Five Women (41 page)

“The mid-life crisis. At least he wants you to come with him. He's not just running off like my ex-husband. When are you leaving?”

“Next month.”

“So soon!”

“He's been talking about it, but I never really believed it would happen. And now it will. We're subletting the apartment. I'm glad at least I was able to be there for you when you were sick.”

“Me, too,” Gara said. She still felt numb with surprise, but a big lump of loneliness was beginning to gather in her chest.

“You have to visit,” Jane said. “We'll have a big house and lots of servants. My kids are going to visit. I want everyone to come.”

“I will,” Gara said, but she didn't know when.

“August in Singapore, what a treat,” Jane said sympathetically, knowing, as always, what Gara was thinking. “When the only thing you like to do in August is go to your house on the beach. But we'll have fun.”

“Yes.”

“I'll visit you back here when I can.”

“Of course.” But she doubted it. She knew Jane; Jane complained and hated a place and then she settled in.

“We'll write to each other.”

“Absolutely.” Neither of them was a good or faithful letter writer; Gara had never gotten so much as a postcard from location, even when they were in Africa.

“And we'll call each other. You'll call me, won't you?”

“You know I will.” But Gara knew that the three-hour time difference from New York to Los Angeles had always seemed insurmountable—whenever each of them thought of the other it was the wrong time to call—and she wondered how often they would speak when Jane was in Singapore.

“I hate this,” Jane said.

“Me too.”

And then she was gone.

It was strange to be here in New York knowing her longtime friend wasn't, odd to pass Jane's apartment building, look up at the lights, and know strangers were moving around in those lighted rooms, living lives that seemed an intrusion. So many losses . . . Gara felt adrift. She had always had friends in New York, but everyone was busy with their work—working too hard, traveling for business—and their private lives and their families—college-bound children, aging parents—so to see anyone you had to make plans far in advance, and those plans were likely to be canceled for emergencies of one sort or another. It was not that she had seen Jane so often or spoken to her every day, but they had always been there for each other and had known it.

They called each other a few times, and then the calls tapered off, as Gara had known they would. They knew they would see each other again, but not for now. Gara continued to go to dinner parties, to cocktail parties, to art openings, dealing with the shyness, trying to have a good time, and now she realized she was going there looking for new women friends.

She met Felicity Johnson at a fund-raiser for women politicians, where both had gone alone. They started talking and liked each other immediately. Felicity was very pretty and bright and bubbly; she had an honesty and vulnerability about her that touched Gara, and she had a good heart. She told Gara about her unhappy marriage and Gara told her about how Carl had left her. They commiserated and made each other laugh. By the time they knew each other better and Gara saw the other side of Felicity—the deep depression, the confusion, the painful self-doubt—she already liked her enough to feel protective toward her and want to try to help.

She met Eve Bader through Felicity. At the time Gara thought Felicity liked Eve more than she actually did. Gara thought Eve was flamboyant and funny, a character, and Eve made her laugh, too. She had never met anyone like Eve. The three of them began to go out to dinner together once in a while.

Then at a huge dinner party where Gara had, as usual, gone alone, and, as was not usual, had arrived early, she met Kathryn O'Mara Henry, who had also gone alone, and who, she soon discovered, always arrived everywhere early so she could meet people. Kathryn was a beautiful, sophisticated-looking woman, and Gara had no idea how old she might be. The phrase “of indeterminate age” came to mind. Kathryn's face and bearing were those of a young woman, but her knowing eyes and expensive jewelry belonged on someone very mature. She sailed right up to Gara and introduced herself, and Gara thought she was brave to be so friendly in a room full of strangers.

The morning after the dinner party Kathryn called her and made a dinner date. They went to the Sign of the Dove and met at the bar, and in ten minutes Kathryn had picked up three men. Gara didn't know how she did it.

She admired Kathryn's spirit. Kathryn was a woman who loved New York and made the most of it. She had seen every Broadway show, some several times, she went to every new exhibit at every museum, she saw every good new movie, she had tried every well known restaurant, and she walked everywhere, even across the park. She did not work, although she said she had worked for most of her life and that now she deserved to have fun.

