Ms America and the Brouhaha on Broadway (28 page)

“You’re very dressed up tonight,” Kimberly observes.

I take in her styled hair, full makeup, and fluttery wine-colored top featuring a deep V neckline and shoulder cutouts. I also note as I sit down that she’s squeezed into skinny jeans and high-heeled boots. Isn’t it amazing? Again today for some mysterious reason, Kimberly opted against leggings, baggy top, makeup-free face, and tied-back hair.

“I had an event on the Upper East Side,” I tell her before I lean over to squeeze Jason’s leg. “I’ll tell you about it later,” I say to him in a low voice, sending Kimberly another signal.
Yes, I will be alone with him later. And you will not.

After we order—just a glass of chardonnay for me, but Corfu shrimp for Kimberly and a variety of seafood over roasted orzo for Jason—I quiz them about the shoot. Two Central Park locations worked out especially well, I’m told: the famous Bethesda Fountain and Belvedere Castle. But Kimberly is sure the shots from her Uncle Jerry’s Long Island home will be—

“—just as good, because nobody will be buying this calendar for the backgrounds, anyway.” She winks at Jason.

I send a hate bomb in her direction. Yes, sweetheart, I know that
you
know that my husband looks finger-lickin’ good undressed. And I have to think that’s at least partly why you want to spend every waking moment taking photographs of him in that state.

“You should see her uncle’s place,” Jason says. “It’s an amazing spread.”

Well, by now I know that Kimberly’s family has money, or at least Uncle Jerry does. Sadly, that cannot be said of the Przybyszewski or Kilborn clans. “You seem very close to your Uncle Jerry,” I say.

“I don’t know anyone who’s as close to their uncle as I am,” she tells me.

I’ve seen no sign of Uncle Jerry having a partner or children, so that might make Kimberly, and that darn sister of hers who lives in Charlotte, his sole heirs. “Family is so important,” I say. “And not just the family you’re born into but the family you marry into as well.” What made me say that? I’m not sure. I suspect Miss K is getting on my nerves.

Jason chuckles. “Too bad I didn’t think about that before we got married, babe.”

“Ha ha.” I give him a playful slap on the arm. At least it’s mostly playful. “You and my mother may be like oil and water, Jason, but you’ve always gotten along with Pop.”

“True. And both my parents loved you from the get-go, so we’re three for four. That’s not bad. And after all these years, I know how to handle my mother-in-law.” He tips back his head to swig his beer. “Anyway, just wait till you have one of those, Kimberly. Then you’ll know what we’re talking about.”

I must be a small person because I am really enjoying the stricken look on Kimberly’s face. And I didn’t even have to put it there!

She blinks a few times. “Well … actually …”

Jason frowns and leans closer to her. “What?”

She raises those gargantuan blue eyes of hers to his face. “I sort of do have a mother-in-law.”

I restrain myself from butting in, but I’m thinking:
You don’t
sort of
have a mother-in-law, missy. You
do
have a mother-in-law.
And I don’t think Jason could look more astounded if Kimberly had informed him she has relatives from Mars who will be joining us for dessert.

“You have a mother-in-law?” he says. “You’re
married
?”

She looks into her lap. “Sort of,” she mumbles.

“There’s no sort of being married,” Jason tells her, a statement with which I wholeheartedly agree. “You’re either married or you’re not.”

“Well, then, I guess I’m married. But I won’t be for long.”

“Oh, so you’re getting divorced?” That pops out of my mouth. And indeed that could explain why Kimberly’s husband was seeing Lisette. He was already one foot out the door of his marriage.

“I am getting divorced,” she tells Jason.

It’s interesting that she’s making this conversation between the two of them. It’s as if I’m not even sitting at this table.

Jason gestures to her left hand. “So that’s why you’re not wearing a wedding ring?”

“I took it off months ago. I even gave the engagement ring back.”

I bet I know why, too. Damian probably needed to cash it in.

