The Scarlet Letter Scandal (10 page)

Reuniting with her first husband had brought a peaceful balance to her life she didn’t think possible. She had forgotten how it felt to have the comfort of routine, the security of knowing she was truly loved by another person despite her faults. Love could be a pain in the ass, but it had its advantages. Sleeping better was only one of them.

Just last night, Dave had taken her in his arms in the kitchen and danced with her. Dancing in the kitchen was something they’d done many years before, when their daughters, now off to college, had been little. Even through the tragedy of the loss of their son, there were times they still held each other and swayed to whatever music was playing. Sometimes, when Dave held her in his arms, she’d be so relaxed that she’d open her eyes and find herself in a different part of the kitchen, not even realizing they’d been moving.

Dave had encouraged her to seek therapy for the panic attacks. Though she was nearly fifty, it still affected Maggie that her mother had abandoned her to the foster care system so many years before. But Maggie didn’t want to talk to some stranger on a couch. Besides, the current state of “settling down” that her life seemed to be doing was therapeutic in itself.

The jingling of the shop bell caused her to look up
. Crap
, she’d forgotten to lock the door back up after bringing boxes in, and she wasn’t planning to open back up until tomorrow.

Maggie looked up to greet her customer. What she saw took her aback. It was Jeannie Robbins—what was her new name? Applesomething? Maggie’s eyes narrowed as Jeannie entered the shop, not yet seeing her, and pretended to peruse the vintage clothing. Maggie quietly stepped back behind the rack of clothing she’d been steaming, a tall display of vintage lingerie, to collect herself for a moment.

Having grown up in Boston, Maggie moved to Keytown at the start of ninth grade. Beginning a new high school as a foster kid from another state was awful. She’d been moved from home to home for years, and the agency told her she was lucky to find a family who would take a thirteen-year-old, but they were moving to Maryland. She’d met Jeannie the first day of high school, and after a run-in at the cafeteria on day one where she’d made the mistake of trying to sit at the yearbook editor’s table, had hated her ever since. Jeannie had somehow found out about Maggie’s past in the Boston foster care system and been cruel enough to spread the word around the school before Maggie had a chance to meet a single new friend. Fortunately their paths didn’t cross much since Jeannie had married so much later; Maggie’s girls were in high school when Jeannie returned to town much later to marry and have kids.

Maggie took a deep breath, mentally mapping where her anxiety pills were in her purse under the counter, and stepped out from behind the clothes rack to face her longtime adversary.

“Welcome to Wings Vintage Clothing. May I help you?” Maggie said in as polite a pretend-new-customer voice as she could muster, not being someone who could hide her emotions easily. The smile on her face did not reach her eyes.

“Well, hello, Maggie. It’s been quite some time,” said Jeannie, picking up a long, belted ’70s leather jacket Maggie knew she wouldn’t ever dream of wearing.

Maggie pretended to think for a moment, a purposefully quizzical look on her face. “Oh, I’m sorry, hello, Jeannie. Yes, hardly recognized you, no offense. Haven’t seen you much since high school.”

“Yes, well, I haven’t stayed here since then,” said Jeannie, glancing around with faux interest and an overly polite faux smile, “
no offense
to you or your adorable shop. But of course I was away in North Carolina for college and had a successful human resources career, and then when I met Chaz again at our twentieth reunion and he had such a good job at the financial firm… It was lucky we were both single and fell in love of course and well, I was back in Keytown.”

“Yes, here you are,” said Maggie, who knew all of that from a friend who’d attended the reunion she herself never would have. Having stayed in town since high school, she didn’t need to know what happened to those who’d left. “Is there something I can help you find? I don’t know if we have anything befitting a former color guard captain.”

Jeannie looked at her to see if she was being sarcastic, which of course she was, though her casual smile hid it relatively well. Maggie walked over to the counter, picking up her water bottle.

