The Last Original Wife (13 page)

“Yeah, like an angel.”

“So maybe I should just pick her up in the morning? I don't want to disturb her. You don't know how hard it is to put her back to bed.”

I just stood there wondering for a moment if she was serious. Was this how she manipulated her mother? No wonder Leslie was fed up with her all the time.

“And I sort of made plans to meet some friends for drinks. What do you think?”

“I think you go and get your daughter, take her home, put her to bed, and act like a mother should. If it's hard to get her back to sleep, that's your problem. If you'd been on time, you could've put her to bed at her normal time. In her own house.”

“Wow, Daddy, you're really pissed, aren't you?”

“Yes. Yes, I am. You took advantage of me, now you want to take advantage of me some more, and I don't like it. Now, move yourself before I really lose my temper.”

“Oh, come on, Daddy. I said I was sorry.”

“Sorry? Really? Maybe this kind of behavior is why your mother's in Charleston! Did you ever think about that?”

“Blame me? You want to blame
me
?”

Charlotte flounced out of the room and came back inside of a minute with a sleeping Holly thrown over her shoulder, headed for the front door.

“Daddy,” she said, “you want to know why Momma's in Charleston? Look in the mirror.”

She slammed the door and was gone. Boy, she had some lousy temper.

The phone rang. I picked it up and knew from the familiar crackle that it was Bertie calling from Kathmandu.

“Bertie? Is that you?”

“Hi, Dad! What's happening?”

“Don't tell me you're calling for money! Not tonight! I can't take it!”

“Actually, I have some good news.”

“I'm all ears,” I said and sighed.

“I sold three images to
National Geographic
. They're going to be in a special issue on Bhutan and Tibet.”

“Well, that's good news, son! How much does it pay?”

“Well, only six hundred dollars and I don't get paid for thirty days. So do you think you could help me out just one more time?”

“
NO!
” I slammed the phone down as hard as I could.

I was going to the club. I was going straight to the bar. I was going to have a double vodka martini straight up, dirty not filthy, with two olives. I couldn't get there fast enough.

In the car on the way there, I thought about Charlotte and Bertie. No wonder Leslie was always on edge. Our kids were a damn disgrace. But singing along with Dean Martin cheered me up.

There was no valet that night, so I parked and went inside to the crowded bar. Harold and Cornelia waved me over. Lisette was sitting at the long teak bar with Paolo, but she was wearing sunglasses and a hat. Very odd, I thought. It was dark outside.

“Hey! We've been waiting so long we were giving up hope!” Harold said.

I ordered my drink, gave Harold a slap on the shoulder, and smooched Cornelia on her cheek. “How are you, gorgeous?” I said to her. “Sorry, guys, my daughter was late and then my son called.” The bartender handed me my martini and I said, “Cheers!”

“Drink up!” Harold said. “We're way ahead of you.”

“What's the news with Bertie?” Paolo said.

“Well, he's actually sold some of his work,” I said. He was wrong to keep asking for money, but it probably wasn't nice for me to slam the phone on his ear. Oh, so what?

“That's wonderful!”

“Yeah,” I said, “thanks! So Lisette? What's going on, darlin'? Setting a new fashion trend or something?”

She took off her hat and sunglasses. There was no hair where her bangs should've been, and she'd obviously been on a crying jag.

Paolo leaned into me and whispered. “My girls? Well, they aren't so sweet on my marriage as you know and they did something stupid . . .”

“Stupid?” Lisette wailed. “Wes? They put
Nair
in my shampoo bottle! It's
criminal
! I just wanted to freshen up my bangs! Then the phone rang and I got hung up in a conversation for like fifteen minutes and then my hair came out in the sink! Thank God I didn't wash my whole head!” She started crying again.

Lisette was a card-carrying airhead, but she made Paolo happy.

“Oh, honey,” I said and thought,
Holy shit!
Wasn't
Nair
that smelly stuff women used to get rid of hair? Yeah, and obviously it worked. “That's terrible! Why would they do such a thing?”

“Because they hate me!” She really began to blubber in earnest.

“Come on now, sweetheart,” Paolo said and put his arm around her.

