Cheating at Solitaire (14 page)

Lance guessed that Julia did all her writing in this room, and suddenly he felt wrong for being there. He realized that for Julia, the study must be as sacred and private as the master suite. "I don't think we should be in here," he said.

Nina waved him off. "If she wants to come downstairs and throw us out, that would suit me fine." She poked through papers on the desk: memos and letters, fan mail.

"The computer isn't on, is it?" Caroline asked.

"No," Lance said, "but the printer is."

"Julia," Caroline said, knocking on her bedroom door. "Nina and I are here. Lance called us."

Oh, no.
"Go away," Julia cried, trying to disguise her breaking throat. "Nothing's wrong. I just didn't sleep very well last night."

The door creaked open, and Caroline peered around the doorjamb. "Are you decent?" she asked softly, but Nina pushed past her.

"If not, you better get that way, because we're coming in." Nina plodded through the piles of dirty clothes that were scattered on the floor, overflowing out of open suitcases. She hopped onto the bed, flattening the duvet she'd given Julia for her thirtieth birthday, and asked,

"What's your deal?" in a tone that suggested she wasn't going to let Julia mope the day away in any bed, no matter how beautiful its linens.

"I'm tired," Julia said, hoping that would end it.

But Caroline came in and, like Nina, crawled onto the queen-sized bed, and Julia heard the rustling of papers. Before she could stop her, Caroline reached into the pile of blankets and pulled the pages out. Caroline's eyes scanned the first sheet, and when she finished, she handed it to Nina and began reading the second.

"Wow," Caroline eventually said.

"Julia!" Nina exclaimed. "You're a T-shirt!"

I've been on the
New York Times
bestseller list for five years, and this is what impresses Nina,
Julia thought and tumbled over onto the pillows. She felt Caroline stroke her hair, half expecting her to hold a tissue to her nose and say "blow" and then "good girl."

"When did I become the anti-relationship person?" Julia asked. "Caroline, did I try to talk you out of marriage? Nina . . . " She turned to the woman who had married Jason twice, then rethought her question. "Well, you don't count." Julia sat upright. "All I ever wanted was to help people make the most out of the cards they've been dealt! Those were my exact words!"

she exclaimed, pointing a finger at no one in particular. "Jeez! You tell Katie Couric something, and you kind of expect the word to get around!"

"Julia," Caroline was saying, "this is something that happens. You read what that professor said.

You didn't do this. It's just a part of life." Tension was building in her voice. "Like when the baby has colic and Cassie finger paints on the marble in the guest bath. Stuff just happens!"

Julia took the article from Caroline, needing to feel it in her hands to be sure she wasn't having a nightmare. "Half my fans hate me! For no reason—I haven't abandoned them! I haven't lied! I believe in what I wrote. Lance, whether he's my
boyfriend"
—she choked out the word—"or not, doesn't change that."

"But half your fans
love
you," Nina said.

Julia tossed off the covers. "No. Half of
her
fans love
her"
She pointed to the picture that had been taken that day outside FAO Schwarz and included in every online news story about her phenomenal success of the past week. "But she doesn't exist!"

"Well, for a ghost, she takes an excellent picture," Nina chided.

"All I ever said was that marriage doesn't have to be everyone's cup of tea. Maybe tea's not available in your area. Maybe you haven't found a flavor you like. Some people like coffee.

Some like pop. Some"—Julia felt her voice beginning to crack—"just try to avoid caffeine."

"So, you want us to leave," Nina said, rising to her knees on the bed. "You want us to leave so you can have a pity party—because some people you don't even know think you've got a
boyfriend '''
Nina got off the bed. "Jules, Caroline had a miscarriage last year. I've been divorced—twice—from the same guy. Ro-Ro, all joking aside, has buried four husbands. Forgive me, but the fact that you sold
a million
books in a week doesn't seem so very tragic."

With that, Nina whirled and walked to the door as quickly as her five-foot frame would allow.

Minutes after she left, Caroline and Julia were both still sitting quietly on the bed, trying to adjust to Nina, the enforcer.

