The Secret Lives of Housewives (14 page)

At that moment the waitress arrived with their drinks in oversized martini glasses, thick and frosty, with coarse salt covering the rims and thick straws poking up from the pale green-gold slush. She also put down a gigantic plate of chips covered with salsa, olives, beans, sour cream, and guacamole, and a few things Monica wasn't quite sure of.

“You ladies,” Cait said when the waitress left the table, “and this”—she sipped her drink—“will help a lot.”

The women took a moment to suck in the liquid through the straws. “Shit!” Eve said, wincing and holding her forehead. “Brain freeze!”

“God, I hate that,” Cait said, seemingly glad to change the topic. They waited until Eve had recovered her breath. “So, Monica,” Cait said, taking a chip and scooping up some of the nacho goodies, “how are things going with Dan?”

Monica's face softened and she grabbed a chip. “Things with Dan are really wonderful. We've been out half a dozen times and he's still as nice as I thought he was after our first day at the zoo. It's surprising the hell out of me.”

She flashed back to their first real date, three weeks before. He called that afternoon after he got home and suggested several places he thought she might enjoy, including a Japanese steak house, a good Spanish tapas bar, and a French restaurant, all in the city.

“Everything you've suggested means going all the way down to New York. There are lots of great places up here and we both commute all week. Maybe we should just relax and stay up here.” She usually let her date pick the place to eat but with Dan she felt like an active partner.

They talked about several places and then the conversation wandered off into other topics. When she mentioned that she'd bought a few CDs and grown to like Duke Ellington and Count Basie, Dan suggested a small jazz club in White Plains. “It's got different groups each month, some good, some average. I don't know who they've booked for this weekend but we could give it a try. The food's pretty good and if the music sucks we can leave.”

“Sounds great. I think we've got a plan.”

Unlike her usual self, Monica spent quite a while debating what to wear, and finally selected a pair of slender tan linen slacks, and a tan and teal striped summer sweater with a matching cardigan in case it got chilly. As the hour Dan was to pick her up approached, she found that her heart was pounding and her palms were sweating.

She heard his car pull into the driveway and to get past the “meet at the door” moment, she walked out to meet him. He looked really good in khaki linen slacks, a cocoa brown polo shirt, and dark sunglasses. She was surprised that he'd arrived at her house with the top up on his little car. When she questioned him, he said, “I can put it down if you like, but I thought you might worry about your hair.”
God, he's quite something,
she thought. It would be easier if he had some flaws. Would perfection gnaw at her after a while? “Anyway, it's difficult to talk with the top down.”

They left it up. On the way to the club, they talked about everything and nothing. The conversation never faltered, each anxious to add something or relate an anecdote. When he mentioned a film he'd seen recently, she felt totally comfortable telling him that she'd hated it. They debated and then agreed to disagree. After half an hour, she was almost disappointed when he easily maneuvered his car into a small parking place in the heart of White Plains.

The club was small and dimly lit, with a tiny raised stage in one corner for the performers who, according to Dan, would start playing at nine. She looked at the menu and a list of the specials, finally deciding on the cold salmon with the house's special dill and cream sauce. “Want to share?” Dan asked. “I was really debating between the salmon and the rack of lamb. If you're a lamb person, we could go halvsies.”

Since she'd been considering the same two dishes, she gladly agreed. Dan freely admitted knowing nothing about wine so he asked her if she wanted to make a selection from the wine list. “What do you like?” she asked, flattered.

“You,” he said with a twinkle, “but I'm sure that anything you select from the wine list will be fine.” She chose a Pinot Grigio, and when it arrived he seemed quite pleased with it.

Through the salad course, an unusual combination of radicchio and bits of fresh peach with a balsamic vinaigrette dressing, they discussed the current situation in a drought-stricken region of Africa, the sexual issues in the Catholic Church, and the state of the economy. When the main course arrived, they were debating the results of a recent study on cancer and coffee drinking.

When Monica had eaten half of her really delicious salmon and he'd finished half of his lamb, they switched plates. “It's the best way I know of to have your cake, or in this case lamb, and eat your salmon, too.”

The jazz combo, a sax, clarinet, bass, and drums, arrived at about eight-thirty and spent the next fifteen minutes trotting between the back of the restaurant and the stage. Then they tuned up, making difficult squealing noises and adjusting the microphones. Finally, at nine, while she and Dan were drinking coffee and a really good brandy, the quartet started playing. The music was unusual, but wonderful. During the short silence between each number, Dan made sure Monica was still enjoying herself.

