The Queen Gene (13 page)

“No, thank you,” I said. “Too many calories.” My eyes shot open.

Why do I bother?!

I put on my jacket and shoes and drove to the preschool to get Adam. I looked out the window and caught a glance of Randy working in his studio. If only I could focus my attention for ten minutes, I could have some real imaginary fun with that guy.

* * *

“Darling, I am going out of my mind with this dog!” Anjoli announced through the phone.

“Hello, Mother,” I said.

“Hello. Listen, I need to vent. I am simply seething with negativity.”

“I’m fine, thanks for asking. Just heading to the preschool to pick up Adam.”

“Not only am I going out of my mind with this neurotic animal, they’re moving them in early! Do you understand what a devastating week this has been for me, darling?”

“Moving who in?” I asked.

“The girls!” Anjoli said as if I were an idiot for not knowing. “I saw the little giggle gaggle Tuesday evening. They’re going to be so noisy, I can tell.”

“What’s going on with Paz, um Spot, I mean Mancha?”

“I took him to a flotation tank to help him relax, but the salt water irritated his chewed-up paws and now they’re all red and scabby.”

“How awful!” I cried.

“Tell me about it, darling. It’s hideous.”

“Mother, I mean it’s awful that your dog in pain.”

“He’s never going to win any dog shows with paws that look like ground round!”

I sighed. “Do you ever fear that Animal Protective Services is going to take him away from you?”

“He has a gorgeous life, darling!” Anjoli shot defensively.

“Mother, you put him in a salt water isolation tank. Didn’t you think that might freak him out a bit? And it’s so, so eighties, anyway. Where did you even find a flotation tank?”

“At Alfie’s house,” she told me. “He bought it on eBay.”

“Mother, I’m here at the school. I need to run.”

“So, you’re on your mobile. Go in and get him. I want to update you on Kimmy. I’m very concerned about this
professor
she’s seeing. And the sorority thing has me in knots. It’s going to ruin the quiet feeling of the block.”

“The quiet feeling on the block?” I said, laughing. “PS 41 is on the block. How much of a quiet feeling does the elementary school provide?! Mother, I need to go in and talk to Adam’s teacher. I’ll call you later.”

“I’m sorry, is he studying for his SATs this week, darling? I
need
to talk. I’ve made a lot of sacrifices for you. I think you can take time from your oh-so-busy life and listen to your mother who is in triple
crisis
.”

“Mother, there’s nothing I can do about any of this right now. I’m not sure I can do anything to be helpful, really.”

“You can listen, darling. Let me be heard. Let me feel that I’m not so alone in this world.”

“Where is this coming from?” I asked. “Do you really feel alone in this world?”

I watched a mother emerge from the preschool, holding the hand of little Tyler, who I last saw with his nose in a bucket of blue paint.

“I have always felt alone,” she began. “When I was growing up, my parents never
heard
me. They never saw who I really was. They had an idea of who a good Italian girl from New Jersey should be and tried to force me into that mold. But it couldn’t be done. I would not become who I was not meant to be,” she said dramatically.

Out came Whitney, who I remember placing her hands in dull yellow paint when she visited out home for car-painting day.

“Since then, I have always felt alone in this world, darling.”

“Wow, Mother. I had no idea. Listen, Adam is going to have similar hang-ups if I don’t go inside and pick him up. Let me call you back in a few minutes.”

“I’m having a chemical peel I need to leave for in ten minutes.”

“Okay, I’ll call you later then. Hang in there.”

* * *

That afternoon, I left a message on my mother’s voicemail, then decided to take a nap with Adam. He smelled like peanut butter and vanilla cookies. His baby lips moved as if they were suckling. I stared at him for a half-hour before drifting off to sleep myself. He looked exactly like his father. I couldn’t take my eyes off of my baby who was growing up far too quickly for my comfort. In the time I watched sweet Adam sleep, I never once thought about where I had to be next, buying Windex, or goddamned light bulbs.

Chapter Fifteen

Looking back, it was ridiculous to think that my mother’s crisis would last longer than a few minutes. When I called her home that evening she wasn’t there. I left a message and decided to give her a try on her cell phone. I don’t know if I expected Anjoli to be sobbing as she wandered aimlessly through the streets of Manhattan, but I didn’t think she’d be raging at a seventies party with her theater friends. In the background I heard “Funky Town” and dozens of people singing along, “Won’t you take me to Funky Town.”

