The Hot Flash Club Chills Out (13 page)

20

M
onday morning, Alice was awakened from a deep sleep in her Nantucket bed by a slightly off-key but extremely enthusiastic version of “Oh What a Beautiful Morning!” Shirley was in the bathroom, singing. Her lavender perfume drifted down the hall in a cloud. Alice lifted an arm from beneath the quilt, pulled back the curtain, and looked out the window. Rain thundered down, blown sideways by a fierce wind.

“Oh, what a beautiful morning?” Alice pulled her pillow over her head.

A few moments later, Shirley wafted into Alice’s bedroom. “Rise and shine! Today is the first day of our new health regimen!”

Alice didn’t even turn over. “I’m not walking in that rain.”

“Um, yes.” Shirley grabbed the covers and pulled them back. “You are.”

Alice cracked one eye open. Shirley was already dressed in one of her amazing purple yoga outfits, complete with striped leg warmers. “No one wears leg warmers anymore.”

“I do. Now get up.” Shirley plunked down on the bed, making it bounce.

“Go away.”

“Not going to happen.”

“I mean it, Shirley. I’m tired. I need more sleep.”

“No. You need to move your big fat butt. Then you won’t be so tired.”

Alice growled.

Shirley bounced.

“Stop that! You’re making me motion sick!”

“Then get out of bed!”

“Fine!” In one angry explosion of movement, Alice turned over, stuck her feet on the floor, and stood up.

“Now get dressed,” Shirley said bossily. “I’ll go down and make your health drink.”

“Oh joy.” Alice trudged off to the bathroom.

“Great!” Shirley practically skipped from the room.

How did Shirley manage to get away with it, Alice wondered as she dressed. Sometimes Alice felt like one of those rhinos on the National Geographic channel, with Shirley as the little bird who rode the rhino’s backs and pecked bugs from her hide. When Alice was an executive for TransContinent Insurance, no one
ever
treated Alice the way Shirley did. Alice was tall, with wide shoulders and an imposing physique. She carried herself like royalty, and through the years of executive management, she’d developed an expression that was, she knew, absolutely haughty—and that was when she was in a
good
mood. When she was angered, her expression could strike fear in her colleagues’ hearts. She could even back Gideon off if she got in one of her worst tempers.

But Shirley had somehow developed a protective barrier—no, it was more than that. Shirley actually bossed Alice around. She was like a border collie, agitating, barking, leaping, herding Alice where she wanted her to go.

Now Alice went where Shirley ordered. She tromped downstairs in her velour track suit and sneakers, tossed down the health drink Shirley had made—it didn’t taste half-bad!—pulled on her raincoat and hat, and followed Shirley out the door to begin their morning walk.

“We’re not going to walk into town,” Shirley told her. “You’ll want to look in the windows, and that would slow us down. We’ve got to keep up the pace. Best watch where you’re walking—these brick sidewalks are so uneven, it’s easy to trip.”

“I can’t look up anyway,” Alice groused. “Not with the rain blowing in my face.”

“It will be at our backs on the way home,” Shirley assured her.

“You are such a Girl Scout.”

“Look at that door knocker!” Shirley pointed across the street. “It’s shaped like a whale’s tail! Oh, and aren’t those flowers in that window box adorable!”

“Shirley, I’m walking,” Alice muttered. “Don’t expect me to
enthuse
as well.”

But Shirley couldn’t stop exclaiming over everything, the picket fences, the slate walks through curved arbors into dollhouse gardens, the hurricane lamps and lacy curtains and blue glass bottles showing through the windows of the houses they passed. It was like taking a walk with a kindergartener. Alice thought she should hold Shirley’s hand when they crossed the street.

Yet, in her deepest heart, Alice trusted Shirley. As much as she hated it, and Alice
really
hated it, she knew she had to make some changes if she was going to stay healthy. Shirley knew what Alice needed to do, and for whatever bizarre reason, Shirley was capable of irritating Alice into action. Shirley had created a plan of exercise and diet for Alice. She’d also taken on the job of personal trainer. She was going to weigh Alice, measure her, and whenever possible, supervise her.

The only person Alice ever allowed to know her weight was her doctor, during her annual physical exam. She commiserated with Polly and Faye about extra weight and sagging body parts, but it was only Shirley with whom she felt comfortable discussing the real nitty-gritty. Perhaps that was because Alice had met Shirley when Shirley was in her poor, dithering, befuddled phase, working as a masseuse and only dreaming of larger things. Even though Shirley was the most different from Alice of all the women in the Hot Flash Club, she was also the one Alice felt closest to. Go figure.

