The Hot Flash Club Strikes Again (23 page)

25

Friday night, Alice left the Jacuzzi and headed into the locker room just as the yoga class ended. She’d planned the timing precisely. She was here as a kind of casual Hot Flash Club spy, trying to get a sense, just for the fun of it, of how the four new kids were bonding.

The locker room sounded like an aviary as women of all ages, shapes, and states of undress chattered and called as they changed into or out of street clothes. Alice pulled on sweatpants and sat on a bench to tie her sneakers.

A pregnant woman sat down next to her, heaving a sigh.

Alice smiled. “Hello, again. I remember you from the Jacuzzi last month. How are you?”

In response, Carolyn cracked an enormous yawn, hurrying to cover her mouth with her hand. “Sorry! Don’t mean to be rude! I’m just
so
wiped out by the end of the week. I don’t know how I’m going to find the energy to take care of a baby and do a decent job at work.”

“Don’t worry. You’ll manage, I promise. I did. I raised two sons, as a single mother, while working full-time.” She smiled, remembering. “Damn, I was busy! But it was fun. You know, I felt like Wonder Woman.”

Carolyn looked skeptical. “What line of work?”

“I was in charge of personnel for the TransContinent Insurance Company which recently became TransWorld.”

“Really.” Impressed, Carolyn studied Alice more closely.

“Yes, and you know what? My two jobs—mother and administrator—complemented one another. I found myself using the same skills for both.”

“Really.”
Carolyn looked thoughtful. “I’d like to—”

“Okeydoke, slow poke!” Julia bounded up. “We’re all ready to go!”

“Yes, and I’m starving,” Beth added, pulling on her fleece vest.

“I’ll just grab my coat and purse.” Carolyn pushed herself up off the bench. “Nice talking to you.”

“I’m Alice.” She held out her hand.

“I’m Carolyn.” They shook.

“We’ll see you at Leonardo’s!” Polly called.

Carolyn waddled off after the other three women.

Alice smiled.

——————————

They drove in their own cars but arrived at the same time, hurrying through the cold night into Leonardo’s.

While they scanned the menus, Beth said, “Can you believe how busy The Haven is?”

“It’s winter,” Polly pointed out. “Everyone’s desperate to get out of the house and get some exercise.”

“Enough chitchat.” Carolyn rapped her knife on the table like a gavel and pronounced in her chair-of-the-board voice, “I’m calling this meeting to order. So, ladies, any progress to report?”

The other three all spoke at once.

“I’ve moved in with Claudia!”

“You’ve got to check out the bruise Sonny’s mother gave me!”

“Agnes made one of her Stealth Raids when Tim was out of town and found me and Belinda alone with—Beth!”

“Order, ladies, order.” Carolyn tapped her Evian bottle. “I have some juicy news, too, but I think Beth’s bruise should be the first order of business. Beth, what happened?”

Polly sat back in her chair, enjoying the contentment of loose, warm muscles, the satisfying swell of endorphins exercise produced, and not the least, the satisfaction of having once again done something healthy. Beth and Julia alternated in a dramatic recitation of the Saga of Sonny’s Malevolent Mother and the Ice Skates. Polly responded at appropriate moments with exclamations of shock or censure. But she couldn’t help stepping back a bit in her mind, so that she took in not only the tale that was unfolding, but also the dynamics of the friendship between Beth and Julia, developing right before her eyes. They glanced at each other for the right word, filled in and clarified, built and embroidered, transforming the events of that Sunday into the kind of stories that would become part of the legend of their lives.

