The Penny Pinchers Club (8 page)

“I don’t know how I’d manage without Kat.” She clasped her hands and beamed. “She’s more than an assistant, really. She’s like a partner and a good, trusted friend. We’ve been together for over twenty years.”

The knife could not be twisted any deeper.

Andrea Perotta, a pleasant-faced woman with tight blond curls, said, “Aren’t you lucky.”

Her husband, Ray, added, “It’s nice to work with people you enjoy.”

I agreed that, yes, it was, adding silently that I looked forward to having that experience someday.

“Wait a minute!” Chloe punched the air as if she’d just had a brainstorm. “Isn’t tomorrow your wedding anniversary? What are you doing here on your day off when you should be out getting ready for your party?”

That was so unbelievable a statement, I was speechless. I should have pointed out that I was there because she’d called me in.

“Go on.” She shooed me from the desk as if I’d insisted on remaining. “Go on. The twentieth anniversary is the china one, you know. And it just so happens your favorite store is holding a fabulous sale on Bernardaud. I can’t imagine why you’re sitting here, in this office, when you should be out there engaging in your favorite hobby, Kat. Shopping to your heart’s content.”

Chloe knew me too well for my own good.

CHAPTER FIVE

“
O
h, mygoodness. Someone’s been exercising her charging elbow,” my mother exclaimed as a couple of tiki torches and a bag of French provincial melamine plates nearly fell out of the back of my Lexus onto her South River driveway.

“Watch out!” I barked, buffering the torches with my hip.

It was the clay planters of exotic beach grasses that had me concerned, though. I did not appreciate sand all over my car, especially since my father had already made a crack that I’d
bought grass—
grass I could have dug out for free.

“Don’t listen to him,” Mom said. “What does he know? Mr. I’ve Worn the Same Shirt for Thirty Years.”

Dad, who was, indeed, wearing a stained and ripped green golf shirt Mom had bought for him when I was still in high school, knelt to survey the undercarriage of his broken lawn mower, smiling at the challenge of a new repair. He was used to being dismissed.

“Those planters are perfect for your patio,” she went on. “I saw the exact same ones in
Country Living
and drooled. Now let me take a peek at those rooster plates. You say you got them for half off at Smith & Hawken?”

When it came to impulsive shopping, my mother was the whipped cream and cherries on the sundae of splurging—oohing and ahhing over every item and making me feel like a million bucks for spending the equivalent. That’s why I’d made it a tradition to stop off at Mom’s for the satisfying review and approval after my biggest shopping sprees.

She even put me at ease about the new blue chiminea, a risky purchase since Griff found chimineas to be ugly and, as he put it, fodder for the landfill. But they were half off at YardPlus and crucial for the party, I’d decided. Weather reports predicted an unseasonably cold evening.

“Brilliant!” Mom stroked its chimney with appreciation. “It’ll be perfect for tonight when it gets chilly. I’ve always wanted one, but your father wouldn’t hear of it.” She shrugged with a what-are-you-going-to-do? attitude.

I repositioned the chiminea in the car. “I’m worried what Griff will say. He gets so worked up when I come home with lots of stuff.”

“He should be so lucky to have a wife who’s throwing him a surprise party, that’s what.” Quick to be insulted if my husband dared to issue the slightest criticism, she squared her shoulders and ruffled up like a mother hen ready to peck out the eyes of a weasel after her chicks.

My mother even looked like a hen, her reddish-blond hair, restrained by a thick headband, puffed out in the back, and her highly arched, overtweezed eyebrows gave her the appearance of a startled chicken. Despite her constant dieting, however, my mother could not achieve her much desired chicken legs. No number of dressing-free salads or five-mile walks could outwit the Polish genetics that forced her to wear elastic-waist black pants and long blouses. Mom was a block of a woman. It was her life’s greatest disappointment that she didn’t turn out like Audrey Hepburn.

“I just don’t want to get in a fight with my husband,” I said. “Not on our anniversary.”

Mom went
hmph
. “That’s Griff ’s problem, if you do. Look, your father was never a spendthrift, either, but at least he knew better than to give me a hard time if I went on a spree now and then.” She flashed a triumphant look at Dad, who was trying to stay out of it, pretending to preoccupy himself by cleaning the lawn mower cutting blade. “We never fought about money. Did we, Stan?”

