Switcheroo (21 page)

“The first time always is,” Marla said, trying to reassure her.

“What if I’m not perky? What if he knows right away? What if I’m not sexy enough?” Sylvie thought of the diagrams, the instructions Marla had given her. “What should I do?”

“Just pretend you’re me being Sharon Stone. That’s what I do.”

There was another ring. “I gotta go. He’s knocking again.” They both hung up.

It was the moment of truth: Sylvie wanted to run and hide. Instead she blew out yet more of the candles. She took a deep breath, lifted each breast and pulled it farther forward into its brassiere cup. Then she used that old female trick: she squeezed her arms together, producing cleavage. Holding herself that way she headed toward the living room and the front door.

Sylvie continued blowing out candles as she went. By the time she opened the door she was in semidarkness. Bob was standing there with two dozen roses and a big, lustful smile. Seeing him, knowing that he was about to cheat on her, Sylvie took a deep breath (unaware that she was helping her cleavage mightily) and tried to stop herself from being too emotional. This was
her
plan,
her
scenario, and she’d control herself, Bob, and her future. She was in control here, she told herself.

“Flowers?!” Sylvie managed in a Marlaesque voice.

“All for you, baby,” Bob said, stepping inside and sweeping Sylvie up in his arms.

The flower cellophane got in the way of their first embrace and Bob let the roses drop to the floor. Sylvie felt his arms around her in a different way than usual. But she pulled away. Sylvie bent over, beginning to pick up the flowers until she remembered that her derriere was the least successfully transformed part of her body. She stopped, bent her knees instead of her waist, and tried to reach for the fallen roses without showing her butt. Awkward in the high heels, she got down to the carpet in an ungraceful squat, still focused on gathering up the roses. But in reaching she lost her balance and sprawled gracelessly.

“Oopsy daisy…” she said in a Marlaish voice. “I mean, oopsy
roses
.”

Bob reached out his hand to help her up. “Come on. Forget the flowers. Bobby’s here.” He took her hand and began to pull her into the bedroom. “I missed you,” he said, his voice husky with…was it lust? Sylvie wondered.
She
hadn’t heard that tone. Not in years, if ever.

Sylvie realized with a shock that she might actually get away with this charade. He wanted her, whoever he thought she was. And she felt a stab of pain. “Oh, really?” she asked, and she couldn’t contain the edge in her voice. “Did you miss your wife too?”

“Didn’t we agree we weren’t going to talk about my wife?” Bob asked. He put his arms around her again. His cheek felt so smooth, so good. He started to whisper. “You’re so pretty,” he told her. “So, so pretty.”

Sylvie felt herself melting. This was the homage she had craved and worked for. Tears filled her eyes. Was this all it took? To be told you were so, so pretty? She was luxuriating in the new feel of his arms, then pulled back. He was not hugging
her
, after all. He was hugging another woman. “Why do you come here, Bobby?” she asked.

“To see you.”

Sylvie felt her anger rising. Control yourself, she thought. Be Marla to him. Don’t blow this now. “For love? Or just for sex?” she asked.

“God, you’re really beautiful when you’re angry,” he said in a joking way.

“God, you’re really trite when you’re horny,” Sylvie retorted, then realized she wasn’t being Marlaish. “Really, really trite,” she added with a smile, then said, “But that’s a good thing.”

“You know you love me,” Bob said, caressing her cheek. Sylvie couldn’t feel it because of the nerves that had been cut when the face-lift had been done. They would regenerate, she’d been told, but it was unnerving. She took the petting for a moment, then pulled away.

“But do I mean it?” she asked teasingly. Sylvie let Bob take her hand. But then, to her surprise, he swooped her up and began to carry her toward the bedroom. Without thinking she warned, “Be careful of your back.”

Bob laughed. “I can handle it,” he said, and nuzzled her neck. “I can handle you.”

“Because you’re a big, strong man?” Sylvie asked to make up for the wifely question.

“Because you make me feel that way,” Bob whispered, and his breath in her ear affected another part of her anatomy. He thought she was sexy. It was just what she wanted.

But oddly, though she’d lost her beautiful ring over it, Sylvie didn’t want to hear it just then. She thought about her lost ring—friendship, love, and fidelity. He’d given that ring to her. Ha! She pulled out of his arms. Bob lost his balance and they both nearly fell. She regained her footing, but he staggered against the wall. He took the weight on his elbow—the one he’d hurt playing tennis. He screeched for a moment, then recovered himself and began to rub the joint.

