The Good Life (17 page)

 

As it turned out, all of the Baronses went to the Kendalls’ party. Jenny’s family had been invited this year, so Nate was keen to go. And Lauren, hoping other families had been added to the list of attendees, was eager, too. No one wanted to go to church. So Eileen bundled up Sam in his red wool scarf and worn gray overcoat and drove him to St. Paul’s, where she had gone with Ann. Father David remembered her, or at least pretended to, and seemed pleased to meet Sam. The service was packed with people Eileen suspected were “Chreasters,” those attending church only on Christmas and Easter, but she enjoyed the service nonetheless. Sam sang all the hymns boldly, not needing the book to remind him of the words. Afterward, she and Sam ate pork roast, wild rice, and fresh green beans, followed by decaf tea and apple turnovers. They did the dishes together—Sam drying the pots, then laying them on the cleared kitchen table as usual. Afterward they changed into their pajamas; Sam settled into the chair and Eileen covered him with a blanket. She sat on the couch and turned on the George C. Scott version of
A Christmas Carol
. Sam recited Jacob Marley’s opening lines, but quickly lost steam. He was asleep before the visit from Christmas Past.

Just after nine o’clock, Eileen heard a knock on the door. It was Lauren. “Come in,” said Eileen, opening the door wide.

“I just wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas,” said Lauren, her eyes bright from the cold.

“Well, Merry Christmas to you,” said Eileen, ushering Lauren into the living room.

“Oh!” said Lauren, switching to a whisper when she saw her grandfather slumbering in the chair. “You’re watching
A Christmas Carol
.”

“Yes,” said Eileen. “Would you care to join me?” Lauren smiled at her grandmother as she took off her coat. “You sit on the couch, and I’ll make some popcorn,” said Eileen, heading into the kitchen. Lauren settled onto the warm cushion, pulled her legs up underneath her, and covered herself with the fleece throw next to her. She glanced over at her grandfather. His head was tilted back at an improbable angle, and his mouth was open enough for Lauren to hear the air get sucked in and then blown out. His scratched glasses lay on the table between them. For a moment, Lauren watched him before turning her attention back to the movie. Several minutes later, Eileen joined her on the couch, setting the bowl of buttered popcorn between them. She handed Lauren a napkin. And together, they watched the uplifting transformation of Ebenezer Scrooge.

 

In the morning, Eileen and Sam joined the festivities in Ann’s living room. Mike plugged in the lights wrapped around the sixteen-foot tree the party planners had erected and decorated the week before. Dressed in jeans, a red cashmere V-neck sweater, and Gucci loafers, he then sat down amid the pile of presents to play Santa. At his insistence, the presents were opened in rounds, one at a time, starting with Lauren and ending with Sam; witnesses were encouraged to coo their approval, at which Eileen excelled, until it was her turn to open her gifts. “Another for me? Ann, this is too much, dear,” she said more than once. “I thought we agreed you weren’t going to go overboard.” Sitting next to her mother on the couch, Ann smiled, winked, and sipped a large mug of coffee. She and a bottle of Bailey’s Irish Cream had been up until two o’clock wrapping gifts and arranging them under the tree, a task she enjoyed doing alone.

When all the presents were opened, and Sam and Mike were picking up the layer of crumpled-up wrapping paper and yards of ribbon that covered the living room floor, Eileen invited everyone back to the little house for breakfast. Ann protested, saying she had already bought a Christmas coffee cake, but Mike held up his hand. “Eileen,” he said, “we’d love to come.” Carrying Sam’s and Eileen’s new flannel shirts and nightgowns, books, winter boots, and two shopping bags filled with gourmet food items and other miscellaneous holiday treats purchased by Ann, they all trudged down the path Mike had shoveled a few hours earlier. As soon as they had shed their coats and set the gifts down on the living room carpet, Eileen disappeared into their bedroom. She reappeared with a soft stack of gifts, wrapped in green tissue paper, red ribbon, and a sprig of holly. She instructed them to open the gifts simultaneously, as they were all the same. But they weren’t. The hand-knitted scarves were different colors, patterns, and wools. Lauren’s looked like spring meadow grass. She wrapped it around her neck and kept it there as she ate her grandmother’s Christmas sausage and egg casserole and cinnamon swirls, and as she much later chatted on the phone with her friend, Pammy. “You won’t believe how soft it is,” said Lauren, sitting on her bed in her new flannel pajama pants and a white T-shirt, stroking the scarf.

“Tell me more about the diamond tennis bracelet,” said Pammy. “Are you allowed to wear it to school?

“I guess so,” said Lauren.

“I can’t wait to see it,” Pammy said. “I’ll bet it’s gorgeous.”

Several days later, when the holidays were over and the business of Christmas had been cast out to the curb with the naked tree, Lauren’s bracelet was still in the box.