“—so Beth and Belinda and I had just settled down on the guest bed to eat some grilled-cheese sandwiches,” Julia said now, “when I heard a knock on the door, and I thought”—she put her hands to her face like the person in Munch’s
The Scream
—” ‘Oh, no, not now!’ ”

Polly laughed along with the others, while in her heart a new kind of sensation unfolded, a sort of bittersweet leaflet, with the present on one side, with a faded, blurred facsimile from the past on the other. If love could be ranked, then she would put her son, David, number one, followed closely by her husband, Tucker. But love didn’t really fall into such limiting hierarchies. As Julia and Beth collapsed with laughter about the dreadful Agnes, and Carolyn looked on indulgently, Polly envisioned that confrontation, remembering in the same moment all the times she and her best friend, Franny, had groaned, gagged, and chortled about Claudia’s snotty façade. As much as she had loved Tucker, and he had been her best friend as well as her lover, she just couldn’t have made it without Franny’s friendship. For one thing, even though Tucker complained thoroughly, colorfully, and often about his mother to her, Polly knew she couldn’t do the same to him. It was too close. It broke an unwritten rule, like the one that dictated that you could criticize your own child, but when your best friend criticized hers, the best course was to champion that child. Polly could refer to Claudia as that dried-up piece of beef jerky to Franny, never to Tucker, and in turn, Franny made fun of her own mother-in-law. Not to mention, occasionally, her husband.

Franny had moved to Tucson a few years ago because her husband’s allergies and Franny’s arthritis required more sun and heat than New England could provide. They’d kept in touch by phone and e-mail, but it really wasn’t the same as sitting down at the kitchen table over a cup of tea or curling up on the sofa with a bottle of red wine. Oh, and the shopping they’d done together! Polly sometimes found herself standing in Filene’s Basement, a bargain garment in her hand, stunned by the shock of loss of Franny’s companionship and guidance.

It was a mystery to her how Claudia had managed to live her life without a best friend, or at least a few close friends, but Polly reminded herself how Claudia had been raised, how appearances were primary, how, in her world, you never let down your guard to expose your faults. Too bad, for friends loved you, faults and all.

“Want to know something amazing?” Julia’s face was flushed, her eyes sparkling. She was beautiful, Polly thought, almost like a cartoon heroine with her short black hair and brisk motions. “Last fall, when I got stressed, my hearing crashed. This time, with Beth there, I didn’t even have a momentary blip. So it’s got to be psychosomatic, which is an enormous relief.”

“Then we’re all making progress,” Carolyn said, nodding at Polly.

Polly pulled her mind into the present. “Yes, I’ve been asked to move in with Claudia, thanks to Carolyn.”

“That’s good?” Julia pulled a skeptical face.

“Yeah, I thought she was a horrible old bitch,” Beth said.

“She is. But she’s ill. She’s dying. She’s also proud, terribly private. If she had her way, I think she’d just crawl off beneath the house like a dying cat. And who knows, when I get to that point, I might feel that way, too. Anyway, she refuses to go into a hospital or care facility. She doesn’t want strangers in her house. She didn’t even want me around, because in her warped mind I’m not good enough to so much as clean up her vomit.”

“Eeeugh.”
Beth shuddered.

“But once she knew I was friends with Carolyn
Sperry,
I went up in her estimation.”

“And,”
Carolyn leaned forward, taking over, “she actually was very helpful to me.”

“
Claudia
was?” Beth blinked in surprise. “How?”

“She suggested that Heather might have been pulling a scam with the antiques.”

Polly watched Carolyn describe the events that unfolded. Carolyn became animated, less stiff, almost girlish in expression and gestures, drawing Julia and Beth closer, entranced. Carolyn’s closer to their age, not mine, Polly thought with a twinge of melancholy. Polly was twenty-five years older than Carolyn, almost as much older as Claudia was than Polly. The other three women had so much of their lives ahead of them, especially the core of most women’s existence: childbirth and raising children. They were having periods while Polly was having hot flashes. Polly imagined that after Carolyn had her baby, she’d find her life too full to have time for yoga or leisurely conversations.

“Are you kidding?” Julia sat up straight, waving her hands. “You’re just going to leave it there?”

“What else can we do?” Carolyn asked.

With a snap, Polly brought her attention on the present.

“Keep investigating,” Julia declared. “I mean, come on, are you sure her brother’s not faking it?”

Carolyn gnawed on her lip, thinking. “We’ll find out eventually. My father wants to give Harry some financial support without making Harry feel like a charity case, so he’s trying to find some kind of job for Harry at the paper mill.”