“Hello, hello, who’s there?” she shouted into the phone.

“Mother, it’s me. You sound busy.”

“Lucy, is that you, darling?” Anjoli shouted.

“Yes, Mother. I just wanted to make sure you were doing all right. Are you okay?” I shouted to make myself heard.

She laughed at something going on at the party. “Lucy, I most certainly am not fine. I’m fabulous. Haven’t you heard?”

Throughout my entire life, Mother.
“Listen, if you’re okay, I’m going to let you get back to your party. Jack and I are heading out for dinner.”

I heard a howl in the background. “Darling, Kiki is wearing the most retro outfit. Rainbow-striped bellbottoms and an eighteen-inch afro. Kiki, that is absolutely hilarious, darling. Where did you get that wig?!”

“Mother!” I shouted, trying to get her attention.

“Hold on a sec, Kiki. My daughter is on the phone. She’s concerned about my situation. It’s sweet, really, but I keep telling her Mummy can handle her own life.” Her voice now spoke into the receiver. “Darling, you are a gem for calling, but everything is under control. I just met these producers who are putting together an off-off-Broadway show merging two classics in sort of a southern Jewish dysfunctional marriage thing.
Fiddler on the Hot Tin Roof.
Isn’t that fabu?”

Mother typically invests in gay shows like
Oklahomo!
and
The Queen and I
, but she was apparently starting to venture into the world of bizarre straight productions as well.

Anjoli continued, obviously cupping her cell phone for privacy. “Kimmy brought that Nick character to the party. I’m trying not to allow his presence to ruin my evening. Anthropology. Have you ever heard of anything as ridiculous?” My mother was all over the place, as was her usual party mode. “I dated an anthropologist once. He was a complete bore. How is Kimmy supposed to live in the manner I’ve taught her to become accustomed to if she takes up with this rock digger?”

Rock digger?

“Is he an anthropologist or archeologist?” I asked.

“You’re missing the point, darling,” she snapped.

There’s a point?

“What’s the point, Mother?” I asked, not sure why I was allowing myself to get sucked into this discussion.

“Those Ivory Tower types are all the same. They think they’re better than everyone else. They’re so smug and self-righteous,” Anjoli explained.

“So are you and most of your friends, Mother. Why don’t you give the guy a chance?”

“He gives me the creeps.”

Then I got it. I was familiar with Kimmy’s taste in men. It wasn’t as though she was one of those beautiful women who picked loser after loser, one worse than the next. I was sure that Nick was not a scary guy. But that didn’t mean my mother wasn’t frightened. Any time she sensed that one of her primary relationships would shift due to the addition of someone new, Anjoli freaked out. The day before I married Jack, she begged me to back out of it, crying that it would “alter the balance” of our relationship. Upon this realization, I wondered if Anjoli said anything to Kimmy before she jilted Geoff at St. Patrick’s Cathedral.

* * *

When Wendy the babysitter arrived, I couldn’t keep my eyes off her tongue bar. It glistened as she spoke. She walked around our home commenting about how “rad” the artwork was. I had to agree. Jack was producing like a madman these days. When he found the VW bug, he also bought all of this scrap metal and car parts, which looked like a pile of junk to me. I kept nagging Jack to get rid of it already, but he told me he was going to make a sculpture. Sure enough, we now have a truly unique life-size man made from hub caps, a radiator, spark plugs, and miscellaneous other crap one finds at a junk yard. “This place is the bomb,” Wendy proclaimed, her tongue lighting off and on with every syllable she spoke.

At dinner, Jack and I shared our concerns about the arts colony. “We’ve got a show in three months and no one’s done shit,” Jack said. “Maxime is depressed, Chantrell hasn’t played a note in days much less composed anything, and Randy’s trying, but everything keeps breaking.”

“And how ‘bout Jacquie?” I asked. “She’s just a breath of fresh air, isn’t she?”

“What
is
her deal?” Jack said, laughing. “That first night, I thought she was terrific. What a bitch she turned out to be.”

“What’s with all of the shopping?” I asked.

“I know! She doesn’t take a break!” Jack added.