When the group announced their second fifteen-minute break at about eleven, Dan suggested that they leave. “I think we're both starting to overdose and I'm still getting over jet lag.”

“Oh, Dan, I was enjoying myself so much that I forgot. You must be totally fuzzed.”

“Not quite, but falling asleep behind the wheel isn't my idea of a great way to end a most delightful evening.”

“Want me to drive?”

“Can you drive a standard shift?”

“Of course, and I'd love to get my hands on that little baby of yours.”

He dug in his pocket and without hesitation, handed her the keys.

During the drive home, Monica worried about the awkward moment when they would say good night at her door. Since he was silent, she wondered whether he was wondering what would happen, as well. However, when she pulled into the driveway, she saw that Dan was actually asleep. “We're here,” she said, softly awakening him.

“Oh shit,” he said, jerking to an upright position. “I'm so sorry. Not the most romantic way to end an evening.”

Monica's laugh was rich and genuine. “It sure gets us out of the ‘come in for a drink' moment. Go home and readjust to New York time.”

“Were you worried about that, too?”

With a rueful grin, she said, “Yeah. I'm not in any hurry. I think we just might see each other again.”

His grin was easy to see, even in the darkness of the car. He reached over and cupped the back of her head. His lips were soft, warm, and undemanding. When the long kiss ended, they both climbed out of the car and Dan came around to the driver's side. “Good night, Monica. I'll call you.”

“Are you okay to drive home?”

“Sure. Little short naps are so refreshing. Not polite, but refreshing. I'm fine.”

“Good night, Dan.” She pressed a light kiss on his lips, grabbed her purse, and walked to her front door, listening to Sam's frantic welcoming barks. She turned and waved, knowing he'd wait until she got inside before he drove away.

“S
ince then,” Monica said to her friends, “we've been out several times and had a lot of fun together.”

“But no sex yet,” Cait said.

“Back off, Cait. If sex happens I can assure you that you won't be the first one to know about it, but eventually I will tell all. I promise.”

“There I go getting pushy again,” Cait said. “Sorry, Monica. Let's change the subject.” They were all working on their second margarita and tongues were a bit looser. “I've got a joke that's been going around the Internet. God has almost finished creating Adam and Eve so he tells them that he's got only two things left. The first is a penis and the ability to pee standing up. Adam waves his hand in the air, jumps up and down, and yells, ‘Oh, please, I want that. Please, please, please.' So God gives it to him.” Cait paused to sip her drink.

“Well, Adam's so delighted that he runs all over Eden, peeing on bushes and rocks and trees while God and Eve watch. Eventually Eve turns to God and says, ‘Well, I guess I get what's left over. Exactly what is it?'”

She paused briefly, then said, “And God answered, ‘Brains.'”

While the other three women burst out laughing, Cait picked up her drink and sipped again. Through her laughter, Monica said, “I love it. It's so silly and so…so…men.”

“Okay,” Cait said. “Quick. Angie, what's the silliest thing you've ever done?”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

“I ate a sandwich of two slices of bread and a jar of the babies' strained apricots.” When Eve raised an eyebrow, she continued, “Well, they smelled good and the babies love them.”

“Good answer,” Cait said, giggling. “Monica.”

“I watched two hours of
The World Poker Tour
on TV when I was supposed to be working.”

“I love you, Monica,” Cait said, laughing harder. “Sometimes you just have to fuck work.”

“Wait a minute,” Eve said, giggling behind her hand. “I watch that show.”

By that time the women were laughing so hard it was difficult for them to catch their breath. “Cait,” Eve said. “How about you?”

“I got on-line, went to e-Bay, and bought a four-dollar phony diamond bracelet. Then I went to a pain in the ass party with a bunch of really snooty people I really hate and showed it off as if it were worth thousands. No one knew the difference. They gazed at it with envy all over their pinched little faces.”

“You didn't,” Monica said, leaning forward and dipping a chip into a pile of guacamole.