They plowed along Orange Street, past the Nantucket Bakery—where Alice cast a longing eye at the door—then turned back, weaving in and out along the narrow one-way streets, until they came out where Pleasant Street met Main, near the Hadwen House, which, Shirley informed her, they were going to visit later.

“Swing your arms as you walk!” Shirley yelled over the roar of the wind. “It will help your heart.”

Alice obeyed. She knew she needed Shirley’s optimistic attitude to balance out her own more realistic nature. In return, she knew Shirley counted on Alice’s opinion for all her major decisions. Shirley often hated Alice’s verdicts, especially when it came to men, but they both knew that Alice’s instincts about Shirley’s love life were always on the money. Just as Alice knew Shirley’s concerns about Alice’s health were valid.

So here they were, stomping through the puddles down the street together. Alice felt like Shrek with Bambi.

Back at the house, they stripped off their wet gear, pulled on dry clothes, and met in the kitchen for breakfast. Shirley’s granola tasted like the crumbs from the bottom of a hamster’s cage, which made the fruit and coffee taste even better.

Then Alice went back to bed.

That afternoon, they toured the Hadwen House and the library. They browsed through a few boutiques, attended a noon organ concert, and in the evening, after a healthy meal of Shirley’s homemade vegetable soup, they went to a little theater production of a series of one-act comedies.

One afternoon they went through the parlors and the dining room, snapping shots of the various tables, sideboards, and shelves laden with heirlooms and knickknacks. Alice had the photographs developed, labeled them according to room, and put them in a folder. She enjoyed the little task. She was just a little bit bored, although she’d never say so to Shirley. She missed spending time with her granddaughter. She missed sharing an evening drink with Gideon—Shirley insisted she didn’t mind if Alice had a drink, but since Shirley was in AA, Alice refrained. She missed the noise and clamor of Boston. She missed her bridge group. She missed her television most of all, although she’d never tell anyone that. There was a TV in the back parlor, but so far no one else had wanted to turn it on. She didn’t want to be the TV addict, so she hadn’t watched it yet. But she was glad to know it was there.

21

O
f the many habits Faye treasured, one of the most pleasurable was wandering around her backyard, still in her kimono, very early in the morning, when the dew still beaded the grass. She carried her mug of hazelnut cinnamon coffee with her, sipping it as she gazed at the perennial beds, idly noting what needed weeding or cutting back. The lilies of the valley were in bloom, their white bells reminding her of the little melody she’d learned so long ago in Girl Scouts. Kneeling, she sang softly.

“White coral bells, along a slender stalk, lilies of the valley deck my garden walk. Oh, don’t you wish that you could hear them ring? That will happen only when the fairies sing.”

Their troop had learned to sing in rounds, and now in her memory all the sweet voices echoed. For a moment she was suffused with joy as she relived the moment when she was innocent, when she believed in fairies, when she was in awe of their leader, when the achievement of a badge to sew on her green uniform had been a source of enormous pride.

She touched the tip of a dark green leaf, then stood up. Her knees cracked, snapping her right back into the present. These days she often thought of her childhood or adolescent years, or her years as a young wife and mother. The memories arrived intact, a kind of pleasant daydream. Entire blocks of time would disappear—she’d find she’d been staring at the same page of a book as if it were a slide show. Was this a sign of aging?
Another
sign of aging? Should she worry about this? As an artist, she had learned to trust the wanderings of her mind. She wanted to trust the enticements of fate. After all, it was chance that had caused her to meet her wonderful Hot Flash friends, and chance again that sent her to Nantucket, where she’d experienced an almost forgotten sensation—a lust to paint, a craving to be there, painting.

She hugged herself, smiling. What a luxurious summer this was going to be, divided between her garden and Nantucket!

From inside the house came the trilling of her phone. Oh-oh, she thought. That was Aubrey, no doubt. She sighed as she went back inside. What were the final words of the Girl Scout pledge?

I promise to help other people every day, especially those at home.

It was late morning when Faye let herself into Aubrey’s condo, using the key he’d given her earlier in the month.

“Hello!” she called.

A muffled sound came from the bedroom.

As she made her way to Aubrey, she noticed that the place was clean—he had a housekeeper come three times a week—but it smelled slightly dusty, as if the windows hadn’t been opened all week.

She found her beau lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, his right arm held tight against his chest in a sling. His covers were rumpled, the curtains were closed against the sunny day, the television was on, and he held the remote in his left hand.

