The Hot Flash Club Chills Out (22 page)

“Polly, hon, that’s not possible. I distinctly remember locking the door when we left, and I’m one hundred percent certain I had to use my key to get in just now.”

“Right. Still…” Polly walked over and tested the back door. “This is locked, too.” She put her hands on her hips as she scanned the kitchen. “When Alice took those photos, she forgot to photograph the kitchen. I’ll get a camera and do the kitchen tomorrow.”

“Good idea,” Faye said. “And you know what? Let’s have copies made of all the pictures, and we’ll put a copy on each table and bureau, so that if anyone
is
sneaking in and stealing stuff,
they
’ll know
we
know, and furthermore, that we have a record of it.”

Polly considered this. “That might work as a preventative measure….”

Faye could tell Polly was uncomfortable. “For now, let’s look through the house, see if anything else is missing.”

“Or if someone’s here,” Polly whispered.

Faye humored her. She opened a cupboard and took out a flashlight. “For closets.”

“Should I take some kind of weapon?” Polly asked. “A knife, maybe?”

Faye’s laughter had a bit of hysteria in it. “Polly, I just can’t imagine you stabbing someone, not even a burglar hiding in a closet!”

“You’re right, I probably couldn’t. But I am going to take a fireplace poker!”

Together the two women went through the house, dining room first, so Polly could grab a poker. Since there were about one zillion objects, they couldn’t notice any single thing missing. Polly was more concerned about someone being in the house, so they looked through all the closets, behind all the curtains, and beneath the various sofas. As they crept up the stairs to the second floor, Polly gripped Faye’s hand for comfort. They flicked on all the lights as they went—not an easy task, because none of the rooms had overhead lights with wall switches just inside the door. They had to walk through the room to the bedside table or the bureau to turn on a table lamp. But a thorough check, under every bed, in every corner of every closet, including the linen closet, revealed no signs of intruders. The door to the third floor was locked.

“Maybe someone got in the first-floor window,” Polly suggested.

“I don’t think so,” Faye argued sensibly as they went through the first floor one more time. “Remember, the windows are a good twelve feet from the ground. We have to climb ten steps or so to get to the front door. Someone would have to put a ladder or stand on a stool at least, to get in through the windows.”

Polly nodded. “You’re right. I must be mistaken.” She returned the poker to the fireplace equipment.

In the kitchen, Faye put the flashlight back in the drawer.

Polly stared up at the shelf. “One good thing. Whoever is stealing stuff doesn’t seem violent.”

“True.” Faye yawned. “I’m beat, and I want to get up early to paint.”

“I’m ready to go up, too.”

They went through the house together, turning off the lights. They climbed the stairs and called out to one another as they got ready for bed. Finally they settled in for the night in their separate bedrooms. Faye turned off her light immediately. Polly plumped up her pillows and tried to focus on a book, but she couldn’t stop straining to hear an unusual sound and her thoughts kept wandering off the sentence on the page.

Finally she relaxed. After reading a few pages, she was drowsy. She took off her glasses, folded them and set them on the bedside table, turned off the lamp, and snuggled down beneath the silky cotton sheet, letting the book fall next to her on the bed.

At least she thought that was what she did. She was surprised, when she woke the next morning, to find her book placed neatly on the table, bookmark inserted between the pages. When she told Faye about this little oddity, Faye assured her she had probably moved the book herself during the night. After all, people did a lot of odd things while they were sleeping.

32

I
t was the first weekend after the Fourth of July, and Marilyn was trying very hard not to feel sorry for herself. Alice and Shirley had left Friday night for Nantucket. Now, Saturday morning, they were probably sitting around the kitchen table with Polly and Faye, discussing, complaining, planning, laughing. Marilyn missed them terribly. She needed them. She felt she missed and needed them more than she missed and needed Ian. Only at this age in her life was she coming to realize how much the happiness of her relationship with the man she loved depended, at least in part, on how much time she got to spend with her friends. The scientific part of her brain wondered whether this concept had ever been tested and charted. Was it possible to come up with a ratio—thirty minutes of conversation a week with friends equals a thirty percent improvement in personal affairs? Because it wasn’t just Ian for whom she felt more fondness after she’d had a good session with the Hot Flash Club. She also had more patience for her mother and for Angus and his lovable, uncivilized dog.