Julia hugged a pillow to her chest. "I don't know where I went so wrong," she said as she began to cry the big, fat tears that come only when the shutoff valve for emotion is broken. "It's so embarrassing. I'm just too embarrassed to be seen." She ran her pajama sleeve across her wet face.

Caroline shifted on the bed and turned to study her. "What do you mean?" she asked. "Why should you be embarrassed?"

"The snotty guy at Sycamore Hills was nice to me," Julia mumbled. "Miss Georgia fixed my dress. Ro-Ro made me go to that benefit, and you know she
never
would have done that if Lance hadn't been here to go with me." Tears were pouring out. "And now I see this!" She clenched the pages into her tight fists. "My sales have doubled. Why?
Because of him.”

"Honey," Caroline said, "that's not true!"

"I'm just so ashamed," Julia said, wilting into soundless sobs.

Caroline let her get it all cried out before she asked, "Why, Julia? Why would you ever say such a thing?"

"I feel like people are looking at me now and saying, 'Oh, we're so
glad
there isn't something
wrong
with you.' That's what it feels like. Like people have thought there was something wrong with me for
years
but they're just admitting it
now."

"Julia, you are reading way too much into this! All these people, your old fans and your new fans, they want to
be
you. They see this picture of you, smiling and laughing with a great-looking guy, so they go out to buy your books because they
want
that. You've proven it's possible. They've always wanted to be you, then and now. Everyone wants to be happy."

Julia looked at Caroline then, and something passed between them in the unspoken language of sisters. "Have you read the new book, Caroline?"

Her sister was quiet for a long time, then she said, "Don't lock yourself in your room, Julia. No one thought there was something wrong with you before, especially no one who knows you—

not Ro-Ro, not the Georgias, not us."

"You're saying that if my friends and family hated me, they'd tell me to my face?"

Caroline pulled her sister's head onto her shoulder and smoothed her tangled hair. "Of course we would, sweetheart. Your friends are awful people."

WAY #61: Don't be afraid to rearrange your life.

One of the marks of truly successful people is that they know how to change with the times,
keep things fresh. If you feel a yourself fal ing into a minor rut, make a minor change. If the
feeling persists, it might be time to consider giving your life a fresh, new look.

—from
101 Ways to Cheat at Solitaire
38

What if we move the bed over there?" Caroline pointed toward the wall that adjoined the master suite.

"No, trust me," Nina cut in. "You want to respect the symmetry of the room. We can't ignore the windows."

Julia stood on the upstairs landing and looked into the small room at the top of the stairs where her sister and best friend stood, hands on hips, like Lewis and Clark, mapping a way through the West.

"Well, whatever the case, we're getting new bedding," Caroline stated.

"Absolutely!" Nina jumped to agree.

Julia cleared her throat and watched Nina and Caroline turn to glare at her, as if they'd just found a secret stash of frozen cheesecakes that she'd been bringing to family reunions, passing off as homemade. She stepped inside the small bedroom where Lance was leaning against the windowsill, an "I tried to stop them" expression on his face.

"Julia James!" Caroline snapped. "This is where you have this poor man sleeping? Have you even seen this room? How can you stand yourself?"

Julia hadn't given much thought to where Lance was staying, but it was true that of all the rooms in the house, this one was in the worst shape. It was where she piled boxes of office supplies, out-of-style clothes, and things affectionately labeled "miscellaneous junk." The mess had never bothered her, probably because the door was usually closed, its contents out of sight and out of mind.

"How can you look him in the eye after making him wade through your trash like that?" her sister asked. "You ought to be ashamed."

"Well, Caroline, I wasn't expecting a houseguest."

"But don't you keep a guest room?" Caroline seemed bewildered. "Julia, with all the money you make, you don't even keep a guest room?"

"No," Nina said. "She doesn't."

"He's
staying
in the guest room!" Julia defended the situation. She looked to Lance for support, but he raised both his hands in a gesture of surrender, as if he'd been fighting that fight himself and had decided to leave it to a professional.