“Okay, if that works out,
then
you’ll know whether Harry’s faking it or not, but how long will it be before Harry’s back is better? It could be months.” Julia shook her head. “I don’t like this. I don’t trust it. I’ll bet Heather called her brother, told him to rent a wheelchair and do a Tiny Tim. Because come on, even if Harry really is injured, two hundred thousand dollars is a hell of a lot of money to hand over.”

“Most of it was spent on antiques, don’t forget,” Carolyn said. “Well, a lot of it. Polly saw the furniture, too. There’s a ton of it.” She shifted in her chair to get more comfortable. “I don’t see what else I can do. I can’t just plant myself outside Harry’s window to spy on him.”

Julia grinned mischievously. “No, but we can.”

“What do you mean?”

Julia lowered her voice conspiratorially. “What if Harry is faking the injury? Or what if it’s not really as bad as he says? What if he can walk? He’s a young man, right? He won’t want to stay in that house all day. I could park outside his house. He wouldn’t recognize my car. I could take my video camera. If I see him walking, I could shoot him so you’d have proof for your father.”

“Cool.” Beth breathed. “A stakeout. I’ll come, too.”

“I don’t know.” Carolyn looked worried. “Wouldn’t that be kind of underhanded?”

“Isn’t it
kind of underhanded
if Heather and Harry are cheating your father out of money?” Julia pressed her case. “Look. Heather’s already got a history of sneakiness. She bought furniture, said it cost two hundred thousand dollars. When you confronted her about the checks made out to cash,
then
and
only
then did she remember to mention her brother. Smells fishy to me.”

Carolyn looked at Polly. “What do you think?”

“I think Julia’s right. Think how relieved you’ll be if Harry really is injured. If you don’t do this, you might spend the rest of your life suspecting Heather.”

Carolyn capitulated with a giant shrug. “Oh, good grief, all right.”

Julia screwed up her mouth, thinking. “We’ll need a camouflage car. Something that won’t make Harry suspicious if he notices a strange vehicle parked on his street all day.”

“I’ll borrow one of Sonny’s family’s trucks!” Beth laughed with excitement. “One that says Young’s Construction on it.”

“Great idea!” Julia gave Beth a high five. “We’ve got to do it when Belinda’s in school.”

“How about Monday morning?” Beth asked. “I’ve got a class in the afternoon, and I work at the library in the evening.”

“Morning’s good,” Julia said.

Carolyn was not so thrilled. “It’s cold outside, in case you hadn’t noticed. You two will freeze.”

“We’ll dress warmly,” Julia promised.

“We’ll bring Thermoses of hot tea,” Beth added.

“I’ll call you with directions.” Carolyn struggled to get to her feet. “I’ve got to go to the john and home. I think this meeting’s adjourned.”

“We’ll phone you the minute we know anything,” Julia promised.

“Let me know, too,” Polly urged.

“We will!”

26

Beth wore all black. Even though she didn’t plan to get out of the truck, black seemed appropriate for a stakeout, and when she honked the horn in front of Julia’s house, she saw that Julia had chosen to wear all black, too. Of course Julia usually did.

She swung up into the cab of the truck, setting a bag on the floor. “How are you, Nancy Drew?”

“I’m great!” Beth said. “Where’s your camera?”

“Here.” Julia bent over and brought out a compact silver box.

“It’s so small!”

“Tiny size, great power. Zoom lens.” Julia pressed a button, demonstrating for Beth how the lens whirred out for long-distance shots.

“Cool.” Beth put the truck in gear. It had turned out to be surprisingly easy to drive. “I brought coffee, chocolate, and two empty glass jars in case we have to pee.”

Julia laughed. “Good thinking.”

“Ready?” Beth pulled the truck away from the curb. “Carolyn said to take Route 2 to 16 to Mass. Ave. to Martin Lane.”

“Yeah, those are the directions Carolyn gave me, too. Okey-dokey.” Julia leaned back, looking out at the passing scenery.