“I did. Even Logan was surprised, but he believed that I'd gone jewelry shopping when he wasn't around. He's such a snob sometimes.” She paused. “I guess I used to be that way, too. As long back as I can remember I always wanted to live in a big house on Sheraton or Willowbrook. Now it seems so ridiculous.” She chewed, then with relief on her face returned to the previous conversation. “Okay, Eve, you're not off the hook just because you watched poker on TV. Not silly enough. What's the really, truly silliest thing you've ever done?”

Eve got a dreamy look on her face and adjusted her glasses. “About six months ago Mike and I went to Pittsburgh to clear up problems with a wholesaler. I guess I didn't need to be there but we got to spend a night together.

“Anyway, the room had a stall shower that was really one of those glass enclosures on top of the tub. You know the ones?”

The three other women nodded.

“It was a Jacuzzi tub just big enough for the two of us, so after we made love I filled the tub with water and poured in a cap full of shampoo to make a bubble bath. Then we climbed in and turned on the jets.”

With a dreamy look on her face, she continued. “Mike closed the doors so it was sort of like a cozy little room. We talked and touched until bubbles started to fill the tub, then rise up the shower stall. Soon we were in foam up to our necks.” The three women chuckled.

“We climbed out of the tub in hysterics. It was so funny. We were both covered with bubbles.” All at once Eve's face clouded. “Then it got ruined. His wife called on his cell phone and asked why he was laughing. He told her that he was watching something on TV.”

Eve started to cry. “Don't hate me, Monica.”

“I don't hate you, why would I?” She picked up her glass and took a healthy swig. She knew exactly what Eve was referring to.

“I'm the kind of woman you hate, dating a married man. When something like that happens I feel so guilty. About her, I mean. You have every right to hate the woman your brother-in-law's moved in with.” She swiped at the tears now flowing down her face. “Monica, I love Mike. What am I supposed to do?”

Monica took her friend's hands across the table. “Oh, Eve, I didn't mean to make you so upset. I spoke out of turn and I'm so sorry.”

“You weren't out of line, but try to see it from my perspective. I love him.”

“Don't take this wrong, but do you really love him?” Monica asked, her voice purposely gentle. “If he were free, would you marry him?”

“In a minute,” Eve said.

“And have him cheat on you, too? He would, you know. Once a cheater…”

“Enough of this,” Cait said, interrupting. “Point made, Monica. We'll have no bad feelings tonight. I won't allow it. We're changing the subject. I'm just drunk enough to propose that we each tell about the best sex we ever had.”

Angie frowned and took a chip from the plate, dipped it into the small bit of remaining guacamole, and said, “Count me out on that. I don't think I've ever had the kind of sex you people probably have had. I was pretty uneducated when Tony and I got married, and since then he's been my only.” She frowned and took a large swallow, draining her second margarita. “He'd been with Jordanna, of course. She was probably better than me. Maybe she still is.”

“Excuse me?” Monica said, putting her glass down with a loud clank. “What the hell does that mean? Do you mean to say that you think he's having an affair? With his ex?”

Angie immediately looked embarrassed and put her hand over her mouth. “I'm a cheap drunk and my mouth gets too loose. I didn't mean to say that at all.”

Cait raised an eyebrow. “Truth, girl. You did mean it. Give!”

“Stop it, Cait,” Eve snapped. “We're friends but that doesn't give any of us the right to pry. Whatever Angie meant is her business alone. That goes for all of us. I like you guys very much and I want to continue to hang out with you, but not if you give everyone the third degree every time something slips out.”

“Phew,” Cait said, “the woman has claws.” She patted Eve's hand. “And I hate it when she's right. I really do get overly aggressive sometimes.” She turned to Angie. “I'm really sorry, sweetie. I didn't mean to mess in your life.”

Angie smiled weakly. “I know you didn't and I love you all for caring. I shouldn't have said anything, but Jordanna scares me.”

“I thought you were sort of friends,” Eve said softly.

“Yeah,” Angie said. “I try to make everyone think that, but I really hate her guts.” Again she put her hand over her mouth. “I shouldn't say that. I should be happy that she and Tony get along, but I'm so damned jealous of her I could scream.” Her voice quavered. “He goes over there almost every weekend and talks to her on the phone at least once a week. She's gorgeous and classy, sort of like you, Monica.”

“Thanks, I think,” Monica said, flattered at Angie's classification of her but sad for her friend and her low opinion of herself.