"Julia," Caroline asked, "where does Cassie sleep when she stays over?"

"Cassie sleeps with me," Julia said, but kicked herself instantly when Nina chimed, "Well, if it's good enough for Cassie—"

"Nina!" Caroline cut her off. "This is ridiculous; we've got to clean out this room. Today." Julia turned to Lance, defeated.

Caroline threw open the windows, and soon the fresh, cool breeze began to waft inside and dilute the smell of mothballs. Boxes and bags of junk morphed from unorganized piles into a wave of debris that seemed to swell and resurface every time the bed was hauled from one side of the room to the other. Lance and Nina moved every piece of furniture at least a dozen times, so within an hour, sweat was glistening on his arms and Nina was finding excuses for him to stretch or bend over.

"Can I tell you how nice it is to clean a room that won't be immediately occupied by a five-year-old?" Caroline asked as she scrubbed the hardwood floors with gusto, but Julia barely heard her; she was too busy tearing into boxes and bags like it was Christmas morning. She sifted through the last ten years, finding newspaper clippings of book reviews and old short stories, half-finished afghans and baby blankets, coupons and calendars five years out of date. When most everything was sorted, Julia knew more than half of it was going to have to be thrown away. That was the thought that filled her mind as she stared into a crateful of photos she'd never made time to frame.

"What we need now is bedding," Nina was saying. "Something with color. Something that pops."

"All I need is a place to sleep," Lance said, sounding apologetic.

"Everyone sleeps better in a beautiful bed. It's a scientific fact," Nina said, and Lance cut a look at Julia, who didn't bother trying to explain
science according to Nina.

After scanning the room, Nina pointed to a flash of color on the top shelf of the closet. "What's that?"

Lance walked to the closet and pulled down an old patchwork quilt that slid into his arms. "It's heavy," he said as Nina helped him pull back the quilted layers to reveal the framed painting it had been protecting.

"This is gorgeous!" Nina exclaimed.

"It's your granny picture!" Caroline rushed toward the old oil painting and examined it like a lost treasure. "Why do you have this hidden up here?"

Julia gazed at the painting that her grandmother had painted of two little girls in the middle of a field. For years, the painting and its twin had hung in her parents' bedroom. But when Caroline married and Julia moved back to the state, Madelyn took the two pieces of art and gave them to her daughters, with strict instructions to give them good homes. It was one of the few things Julia had from her grandmother, and one of the few truly beautiful things she owned.

"Julia," Nina exclaimed. "Why leave something this beautiful crammed in a closet?"

"I'll hang it up eventually," she said. "With the remodeling, I didn't want to risk it getting damaged. When the house is finished, I'll hang it up."

"What do you mean, when you
finish "
Nina asked. "Have you started?"

"Well, maybe if my decorator hadn't quit—"

"Hey!" Nina jumped to the defensive. "I stuck with you through five types of tile, six cabinet finishes, three professional ranges, seven industrial sinks, two dishwashers, and thirteen cabinet knobs. Do you know how many cabinet knobs are too many? Thirteen. Thirteen is where any self-respecting design professional draws the line."

"Fine," Julia said. "Point taken. Now, can I have my painting back, please?"

"No." Nina pulled it to her chest. "We're using the quilt on the bed, and this is going downstairs.

You're going to pick out a place to hang it."

"Nina, I don't think that's—"

"I'm coming back as your decorator for one job only, and this is it."

"What time is it?" Nina asked over the steady pop, pop, pop that was coming from the microwave.

Caroline looked at her watch and answered, "It's half past five."

Nina's eyes flew open and she yelled, "I almost missed
Decorating Derby]"
She jumped off the barstool and ran into the living room, where she grabbed the remote control from Lance's hands and told him, "Scoot over, stud."

"Hey, I was watching . . . " Lance started, but Julia took a seat beside him and said, "Duke loses in overtime."

"How did you know that?" he asked, sincerely impressed.

Julia felt cocky. "ESPN Classic shows old games, or didn't you know?"