I reached for my handkerchief and realized I didn't have one to give her. Another thing Les always took care of for me. Thanks, Les! I can't play the gentleman because of
you
!

“Wait, wait! Y'all? There's more,” Cornelia said in a drawn-out drawl, one that might come from Scarlett O'Hara herself. “They also cut the crotch out of all her panties. Nice, huh?”

“Good grief,” I said and thought, Good God! That's disgusting! “Well, they can be replaced. It's only money.”

Now, since when did I feel like that? It's only money? I'll tell you, since Leslie took off, I was seeing the world in a whole new light.

CHAPTER 11

Leslie on a Slippery Slope

O
ne of the first things I did Saturday morning was to call Danette, not because there was so much to discuss. I guess I was just lonely for my old friend and wanted to hear her voice. Talking to her might add some note of normalcy to my day.

“Hey! You busy?”

“Hang on! Let me turn down the television. Now where'd I put that darn clicker? Oh! There it is sticking out from under the bag of celery. This kitchen looks like a bomb went off. I'm making chicken stock and veal stock. Been up for hours.” I could hear her television blasting in the background of her kitchen and her cook's clogs thumping across the floor. The noise subsided and she resumed our conversation. “So what's going on? How's Jonathan? Hmmmm?”

“Well, I don't have to sew big red
A
s on all my clothes, if that's what you're asking. What're you watching?
Barefoot Contessa
?”

“Of course I am. And of course that's what I'm asking! What happened last night?”

“Ah me, last night, last night . . . It was all very nice, I'm sorry to say. First, we went to a very swank rooftop bar on East Bay Street to have a glass of wine.”

“Which one? I'm trying to visualize this. I don't have all day here.”

Danette had obviously swallowed more coffee that morning than I had.

“The one that's above a steak house called Grill 225, which by the way, is mind-blowingly good. Anyway, we ordered some wine and talked about the state of the world, you know, reminiscing about the old days. It was great. And I got my cast off.”

“Good about the cast, but cut to the chase, please.”

“Well, we watched the sun go down and the lights of the city come up. It was very beautiful.”

“Ahem!”

“What?”

“And
then
what? Do I have to drag it out of you?”

“You know, hon, you might need a caffeine intervention?”

“Sorry. It's just that I want to hear the story!”

“Well, we wound up going downstairs and having a steak and a nitrotini, which is a martini that's smoking because it's infused somehow with nitrogen? I should've taken a picture.”

“Who cares about that? Please! And then?”

“And then he walked me home.” I giggled.

“And
then
?”

“And then we said good night, but along the way he said some really sweet things to me.”

“Such as?”

“Oh, I don't know. But one thing stood out. He said something like being with me made him feel so young again. I felt the same way. Energized, you know? I mean, probably just because we were talking about being teenagers and all that stuff. But when I looked in his eyes? I swear to you, Danette, there was the same eighteen-year-old boy I used to love hiding behind all those little crinkles. He was right there.”

“That's pretty sweet, Les. And there you were all worried that he'd treat you like an old bag.”

“Yeah. I know. Stupid, right? Well, anyway, like you, I haven't been out with another man since the Russians launched Sputnik. In fact, I've never even
looked
at another man since my wedding day, except for George Clooney. He doesn't count.”

“No, he doesn't count.”

“Listen, Jonathan makes me very nervous. It's weird, you know?”

“Of course, I know! So did you feel like a wicked little slut? Ha-ha!”

“Only for about two seconds. It was practically totally harmless.” I laughed too. “No, it wasn't. It wasn't even close to harmless. But it wasn't exactly dangerous, either. Does that make sense?”

“Yes. It's called the mating dance.”

“Jesus God, Danette. And I mean that as a prayer. Mating dance?”

“Yeah. You know, he struts a little, watches your reaction, and retreats a bit until he thinks you're ready? Then he zeros in!”

“Gross!”

“Pounce!”

“Stop!”

“Whatever! So let me ask you something. Did you kiss him?”

“God! Danette! No! Decaf!” I gasped, feigning offense. “Okay, but just a sort of drive-by kiss.”

“What the heck is that?”