Jason shakes his head. “I can’t believe that in all this time you never told me this. What’s up with that?”

“I didn’t want you to think about me differently,” she tells him.

Whoa. That’s rather a startling admission.

“Plus,” she goes on, “my marriage fell apart so fast that I was embarrassed.”

She looks at me, as if for support, but I’m going to disappoint her. She
should
be embarrassed.

“Kim Kardashian’s marriage to Kris Humphries lasted longer than mine,” she adds. “And hers was only seventy-two days.”

It is pretty amazing. That gargantuan wedding Kimberly had, with every conceivable bell and whistle, all for a union that lasted barely a few months. Maybe I’m way off-base, but I’ve often thought there’s a connection between nuptial extravaganzas and short marriages. Whether they’re made for TV, like Kim Kardashian’s, or not.

Though Jason is saying very little, I can tell this has disillusioned him about Kimberly. It does reflect a pretty monumental lapse of judgment on her part. All he can seem to do is shake his head. Then: “Well, I’m just surprised something this big never came out. That’s all.”

“Even on my wedding day I knew I shouldn’t go through with it.” Kimberly’s pink lips tremble and she swipes at her nose. Tears are coming but quick. “I knew it was a mistake, but I did it anyway. I didn’t know how to stop it. I’m sorry,” and she rises from the table to bolt for the ladies’ room.

If Kimberly were my friend, I’d go after her. As it is, she and I have already had one ladies-room run-in too many.

I’m not so heartless that I don’t feel bad for her. And I can well imagine how horrendously difficult it would have been to halt that matrimonial bandwagon the morning of the wedding. The money’s been spent; the guests are on their way; it would be easier just to go through with it and give the marriage a whirl. And who knows? Maybe you’ll surprise yourself and end up happy you did it.

Jason lifts his napkin from his lap and tosses it on the table. “When the server comes back, I’m gonna ask for the check.”

Fortunately, long before this I lost my craving for baklava. I search for something to say and end up mimicking Kimberly’s line. “I’m sorry, Jason.”

“I don’t care that she’s married,” he says. “I care that she didn’t tell me.”

“She was afraid it would make her look bad.”

“What makes her look bad isn’t that she’s married. It’s that she didn’t tell me she’s married. She and I have talked about you a million times.”

I wonder how I fared in those conversations. “Well, clearly your opinion of her matters to her. A lot.”

“Don’t pretend you’re on her side now. You’re enjoying this. Don’t pretend you’re not.” He manages to get a server’s attention and requests the check.

From that point on, I keep mum. Jason is upset and anything I say is likely to make it worse. When so much time passes that I’m thinking I’d better fetch Kimberly, she reappears, looking the worse for wear. Jason waits for her to sit down before he tells her he’s settled the bill.

“I should’ve gotten that,” she says.

“No problem. I’ll expense it. Thanks for a good day’s work today.”

It’s a perfectly nice compliment for Jason to pay Kimberly, but there’s little warmth in it. Staring into her lap, Kimberly nods without enthusiasm. I’m thinking it’ll be a miracle if we end the night without more waterworks.

Yet on the street we manage to part ways with no further drama. Back at the hotel, Jason jumps in the shower and I shed my clothes for the fluffy robe. I guess I am my mother’s daughter after all.

With Jason in the bathroom and the lamps down low, I sit by the window and take in the view. It may be late on Sunday night, but cars are zooming along West 44
th
Street as fast as they can. I guess nobody around here feels like they have extra time.

I take a deep breath. So. With dawn’s early light I turn 35. Now that I’m 34 it’s not such a big number, but at 17 when I married Jason it seemed impossibly old. How things change.

I wonder, as I always do this time of year, if my birth mother is thinking about me. When I was a child, I was never sure. Ever since I became a mother, I’ve felt pretty darn certain I was on her mind.
Thank you
, I tell her silently, as I always do on this day.
Thank you for the nine months, for the labor, for the choice you made.
It had to have been heart-rending. I can’t even imagine. Wondering what propelled her to make it occupied a lot of my young mind, but with time I set the question aside. As I do again as I prepare for bed.