In the week since she’d last seen him, he hadn’t shaved once.

“Hello, darling!” She bent over and planted a big kiss on his forehead. “I like the edgy, urban beard! Very sexy.” With a sniff, she noticed he hadn’t bathed for a while, either. “How are you?”

“Not so good.” For the first time since she’d met him, Aubrey’s voice held a slight quaver of age.

“Poor baby.” Faye sank down on the bed next to him. “Does your arm hurt?”

“Yes, my arm hurts. My whole body aches.” He shifted on his pillows, groaning just a little. “I’m not sleeping well.”

Faye looked around the room. “Have you made yourself some breakfast yet?”

Aubrey shook his head. “It’s too difficult, with only one hand.”

“Well, then!” Faye said briskly. “We’ll get some coffee into you. And what would you like for breakfast? Some nice scrambled eggs?”

Aubrey gave her a brave sad smile, like a Dickensian orphan. “That would be nice. I’m awfully hungry. Carolyn brought me some lunch yesterday, but I didn’t really have dinner last night.”

This was a needy, invalid side of Aubrey that Faye hadn’t seen before. She didn’t much like it. Still, she remembered how her husband Jack had turned even a common cold into a Camille-on-her-deathbed performance. “That was silly of you. You can still walk. You still have the use of your left hand. Why don’t you come into the kitchen with me now? I’ll tell you all about Nantucket while I cook.”

“I’d rather stay here,” Aubrey pouted. “It hurts to move.”

“Aubrey,” Faye said bossily. “If you don’t move, you’re going to get weak.”

“Maybe after breakfast,” Aubrey conceded.

“Fine.” Faye went off to the kitchen, feeling irritated and guilty. She’d planned to spend last week on Nantucket, and she’d refused to change her plans, so Aubrey had been brought home from his operation by his daughter Carolyn, who had stocked his refrigerator with food and his bedside table with books. His housekeeper had come in daily to check on him, and he had a phone next to him, and he had plenty of friends. Still, she told herself as she whisked cream into the eggs, just the way Aubrey liked them, most of his friends were more social than intimate. And Aubrey had always been admired for his elegance, his dapper appearance. He wouldn’t want just anyone to see him weak and convalescing. Faye would try to think of this as a kind of honor, a new step in intimacy between them.

She set a silver tray with a small pot of hot coffee, the sugar bowl and creamer, a plate of eggs and toast, a tall glass of orange juice, silverware, and a cloth napkin. When she picked the whole thing up, it was so heavy she nearly dropped it. Her painting arm twinged dangerously. This had to be the last meal she brought him in bed!

Aubrey was still slumped in place when she returned, so she set the tray on a table and plumped up several pillows, positioning them behind his back. With much ado, he scooted up, and she set the tray on his legs.

“I’m going to need you to buy me a bed tray,” Aubrey murmured as his tray wobbled on his legs. “To support my food.”

“No, you’re not,” Faye responded. “Because you’re not going to get into the habit of eating in bed.” She pulled a chair close to him and lifted a mug of coffee she’d made for herself off the tray. “Now let me tell you about Nantucket!”

“I need cayenne pepper,” Aubrey said querulously. “I can’t eat my eggs without cayenne pepper.”

“Right. I’ll get it.” Faye rushed off to the kitchen. Returning, she set it on his tray, then sat down again.

“Is this cream in the pitcher?” Aubrey asked, peering into the silver vessel. “I don’t like cream in my coffee. I prefer two percent.”

“But Aubrey, you like cream in your eggs,” Faye reminded him.

“Yes, in my eggs, but not in my coffee.” He gazed helplessly at Faye.

Faye carried the pitcher back to the kitchen and brought back low fat milk.

“Thank you,” Aubrey said. “I’m sorry to put you to so much trouble.”

“It’s no trouble at all, you know that,” Faye told him, settling into her chair. She raised her coffee mug to her lips.

“Oh, am I out of strawberry jam?” Aubrey wondered.

“I don’t know. Don’t you like blueberry?”

“I’d rather have strawberry.” Once again Aubrey made his starving orphan face.

Faye got the strawberry jam.

Finally Aubrey settled down to eat. Faye walked around his bedroom, pulling the curtains and opening the windows to the fresh spring air.

“Don’t open the windows,” Aubrey insisted. “I’ll get chilled.”

“No,” Faye told him. “You won’t get chilled. Because when you’re through with breakfast, you’re getting dressed and coming to my house.”

Aubrey gave a small, satisfied smile.