Ian was still in Scotland. He’d been there ten days now, and still had no plans to come home. Fiona’s children had come for the funeral, but returned to their busy lives and jobs. Ian had stayed behind to help Fiona pack up Tam’s belongings and help her think about her future. Marilyn didn’t begrudge him his time away; how could she, when she valued her time with
her
friends so highly?

Still, she kept thinking of a silly joke someone had told her recently.
What is a honeymoon sandwich? Lettuce alone.
Now all the trips she and Ian had made back and forth between Boston and Edinburgh seemed imbued with radiance and romance. They’d had so little time together, they’d spent it making love, talking, constantly focused on one another. Now when they were living together, it seemed they had less time together than when they were living apart.

Oh well, she couldn’t change things, not this weekend. This weekend Ian was in Scotland, her friends were on Nantucket, Angus and Darwin were in the attic, and her mother and Marie were in the garden suite. Marilyn poured herself another cup of coffee and went down for a morning chat with her mother.

Ruth sat in her armchair, her kitten curled on her lap. She wore a rainbow-colored housecoat and pink flip-flops. She was watching television, but when Marilyn entered, Ruth aimed the remote at the TV and clicked it off.

“Good morning, darling!” Ruth held up her arms for a kiss.

“Morning, Mom.” Marilyn bent to embrace her mother. She gave Marie a little pat. The kitten stretched and rolled on her side, showing off her fat belly. “What are you up to this morning?”

“I was listening to PBS. They were performing Andrew Lloyd Wright’s music. Such marvelous tunes!”

Marilyn ignored her mother’s malapropism as she settled on the sofa across from Ruth. “You know, we could buy you a little CD player and some of his CD’s. Or even check one out at the library. Then you could play music down here whenever you wanted.”

Ruth frowned. “I’m not sure I could figure out how to operate one of those new machines.”

“Mom. You’re a scientist. You’re a teacher. You can learn how to push a couple of buttons.”

“I suppose.” Ruth didn’t look entirely convinced.

“Are you up for a little jaunt this morning? We could go to the library and the pharmacy. We could go out for lunch.”

“I’d like that, dear.” Ruth stroked the kitten with her age-spotted, veiny hand. “Have you heard from Ian?”

“Not today.” Marilyn hated the melancholy in her voice. “But he’ll either e-mail or call. Anyway, let’s go out, okay?”

“Give me about an hour to get ready. I’ve had breakfast, but I want to shower and dress.”

Marilyn chewed her thumbnail. “Do you suppose I should ask Angus to go with us?”

“If you want to. I can’t imagine the boy would enjoy being with a doddering old crone like me, going to the library and the pharmacy. You know, Marilyn, Angus really needs to make some friends his own age.”

“I know he does. But how can that happen when he’s always in his room?” She rose. “I’m going to dress, then I’ll see if I can ‘encourage’ Angus to take his dog out, and I’ll ask him if he wants to go with us.” Marilyn felt like her entire body was weighted with chains as she dragged herself across the room.

“Marilyn?” Ruth said in a sprightly tone.

Marilyn turned. “Yes?”

“What do you see when the Pillsbury Doughboy bends over?”

Marilyn grinned. “I don’t know. What?”

“Doughnuts.”

Marilyn laughed. “You guys are pretty saucy down at that Senior Citizens Center!”

She was smiling as she climbed the stairs.
Look on the bright side,
she admonished herself. The electrician had finally come and the central air was working. The plumber had come and the toilet was working. Ian would be home soon. She’d probably be able to go to Nantucket next weekend.

As she set her foot on the first step to the third floor, she heard Darwin’s excited yip and by the time she reached Angus’s door, Darwin was in full-scale scratch and bark mode. The miracle was that Angus seemed able to sleep through the puppy’s noise. Marilyn pounded on the door.

Finally the knob turned. Marilyn steadied herself for the onslaught as Darwin threw himself at her, exuberantly boinging up and down, as if he were on an invisible pogo stick, as he tried to get to her face to give her a kiss with his long pink tongue.

Angus was still wearing the clothes he wore last night—jeans and a T-shirt.

“Time to take the dog out, Angus,” Marilyn told him. She learned that simple commands were the most efficient. “Darwin needs to pee. You’ve got to give him a little walk.”

Angus scratched the top of his balding head. He yawned, exhaling noxious fumes into the air. Marilyn took a step back. As she watched, Angus looked around him, puzzled.