“Give us the best bottle of wine you have,” she would demand of the waitress. “We deserve it.” Then she would pick up the check, because she was also generous.

There was a recklessness to her generosity, a kind of
I'll show them
attitude. Gara did not know whom she was showing, or why, for a long time. “If I run out of money, I'll make more,” Kathryn would say. It was known that her former husband was extremely rich.

Gara introduced her to Felicity and Eve, and soon the four of them had become, without knowing how it had happened, a faithful little group. They began to have a weekly dinner together in various neighborhood restaurants, and one night Felicity suggested they go to Yellowbird. Kathryn wasn't crazy about it and disliked the food, but the other three liked the music and the ambiance, and even Kathryn had to admit she liked the quantity and quality of men. They all liked Billie, and thought she was a character and a half. Eventually Yellowbird became their club, an eccentric and comfortable gathering place where they felt at home.

Chapter Thirty-four

“I
SN'T THIS OUR ANNIVERSARY
?” Kathryn asked. They were all in Yellowbird, and it was spring. The sky had still been light when they arrived, a pearly grayish color behind the dark buildings, and all of them had walked to get there, except Felicity, who never walked anywhere if she could help it because she was always in a hurry, even when she was on time. “It was about this time last spring when we had our first dinner together here.”

“A year already?” Eve marveled. “Where does it go?”

“To my friends,” Felicity said, holding up her glass. “To friendship.”

“To health, life, and love,” Gara added.

They all nodded and clicked their wine glasses, and smiled, while Janis belted out her blues on the sound system, turned down softly, because it was still dinnertime and people needed to be able to hear themselves talk.

At her customary seat at the bar Billie watched them and overheard. She had never had close women friends, the way they seemed to be, but she had so many casual friends of both sexes in Yellowbird that she never felt it as a loss. She had a rich, full life, she thought, everything she wanted. Having Little Billie had changed everything for her. Still, it was nice for them to hang around together the way they did, to meet so regularly, and to think of acknowledging their friendship with an anniversary. She would send them a free drink to help them celebrate.

“I really must love you guys to have eaten all these bad meals here with you,” Kathryn said, laughing.

Well, no free drinks for you, Billie thought, changing her mind. Then she decided to send them a good bottle of wine anyway, for being faithful spenders, and to show them who was boss. She knew the expensive one Kathryn liked.

“To Billie!” the women cried happily, toasting her with their free wine. “Our Billie!”

“Yours?” Billie thought. She smiled and nodded graciously in recognition of their appreciation.

It was a good night in Yellowbird tonight, crowded with most of her regulars and the usual strangers who had heard about her place or had simply wandered in. There was a good-looking man alone at the bar whom she might talk to later if he didn't have a date coming to join him. Little Billie was in his booth in the back, doing his homework with the Larchmont Ladies, behaving himself, not pestering her to let him go home to make trouble with his friends. Billie couldn't understand why those other parents didn't take more interest in their children. She always kept an eye on him. Perhaps that was because she had to be both parents to him, make up to him for having deprived him of a father on purpose.

It was late, after ten o'clock, when a new couple came in and was seated at table four. The woman looked vaguely familiar: the pale freckled face, the frizzy blond hair. While they were eating Billie walked around the room to see if everything was all right, and passed their table.

“Ms. Redmond!” the woman called out to her.

“Yes?” Billie stopped.

“I'm Lola Gribetz, Billie's kindergarten teacher. Do you remember me?”

Aha. That one. How could I forget you, Billie thought. You wanted to send us to a loony doctor. “Of course,” she said graciously.

“This is my date, Walter Norris. We went to the movies and then we came here totally by accident, spur of the moment, just to try a new restaurant, and there you were.”

“Yes, I am always here,” Billie said.

“And that must be Billie, back there in the booth! I don't remember all my children, but of course I'll never forget Billie.”

“People don't,” Billie said. She wasn't sure Ms. Gribetz meant it as a compliment.

“I'm going to go over to say hello to him,” Lola Gribetz said. “Is this a special occasion?”

“Is what?”

“That he's here so late.”

“No,” Billie said.

“Is he often here?”

“Whenever I am.”

“Oh. Well.” Her smile seemed a little forced.

“Enjoy your dinner,” Billie said, and moved on.

