What is Love? (25 page)

“Hey, sorry.” Sienna
entered the bedroom and picked up some of the papers on the bed. “Do you have
any idea how much debt I have?”

“More than me, I
bet!” Sienna laughed until she realized Ellen was serious. “Really? That bad?”
Sienna leaned against the desk, tossing the papers back onto the bed.

“Yes. Too much.”

“So declare
bankruptcy,” Sienna said, lighting her cigarette.

“You’re kidding,
right?” Ellen stared at Sienna, uncertain how to take her remark.

Sienna shrugged.
“You already got bad credit, nothing to lose.”

“That’s exactly why
I have bad credit. Look at this
 …”
Ellen held up a stack of bills and shook it. “How could this go on for so long
and never get taken care of?”

Sienna exhaled and
sat on the edge of the bed, tapping her ashes in the ashtray. “Isn’t Johnny
going to help? When you get married, sorta wipe it all away?”

“That’s not for a
while; in the meantime, I need money. I can’t live like this. Look at this—I owe
more than I make in a year.” Ellen faced the stack and frowned. “No—two years.”

“Ouch! That much?”
Sienna entered the room and sat, resting her cigarette in the ashtray.

“Even if I just make
the interest payments, I have nothing left over. How can anyone live like this?
What if there’s an emergency?”

Sienna picked up
some of the bills. “That’s why you have Johnny.”

“I should have a
nest egg. I need more money. I can’t keep borrowing from you or Rory.”

“So get a job at
night, like at a store or bar.”

“Hardly.”

“Or sell some of
your photos. My friend Steve has a booth at the art market by the museum, you
could—”

“That trash?” Ellen
laughed pointing under the bed. “Who would ever buy that garbage?”

“Maybe make jewelry or
something. My friend at the bar sells bracelets at the market.”

“I do have good
taste and I used to be a bit of a designer—”

“How much to get
started?” Sienna retrieved her burning cigarette.

“That’s the problem,
it takes money to make money. I keep thinking I’ll discover a bank account with
some money—so far, all I’ve found are those.” Ellen stood and picked up a
handful of the bills. “This is how you ruin your future.” She tossed the bills
into the air.

“But all that
spending got you Johnny. If you didn’t look so hot, would he have noticed you?”
Sienna reached down to pick up the bills, her cigarette dropping ashes
everywhere. “Be honest, it takes money to get money, you said so yourself. It
was an investment for your future.”

“Some future, all of
this debt.” Ellen sat down brushing the ashes off the bed.

“When Johnny dumps
his boring old wife and you move into that big house, you won’t even remember
any of this.”

Ellen set the bills
down. “I would be in my house again
 …
with
my kids.”

“Kids? You want kids?
I thought Johnny insisted, no babies.”

“Er
 …
no
 …
I was just daydreaming.” Ellen shook her head, changing the subject. “I
wonder how long I’ll stay like this. I could become his wife again and start
over. Everything would be as it was—better—yes, much better this time
 …”
Ellen’s voice trailed.

“That’s the spirit,”
Sienna said, as she patted Ellen’s back. “And be able to buy whatever you want,
don’t forget that.”

“Yes,” Ellen agreed
as she stuffed all the bills into a box. “I can’t wait.”

Sienna got up and
walked to the door. She turned and stubbed out her cigarette. “You are a lucky
girl. You snagged a real winner.”

“Yes, I did, didn’t
I?” Ellen laughed.
Twice in fact.

“Just make sure he
leaves that wife. Don’t let him stall too long. I know some girls who thought
they were in, then suddenly, out of nowhere, he wants to stay, rekindle the old
flame.”

Ellen lay back
against the pillows. “I could see her try. I would. I would try anything.”

“Then get busy,
girl!” Sienna demanded, rapping her lighter against the doorframe.

Ellen sat up.
“Right!” She threw some bills off the bed. “Who cares about all this?” Sienna
laughed as the phone rang. She answered. “It’s your mom,” Sienna said, raising
her eyebrows as she handed the phone to Ellen.

“My mother? But
she’s—oh,
my
mom
 …
yes.”
Ellen grabbed the phone. “Hello.”