“You don’t need your shoes,” Marilyn told him. “You’ll be fine barefoot. It’s hot out, and you don’t have to walk far.”

Slouching, Angus found the leash, fastened it on Darwin’s collar, and followed the eager puppy down to the front door. There, Marilyn handed Angus a plastic bag. “You know the drill. Any doggie poo has to be picked up.” How many times had she told Angus this? Twenty? Thirty? But if she didn’t remind him, he’d ignore the dog’s droppings, and the angry glances of people passing on the street didn’t faze him—he didn’t even notice them.

“And Angus, I’m taking Ruth out on a little excursion this morning. We’re going to the library and the pharmacy. Maybe out to lunch. We’d love to have you join us if you’d like.”

Angus flicked a shy look at Marilyn. “Um.”

Okay, Marilyn thought, I’ve given him too many decisions. “Walk your dog first, Angus. We can talk about lunch when you get back.” As an added incentive, she said, “I’ll have a fresh cup of coffee waiting for you when you get back.”

Angus shuffled off down the sidewalk, his puppy straining at the leash.

Marilyn watched from the kitchen window. Angus wouldn’t be outside long, not even on a sunny day like today. He didn’t seem comfortable anywhere except in front of a computer. Sure enough, he returned within five minutes. Marilyn handed him a mug and repeated her invitation.

“Um, I think I’ll stay here. I’ve got work to do.”

“Fine, but you know you’ll need to take Darwin out for a long walk today. He’s a puppy, he needs lots of exercise. Perhaps later this afternoon I can drive the two of you to a park.”

Angus looked miserable at the prospect, but nodded his head dutifully. “Perhaps.”

As Angus and his dog headed back up the stairs, Marilyn went into her bedroom to dress for the day—an easy task. She wore khaki shorts, a blue T-shirt, and sandals. Summer was so blissfully easy! She pulled her long hair into a loose tail to let air flow against the back of her neck as she went into her study.

She had an e-mail from Ian!

Perching on the edge of her chair, she opened it.

Marilyn, my love, I miss you. I’ll phone you later, around four or five your time, but the thing is, I’d like to bring Fiona over to the States with me for a while. She’s lost without Tam. This is such a terrible terrible tragedy. Whenever she walks from one room to another, she breaks into tears—everything reminds her of Tam. She’s so grief-stricken she can’t make a single decision. She doesn’t know whether to give Tam’s clothes and books away or keep them, whether to sell the house, where she would move if she did sell, and so on. She’s just overloaded. Doesn’t the sofa in the living room open into a bed? If she stayed with us for a while, maybe a complete change of scenery would help her regroup. I think it might. I’ll ask her today and let you know when I call tonight. This makes me realize each moment how fortunate I am to have you in my life.

Love, Ian

33

O
n this hot Tuesday afternoon, Elroy Morris, the building and grounds manager of The Haven, was presenting his report. The words, cast in his high-pitched, nasal voice, circled Shirley’s ears with the persistence of a starving mosquito. Elroy looked like a beaver. He wore brown coveralls and had buck teeth, shaggy brown hair on his head, face, and all over his arms, and a slow, shuffling way of moving.

Shirley tried to pay attention, but it was hard. Her thoughts kept drifting back to Nantucket. Right now she could be walking barefoot on the beach, letting the breeze cool her skin and the salt air work its magical aromatherapy. Instead, she was here at work, trying to comprehend and organize a bunch of essential but mind-numbing information to be presented next week at the monthly meeting of the board of directors of The Haven.

Her mind kept floating back to Nantucket. She’d had a blissful weekend on the island, lazing about with all the Hot Flash femmes, except for Marilyn. She’d dragged Alice along with her on a walk on the moors—Alice had not been thrilled. They’d all gone together to a play Saturday night, and Sunday they sat in their robes and talked and nibbled on a feast of leftovers until it was time for Alice and Shirley to catch the ferry back. Shirley hadn’t caught sight of Harry. She hadn’t even thought of him—well, not
constantly.

“For storms and screens for all windows in the upper and lower floors of the main building $26,342…” Elroy droned.