“Like I kiss my granddaughter. You know, a smooch.”

“How dull. Okay, but could you see yourself with him?”

“Dan, I can't see myself with
anyone
. How's that?”

“Know what? Me either. I mean me, not you. I can't see myself with anyone either. I've got this smoking-hot landscape architect from down the street supervising his crew as they're digging up my backyard. He's giving me the eye and I'm giving him the eye, but when it's cocktail time, I pretend I've got to rush out the door to meet somebody else.”

“Wait? Is he asking you to have drinks and you're saying no?”

“Yeah, sort of. It's just too awkward. I don't know. I'm just not ready or something.”

“Why not? What's one drink? At least that's what I told myself when I wound up spending the
entire
evening with Jonathan.”

“Right? Well, he's a bit younger.”

“How much?”

“I don't know. I think a lot—maybe ten years? Maybe more?”

I giggled. “And your problem is?”

“I know. You're right. I'm like you. But the whole business of having sex with someone new gives me the heebie-jeebies.”

“Who said anything about sex?
Sex?
What's
that
?”

“Exactly. My magic garden has dried up from drought.”

“Magic garden, indeed. So what's our alternative? If I leave Wes? Are we going to wind up a couple of old biddies going on cheap Caribbean cruises with a bunch of other old biddies? I can see us now, standing on buffet lines, eating twelve kinds of layered Jell-O salads and gray meat loaf, killed under heat lamps. Then we'll drink too much cheap sangria and flirt with Danish cabin boys who could technically be our grandsons?”

“What a picture! Hell, no! That will
never
be us!”

She laughed like crazy, but I was dead serious. If I left Wes, where was I really headed? Down Lonely Street to the Heartbreak Hotel?

“You know, Danette, I think I've had it with my marriage.”

“Yeah, I know. It's okay. It really is, you know.”

“And Charlotte and Bertie too.”

“Well, your children aren't even close to who they're going to become yet. So you can't really say something terrible like that about them and mean it.”

“Maybe. I hope you're right. But you know what? Wes
is
who he has become and I can't say I'm too thrilled with him. Not thrilled at all. Oh God, I feel sick inside my heart. I mean, Danette? If you ask one of those guys who makes up actuarial tables? I'm gonna be dead in twenty years. How do I want to spend them? What do I want?”

“What do any of us want?”

“I don't know. I mean, I think . . . I think, I just don't want to feel like I'm
already
dead. Do you know what I mean?”

“Yes. I know
exactly
what you mean. For me? I really hated the idea of everything already spelled out before me—predictable everything—and all I was doing was walking this lonely path toward the grave, retrieving Harold's golf balls from our shrubbery and putting them in a bucket in our garage. If Harold hadn't left me, there wouldn't have been a single surprise left in my life.”

“God, at one point in your life all you
want
is for life to be predictable. And then you wake up one day, you feel like a zombie, and you can't
bear
all that predictability for another second.”

“I tell myself that if it wasn't for Molly's wedding, I'd be out there having fun every night. I feel like I have to remain nunlike until after the big day so she doesn't have to stress about another thing. I mean, she hasn't said it, but I'm sure she worries that I'll show up with some man she doesn't know and embarrass her like Harold did when he showed up married with Cornelia at her engagement party and upstaged the whole night.”

“And don't we women always put everyone else first? Anyway, Harold's a dope and you staying home in the convent is ridiculous. If you want to go out with this guy—what's his name, by the way?”

“Nader.”

“What kind of name is that? Where's he from?”

“I don't know. Iran, I think. His mother is from some little South African country and his father is a retired diplomat. He's interesting. Speaks a dozen languages. Studied law at Harvard. He's very cool.”

“Wow. I'll say. Cooler than Wes and Harold.”

“Well, that doesn't take much.”

“To be sure. Well, listen, Danette, you're divorced, and neither one of us is getting any younger. I think you ought to do what you want and don't worry about what Molly thinks.”

“Probably. I'm thinking about it. So how are you doing, you know, in your head?”

How was I doing? Not so hot.

“I'm scared, Danette. I'm scared like hell.”