Later, when they had finished eating, she saw Lola Gribetz making her way over to Little Billie's booth, and she felt a twitching of something that was very like alarm. This had never been anyone's idea of a family restaurant, although she thought of it that way. It was just a different kind of family. Stodgy as they liked to appear, the Larchmont Ladies looked like what they were—men in drag—and she was sure Little Billie's former kindergarten teacher would notice. She would probably be shocked.

When Lola Gribetz came back to her table she looked more bewildered than shocked, which Billie took as a good sign. “Excuse me,” she said, lowering her voice to a whisper, “Ms. Redmond . . . aren't those
transvestites
?”

“Well, yes they are. One of them is a whiz at math. Billie has been getting A's since he started getting tutored.”

“Well, surely . . .”

“Surely what?”

“Well, you, I'm sure you . . . well, you . . .”

“I what?” Billie said.

“Nothing.”

“Little Billie has grown into quite a little person since you saw him last,” Billie said. “He's started writing stories. They're very good. I think he's going to be a writer someday.”

“I'm sure he finds plenty of material here,” the Norris man said, with a laugh that wasn't entirely pleasant.

“If he does,” Billie said, “it will give him a good start.”

She moved on, and when she caught the waiter's eye she motioned to him to give them their check. She didn't like their attitude, she didn't like their vibes, and she didn't like being criticized. She didn't want them hanging around drinking coffee half the night; she would rather have the table empty. She felt disquieted, and she wanted them out of her sight. She was relieved when they left.

“Miss Gribetz acted weird,” Little Billie said when she was putting him to bed.

“How so?”

He shrugged. “She asked me questions.”

“What kind of questions?”

“Like she was still my teacher.”

“School questions?”

“No. About my life.”

“Did she do that when she was your teacher?” Billie asked.

“You remember, when we had our afternoon conversations back in kindergarten? She would ask us what we ate, what we did for fun, when we went to bed. That kind of stuff.”

“Well, it's probably just her way of making conversation now,” Billie said. “It's polite to answer people, but you have a right not to tell them anything you don't want to. You could ask them a question instead.”

“I should have asked her if she liked her dinner,” Little Billie said with a grin.

Billie kissed him goodnight. “Sleep well, my love.”

What an unpleasant coincidence, she thought, having that woman walk into my restaurant. I hope she never comes back.

The next evening, when Yellowbird was full and noisy, and Little Billie had eaten his dinner and done his homework and was playing a computer game, a middle-aged gray-haired cop walked in, wearing a blue uniform with a big gun in a holster at his belt, and a mean look on his face. He meandered around the room, looking at everything, and then he strode purposefully to Little Billie's booth and started to talk to him. Billie naturally went right over there as fast as she could.

“What's the problem, officer?” she asked. She didn't like the idea of a cop scaring her son.

“Are you Mrs. Redmond?” he asked.

“Yes,” Billie said.

“Officer Peoples,” he said, showing her his badge. “We've had a complaint about the minor child Billie Redmond, and the conditions he's living in, and I'm here to see if we should take the child.”

“Take him where?” Billie rasped. If she could have shrieked, she would have. Little Billie looked terrified, as if he was going to be arrested, and she wasn't entirely sure he wasn't.

“Away from the home, ma'am.”

Immediately every nerve in her body was at attention. “What's wrong with his home?”

“That's what we're going to find out. The complaint was about here.”

“What's wrong with here?”

“It's a bar. It's late at night. People are drinking.”

“People drink in their homes too,” Billie said, keeping her tone respectful. Except for the all-too visible gun, bulging there in its holder like an iron phallus, she would have told him to get the hell out. “This is where I work. I own this place. I have my child with me in my workplace.” Where had she heard that line? Eve! “So I can keep an eye on him and be sure he's okay.”

“A child his age needs his sleep,” the cop said. He was writing in a little pad and Billie didn't know if she was going to cry or throw up.

“Look here,” she said, showing him her office with Little Billie's cot in it. “When he's tired he sleeps here, and then I take him home.”

Officer Peoples wrote some more. Little Billie hadn't said a word, and the look on his frightened face wrung her heart. Then the cop looked up from his note pad and glanced at her. “What happened to your voice?” he asked. “And that scar on your neck—your husband cut you?”