“Jordanna's everything I'm not. She's been to college and has a great job. She's got her figure. No stretch marks or boobs that hang down to her knees. She wears great clothes that aren't always stained with baby beets and formula.” Tears were running freely down Angie's cheeks. “She talks about international business and finance, things that Tony's interested in, not what some ten-month-old did today.”

“She's a rat,” Eve said, “and we all hate her.”

“Thanks for the support, Eve. I love you for it.” She paused. “Jordanna. Even her name is perfect.”

“Angie's a nice name,” Eve said. “It fits you.”

“If your name bothers you,” Cait said, “why not use Angela?”

“Angie fits me, small, comfortable.” She looked completely miserable. “And anyway I can't use Angela. My name is really just Angie. It's like that on my birth certificate.”

“Who's to know? Become Angela if she's more like the woman you want to be. You can be whomever you want.”

“It wouldn't help.”

“If she's so perfect, why did they split?” Monica asked.

“He doesn't talk about it much, but I gather that she dropped him. His sister-in-law talked about it one afternoon just after we were married. It seems that Jordanna thought Tony would get his masters, then his doctorate, and be a college professor. She loved the idea of being the wife of a professor. When it appeared that he wasn't interested in going further than teaching high school, she dumped him.” Angie smiled wryly. “Kept the name, though. She's still Jordanna Cariri.”

“Why did she keep his name if she dumped him?”

“She works with some financial services firm and has an identity as Jordanna Cariri, so she kept it. That makes me furious, too.” From her expression it was clear that she was both angry and depressed.

Monica wrapped her arm around her friend's shoulders. “It's okay, honey. You're a wonderful woman, and other than these two,” she said, indicating Cait and Eve, “the nicest dame I know. You're a great mom, a fabulous yoga teacher, and what's most important, a really good person.”

“I second that,” Cait said. “You're the best.”

Eve looked at Angie and said softly, “Why don't you do something about Jordanna? Tell Tony that he shouldn't see her anymore.”

“Oh,” Angie said quickly, “I couldn't do that. He's got a right to see whoever he wants.”

“Do you really think he's having an affair with her? I mean, if you were being brutally honest? Do you really think he's a cheater?”

Angie thought a minute. “No. I guess I just think that if I were him I'd prefer her to me. I wish I could compete.”

“You can, if you want to,” Cait said, rubbing the nail of her index finger with her thumb. “You could get your hair done, buy a few nice things to wear. It won't fix things if they're really broken, but it might make him look at you like a woman instead of a mommy.”

“I've thought about it, but I don't have the time or the money to spend on myself. Anyway, it would be like putting makeup on a cow. I'd still be a cow.”

“Cut that out!” Eve said. “Don't put yourself down that way. That attitude is what keeps you from doing anything about anything. I should know.”

“In my humble opinion, if things are that way with Tony, I don't think you can afford not to make the effort. That alone will show Tony something.” Cait took Angie's hand. “I told you several weeks ago that I would spend some time helping you with your errands, since you don't have a car at your disposal now that Tony's back commuting to the Bronx. We have a quest. We'll get your hair done, maybe your nails, too, and we'll find a few pieces of new, sexier clothing, even if we get things at Wal-Mart.” Her eyes gleamed. “And we have to get some new, disgustingly frivolous, man-catching undies, too. We'll make good things happen for you, babe.”

“I can't let you do that,” Angie said, sticking her chin out. “I won't take charity.”

Cait looked at her seriously. “If you had a lot of something and I needed it, would you give it to me?”

“Of course, but that's not the same.”

“Why not?”

Angie paused, tears filling her eyes. “I don't know. Why would you do that for me?”

“Because we're friends and that's what friends do for each other. Right?”

“Right,” the other two chimed in.

“Good. Then we've got that settled.”

From the look on Angie's face it was obvious that it wasn't settled, but they let it pass. “If you do things on the weekend,” Eve said, “I'd love to help. I could drive, or baby-sit.”

“Me, too,” Monica chimed in.

Angie was trying to wipe away the tears and smile at her friends at the same time.

“Okay, it's a plan. We'll work out the details during the week,” Cait said, “and let's all agree to hate Jordanna.”

“If I were being fair,” Angie said, “it's not her fault. They have a lot of history.”

“She's his past, and you're his present and his future,” Cait said, “and we're going to turn you into something so much more.” She reached out and fingered Angie's ponytail. “So much more. You'll be a regular Cinderella. If any three women can do it, we can. Right, ladies?”