“I’m just browsing,” said Jeannie, walking down one of the aisles and fingering vintage blouses as though they were a thing she would never pick up, much less put on her Talbots-dressed body, currently clad as it was in navy slacks (because yes, Maggie noted silently to herself, Jeannie was the type to wear
slacks
) and a conservative floral blouse.

Interesting she looks like she’s on her way to church
, thought Maggie.
Back in the day she wore the trampiest short-shorts that existed and more than one football player bragged about seeing her wearing less than that.

Maggie took the moment that Jeannie was facing away from her to grab a pill from her bag. She ignored all concern that the benzos could be addictive, focusing more on surviving the unpleasant social interaction that brought back painful memories of her high school years. She had already noticed she was starting to sweat and had developed a pounding sensation in her head.

When Maggie looked up from putting the prescription bottle back into her purse, Jeannie was standing at the counter. She dropped a vintage beaded coin purse onto the counter; Maggie internally cringed at the sound of the metal clasp hitting the glass surface.

“My daughter would love this,” she said, taking out her credit card.

Maggie didn’t know how old the kid was, but doubted a fifty-eight-dollar black sequined flapper purse from the 1920s was going to be appreciated by any age child, especially a child of Jeannie’s.

“So I heard the downtown area is a pretty exciting place to work,” said Jeannie, looking at Maggie.

“Well, um, yeah, been here forever, so yeah, I guess it is,” Maggie answered, looking back at Jeannie to see what she was getting at.

“Lots of social clubs and things,” Jeannie added.

“Well, I don’t belong to any social clubs,” Maggie answered, “but I guess there can’t be any more or less than you have over at your cozy four-hundred-house subdivision over there.”

“Yes, I have recently learned there is quite a bit of, shall we call it,
socializing
going on in my neighborhood,” said Jeannie. “Though I can’t say I’m a part of that type of activity. I stay busy with the homeowners association since my husband is the president, and of course your friend Lisa is on our welcoming committee.”

“It’s nice of her to donate her wares to welcome people to their freshly vinyl-sided abodes,” said Maggie pleasantly, bagging up the purchase and handing the credit card slip to Jeannie for her signature.

Maggie knew why Jeannie was there. Her reference to learning about social activity was all about that ridiculous blog “The Keytown Mouse” and its stories about the Scarlet Letter Society and whatever swingers’ club was going on over at Stony Mill. But there was no way in hell Maggie was going to acknowledge the existence of that trash, especially not to the queen of the thundercunts.

“Our committee has been seeking coupons for the welcome baskets,” Jeannie said with a smile, taking the purchase and sliding the signed credit card slip back across the counter. “If you’d like to donate one we’d appreciate it.”

“I already told Rachel I would as soon as I had some postcards printed up,” said Maggie. “Though since it’s not a charity I don’t consider it a donation, I’m happy to welcome new customers.”

Yeah, right
, Maggie thought. Like the subdivision people ever came by the vintage clothing shop unless it was time for one of their slutty Halloween parties. Well, a sale was a sale. “I hope your daughter enjoys the purse.”

“Oh, I’m sure she will,” said Jeannie. “Bye for now! Hope to see you again soon.”

The feeling isn’t mutual
, thought Maggie.

The door opened a moment earlier than it should’ve for Jeannie’s departure, and Maggie looked up at the sound of the bells. Like an oasis in the desert, she saw the arrival of her best friend, Wes, in all of his skinny jeans–wearing, deliciously scented glory.

He walked past Jeannie, glancing over his shoulder and giving her a visual up-down as she departed. He turned back to Maggie and with widened eyes and a horrified expression made a finger-in-mouth gagging gesture after the door closed behind her.

“Is there a tacky contest downtown today I didn’t get the memo for?” Wes asked. Maggie walked around the front of the counter to greet him with a hug. “Because I wouldn’t want to miss it, and in fact would enjoy being a judge. But that one did
not
look like one of your customers.”

“Oh, she isn’t, thank God,” said Maggie. “But she is the one I told you about, the queen bee of the cookie-cutter clan.”