“Oh, my sweet friend. I know.” I heard her sigh long and hard. “Change is very frightening at this age. Look, for me? Harold made this brilliant decision to get a divorce, not me. He just walked out. He had Cornelia waiting in the wings. At first, you know I was devastated. But I can tell you that once I got my brain wrapped around the fact that it was over, I got on with my life pretty quickly.”

“Well, parts of it.”

“True. So Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome will have to wait a little. And tell me to mind my own business, but have you talked to a lawyer?”

“No. Because I'm not sure I really want a divorce. I'd just like to be away from everyone for a while—you know, time off for good behavior.”

“Who would blame you?”

“I really sort of hate Wesley right now. And Charlotte needs somebody to give her a good throttling, something I should've done a long time ago. But divorce? I think it would be wise for me to get over my anger first. Then I can decide what I want to do.”

“Yes. Absolutely. You're right. It's never a good idea to make big decisions when you're angry.”

“And this may sound cosmically irrational, but I just don't feel like I belong in Atlanta anymore. You know? There's nothing for me there. Wrong vibe.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean just exactly that. When I think about Harlan coming back and my going home, I get this huge lump in my throat, like I'm suffocating. But when I think about staying here in Charleston, I want to cry my eyes out.”

“Girl? That is screwed up. Tell me why you want to cry.”

“Because it was all a mistake. Thirty years of one mistake after another. I feel like a miserable failure. I failed at marriage and don't get me started on motherhood.”

“Look, I can understand why Charlotte and Bertie get your motor going, but I don't see where
you
failed. Honest to God! I don't! You did
everything
for them!”

“I sure tried.”

“True enough! I was there! I remember the hours you spent driving them all over the place.”

“If I could just have the time I spent in the car line back, I'd be thirty-five again.”

“You, me, and every other mother on the planet! Look, Les, people, even very young people, make choices that impact their whole lives. Like to study or not to study. But they have to live the life they want to live, don't they? And where did you fail in your marriage?”

“Are you kidding? I let Wes manipulate me into every single choice we made over the smallest details in our lives. I should have stood up to him more.”

“Oh, please. Good luck with that! Stand up to Mount Rushmore? Yeah, I'd love to see that.”

“I know. I married a damn bully. And you know what? Maybe I don't want to be bullied anymore.”

“Well, who'd blame you for that either? Now let's talk about the fun stuff. When are you seeing Jonathan again?”

“Tonight.”

“Whoo-hoo! Girlfriend? You'd better shave your legs!”

“Oh, please. I haven't seen a hair on my legs in the last ten years!”

“Or maybe you just can't see them. Shave anyway!”

I was glad we had changed the subject. I'd check my legs out later.

We hung up, with me promising to call her back in the morning to give an update on Jonathan. I attached Miss JP's leash to her collar and took her outside for a walk in the park. She pranced down the street, stopping to sniff and looking up at passersby as though she understood them when they remarked on how adorable she was. I could've sworn that dog was smiling. Her red-striped sundress was more or less accidentally coordinated with my red pants and striped shirt. As silly as it may seem, I had a thought that it was too bad I didn't have red framed sunglasses. Then we would've looked like we belonged to each other. Maybe I'd look around at Target for some inexpensive ones for the fun of it. How long had it been since I'd done anything just
for the fun of it
? People would think I'm peculiar. I liked the notion of having a bit of an eccentric reputation. Why not?

When she had deposited her calling card in the border grass, she tugged on her leash in the direction of Harlan's house. Mission accomplished and she was ready to go home. I picked her up and nuzzled her neck and she rewarded me with a lick on my nose. It was my first kiss from Harlan's baby. I was suddenly aware of how much this little dog depended on the reliability of others, and I was glad she seemed to appreciate me. At least somebody did.

I had not told Danette about the money. She would've fainted on the floor and then got up to say she wasn't surprised, that I should divorce Wes and buy myself a new black Mercedes. The two-seater with white leather interior all piped in black—all in the name of sweet revenge. She'd say we should ride by his house and blow the horn and she'd holler through a bullhorn that I bought it at sticker price just to drive him crazy and Wes would shiver and break a sweat that lasted for weeks.