The three of them—Shirley, Alice, and Elroy—were in the conference room, so they could spread their papers out across the big mahogany table. Alice sat across from Shirley, looking distracted and uncomfortable. Usually Alice, who had the acumen and experience with these sorts of practical matters, knew exactly what questions to ask and how to sort through the whirlwind of facts to glean the necessary elements by which to steer the board of directors to a decision.

But Alice had baby Aly on her lap.

And Aly was teething. The infant squirmed in Alice’s embrace, fussing and drooling, occasionally pacified by chewing on a brightly colored puffy object, but always managing to drop the teething ring just when Alice had gathered her thoughts and started to speak. Alice had confided to Shirley that Alan and Jennifer were having problems, and Alice donated all her time and expertise to The Haven free of charge, so Shirley felt guilty for feeling impatient and resentful of Alice’s divided attention. But without Alice’s input, this meeting was a waste of time.

With each passing day, Shirley sensed how little time she had left to waste. It was ironic. She had had a dream
come true.
She had dreamed of, and yearned for, and then, with the help of her friends and some investors, created this place, The Haven. But in many ways it was no haven for her, and there were even times when her dream had the qualities of a nightmare.

“…also, in light of the additions and changes to the building, we’ll need to review the insurance policy…,” Elroy Morris continued.

“Urglelblah!” the baby screamed.

My thoughts precisely,
Shirley thought.

The baby arched her back angrily in an attempt to launch herself off Alice’s lap and wailed like a siren.

“I apologize,” Alice said. With one hand, she held on to the shrieking baby. With the other hand, she gathered together her papers and stuffed them into her briefcase. “I’ll take her home so the two of you can concentrate.”

Don’t leave me!,
Shirley wanted to weep.
I can’t understand this stuff!

“That pretty much concludes my report, anyway.” Elroy Morris pushed himself up from the table. “If you have any questions, you can e-mail me.”

Aly’s face was turning purple as she shrieked at hurricane force. As Alice carried the baby out of the office, all she could do as a way of saying good-bye was to waggle her eyebrows and mouth “Later” at Shirley. Elroy followed Alice, and Shirley gathered her papers and left the conference room, too.

She smiled briefly at her secretary—Wendy, who deserved a huge raise, something else to bring up at the next meeting—and stepped into the peace of her office. No, Shirley decided, not peace. It was quiet in here, but not peaceful. How it could it be
peaceful,
when her desk was piled high with incomprehensible forms needing to be read, digested, and acted upon?

As she collapsed in her chair, her thoughts turned to Alice, who had looked unusually frazzled this morning. Shirley knew how much Alice loved her son and his family, but she also knew about the osteoarthritis that caused Alice crippling pain. She knew how much time Alice needed to spend exercising, paying attention to her diet, taking care of herself—and she knew full well how Alice was ignoring her own health in order to help her son. Alice adored her granddaughter. The little girl’s birth had been a kind of miracle for Alice, who had spent so much of her life climbing the spiky ladder of corporate politics that she’d almost lost touch with her soft side. Alice was in a kind of love, but the practical everyday operations of that love were wearing her down. When they were on Nantucket, Alice had a chance to catch her breath. She slept a lot, and ate what Shirley suggested, and went on walks, and began the first steps to getting back in shape. But when she returned to real life, her granddaughter and all the complications of reality sucked her up like a cosmic vacuum cleaner.

But what could Shirley do? She felt guilty, because she relied on Alice’s precise executive mind for The Haven.
She
needed Alice, too.

Her phone buzzed. “Shirley?” It was Wendy. “Your eleven o’clock appointment’s here.”

“Great. Thanks.” She picked up her clipboard and pen. This was the part she liked about being director of The Haven. Meeting a new client, assessing her, chatting over a cup of tea in the beautiful lounge, suggesting a plan of therapy that would suit each individual need—that was Shirley’s forte. Helping people feel better. That was her gift.

At least it used to be. She wasn’t sure how effective she was these days.

She stepped into the staff bathroom in the back corridor to check her hair and makeup. She’d once had long fluffy red curls. When she became director of The Haven, she’d had her hair styled into a more elegant chin-length bob to go with her new tailored—and she felt, completely un-Shirley—suits. Over the past couple of years, as The Haven flourished, she’d allowed herself to soften her look. She’d grown her hair out to her shoulders and let some of the white as well as some of the curl return. She wore her tailored suits only when the board of directors met. Today she wore a summery swirl of lavender silk and lots of amethyst jewelry. She blew a kiss at herself in the mirror. Really, she was looking pretty good for a gal her age.

