Underneath It All (27 page)

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Authors: Margo Candela

BOOK: Underneath It All
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83
Vivian
“
H
ello? Bina?”
“Sorry, it’s me. Vivian. Remember me?”
She’s calling me from her car. I can hear traffic noises.
“Where are you?” I ask. I almost wish she would have walked in while Mrs. Mayor was here. It’s better for me if they go ahead and have their little showdown so I can get back to my life. The longer they put it off, the more awkward it’s going to get for me.
“I’m driving around,” she says, sounding lost.
“Another work thing? It’s a good thing you’re so flexible.” I like Vivian, really I do, but she had sex with Mr. Mayor and he’s married. And she did it in my flat at least twice. Never mind that I probably would have done the same thing, but she didn’t have to deal with his wife’s nervous breakdown and doesn’t have to work with her either.
“I was just calling to say hi.” She sounds small and insecure.
“Hi,” I say. I know what’s coming next. She’s going to ask me to clean up her mess.
“Jacquelyn? I did something really stupid. Beyond stupid. Suicidal.”
“Really.” I wait. I can’t act shocked and I won’t pretend to. I’m angry and hurt, more than I’d ever admit to anyone. Especially myself.
“I ... I slept with Kit.” She lets the statement hang there. “Are you there, Jacquelyn?”
“Yeah, I’m here.” I look down at my fingernails and see that they’re chipped. I walk into the bathroom and gather up my manicure supplies and pack them along with my other stuff.
“I’m sorry,” Vivian says.
No doubt she hopes this will mean something to me. She wants me to get mad.
“Why are you telling me you’re sorry? I’m not his wife, Vivian,” I snap. Gosh, I’m a bitch.
“See, I knew you’d be mad at me.” She sounds almost relieved.
“I’m not mad. Just ... This just makes my life all the more difficult. So ... what? Is he leaving her for you? What happens now, Vivian? Did you ever consider that?” I ask, letting it all ooze out like pus.
“I don’t know.” She begins to cry. “Jacqs. Please tell me what to do.”
I don’t say anything. I don’t think anything.
“Jacqs?”
“Come home. I’ll pack you an overnight bag. We’re spending the night at Natasha’s.”
 
I wake up like a shot at 5:30 the next morning, remembering Bina and the boat ride around the bay. I scramble toward my phone and find no messages on it.
I jump out of bed, and Vivian groggily pushes herself up on her elbows.
“What’s wrong, Jacqs?” She looks beautiful. Even with the crusty things in the corners of her eyes.
“I was supposed to meet Bina last night! Sanjay is gay! He was supposed to tell her, but he hasn’t.” I scamper around the room like a chicken with its head up its ass. “And she hasn’t called, and she doesn’t know where I am, and—”
“Jacqs, calm down.” She gets up and takes her shoes out of my hands. “I’ll fix us some breakfast, coffee or something. You take a shower. We’ll go over to her place and see what’s up. No big deal.”
“Yeah, no big deal. Should I call her? Why hasn’t she called? Maybe they went on the boat and he’s killed her!” I yell. “My aunt had a stroke and it’s my fault. I told my cousin to elope and it’s killed her mother. Or at least has made her a horrible cripple and I don’t feel bad about it. And I ruined Nate’s chances at true happiness. But he gave her my ring! What was I supposed to do? Maybe not send them a gift, but I couldn’t help myself. And this is just the latest. I am truly an evil person and I’ll burn in hell.”
“Jacqs, you’re not making any sense. I’ll call Bina. You’re in no state to talk to anyone. Take a shower. I’ll take care of everything.”
“OK. Yes. You can help me.” She leads me by the hand into the bathroom and starts up the shower.
“You’re not evil, honey, you’re just complicated,” she says in a soothing voice as she quickly strips off my clothes and settles me under the showerhead.
My heart is filled with real love for her. I forgive her for screwing Mr. Mayor, for screwing him in my flat and for probably screwing us both out of a job.
