Blessing in Disguise (18 page)

Grace laughed. “In that case ... neither.”

Both colors clashed with Lila’s nuclear-flash hair, all three inches of it, white-blond and standing up in moussed spikes all over her head. Lila’s birth certificate might give her away as thirty-six, but in her black tights and cowboy boots, with her leather bomber jacket slung over a chartreuse silk bodysuit and black jersey miniskirt, she looked like someone who did all her shopping in Juniors. Only if you looked closely would you see the lines around her eyes and mouth, as nearly indetectable as the sprinkling of dog hairs that covered her from the neck down.

Lila Nyland, Punk Pet Groomer of the Stars. Grace smiled to herself, thinking of her best friend’s Decoesque dog-grooming salon on Perry Street. Tall Tails had somehow become chic ... lots of actors, musicians, and fashion people went there, partly, Grace suspected, because Lila cared a lot more about the dogs than who was at the other end of their leashes.

She’d seen Lila grab hold of a snarling Doberman, letting him know through the palms of her hands who was boss, then soothing him, sweet-talking him until he was licking her face, gentle as a lapdog. She had that effect on people, too—she’d jerk your chain while she was giving you the shirt off her back.

She’d first met Lila ten years ago, when she’d brought in her collie, Harley, to be groomed. Lila had noticed her sneezing, and seen how red and puffy her eyes were. “Hay fever,” Grace had explained. Lila had shaken her head,
Uh-uh,
and pointed a finger at Harley. Lila, as it turned out, was right. She was allergic to
dogs.
And hadn’t Lila proved to be an angel of mercy, keeping Harley with her, at no charge, until all the allergy tests had been run and the results were in? And then, when Grace was agonizing over what to do about the dog, it was Lila to the rescue once again, offering to adopt Harley, with generous visitation rights.

And now she was praying Lila could help her, not only in finding something that would be right for Hannah, but with the big picture—how she was going to sort out the jumble her life had become.

“What about for Hannah, then?” Lila wanted to know, waving the blouse in front of her.

“Oh, God, you’ve got to be kidding.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing. If you like acid rain and toxic waste. Look, Lila, I think we’re on the wrong track here. Bottom line, I doubt if Hannah would want
anything
that had my fingerprints on it.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Get this. Last night, we’re having dinner at Michael’s, and just as the main course is being served, she bolts for the ladies’ room. Doesn’t come out until it’s time for the check. What am I supposed to do,
apologize
for how I feel about her father?” Grace sighed, “This thing with Jack, I don’t know whether I’m crazy in love ... or just plain crazy.”

“Come with me, let’s try this on.” Lila grabbed a different shirt off the rack, and steered her in the direction of the fitting room.

“But I don’t ...” she started to protest, then realized this was Lila’s way of calling time out. And, after all, weren’t fitting rooms the female equivalent of the confessional?

Suddenly Grace longed to unburden herself. Lila could be blunt and outspoken, but she had a good heart and more sense than most shrinks. And Grace felt so weary with going it alone.

“Did you know that more people commit suicide around Christmas than any other time of the year?” Lila observed when they were alone in the tiny Formica cubicle barely big enough for one.

“Thanks, now I
really
feel better.” Grace squinted at her reflection in the mirror. “Speaking of which, do they
purposely
design these mirrors to make you want to jump off a bridge?”

“Yeah.” Lila laughed. “There’s some guy in Quality Control saying, ‘Hey, Henry, not enough flab showing, send it back!’ ” She grabbed Grace’s shoulders, hard, as if Grace were a stubborn terrier trying to wriggle from her grasp. “Now. What gives? I thought you were head over heels.”

“I was. I am.” She sighed. “It’s complicated.”

“Hannah, right?” Lila raised a plucked brow.

“Oh, Lila.” She longed to sink right to the floor among the discarded tags and staples and bits of string.
Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.
...

But what sin? What had she done other than fall for a man who, like herself, came as a package deal?

Lila nodded knowingly. “What did you say to her the other night, after the dinner from hell?”

“What
could
I say? I wanted to strangle her. But I’m the adult, aren’t I? I’m supposed to be reasonable, the one to make peace.”

“Fuck that.” Lila’s words echoed in the small space, shocking her. “Look, Grace,
stop
with the Melanie Wilkes routine. Just be yourself. Give her what she’s got coming.”