The sun was out, strong and hot, melting snow off the curbs into thousands of miniature rivers trickling toward the drains. People were out enjoying the brief mild spell, walking dogs, pushing baby strollers, chatting in front of dry cleaners and pharmacies.

Julia folded her long legs and propped her feet on the dashboard. “What did you tell Sonny about what we’re doing today?”

Beth groaned. “You know what? I told him the truth. I don’t want to have any secrets between us, so I thought that would be the best course, but I’m afraid I shocked him a little bit. He’s worried that Heather’s brother might be dangerous.”

“Can’t be too dangerous if he’s stuck in a wheelchair,” Julia pointed out sensibly.

“I know. I’m not scared. Well, maybe I am, just a little. I feel kind of apprehensive, and also, just a tiny bit wicked. I really do think I shocked Sonny.”

“I’m glad you told him the truth because I told Tim the truth, too.”

“And?”

“He reacted like you said Sonny did. Shocked. Amazed, really, as if he thinks what we’re doing is bizarre.”

“Well, isn’t it?” Beth giggled. “I never imagined that I, mild-mannered grad student of ancient English literature, would ever stake out a man’s house!”

“I’ll bet it’s not so unusual in Carolyn’s world. Families with the kind of money the Sperrys have probably do this sort of thing all the time.”

“You could be right. I wouldn’t know. I’ve never known anyone as wealthy as Carolyn. I don’t envy her.”

“Me either.” Julia leaned forward. “I think the next street is the one.”

“Roger.” Beth flicked on her indicator and made the turn. “Number 32?”

“Right.” Julia removed her feet from the dash and sat up straight. “There. I think that’s the house.”

“I’ll drive past, make a U-turn, and approach it from the other direction.”

“That’s it. The yellow clapboard.”

Beth slowed as they drove past. The house sat innocently in its muddy yard. A striped tabby cat ambled across the yard, beneath a shrub, and into the next yard, where it sat with its head cocked, as if waiting.

Julia had her binoculars out. “All the windows are covered with blinds or curtains.”

“He’s probably sleeping. Don’t invalids sleep a lot?”

“I know. We probably should have waited until the afternoon, but I have to be home for Belinda then.”

“How’s this?” Beth brought the truck to a stop next to a high privet hedge. “Can you see?”

“Perfectly.” Julia scanned the neighborhood. “Sleepy little street.”

“Now what?” Beth asked.

“Now we wait.”

——————————

Two hours later, Julia stretched as well as she could in the enclosed cab. “This is killing my back. I’m not accustomed to so much sitting. What time is it?”

Beth checked her watch. “A little after eleven.”

“Not a flicker of movement for two hours.”

Beth made a face. “I’ve got to pee.”

“Well, you brought the jar.”

“I know. But now I’m not so keen on the idea.”

“Want to stop for the day? I could arrange things with Tim and we could come back tomorrow afternoon. Can’t do it in the morning; I’ve got a retirement luncheon to videotape.”

Beth looked wistfully at the house, so still in the sunshine it seemed like a stage set. “Okay. Let’s do that.”

——————————

“Dr. Monroe is coming to tea.”

Polly let the bags of groceries slide onto the end of the sofa. Claudia didn’t like it when something as plebeian as a brown paper bag made contact with any of her fine furniture, but Polly, already puffing from hauling everything in from the car, gasped at Claudia’s announcement and collapsed next to the groceries.

“Excuse me?”

“You need to have your hearing checked, Polly. Mine is perfect, but that’s unusual.”

Yes, yes, you’re one rare and superlative specimen of humanity,
Polly thought crankily. She looked over at Claudia, seated on her chaise, clad in her new brown Brooks Brothers skirt, sweaters, and pearls. Claudia was continuing to shrink just like the witch in
The Wizard of Oz
when Dorothy tossed water on her. She glanced at Claudia’s breakfast tray. Perhaps two sips of tea had been taken, and the tip of the croissant, but the orange juice glass was untouched.

“Would you like me to warm up your croissant?” Polly asked.