“Mrs. Mayor is feeding Emilio all the information, she’s the link. Mr. Mayor knows it, but they’re looking for someone else to scapegoat.”
“I know, honey. You just relax. I’ll take care of everything.”
“Yes. Please.” For once, I’ll let someone else take care of me and I can just stand here and let life happen.
84
Bina
V
ivian makes me have a cup of tea and an apple scone before we leave. She doesn’t shower. She can’t reach Bina by phone and is as worried as I am.
Without asking, she gets into the driver’s seat and heads toward Bina’s.
“So Sanjay is gay?” Vivian asks, more to herself. “That would explain why he’s obsessing over every detail. You know, trying to make sure the façade was perfect to continue his lie.”
“He promised me he’d tell her, but then he called and said he hadn’t, and then she told me they had this boat cruise planned, and I promised to go with her but I totally forgot.”
“That’s my fault. I’m sorry.” Vivian reaches over and pats my thigh. “I’m so sorry, Jacqs. Can you forgive me?”
I look down at my hands and realize it’s not totally absurd that Vivian is asking for my forgiveness. She knew, though she never let on, that I had a raging crush on Mr. Mayor. “I ... I guess I can understand why it happened. He cheats, and you were lonely and vulnerable.”
“And a little drunk and desperate. I’m not totally innocent here. I feel bad for Mrs. Mayor, though. I’m going to resign today. It would be impossible for me to keep working for him. And he knows it,” she says wryly. “How déclassé to sleep with your press secretary. The man will be president yet.”
“What will you do?” It’s nice to talk about someone else’s problems for a bit.
“Deal with my divorce. Take some time off. Look for something new to do with my life.” Vivian adjusts her sunglasses on her nose and looks over at me and smiles. “The world is my oyster, baby. Slurp, slurp.”
I laugh for the first time in days.
 
I knock on the door and call out to Bina, being careful not to cause a scene in front of the early morning coffee junkies. She lives right next door to a very popular café, and her sidewalk is always clogged with people. No one seems to have a job in her neighborhood, so the café is always packed. How they pay for their $4 lattes is beyond me.
I wait for a moment before I use my key. I don’t want to barge in on her, but she won’t answer her phone or her door. I think this qualifies as an emergency.
I push open the door and feel Vivian’s hand on my shoulder. “I’ll be at the café. Call me if you need me.”
I nod, thankful that Vivian has enough sense to understand that she’s not close enough to Bina to be here for this. God, is anybody?
I walk up the steps and find Bina sitting at her kitchen table, wearing her windbreaker and sneakers. I feel myself begin to tear up.
“Are you OK?” I ask, taking a seat next to her.
“Hi, Jacqs. Tea, coffee? Waffles?”
She was raised, as I was, to offer a guest something to drink or eat no matter the circumstances. The worse the circumstance, the more elaborate the offer.
“I’ll make some tea.” I get up and try to be as quiet as possible as I brew the tea and set out some of her favorite shortbread cookies. She doesn’t move or say a word. Doesn’t even cry. I could understand crying, or even laughing, but not silence.
I sit down next to her and pour her a cup of tea, using the hodgepodge of cups and saucers I’ve given her over the years.
She takes a sip and puts down the cup. I reach over and run my hand through her hair. Her head bobs down and I can see the tears start.
“He’s left me,” she says simply.
“When?”
“Yesterday. He said this wedding, getting married ... It wasn’t right.” She cries harder. I fold her into my arms until she’s practically on my lap. “He said he wasn’t ready to get married.”
“Wait. What?” I ask, trying to keep the rage out of my voice. “That’s the reason he gave you?”
“I said the same thing! I said we could postpone. We could wait, but he said he was leaving for New York and it was over. That he loved me, but he wasn’t ready to get married.”
“That asshole! That complete bastard!” I yelp. How dare he put it all on her shoulders? What a pathetic, cowardly copout!
Bina nods soggily against my chest and cries. I cry with her while formulating revenge plans. If Sanjay thinks I’ll let him get away with this, he doesn’t know me very well.