“You’re making me…
in
-sane,” Sylvie said, and, not knowing what to do, began to pick up the scattered flowers.

“Ouch. Wow. This hurts,” he said. “I wonder if I chipped the bone.” Then he looked down at her.

“Marla, what’s going on?”

Sylvie had to use all her willpower not to jump to Bob’s aid and call John for a quick X ray. Instead she kept picking up flowers, the first ones he’d brought her in…she couldn’t remember. They were what she’d longed for. Flowers. Compliments. Attention. But…“Nothing…something. I wanted to be here with you so badly, but…” she trailed off.

“But?”

Her anger at him boiled up, curdling the way milk did when it boiled over. Clenching her teeth, she replied, “I just have to arrange these goddamn flowers.”

Marla was lying in Sylvie’s bed wearing a pair of her very unattractive flannel pajamas—red-and-black plaid, with pockets—and was on the phone. She had a bowl of Ben & Jerry’s Phish Food resting on her tummy and was eating it slowly with a soup spoon. “Yes, Saturday night,” she mumbled through the ice cream. She swallowed. “A table for two. For Mr. and
Mrs
. Robert Schiffer,” she managed to say, clearly proud.

Marla hung up. A jewelry show was on QVC and she turned her attention to it. But they had already sold out the zircon pendant and Marla didn’t want the earrings. Anyway, now that she owned the gorgeous Cartier ring in three colors of gold, she didn’t crave cubic zirconium—well, not as much. She clutched “her” Visa card in her left hand and continued eating with her right. Then she began working on a bag of Milano cookies along with the melting dish of ice cream. Sylvie had better find her a husband, fast, because soon she’d be too fat to get or keep a boyfriend. God, once she’d started eating she couldn’t stop.

The phone rang and Marla hesitated. This was the aphid test. She got her notebook ready before she answered. “Hello? Could you hold for a second?” Marla started looking through the book, then realized she hadn’t asked who was calling. Well, she could fix that. “Hello. Mrs. Sylvie Schiffer here. Before you hold again, could you tell me who this is?”

“It’s John. Welcome home.”

Marla sighed with relief. “Oh, John…I’ll be right with you.”

Marla quickly paged through the notebook to an entry that was headed “Friends and Family.” She found the thumbnail description of John. “
Good friend, doctor. Has had a crush on me since high school
.”

“Hi. So, John, how do you like being a doctor?”

“Uh…fine.”

“Good. We had fun in high school, didn’t we?”

“Yes. Sure. Hey, Sylvie, are you okay? Have you been drinking?”

“No. Just eating,” Marla told him.

“I heard you had…work done while you were away. Did you really think that was necessary? Even with elective surgery, there are risks.”

“I might of had a little something done, but I’ll let you be the judge,” Marla giggled.

“Well, it wasn’t necessary. You were perfect.”

“Don’t be silly. Of course I wasn’t perfect. Nobody is…”

“What does Bob think?”

Too cheerfully she responded, “Bob? He’s not back yet.”

“He hasn’t come home? Where is he?”

“Maybe off with his girlfriend—” She realized suddenly that she shouldn’t talk and certainly not joke about that, so she added, “I’m trying to adjust. It’s hell.”

“Sylvie, how about having lunch with me tomorrow at the club?”

“Lunch? Yeah, that would be great.” Then Marla sat up in bed, startled, and pointed toward the television with her spoon hand. “Wait! There’s that Diamonique ‘Y’ necklace that I’ve been waiting for. It would look great with my ring! Cathy swears it’s going to sell out.” Sweetly she asked John, “Will you promise not to stop having a crush on me if I put you on hold for a minute?”

Marla bought the necklace, charging it, and had it sent to Mrs. Robert Schiffer, even paying extra for overnight delivery. After all, she wasn’t sure how long this gig would last. Still, a week ago she was the kind of girl who didn’t have any gold. Now she had three colors! Plus more—cubic zirconiums! When she got back to John she was filled with the energy of a successful purchase. “So, I’ll see you tomorrow,” she told him. “You’ll know me because I’ll be wearing my new ‘Y’ necklace.”

John laughed. “Bob told me you had something done. Is the change that dramatic? I’d still know you anywhere, Sylvie.”

“Good, then you’ll know me tomorrow.” She hung up and then wondered how she’d recognize him. She pulled out the photo albums she considered her homework. Maybe John was in one of these pictures. A picture stopped her. She looked up a number in the spa notebook. She put on the speaker phone and punched a number in.