Claudia waved a lethargic claw. “Why would I want you to do that? I’ve finished my breakfast. Take those things away and I’ll tell you what I want served for tea.”

Polly unbuttoned her coat. “What day is Dr. Monroe coming?”

Her voice crackling with irritation, Claudia snapped, “What is wrong with you, Polly! I told you already. He’s coming today!”

“Oh.” Polly thought for a moment. “Would you like me to help you shower before he comes?”

“I performed my ablutions before I dressed this morning,” Claudia retorted.

Polly doubted that, since Claudia could hardly stand up. Her progress down the stairs this morning had been painfully slow. Claudia had leaned heavily on the banister and paused at every third step to suck in one long, labored breath. But she had refused to take the supporting arm Polly had offered. Claudia’s hair, always before her illness so beautifully coiffed, was dry and thin, bent at odd angles and sticking up in back. Furthermore, the heavy veil of perfume Claudia wore could not camouflage any longer the aroma of urine and her general lack of hygiene. Claudia’s senses were obviously dulled, but was her mind? Claudia was too weak to shower or bathe herself, but did she realize that? What were Polly’s responsibilities at this juncture? Should she force Claudia to shower? How could anyone force Claudia to do anything?

Polly put the groceries away and dutifully returned to the living room, where she found Claudia asleep, head lolling to one side, mouth open. Polly’s entire body contracted with pity to see the elegant woman so shrunken and vulnerable. What little flesh and fat Claudia had ever carried had disappeared weeks ago, but now her muscles had also vanished, leaving her shoulder bones sticking up like knobs, allowing her cheeks to sink in so that her face was merely a skull with a thin sheet of skin over it. Claudia was experiencing no pain, but she was starving to death before Polly’s eyes.

With a twinge of shame, Polly realized her own clothes were becoming too tight. Caring for Claudia had not caused Polly to lose any weight, in spite of all the stairs she was climbing and trays she was hefting these days, because every night she rewarded herself with a box of chocolates and a glass of Baileys Original Irish Cream—and she didn’t use one of Claudia’s delicate little thimble-size aperitif glasses, either.

Eating had always been Polly’s private path to comfort. Better, she assured herself, than alcohol or drugs. And wasn’t it all right to give herself these treats? She missed her own home, her own bed. The guest bedroom had such an Edward Gorey air about it, it kind of gave Polly the creeps, and she had great trouble settling down to sleep every night. The spool bed’s ancient mattress sagged, as corrugated as a muddy road in springtime. The entire room seemed pervaded with an irrevocable kind of pale damp that seeped through the hand-embroidered, age-worn, threadbare linen sheets. The bedside lamp held only a twenty-five-watt bulb, so Polly had sneaked her own lamp into the house, because if she couldn’t read, she’d really lose her mind. But that light made the rest of the room seem darker and dingier, and the disapproving faces of the pinch-lipped ancestors glaring down from their framed portraits hanging around the room stirred within Polly’s breast guilt for sins she had never committed.

Perhaps, Polly thought, she might sleep better if the intercom between Claudia’s bedroom and the dining room were hooked up between their bedrooms at night. When Polly did manage to fall asleep, the slightest noise woke her—she’d sit upright, heart thudding.
Was that Claudia? Had she called?
Fears of Claudia lying alone in her bedroom, perhaps choking, perhaps suffering, perhaps dying, poked at her nerves and made her heart race. She’d brought over a framed photograph of Tucker to put on her bedside table, so she could look at his face when she needed comfort.

Back in the kitchen, Polly started a chicken simmering—Claudia liked the broth—and organized the tea things. Claudia still slept; she spent the better part of her days sleeping. What else could she do? Polly wondered. She knew it was important to focus on the here and now, to help the dying, as well as the living, take pleasure in the present. But what could that be?

A few days ago, Polly had lifted one of the portraits off the bedroom wall and carried it down to where Claudia sat on her chaise.

“Tell me about this woman, please, Claudia. She looks so interesting.” The request had been heartfelt. Polly knew little about Claudia’s life.