Sometime later, long after our tea has gone cold, we hear tentative knocking on the front door. Bina looks up at me.
“It’s Vivian. She’s got issues of her own. She slept with Mr. Mayor.”
“Oh, God, let her in. I’ll make us some fresh tea.” Bina gets up without her usual bustle and trudges over to the stove.
I scamper downstairs and open the door for Vivian to slip in.
“How is she?” Vivian whispers, looking concerned, but surprisingly well rested considering she was in a chemically induced coma for the last fifteen hours.
“Devastated. Practically catatonic.” This is true, if a little dramatic. Bina has always been on the dramatic side but not necessarily a drama queen. “How are you?”
“I just talked to Mr. Mayor,” she says nonchalantly. I keep myself from pointing out that she called the man she just slept with
Mr.
“Things are a little more complicated than I thought. She knows.”
“I’m sorry, Vivian.” And I am, too, but I’m also sorry that Mrs. Mayor found out, and not only found out, but found out it happened in my flat with someone she knows I consider a friend. A good-enough friend to let live in my flat, where she, my friend, had sex with her husband.
“I hope Mrs. Mayor doesn’t take it out on you. Kit won’t stand for it,” Vivian says, but we both know my job security took a downward spiral the second Vivian’s panties did. “I’ll talk to him.”
I’m about to tell her not to bother when Bina calls down to us.
“What are you girls whispering about down there?” Her voice sounds stronger but full of sadness. “It better be about me.”
“Of course it is, sweetheart. We’ll be right up.” I grab Vivian and move her hair out of the way to whisper in her ear. “Sanjay, that prick, left town. Told her he wasn’t ready to get married.”
“That asshole!” Vivian whispers furiously. “He can’t think he’ll get away with this!”
“For now, that’s the story. I don’t know if it’s better for Bina to think he didn’t love her enough to marry her, or that she came this close to marrying a gay man.”
“OK! That’s enough time! I’m coming down!” Bina yells.
We head upstairs and try not to look guilty. Bina is sitting at the table, a romantic spread of fresh sliced fruits, scones, strawberry jam, orange juice and a bottle of personalized champagne in front of her. I realize this is probably what she had planned on feeding Sanjay this morning. What better way to send off the man you love to work than with some homemade jam, scones and a mimosa? The prick.
“Champagne, anyone?” Bina asks with a hiccup. “I have tons. It was Sanjay’s idea for the wedding favors. We were going to hand them out at the reception, after, the, the, the wed—”
Vivian rushes over to Bina and enfolds her in an embrace and begins to cry. This sets Bina off, and since I’m not into three-way hugs, I hang back and sniffle, feeling a little left out. They hang on to each other while I clumsily think about the multitude of problems I have that would normally warrant attention and sympathy. Getting a little impatient I pop the cork on the bottle and pour the fizzy drink, sans orange juice, into the crystal flutes.
“At least now I can eat like a normal person. Sanjay had this thing with my weight. An unhealthy obsession,” Bina says as she spreads a thick layer of strawberry jam on a scone. She stops and turns the bottle so the label, with their names in elaborate script and wedding date on it, faces away from her.
“A woman’s weight is never a man’s business,” Vivian adds, downing her glass and holding it out for a refill. “Curtis had this thing with my boobs. He wanted me to get a reduction.”
“He did not!” I check out Vivian’s chest. She has the kind of boobs that are a cup size too big to be anything but sexy knockers. Usually she hides them behind demure suits, but she always wears high-quality lingerie.
Even though I already ate, I take a scone and load it up with jam and butter. After all, it’s never a good idea to drink on an empty stomach. Especially when you’re drinking champagne before seven in the morning.
“He said they made me look common.” She grunts and opens her shirt and puts them on display for us. Bina reaches over and gives one a gentle poke, like testing the softness of a ball of dough.