“Sammy, how yah
been?” A coarse voice called out. “I need some cash
 …
again.”

Ellen rolled her
eyes at the thought of lending any money to anyone. She should be the one
asking. “I don’t think I—”

“Come on, you got
that fancy job and that fancy boyfriend—”

“But I also have
financial problems—”

“Sammy, you know I
wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t an emergency
 …
it really is this time.”

“How much?” Ellen
hoped her mother’s idea of an emergency was small.

“Just a few thousand
is all.”

“A few thousand? For
what?”

“Don’t ask.”

“You want money and
you don’t want me to ask?”

“I need a bit of
surgery.” Ellen could hear sobs at the other end. “You’re all I got. Bob’s in
jail again. I don’t know where else to turn. I’m counting on you. This time
 …
I really need it.”

Ellen looked at the
stack of bills. “How are you feeling?” she asked.

“Well, shitty. I got
my lungs so clogged
 …
I can’t
breathe no more. They say it’s emphysema, makes me so damn tired. And I haven’t
been sleeping lately—hurts everywhere.”

Ellen lay back as
Mom
went into a detailed list of ailments. There are people who enjoy suffering,
and as the call dragged on, Ellen realized Mrs. Miller was definitely one of
them.

“I should go now.”
Ellen tried to end the call for the fourth time.

“I got the parcel.”

“Parcel? What
parcel?”

“The stuff. You
know—good stuff, too.” Mom sounded pleased. “Benny said it was the best he’d
had in ages.”

“What stuff?” Ellen
was curious.
And who is this Benny?

“My
 …
habit. You know, the goodies. Hell,
I sure need ‘em now. Send more anytime.”

“Sure.” Ellen
glanced toward the clock, eager to get off the phone. “Well
 …
take care.”

Ellen lay back on
the bed and wondered about this bizarre mother of Sam’s. She thought back to
the private investigator’s report.
Drugs.
Her mother had drug charges
and was a former
dancer
. Benny was the brother
 …
also with a drug record and more serious charges.
Everything was clearer now.

One of the piles of
bills slid off the bed and spread all over the floor. Ellen was about to pick
it up when she noticed a bank account with large cash withdrawals; not an
account, but a line of credit—from a different bank. She grabbed the other
monthly statements
 …
every
month, big cash withdrawals. She remembered Morty’s insinuation about the
hidden debt—the appliance purchases and loans. No wonder Samantha Miller was
willing to do anything for Jonathan to get away from this disaster of a mother
and all this debt. Who wouldn’t try hard to escape? Ellen knew she sure would.

***

Several days later,
Ellen sat staring at the group of
friends
surrounding her at the table,
as each these friends fought to interrupt each other. No one was listening to
anyone; instead, they created a symphony of clatter about nothing.

“So then, we like,
crossed the line and he said
 …”
Clatter. Clatter.

“And I told him,
don’t you ever
 …”
Clatter,
clatter, clatter.

“And I said no way
so
 …”
Clatter. Clatter.

Ellen thought of
Brianna, who was barely older than these girls. Ellen contrasted Brianna at this
age. She was intelligent and charming, yet to Ellen, she had been immature and
irrational. They had fought over everything. Ellen wanted her to be a lady, to
be elegant and graceful, while Brianna fought to be rugged and casual, a
natural girl.

Yet compared to
these immature brats, she was more than Ellen ever realized. Ellen thought back
to the last time she saw Brianna and the horrible scene at the hospital. What
pain she must be going through now, and no one to help her with any of it.
Ellen wondered how she was dealing with her
new
mother. Samantha wasn’t
capable of helping anyone, especially her children. Or could she? A pang of
jealousy shot through Ellen, and before she realized, tears formed in the
corner of her eyes.

“Hey, Sam, you
okay?” one of the girls asked.

“Oh, yes. Sorry,”
Ellen said, dabbing the wetness with her napkin.

“Is it Johnny?”

“No, no. I just got
bad news from home. My mother’s very sick,” Ellen lied.

“That sucks.”