Although Jack and I were frustrated that our artist community was a bomb (as opposed to
the
bomb), it was fun to band together against a common enemy — them. It was us against our guests. Jack looked more serious and reached from my hand as the waiter refilled our wine glasses. “Do you think there’s something we could be doing differently?” Jack asked. “Seriously, I want to turn this around and have a good show for Labor Day weekend.”

Leave it to a man to want to solve the problem. I was having such fun complaining and making fun of our non-productive artists. Maxime, Jacquie, Chantrell, and Randy were worth their dead weight in gold.

“I don’t know what we could do,” I said. “You know what Anjoli always says, ‘Grant me the wisdom to change what I can change, to not stress out about what I can’t, and the wisdom to know the difference.’”

“I think that’s the Alcoholics Anonymous serenity prayer,” Jack said.

“Really? The way she and Kimmy are always spouting it, I always thought they made it up.”

“Luce, seriously, what are we going to do? Right now we don’t have an artist colony. We’ve got a bunch of squatters.”

“I don’t think that’s fair to Randy,” I said too quickly. “He’s trying, but everything keeps breaking.”

Jack raised his eyebrow. “You’ve got a thing for that guy, don’t you?”

I gasped with denial. “Absolutely not! I just feel for him.”

“I bet you do,” Jack teased.

“I mean I feel sorry for him! He’s trying his best.”

Jack laughed. “Luce, it’s okay. I can see the guy’s a good-looking, interesting artist. It’s no big deal if you’re attracted to him.”

Really?

“Really?” I asked.

Jack laughed. “Sure. Don’t worry about it.”

“Jack, are you just incredibly cool, or do you feel guilty because you’re attracted to Chantrell?” I asked.

“The weeper? Not even close.”

Then who?!

“Oh,” I smiled. “That’s good, because I think she and Maxime already had an affair.”

“Gee, ya think?” Jack said.

Who are you attracted to then?

“So you’re not attracted to Chantrell?” I asked.

Then who?

“Nope,” he said as his food was placed before him.

Then who?

“Jack, are you attracted to anyone?”

“Very much,” he said, smiling. It was clear he meant me.

“No, really. Are you just telling me it’s okay to be attracted to Randy because you’re attracted to someone else?”

“No, I’m telling you because I don’t want you to get yourself all worked up feeling guilty over something that’s completely normal.”

“If you’re telling me that it’s normal for a happily married woman to find herself attracted to someone else, then you’re telling me that it’s normal for you to do the same.”

“That wasn’t the purpose of my comment, but yeah, I guess you’re right. It would be just as normal for me as it is for you.”

Who is he attracted to?!

“Oh,” I said, smiling calmly. “Delicious salad dressing, don’t you think?”

“I guess,” he returned.

Who the hell is he attracted to?!

“Okay, as long as we’re being so honest, yes, I do find Randy attractive. And you’re telling me that you have no problem with that?” I took another bite of my salad.

“None,” he said after sipping his wine.

“And why may I ask is that?!” I demanded.

“Because I know it doesn’t mean anything.”

Who the hell is this guy pining for?!

“So it wouldn’t bother you in the slightest if I told you that yesterday I thought about Randy?”

“Nope,” Jack said.

“I mean, I
thought
about Randy.” I failed to disclose that a mother’s sexual fantasies are often interrupted and derailed by the mundane.

“Nope, go ahead and put him on the wheel.”

“The wheel?” I asked.

“Yeah, you’ve never heard of the wheel before?” Jack asked. I shook my head that I had not. “You know, the roulette wheel with eight different faces on it? You take a spin, see where it lands, and then, well, you know.”

“Who the hell is on
your
wheel?!” I demanded.

“Luce, come on. I’m playing around with you a little here. You’re the love of my life. I’d never mess up what we’ve got. I was only trying to let you know that I’m not upset about your little crush on Slippery Fingers.”

“I don’t think this is at all funny, Jack! Actually, I think you’re kind of being a jerk. When we were separated, you had two serious girlfriends. I had sex with one retarded short-order cook in a car wash in New Jersey. This is a sore subject for me. Frankly, I feel a little cheated by the timing on our whole reconciliation. I think you owe me one — at least.” Jack looked startled. “If we’re so happy and unthreatened, I should get to have a fling with Randy to even the score.”