“Common! They’re fantastic. I’d kill for breasts like that.” Bina is a small B cup and has always had boob envy. She takes a healthy sip out of her flute. Vivian refills it before she has a chance to put it down. “I think I’ll use the wedding-deposit money and buy me some.”
“You should.” And I really mean it. She needs boobs. She needs something to totally distract her from the fact that her secretly gay fiancé just dumped her without telling her the real reason why. “Couldn’t one of your doctor friends give you a good deal?”
I’m pandering to her vices, but she needs distraction. Second on Bina’s list of favorite things to do is bargain hunting. First is watching movies, with matinees being the pinnacle of both favorites.
“I don’t know what I’m going to tell my family,” Bina says quietly. She finishes off her glass and tips it toward me for a refill.
“I’m sure they won’t notice unless you get really big implants,” Vivian says, taking another scone off the plate.
“Not about my breasts. Sanjay. What should I tell them? They’ll be so disappointed in me,” Bina whispers.
I reach over and take her hand before Vivian butts in. “You didn’t do anything wrong. He’s crazy. This is his ... failure to live up to his promise.”
“Jacqs is right. Men are weak and we women spend way too much time compensating for them while never letting on we know. It’s a vicious pattern. I’m glad that my husband has put me out of my misery by suing me for divorce. He’s doing me a favor.” Vivian pours the last of the champagne into our glasses.
“Maybe you’re right. Right? I mean, I would have gone through with the wedding even though I’ve been having my doubts,” Bina says, sounding a little stronger.
“What doubts?” Vivian and I ask simultaneously. Bina gets up and pulls another bottle from her stash and expertly pops the cork. It’s warm so I get up and get a bowl of ice from the freezer and plunk cubes into the glasses. Bina tops them off.
“He was so fastidious about his clothes and grooming. He spent more time getting ready than I did. And he always had something to say about my appearance, tips on how I could look better.” Bina reaches up to finger her necklace. She does this when she’s nervous. “It drove me crazy. I could never find my favorite tweezers.”
“He was very stylish,” I offer up cautiously. The guy left clues like breadcrumbs and eventually Bina has to figure out where they lead to. “He also had that thing with your magazines.”
“What thing? What magazines?” Vivian asks. She picks at her fruit plate as she sips.
“Oh, he would always read my
Vogue
before I did and he made me subscribe to
Harper’s Bazaar
and
W
magazine even though I told him I barely had time to read
Vogue,
” Bina says with a slight slur.
“Oh,” Vivian says. And looks over at me and widens her eyes. It couldn’t be plainer than day to the both of us that Bina should at least have some inkling as to what her doubts were really about.
“But enough about that snake, Sanjay. So you actually slept with the Mayor, Vivian?” Bina, back in her straightforward-business mode. “Not smart.”
“Tell me about it.” Vivian puts her chin in her hand. “Now I’ll have to find a new job, and you didn’t hear it from me as the official spokesperson for the Mayor of San Francisco, but the economy is in the toilet.”
“Vivian is going to resign,” I explain to Bina. “When will you do it?”
“Today. I’m going into the office later today and telling the staff. Might as well get it over with.”
“What will you tell them?” Bina asks Vivian.
“Some bullshit story about sick parents back in Ohio?” Bina and I shake our heads. “A juicy job offer in Borneo? Half those Ivy Leaguers will think I mean Bora Bora because they have fond memories of spending a carefree summer there after college, all of twelve months ago.”
“This is terrible. To have to leave your job! He should ...” Bina trails off.
“Do what? I had sex with my boss. My married boss who happens to be a rising politician. I’m a casualty of my own making.” Vivian shrugs.
“How can you be so matter-of-fact about it?” Something like this would take me another year in therapy to figure out. I’d keep Dr. N in Birkenstocks for life.
“I don’t love him, Jacqs. It was sex. Stupid sex. I knew what I was doing when I did it. I didn’t have any illusions.”
“Speak for yourself,” I say jokingly and take a pass on a refill. One of us should be halfway sober to face the rest of the day.

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