“My friend’s mom got
shingles, God, talk about harsh—”

“Harsh. That’s like
a VD or something. So anyway, like I told him, no way
 …”

The clatter returned
to gossip and themselves. Ellen realized how much she missed Patty, how good a
friend she had been all these years. Compared to these scatterbrains, there was
no contest. She sat silently blocking the babble, wondering how she could find
new friends—friends with at least something in common. Perhaps at the church
she found nearby.

Ellen missed so many
aspects of her life. All the interesting and important friends, all the charity
events that benefited others less fortunate. Instead, here she sat in a coffee
shop, surrounded by slackers and latte divas, too consumed with their
meaningless lives to even hold an interesting discussion. While the noise of
the shallow conversations droned on, Ellen started a mental list of all the
places she could go, the ones she could afford, where she could sit and not
have to endure these pathetic youngsters. She visualized being back in her
home, back at the parties and opening nights. Ellen knew that her only hope was
with Jonathan and she would do anything to win him; except this time, she had
the upper hand. Yes, this time she would win.

As she ignored the
girls, Rory walked in with a pretty girl and headed toward the counter. He had
a black portfolio case in his hand and they sat down at a table and joined two
other men. The men were looking through the portfolio and Rory and the girl
were talking. She laughed often, a sort of a playful, giggly sound. When he
finally glanced up, he caught Ellen watching them and waved her over but Ellen
quickly turned away. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him approach
her table and felt a raw nervousness when he stood next to her.

“Hey, Sam.” His eyes
met hers as he spoke. “How are you?”

“I see you have
interesting company.”

He leaned close and
whispered in her ear, “And I see that you don’t.”

Ellen glanced toward
the girls at her table and smiled, rolling her eyes as she turned away from the
group and faced Rory.

Rory looked down at
her and grinned. “So what are you up to—besides wasting your time away, waiting
for lover boy?”

“I’ll have you know
I’ve been quite busy. I’m starting a jewelry line and selling it at the Sunday
market. It’s just a trial run, with more to sell in a couple of weeks. I
desperately need
 …”
her voice
reduced to a whisper, “money.”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

Ellen pointed to his
black case. “Is that your work?”

“Yes,” he stated,
with pride in his voice. “Come see. I have most of my newest pieces.” He
grabbed Ellen’s arm and pulled her, coaxing her to her feet.

She stood and
excused herself from the table. “I’ve wondered what your paintings were like.
Nothing like your sloppy paint clothes, I hope.”

“I think you owe me
for the rescue.”

“Rescue?”

“From boredom. Come
on Sam, I know that look. You were bored out of your skull and you needed me to
save you.” He nudged her side with his elbow. “Admit it.” Ellen felt a shiver
as he touched her.

“You sound like a
child. What do you want?”

“For you to come to
my gallery opening. I know you said no contact, but this is a big deal. I’d
like you to be there.”

“Where?” Ellen loved
the thought of attending an opening, of sipping wine, staring at art and
talking to a gallery full of interesting people. She hadn’t done anything fun
like that in a long time. She and Jonathan used to go to Soho all the time,
many years ago.

“Here.”

“Here?” Ellen let
out a laugh. “In a coffee shop? You can’t be serious. No one holds openings in
a coffee shop; what’s next, a donut shop?”

“Okay, snob.” He let
go of her arm. “You don’t have to come.”

“You’re serious? I’m
just
 …
surprised. Don’t you show
at any legitimate galleries?”

“Oh yeah, all the
time. I make so much money at the real galleries, that’s why I paint houses all
day long, like a slave.” He was clearly agitated.

“Tell me about your
show. I’d love to come.”

“This will be my
first solo show. I’ve had a few good group shows but they’re not going to get
the reviews from the critics the way solo shows do, and I get to show my entire
collection here. Imagine, seeing every piece in one room. And the guys here are
great—they only take ten percent.” His voice was more animated. “You’d be
surprised the kind of people that come to these openings. A real eclectic crowd,
with great jazz music.”

“Anyone with money?”
Ellen asked as she sat in the seat where the young girl had sat.

“You really are
turning into a snob. Yes, a few celebrity musicians and actors, even some of
the fashion crowd.” He sat down beside her, sipping his coffee.