“Well, I’m glad we had lunch plans today to catch up since you got busy last time and had zero gossip. Let’s get out of here and eat sushi.”

She walked over and put the “Back in an hour” sign on the door, locking up her shop.

“I’m so happy to see you,” said Maggie, hugging Wes a second time. “How’s my favorite man?”

“Oh, you know that should be Dave,” said Wes, hugging her. “But naturally I’m not complaining
c’est moi
. What’s with all the love today?”

“You’d be complaining if it wasn’t you, and you know it,” said Maggie, “I’m just feeling needy.”

“Ew, it’s weird on you, but cute. So how was your little visit down to Whore Island?” said Wes. They began walking the block over to their favorite waterfront sushi lunch spot.

She smirked. “It was fine, Anchorman.”

“It’s a shame that second movie was a disaster,” said Wes.

“Truth be told,” said Maggie, “the trip was lovely. It was nice to spend time with Eva and Lisa after not seeing them for a while with everything that’s been going on.”

“How are the ladies recovering from all their life trauma drama?” asked Wes.

“It’s been a tough few months,” said Maggie. “Death and divorce and loss. I think we all needed the getaway.”

“Is Eva back in New York or DC at all yet?” he asked as they walked.

“A little bit,” said Maggie, “but not full time, which I’m honestly kind of surprised about.”

“I will have to stop by there next weekend and say hello to her,” said Wes. “Alfred and I have a wedding to go to on the island.”

“Oooh, fun! Anyone I know?” said Maggie.

“I don’t think you ever met Alfie’s old friend Bruce from college,” said Wes. “He’s marrying his adorable PR friend Steve. They’re so cute together and you know that adorable B&B on the water has the best big gay weddings in America. Can’t wait.”

“Sharps Island Inn?” asked Maggie. “Eva loves those guys. The place is gorgeous and the food is amazing.”

“Everything there is fabu. Those boys can take me swimming in a pool full of their homemade Drunken Fig Jam anytime, honey. And good for Steve and Bruce,” said Wes. “They can join the ranks of us who were just
dying
to get gay married and now we’re just
normal
married like everyone else.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” said Maggie. “Don’t even tell me there is trouble in your pretty little paradise.”

Wes huffed, opening the door to Café Tokyo. Maggie walked in, picking up a menu to peruse the selections while they waited for a table.

“It’s not trouble exactly,” said Wes. “It’s just that after seven months of marriage I guess the normalcy is settling in.”

“Well, how is it any different from the usual married shit?”

“I guess the married shit is all the same,” said Wes. “I wouldn’t know. I’m tired of the city. I want to move out to a place where’s there’s grass and maybe have kids and just settle down. That seems normal, right?”

“Honestly, I can’t see you leaving the city,” said Maggie, as the pair were led to a table overlooking Fritchie Creek. “I for one would be devastated, and you work here.” She dramatically placed the back of her hand on her forehead. “And the theater would perish without you. What does Alfred say?”

“He says over his dead body are we moving to some crappy subdivision, and that he doesn’t see why that much has to change just because we have a piece of paper now.”

“Like what changing?” asked Maggie.

“Well, I guess I have to admit we didn’t spend a lot of time talking about having kids and settling down or whatever,” said Wes. “And you know, the whole fidelity thing.”

“Oh, yikes,” said Maggie. “I’m familiar with the idea in general. What’s the discussion on that?”

“I worry,” said Wes. “I don’t know if I’m enough and he is so pretty. He could have any guy in a two-minute text or God help us photo exchange on Grindr.”

“Is he doing that?”

“I don’t know,” said Wes. They paused the conversation to order Bento boxes. “What if he is so afraid of this settling down thing that it’s making him turn to the same slutty lifestyle he pretty much had before we were together? He’s younger and sexier.”

“But he loves you,” said Maggie. “You know that. He wouldn’t want to hurt you.”