Dad looked up, sweat beading on his red dome of a head. “What’s that?”

“We never fought about money.”

“Sure, we did. And then I put you on an allowance, which took care of that. Aww, would you look at this gunk.” He plunged his hands into the undercarriage and removed a hunk of greasy black grass. “No wonder the damn thing wouldn’t start.”

Mom said coquettishly, “Here’s an idea. Maybe Griff should step down from his ivory tower and try getting a
real
job in the
real
world instead of the groves of academe. Then money wouldn’t be such an issue with you two.”

“Mom,”
I said warningly. “Let’s not start that again. Besides, this book Griff ’s writing on the Federal Reserve could take wing.” Or not. Academic press publications usually garnered no more than five-thousand-copy print runs, earning prestige and tenure more than money.

“As if being an author is any way to support a family.” She sniffed. “That reminds me. I ran into Sophia the other day.”

Her faded blue eyes twinkled with mischief. Sophia was Liam’s sister, and if my mother said she “ran into” her, it meant she saw Sophia a half a mile away, then trailed her in the car and overtook her at the next red light.

“You didn’t.”

“And you’ll never guess what’s happened.” She folded her arms. “Liam and his wife have . . . separated!”

Mom waited for my reaction, but I didn’t dare show it. To see my eyes light up would only fuel her hopes that someday I’d leave Griff and reunite with Liam, as she dreamed and prayed for every Sunday.

The disturbing thing was my eyes would have lit up if she hadn’t been there. It wasn’t that hearing of his marriage made me feel smug. It was that a small part of me was glad that Paige hadn’t been his big love. It was so confusing and weird, I pushed my feelings aside until I could analyze them later, when my mother wasn’t observing my every twitch.

“That’s too bad,” I said.

“Maybe for her, not for him.” She frowned. “Sophia said his wife was so conniving that she waited until they closed on a huge house in Saddle River to demand a divorce. Can you get over it? Already, there’s another man in the picture, of course—some former tennis pro like herself.”

Screwing on a bolt with his blackened hands, Dad said, “Didn’t Kat used to date some boy named Liam?”

I loved how out of it my father was when it came to my personal life.

“Yes, Dad. We were almost married. But don’t get Mom started.”

Mom gave me a look that said it wasn’t her fault I’d messed up my life. “All I can say is, thank heavens they don’t have any children. Though, according to Sophia, that wasn’t Liam’s decision. Poor boy.” She blinked into the afternoon sun. “He would have been a great father if he’d been with the right woman.”

Mom was really laying it on thick. I’d have been curious to find out how long she’d been holding on to that acorn of gossip, burrowing it like a squirrel until the opportune moment arose so she could produce it for the most effect. She must have been bursting at the seams.

“Do you know that he still asks about you? Maybe you should give him a call. . . .”

“Mom!”

“What?” She threw up her hands. “I didn’t say you should take him to bed, only that you should inquire if he’s okay. He’s a cuckolded man, Katarina. It’s at times like these when men need the reassurance and validation of other women.”

Fortunately, the phone rang, and, never one to miss a call, Mom ran after it like a teenager. Thank god. I wasn’t sure how much more I could take of
All My Liam
.

Dad stood creakily, arched his aching back, and wiped his fingers with a dirty blue rag. “You know, Katie, an allowance might be just the ticket for you and Griff. Could head off another fight.”

He was right back to what mattered: my marriage and money.

“I don’t want to go on an allowance, Dad.” I removed a piece of grass from what little was left of his hair. “And I couldn’t stand the idea of Griff putting me on one. It’d be humiliating and sexist.”

“Now, hold on. An allowance can be very creative. Your mother used to make a game of it, spending less than I gave her every week. Eventually she built up a nice little nest egg that was all hers. Even bought stock.” He righted the lawn mower and gave the choke a tug. It whimpered and stalled. “Goddamnit.”

We stared at the stubborn machine. “That lawn mower has to be from the Reagan Administration, Dad. Don’t you think it’s time for a new one?”

“Are you kidding? It’s just broken in.”

Mom reappeared with the portable phone in hand. “That was Viv. She’s on her way and wants you to stay put, Kat, until she gets here.” Giggling, she sing-songed, “I think she has a surprise for your an-ni-ver-sa-ry!”