“And what, exactly, is that?”

“A piece of your mind.”

“I’d like to give her more than that.” Grace, out of the corner of her eye, saw her reflection in the mirror. A small woman in a yellow knitted silk turtleneck, and chocolate stirrup pants, her cheeks striped with hectic color, her hand held up, palm out, as if she were about to slap someone. Instantly, she felt ashamed.

Here’s another option,
she told herself.
You could walk out of here, and go straight to the nearest phone booth. Call Jack, and cancel our plans for this evening. Thanksgiving and Christmas, too. In fact, cancel everything.

Life would be so much simpler. No feeling bad about each other’s kids. No hassles from Hannah and Chris about the time she and Jack spent together
away
from them. No worrying whether or not Jack would ever get around to making a commitment.

But the thought of mornings and evenings and weekends without Jack hit her like icewater gulped down on an empty stomach.

“At least it’d be honest,” she heard Lila saying, as if from a distance.

Grace looked at her. “Then Hannah would
really
hate me.”

“Sounds like you couldn’t do any worse than you already have. And when you and Jack get married—”

“He hasn’t asked me,” Grace cut her off. “And if he’s smart, he won’t.”

“Grace, what are you so afraid of? Hannah’s going to grow up and go away. So will Chris, one of these days. What else, that you’ll
fight,
that he’ll lay into you, that you’ll lay into him? There’s a name for it, kiddo. It’s called
marriage.”

“Hey, I’ve been there.”

“Win?” Lila waved a hand dismissively. “You and Win never fought. That’s like saying you went ice-skating without skates. Win just never saw the point. He didn’t
get
it. You. It. Marriage.”

“And Jack does?”

“I don’t know. And neither will you, until he’s put to the test.” She gave Grace a sly look. “I
do
know that Jack is one of the best guys I’ve come across in this age of pinstripe Neanderthals, and if
you
don’t take him I just may try and give him a spin.”

Grace felt some of her misery begin to dissolve. It was hard to be depressed around Lila. She had so much damn enthusiasm for life. And for her fellow creatures, both the two-legged and four-legged kinds.

“Let’s get out of this hamster cage,” she told her friend. “I still have that present to buy.”

“Boy, you really believe in doing your Christmas shopping early, don’t you? Me, I always wait until the last possible moment. You ever want to see true insanity, try Macy’s an hour before closing on Christmas Eve.”

On their way down in an elevator crowded with women in minks, Lila muttered, “I’m having an allergic reaction to fur.”

Grace turned to her, laughing. “You?”

“Oh, it’s not what you think. It’s this overwhelming urge to get down on all fours and snarl at anyone who happens to be wearing one. You know what I did this one time?” She picked a strand of what looked like collie hair from her jacket, and held it up for inspection, her elfin face lighting up with a slow, wicked smile. “I was passing one of those salons in the fur district. Twenty-eighth or Twenty-ninth Street, and I saw this woman trying on a full-length silver-fox coat. It looked awful on her ... really hideous. And suddenly I couldn’t bear the thought of those beautiful animals giving their lives for something so ugly that someone was going to spend a fortune on. So I—”

“Don’t tell me,” Grace broke in with a laugh. “You barged in there and strafed the joint with a can of spray paint.”

“Better. I walked to a phone booth across the street ... and I called her.”

“You didn’t!”

“I just asked for the lady trying on the fox. I could see through the window when the salesman handed her the phone. I told her that if she bought that coat she’d be making one of the biggest mistakes of her life.”

“Didn’t she want to know who you were?”

“Yeah. I told her, ‘The voice of your conscience.’ ” Lila grinned. “She didn’t buy the coat. I saw her sort of shove it at the salesman, and then she stalked out, all red-faced.”

“You’re evil, you know that?”

“I know, that’s why we get along so well.”

They got off at the main floor, emerging into a gaggle of grim-faced shoppers loaded down with Saks’ signature crimson shopping bags. Moving through the accessories aisles, Lila was off and running with one of her Tall Tails stories, about some hotshot film producer who’d brought in this beautiful golden retriever with a bald spot on its rump that some vet had said would never grow in. The guy wanted to know if there was such a thing as hair transplants for dogs.