Claudia had only lifted a weary hand. “Pull a duck trolley.”

Polly had gaped while a thrill of fear raced through her: was Claudia going mad? Then she realized Claudia had her teeth out and probably meant “Put it back, Polly.” She’d climbed the stairs and rehung the picture.

Yesterday, she’d asked Claudia if they could look at old photo albums together. She wanted so much to see pictures of Tucker when he was a boy. And she thought Claudia might enjoy living, for a few moments, back in the days of her youth, but Claudia had only shaken her head and closed her eyes, as if simply listening to Polly’s request had depleted her.

What else could Polly do? How do you help someone die without intruding? Claudia was offended when Polly offered to help her shower or wash her hair. She refused to let Polly enter her bedroom to change the sheets and air it out. As much as she accepted from Polly, she still kept her from doing all she could to help. Was Polly doing the right thing, helping the older woman to retain as much control and privacy as possible? Or was she neglecting her?

It seemed to Polly that whatever else Polly had ever been to Claudia, now, during this final stage of her life, during the days and weeks of Claudia’s dying, Polly was Claudia’s final audience. More than she needed a housekeeper, cook, valet, maid, or nurse, Claudia needed someone to see her as she saw herself, to respect her as a beautiful, refined, powerful, independent woman. Polly wanted to give Claudia that much, for as long as possible.

Still, she needed some guidance. Somehow, she had to find a way to speak with Dr. Monroe alone.

——————————

Claudia woke at three thirty. “Bwingee eye purth, pauwee.”

Polly brought Claudia her purse, then stepped out of the room to allow her a moment alone to install her false teeth. When she returned, she found Claudia with her hand mirror in one hand and a tube of lipstick in the other. Claudia squinted.

“Would you like me to turn on a light?” Polly offered. The winter afternoon was almost as dark as night.

“I would not.” Claudia patted her hair in gestures Polly had seen hundreds of times before over the years, but today this filled Polly with a madhouse sadness, for Claudia’s action did no good. Claudia’s hair spouted up at the back of her head like a clump of dried grass. “Is the tea ready?”

“It is.” The doorbell rang. “That must be Dr. Monroe.” Polly hurried through the hall.

She opened the door. The physician stood there in a handsome black wool overcoat, a black briefcase in his hand. “Hello, Polly.” He looked so sane, so reliable.

“Hello, Dr. Monroe,”
she said in a loud voice for Claudia’s benefit. Urgently, she whispered, “Dr. Monroe, I’m so glad you’re here. Claudia’s incontinent but refuses to admit it, she can’t bathe herself but won’t let me help her, she scarcely eats anything, she’s lost so much weight! God, I know I’m babbling like someone out of Dickens, but I don’t know what to do.”

“Polly!” Claudia called imperiously. “Don’t dawdle!”

Hugh Monroe put a calming hand on Polly’s shoulder. “I understand.”

Polly wanted to throw herself at his feet, clutching his ankles. Instead, she calmly led the doctor into the living room.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Lodge.” Dr. Monroe executed a handsome little bow and held out his hand.

Claudia touched her fingers to his briefly in a queenly imitation of a handshake. “Good to see you, Hugh.” Gesturing him to a chair, she ordered, “Polly. Tea.”

Blocking an impulse to curtsy, Polly took herself off to the kitchen. She took her time, wanting to allow Claudia plenty of privacy with the doctor, then carried the heavy silver tray into the living room. She set it on the coffee table. Following Claudia’s orders, she poured tea for Claudia and the doctor and handed the cookies around, then sat down, preparing to pour her own tea.

“That will be all, Polly,” Claudia said.

“Um, perhaps I should stay, to hear what Dr. Monroe suggests . . . ?”

Claudia turned to the doctor and waved her hand, as if sweeping away a gnat. “One of Polly’s qualities is a remarkable intransigence.”

Polly started to object, but Dr. Monroe threw her a wonderful smile. “It’s all right, Polly. I’d like a little time alone with Mrs. Lodge, and we’ll tell you what we’ve decided.”