“A surprise?” My pulse raced as I remembered that while I’d been shopping, Viv had spent the afternoon going through our accounts with Adele. If she wanted me to stay put, it meant the news was good, that there was no evidence of Griff cheating and she wanted to tell me in person.

Or . . . perhaps it was bad and Viv couldn’t bear telling me over the phone.

Dad gestured to the pile of junk on the driveway. “Katie here says it’s time for a new lawn mower. I told her it’s barely broken in.”

Mom nodded. “You’re absolutely right, Stan. It’s fine.” Turning to me, she whispered, “Why spend money on a new lawn mower when I can put it toward a vacation in Florida this winter?”

And she thought Liam’s wife was conniving. . . .

“There’s Viv!”

My sister swung her VW Passat into the driveway, nearly running over Dad, who held up his hands and told her to slow down. Getting out and slamming the door, she was all business, planting Mom and Dad with perfunctory kisses before taking me aside and murmuring so Mom wouldn’t hear, “I need to see you alone.”

A ball of something hard formed in my throat. “Is it bad?”

“It is what it is.” She led me around back to the screened-in porch, summer home to my parents, who’d installed indoor/outdoor carpeting and even a small TV. We stepped inside and she let the screen door slam.

“Okay,” I said. “Give it to me. I can take it.”

Viv got right down to business. “Did you spend $663 at Eastern Mountain Sports, or was that Griff? Because while he would shop there, I don’t think he’d spend that much money.”

This seemed like a stupid question for her to be so worked up about that she’d have to drive up to my parents’. I thought back to EMS. Why would I have . . . oh, right. “Yup. That was me. For Griff ’s godson, Jack. I bought him a sleeping bag because the place where they’re staying in Stone Harbor is short a bed.”

Jack was Griff ’s favorite godson and nephew, and I refused to feel guilty for spoiling him.

“Hold on,” I said. “I thought you were supposed to be finding
Griff’s
malfeasance, not mine.”

“That’s what I’m doing.” She dropped her bag on the round glass table and brought out a white legal pad on which was written a bunch of notes and numbers. “First thing, your finances, Kat, are a mess. Adele was shocked by how you buy and buy with total disregard for your income.”

I went hot, embarrassed that Adele—barely an acquaintance—was “shocked” by my spending.

“A lot of the credit card charges we found were from box and mall stores, Kat. Junk. Bed, Bath and Beyond. Pottery Barn. Crate and Barrel. Williams-Sonoma. Not one of which is under a hundred dollars.”

“Everything I bought we needed. Trust me.”

She looked up from the legal pad. “Build-a-Bear? What could you have ordered from there for seventy bucks?”

I tried to recall. Oh, right. “The cutest Bunny Big Ears with Build-a-Sound and a heartbeat in the most adorable wedding dress.”

“For whom?”

“For Bree.” I winced.

“
The
Bree?” she hissed. “
Griff’s
Bree.”

“I wouldn’t go so far as to call her
Griff’s
, but, yeah. She’d been doing such a great job helping him out with the book that, in gratitude, on a whim of generosity I decided to send her something cute. That was before all this, naturally.”

Mom appeared outside the screened porch. “Is there something I can get you girls? Iced tea, perhaps? Decaf coffee?”

Viv muttered something about Mom always sticking her nose in other people’s matters. “No, Ma!” she yelled. “We’re fine. We got a glitch with the party, that’s all.”

“Oh.” Mom slapped her cheek. “I hope it’s nothing serious.”

“Just a problem with the mini quiches. Kat and I will be right out.”

Not quite buying the mini-quiche excuse, Mom tinkered in the backyard, rolling up a hose and generally keeping herself within eavesdropping distance until she finally disappeared around the corner and Viv said, “Don’t freak. But Adele called Toni Feinzig for advice.”

How could she have not expected me to freak? Toni Feinzig was the lawyer who represented Beth Williams’s husband, Bernie, in his divorce. In fact, she was
the
premier divorce lawyer around town. “Why . . . what need would you have had to call Toni? It’s not that bad, is it?”

She pulled out my mother’s chaise and pushed me into it, a wise idea since my legs were beginning to feel weak. “It’s that bad.”