“There is no husband,” Billie said. “I was mugged. That's why I want to be sure my son is safe. You never know, these days, with violence everywhere.”

“That's true. But you could get a baby-sitter.”

“Oh, right, some lunatic or some irresponsible thirteen-year-old.”

The cop looked around. “I was told this was a gay bar.”

“Are you out of your mind?” Billie said. She was glad the Larchmont Ladies didn't come every night, and weren't there now. “Does this look like a gay bar in any way, shape, or form? This is a neighborhood family restaurant.”

“What time are you going to take him home?”

“Soon. He gets very good marks in school. Obviously he isn't tired.”

For the first time Billie realized the room had gone quiet, and everybody was looking at them. That bitch Gribetz had done this, turned her in as an unfit mother, threatening her child, and as a nice little bonus ruining her business. The customers didn't know what was going on, but they knew it wasn't good.

“I'm fine,” Little Billie suddenly said, finding his voice. He peered up at the cop. “Do you want me to show you how I surf the Internet? Ask me a question, anything you want to know, and I'll look it up for you.”

“You're a bright kid,” the cop said, looking pleasant for the first time. Billie knew it wasn't the child he was angry at but her, although he could have fooled them both. “You're nine?”

“Yes, sir. Almost ten.”

He closed his note pad and put it into his pocket. “I'm not taking the child tonight,” he said, “but I have to file a report and then you'll be hearing from Child Services.”

“About
what
?”

“They'll need to see the apartment and see the mother.”

“Oh my God,” Billie said, appalled. What was this anyway, a police state? People turning her in, coming into her home, invading her privacy, investigating her life? She wished, for one surprised, angry, unsettled moment, that her parents were there to defend her character, and that she were not so alone. “We live in a wonderful apartment,” she said. “I hope so.”

He left, and she saw that Little Billie had tears in his eyes. He had been trying not to cry. Billie put her arms around him and took him into the office, and then she held him and tried not to cry herself. If she had, they would have been tears of frustration and rage . . . and also fear.

“Are they going to take me away?” he said.

“No,” she said, because that was what you told a child, you protected him from everything that was unreasonable and insane, as best you could, but how did she know?

Twenty-four hours later someone from Child Services called. Billie was stunned at the alacrity with which they had pounced on her, since she had always thought that they were overloaded investigating real cases. Since the cop had seen with his own eyes that the child's life and health were not in immediate danger Billie managed to put off their appointment to see her apartment for a week by saying she was going to be on jury duty. That sounded respectable.

“You may need to get me a lawyer,” Billie said to Felicity Johnson the next time she came in, since she knew Felicity was a lawyer herself. Then she had to tell Felicity what she needed the lawyer for, since they were specialists, and naturally the four women were appalled at what had happened.

“You have a right to take your child to work,” Eve said. “I took Nicole to work with me when I was on
Brilliant Days
, when she was little.”

“That wasn't a bar,” Felicity said.

“Neither is this,” Billie said, but they all knew Yellowbird wasn't a tea room either.

“This is disgusting,” Eve said. “It's a feminist issue: The child in the workplace. I'm going to do something about it.”

“Don't do anything,” Felicity said. “Let Billie handle it. She's doing fine.”

“Yellowbird is the same as day care, you know,” Eve went on. “Except it's night care.” She laughed. “Night care, get it?”

“Leave her alone,” Gara said.

“You know, she's kind of right,” Billie said. “Everybody here loves him.”

“They'll see that,” Felicity said. “And if they don't agree you'll call the lawyer.”

Billie talked to the Larchmont Ladies about her dilemma, of course. Although several people suspected it, few people actually knew that Gladys, aka Ralph, was a cop in his other life. He didn't know Officer Peoples, though, because this was a matter for Billie's local precinct, and Gladys, who did not want to be recognized, strayed far away from his own workplace to come here.

“Maybe we shouldn't come back,” he said, and there was such concern and regret in his voice that Billie felt a rush of kindness toward him. “No,” she said. “This is a free country. You didn't do anything wrong. Just don't come in next Wednesday, because the social worker will be here.”