The next morning the sun rises like it always does. I wake to find my husband at my side, propped up on an elbow smiling down at me. He is one handsome devil and that is only the most obvious of his charms.

“Happy birthday, babe,” he murmurs then bends lower to give me a kiss.

I kiss him back. Nice way to kick off the next thirty-five years. “I guess the world didn’t stop spinning.”

“Nope. Kept turning when I hit thirty-five, too.”

“We’re not that old, huh? We’re still pretty young, don’t you think?”

“We’re plenty young enough.”

I’m about to ask for what when I catch the twinkle in his eye. Yup, we’re plenty young enough.

I make it out of bed eventually. Room service arrives to spoil me even more.

“I know it’s not as good as if Rachel made it,” Jason says, fresh from the shower, shaved, and dressed. “But you can eat it in bed if you want.”

“That’s what I’d be doing at home.” I push away the thought that this is the first birthday I’m spending away from my daughter. Instead I lift the lid on my breakfast. “My favorite!” A Belgian waffle with blueberries, syrup, and whipped cream. Not to mention a pot of coffee and a glass of pineapple juice.

“The juice is to make you remember Oahu,” Jason tells me. “And winning your title.”

I give him a kiss. “You’re a pretty great guy, you know that?”

“Sometimes, anyway. Sorry about my bad mood last night.”

“Don’t be.”

He seems about to say something more but stops himself. That’s just as well. I don’t care to discuss Miss Drayson first thing on my birthday.

We don’t eat in bed but set up our meal on the table by the window. Believe it or not, it’s so sunny I’m tempted to wear sunglasses. “This looks like a great day for a photo shoot,” I tell Jason.

“I heard on the news it’s supposed to get into the low sixties. That’s like twenty-five degrees above normal for this time of year.”

I’ll take it. And I bet Kimberly will, too. Or should I call her Mrs. Paganos? Whichever, she and Jason are going to kick off the day’s work at Uncle Jerry’s studio reviewing the gallery of photos from the first two days of shooting.

“So you up for the usual tonight?” Jason asks me.

We have a tradition for my birthday. We started it when we were 17 and have never once missed it. “Absolutely!”

“I’ll make sure Kimberly and I wrap up early,” he says, and gives me a kiss.

You know what? I bet he will.

A little while later, after my second Walk of Shame in as many days, I’m back at the apartment. Trixie and Shanelle, both dressed in skinny jeans and flirty tops, barely let me take off my coat before sitting me down in front of a muffin with a birthday candle in it.

“I love your hair!” I tell Trixie. “That pixie cut looks fab on you.”

She gives her head a shake. “Cynthia did an excellent job.”

“I guess that nutcase can cut hair after all,” Shanelle says.

Trixie bats Shanelle’s arm. “Stop saying mean things about her! She wanted to be a beauty queen just like us and she probably would’ve been if her childhood hadn’t been so hard.”

Shanelle rolls her eyes. “And I love that gold dress on you, girl,” she tells me. “But just so you know, it doesn’t work for daytime.”

“Ha ha ha.” By this point I am
so
ready to take it off.

My BFFs sing me the birthday song but spare me the verse asking how old I am. Then: “Make a wish!” Trixie cries.

Where do I begin? I look at Trixie and Shanelle’s shining eyes then close my own.
First wish: to be able to share my birthday next year with all the people I love most.
I open my eyes and blow out the candle. Trixie and Shanelle clap madly.

Shanelle points at the muffin. “It’s chocolate chip. Today is no day to count calories.”

So true. Although that must resume very soon, along with working out.

We go to town on the muffin as Shanelle and Trixie brief me on last night’s preview. “The show is
so
much better,” Trixie says. “Overall it went pretty well.”