“I told him to buy a hamster and teach it to ride piggyback.” She laughed at her own retort. Her voice husky, robust, and somehow sexy, Lila laughed the way Tanya Tucker sang. She didn’t need mirrors—she saw her reflection in the people around her, everywhere she went, who turned to smile at her, wanting to be in on the joke, whatever it was.

Then they were edging their way through the crowds congregating at the cosmetics counters, ducking human mannequins armed with perfume atomizers. Finally, when they had pushed their way out onto Fifth Avenue, Grace shoved a couple of dollars into a Salvation Army bucket, half in gratitude for being allowed to flee the crowded store.

She felt even better after they’d looked at the spectacular store windows. This year’s theme was
The Velveteen Rabbit
—the story of the stuffed rabbit that came to life because it was truly loved. Each display more enchanting than the next, with its exquisitely dressed mechanical figurines moving about in picture-book settings.

Grace has a sudden inspiration. A doll. What if she gave Hannah one of those wonderful handcrafted dolls like the ones her aunt Selma used to collect? More decoration than plaything, and not at all babyish. Probably wildly expensive, too, but so what?

“Come on,” she said, grabbing Lila’s arm. “I just thought of something.”

“I hope it has to do with food. I’m starving.”

“Afterwards. This is important.”

“More important than a kosher hot dog with mustard and sauerkraut? You heard of a place where I can buy Manolo Blahnik shoes at half-price?”

“Manolo Blahnik? Forget it. Anyhow, I’m talking toys, not shoes.” She started pulling Lila down the sidewalk.

At F A O Schwarz, it was even more crowded than Saks, but Grace hardly noticed. Bypassing a menagerie of giant stuffed animals corralled at one end of the main floor, they rode the escalator to the second floor, where they found the section featuring collectors’ dolls. Row upon row, little princesses with porcelain faces and rosebud mouths, dressed in crinolines and leghorn hats and sausage curls. Victorian, Regency, turn of the century—every era’s fashions.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Lila muttered.

Grace glared at her.
“You’re
a big help.”

“That’s exactly right.” Lila abruptly turned to face her, and Grace noticed for the first time the silver earring in the shape of a Keith Haring dog that dangled from her right ear, while an emerald stud twinkled in the other. “Grace, are you insane? This is a sixteen-year-old girl we’re talking about here. When I was that age, if someone had given me a doll, she would have become an enemy for life. What exactly is it you’re after—a meaningful relationship with your stepdaughter ... or
Return of the Exorcist?”

Grace felt her enthusiasm wither. Lila was right. What could she have been thinking?

She saw Lila glance over at a preschooler not three feet away, spread-eagled on the floor, flailing his arms and legs and screaming while his red-faced mother crouched over him, desperately trying to calm him. Lila accidentally-on-purpose brushed up against the mother. causing her to turn away, and at the same time she leveled an index finger at the kid, staring down it as if it were the barrel of a gun. He stopped screaming and gaped at her, his eyes wide, his mouth drooping open. The mother, who hadn’t noticed Lila standing there, scooped him up, cooing, “You can have any stuffed animal you want, Thatcher. That’s for being such a good boy, and doing what Mommy says.”

“How did you do that?” Grace whispered in amazement.

Lila shrugged. “Dogs and kids. They’re not so different. You’ve got to let them know who’s boss. The minute they see a chink in your armor, they’re at your throat. Like this thing with Hannah. The way I see it, you’re giving her too much control. Letting her throw all the punches.”

“You’re saying I should hit her right back?”

“No, but you should stand up for yourself. She’ll respect you all the more for it, believe me.”

“I respect Sugar Ray Leonard. It doesn’t mean I’d want to live with him.” She stopped. “Hey, what are you doing?”

Lila had taken off her leather jacket with the brass studs in the shape of a musical staff; she was stuffing it into the shopping bag with the jeans and flannel shirt Grace had bought for Chris. The leather jacket she swore had been given to her years ago by none other than Bruce Springsteen himself, right off his back—supposedly out of gratitude for her having saved his then girlfriend’s (or was it his sister’s?) Labrador retriever.

“I’m saving your ass,” Lila replied matter-of-factly. “Don’t tell her it’s from me. Say it came from the Boss. She can get down on her knees and kiss his CDs ... but, whenever she puts it on, it’s you she’ll think of.”