She went back through the corridor, out to the front lobby, and into the lounge. The prospective new client was gazing at the art hung on the walls, which gave Shirley a moment to study her.

Shirley kind of wished she’d worn the tailored suit.

Usually the women who came to the spa, no matter what their income or social status, showed some signs of personal chaos. A torn hem, slumped shoulders, tightness around the mouth.

This woman looked like she’d just walked out of an ad for a Jaguar. She was trim and blonde, encased in a perfectly fitted black suit. She wore the kind of high black heels Shirley hadn’t been able to wear for years. When she turned to look at Shirley, she showed a flawless face. Big blue eyes, peaches-and-cream complexion, and the kind of makeup that looked like none at all.

Shirley gulped. A woman like this always somehow brought Shirley back to her early insecurities, the sense of worthlessness that had once driven her to alcohol. Not every flawless young woman made Shirley feel this way—Carolyn Sperry looked just as gorgeous as this creature, but when they first met, Carolyn had come as a client, with a slight air of vulnerability. This woman looked invulnerable.

Shirley sucked in a deep breath, held out her hand, and crossed the room. “Hello. I’m Shirley Gold, director of The Haven.”

The blonde smiled her million-dollar smile, every tooth perfect and dazzling.

“Eden Morton.” Her hand in Shirley’s was cool and soft.

Of course your name’s Eden,
Shirley thought. “Let’s sit over here.”

Shirley sank onto a sofa. “Someone will be bringing tea in a moment.” Shirley had instituted this ritual herself. She liked the sense of intimacy it gave. It made the whole process seem more homey, less businesslike. “Peach tea, iced, no caffeine.”

“How nice.” Eden seemed completely uninterested.

Shirley crossed her legs and rested her clipboard on her knee. “Now. Let’s talk about what The Haven can do for you.”

Eden arched a perfect eyebrow. “Oh, you must have misunderstood. I’m here to see what
we
can do for
you.
”

Great, Shirley thought, another sales rep. She didn’t have time for this today. “I—”

Eden cut her off. “I represent Rainbow.” She beamed smugly. “The Rainbow Corporation.” Reaching into her briefcase, she pulled out a brochure and handed it to Shirley.

Shirley took it with fingers that were quickly going numb. She didn’t need to peruse the brochure. She’d heard of Rainbow.
Everyone
had heard of Rainbow. It was like the Vatican of spas. Started ten years ago in California, it had exploded under the leadership of a young, ambitious married couple, Rain and Richard Bow. He was in pharmaceuticals, she was in advertising. Together they’d created an empire.

Shirley’s mouth had gone so dry she couldn’t speak. She nearly fell on her knees with gratitude when Wendy arrived, carrying a tray with tea. “Thank you, Wendy,” she managed to squeak. She didn’t dare pick up a glass and expose her shaking hands.

Eden Morton seemed used to this kind of reaction. She waited until Wendy had left the room, then said in a low but authoritarian voice, “We—Rainbow—would like to purchase The Haven.”

Feeling flooded back through Shirley in a rush. “Oh, no.” Shirley shook her head. She even smiled—an effortless, even triumphant little smile. “Sorry. That’s not going to happen. We’re quite happy with The Haven.”

“Yes, I’m sure you are. You have a wonderful location, a great building, and a growing clientele. Otherwise Rainbow wouldn’t be interested.”

“Thanks, but
we’re
not interested.”

“Perhaps you should consult your board.” Eden Morton handed Shirley a slip of paper with a number written on it. “Show them this. It’s what we’re prepared to offer.”

Shirley looked down at the figure. It began with a dollar sign. It was a very large number. She almost fell off the sofa in shock.

“I…” She cleared her throat. “I see.” She stared at the paper, half expecting the numbers to rearrange themselves into something more reasonable. “Well, as I said, Eden, we’re not interested, but since you’ve gone to the trouble to come here personally, I will present this offer to my board of directors. We meet next week.”

Eden held out another piece of paper. “My business card. Perhaps you’ll phone me after the meeting?”

“Of course.” Shirley rose. Once again they shook hands. As she escorted Eden to the main doors, she sent a silent prayer of thanks to the goddess above for the gift of legs that supported her, when she felt like they were made out of pudding.