrs. Weinberg. We'll call you tonight and let you know the room number where we're staying.”

“Staying, schmaying. Don't bother. I'll be dead.”

Gemma lugged the suitcase downstairs. Bette looked at her mother.

“You won't be dead. I'll bring you back a present.”

“Present, schmesent. Don't bother. I'll be dead.”

Bette rolled her eyes and sighed. “Goodbye, Ma.” She turned to go.

“What? You give your father a kiss and I get the brush off?”

“Pop gave me money. You said you'd be dead. There's a big difference. Look, I gotta go.” She leaned down and kissed the top of her mother's head.

Her mother grabbed her around the neck for a moment, so hard Bette nearly toppled over, and then she pushed her away. “Go.”

Bette rushed down the stairs and hurried into the back of Angelo's car. Gemma turned around in the front seat. “How on earth do you survive?”

Bette let out a long, relieved sigh. “Valium.”

“May I ask how your mother gets down those stairs in a wheelchair?”

“She hasn't been outside since 1990.”

“How much did your father give you?”

Bette opened her fist, counted the bills and then looked at Gemma in amazement. “There's six hundred dollars here.”

“Don't think
you're
getting six hundred bucks,” Angelo told his wife as he manoeuvred through traffic. “I don't even have sixty bucks.”

Gemma tweaked his cheek. “Poor Angelo. Too bad you don't eat yogurt.”

Angelo gave her a look. “Huh?”

Before they knew it, they pulled up to the terminal at Montréal– Trudeau Airport. People everywhere piled out of cars, hauled luggage, and hugged their loved ones. Car horns honked as people jostled into and out of the few parking spaces by doors. A parking attendant yelled or whistled his disapproval and made grand hand gestures at people who didn't pay any attention.

Bette and Gemma jumped out of the car and traffic backed up behind them. Angelo helped them with the bags, but the attendant shouted at him to get moving.

“
Vaffanculo
,” Angelo shouted back.

“Angelo!”

“What? The guy's a
bastardo
.” He closed the trunk and stood awkwardly by Gemma. Bette gave them some privacy.

He looked lost. “So, have a good time.”

Gemma grabbed his upper arms and shook him. “Hey, you'll be fine. Your mama will see to that. Take care of the kids. Make sure Sophia brings that new boy right to the door before they go to the movies. Put the fear of God in him. And tell Anna to remember to feed the fish and get Mario…”

He grabbed her and hugged her tight. “Come back.”

Gemma was shocked. She pulled away and put her hands on his cheeks. “What do you mean? Of course I'll come back. I'll tell Donald Trump to get another woman. This one's taken.”