“Hello.” Mildred’s voice, so deep and sure of itself, crackled over the speaker.

“Hi. This is your daughter, Sylvie Schiffer.” Marla lowered her voice. “Not really. It’s sort of Marla.” Then she raised her voice again. “I’m sorry to bother you, Mom, but who is the geezer with the bald head in all our family pictures?”

“Bob’s father.
My
family has hair,” Mildred told her.

Marla tried to figure it out. “So, he would be my…”

“Father-in-law, if he were alive.”

Marla’s voice went low, respectful. She always tried to be respectful about those who had moved on to another plane of existence. “Oh. When did he pass on? Were we close?”

“I don’t think you should worry about it tonight, Mrs. Schiffer.” Mildred’s voice sounded a little—well, a little short. “It’s already past eleven. Isn’t Bob home yet?”

“Nope,” Marla said. She looked down at the ring that was now hers to keep forever and licked the very last bit of melted ice cream off the spoon. “But that’s okay. He’s been getting me a Cartier ring right this minute.” She grinned and held out her finger, admiring it.

“My god. Shouldn’t he be with his wife tonight?” Mildred paused. “Well, I guess he is. But he doesn’t know he is. I’m
so
confused”

“Now you know how I
always
feel.”

“Well, keep yourself busy and out of trouble.”

The phone beeped. “Oops. I have another call. Can you hold for a minute?” Marla asked, and before Mildred could answer she hit the flash button.

“Yo, Sis! You’re home? How was the boob job?”

Marla paused. Who could this possibly be? He’d called her Sis. That wasn’t her name or even Sylvie’s name. Was “Sis” short for Sylvie? But maybe it meant he might be her real brother. Not
her
brother, Sylvie’s brother. “I’m talking to my mother,” Marla said. “She’s on hold.”

“Well, she’s
my
mother too. How does Ellen look? Did she get rid of those acne scars?”

“I have to say good-bye to Mom, Phil,” Marla said proudly because she’d solved the puzzle. I could have been a spy, she thought, if reflexology wasn’t so important.

“Phil is on the other line, Mom.” Marla reported. “I have to go. But maybe I’ll see you tomorrow at the club. I’m having lunch there with John. That should keep me busy.”

“You are?” Mildred didn’t sound pleased.

“Yep. Do you think I can wear a jumpsuit?” Marla asked.

Mildred sighed. “No, but what do I know? I just sell pots.”

“One of my stepbrothers got busted for doing that,” Marla warned. “You better be careful.” She punched off the flash button and was back to Phil. “So, Phil, isn’t it great that we have all these memories?”

“Which memories, Syl?”

“Oh, you know,” Marla said vaguely. “The childhood ones. When we were kids together.”

“I remember when I accidentally broke Ellen’s nose, that time we were playing Red Rover.”

“You did?”

“Yeah. By the way, did she get that fixed too?”

Marla gulped. She and Sylvie hadn’t covered this. “I’m not telling. You call her.”

“Very funny. You know Ellen and I haven’t spoken for the last six years.”

“Oh, yeah. I just forgot that for a minute.” Marla paused, curious. “And I forgot why too.”

“Because of that food fight Rosalie and I had at Thanksgiving at her house. That’s why she won’t spend the holidays with us anymore. You remember.” He stopped talking. “Hey, Sylvie, was it really cosmetic surgery they did on you or was it shock treatments?”

Bob and Sylvie had gotten as far as actually lying on the bed; she’d arranged the flowers and then made up with “Bobby.” Now he was kissing her. Really kissing her. “God, it’s been so long…” he breathed.

“You have no idea,” Sylvie told him.

Bob had been a good kisser, Sylvie remembered, he hadn’t practiced on her in a long time. In fact even when they’d had sex he hadn’t kissed her much in the last few years. Now he kissed Sylvie tenderly, his hand cupping her face. His lips were firm, his hand gentle, yet it pulled her to him. Sylvie felt herself responding, but then she couldn’t help but pull away and ask, “Do you think I’m special?”

“
Very
special,” he whispered and started kissing her again.

“Who else is special?” she asked. God! She could bite her tongue, if Bob didn’t.

“Nobody…” He kissed her more deeply. Sylvie felt herself letting go, enjoying this. It was what she wanted. It was what she
needed
, and she felt a tug at her groin as she let herself move into that place where you floated into foreplay. “Nobody…” Bob repeated.