C
HAPTER
8

A
nn cleared the weekend with Mike’s secretary, then booked two nights at her favorite hotel/spa in San Francisco. She called Sally and told her they needed to take an emergency shopping trip. Then she called her mother. “You can just walk down the path, Ann,” said Eileen into the mouthpiece. “I feel foolish talking to you on the phone.”

“The phone is much more efficient,” said Ann, spooning nonfat Greek yogurt into the blender. “If I walked down there, we’d get sidetracked and talk for an hour.”

“God forbid,” said Eileen, pulling a chair out from under the guesthouse kitchen table.

Ann hit the PULSE button, transforming the additives into a smooth purple liquid. “I’m calling because Mike and I are going away.”

“When?”

“This weekend,” said Ann. “We haven’t gone anywhere since you arrived and, frankly, I’ve got a serious case of cabin fever. I’ve got to get out of here.”

“Where are you going?”

“San Francisco,” said Ann. “It’s not the best time of year to go, but it really doesn’t matter. My plan is to get lost in the spa for a couple of days.”

“The spa?” asked Eileen. “Do you mean a hot spring?”

“Tell me you don’t know what a spa is, Mother,” said Ann, pouring her shake into a chilled mug from the freezer.

“I just told you what I thought it was.”

“It’s a luxury facility,” said Ann. “For massages, facials, pedicures, general body toning.”

“You won’t lose weight while you’re there, will you?” asked Eileen.

“It’s not a fat farm, Mother,” said Ann, grabbing one of her pads with A
NN’S
L
IST
printed on the top and jotting down some of the clothing she planned on packing. “It’s a spa.”

“Because you certainly can’t afford to lose more weight.”

“Thank you,” said Ann. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Why are you so thin, anyway?” asked Eileen. “You used to have some meat on you.”

“I lost that
meat
years ago,” said Ann.

“Why?”

“Because it’s good to be thin. It’s healthy.”

“You don’t look particularly healthy to me,” said Eileen, looking out the kitchen window at Ann’s kitchen window.

“I’m very healthy,” said Ann.

“You look, actually, honey, a little like a bag of bones.”

Ann sipped her shake. “Why are we discussing this?”

“Because I don’t like to see you wasting away into nothing.”

“I’m a good distance from nothing,” said Ann.

“Not from where I’m standing,” said Eileen, standing.

“Well, you’re standing in the nineteen-fifties,” said Ann. “You have no idea what attractive, fashionable women are today.”

“Bags of bones, I guess,” said Eileen.

“That’s your opinion.”

“Hold on,” said Eileen. “I’m coming over.” She put down the receiver, grabbed her cable-knit sweater from the hall closet, and wrapped it around her shoulders. She told Selma she was going to the big house, then walked as quickly as she could up the path. Before Ann registered what was happening, her mother was at her back door. Ann sighed loudly and looked at her watch as Eileen walked in and shut the door behind her.

“I’ve got a lot of things to do today, Mother,” said Ann, finishing her drink. “We’re not turning this discussion into a marathon coffee-drinking session.”

“Who said we were?” asked Eileen. “Maybe I’ve got a lot of things to do, too.” Ann looked at her mother. “I just think it’s ridiculous to talk on the phone when you could be talking face to face,” said Eileen, shrugging off her sweater and draping it over the back of a kitchen chair. “Now, what is the situation with Nate and Lauren?”

“The situation?”

“Do you have someone staying with them, or do they stay on their own?”

“They’re sixteen and fifteen, Mother,” said Ann. “They can stay on their own. Plus, Emma said she is willing to work this Saturday. She can cook for them—although they’ll probably eat takeout all weekend as usual—and clean up after them Monday morning.”

“Why not send them down to our house?” asked Eileen, arms akimbo.

Ann looked at her mother with raised eyebrows. The notion that teenagers would prefer to stay with their grandparents rather than on their own was pure fantasy. “They’re fine here,” said Ann, fighting the urge to smile at her mother’s suggestion.

“I know they’ll be fine,” said Eileen, sitting in the same chair that held her sweater. “There’s a difference between fine and well cared for.”

Ann walked her empty mug to the sink. “They’ll be fine here,” she repeated over her shoulder. “They’re comfortable in their own surroundings.”

“Fine,” said Eileen. “I’m happy to stay here.”

“Mother,” said Ann, turning and facing her, “why are you doing this? I’ve already talked about it with the kids and they’re content with the plan. You don’t need to get involved.”

“I am involved,” said Eileen, folding her arms across her chest. “I’m their grandmother.”

“It’s a little early in the day for drama,” said Ann, getting a bottle of water from the fridge.

“I’m not being dramatic,” said Eileen, chin out and stomach in.

“You’re
always
dramatic,” said Ann.

Eileen stood—dramatically, thought Ann. “We can discuss this,” said Eileen, putting on her sweater, “when you’re in a better mood.”

“I’m in a fabulous mood,” said Ann, raising her voice. Without another word, Eileen opened the back door and walked out. “Have a nice day!” Ann yelled at her mother retreating down the path.

 

“Can you imagine that?” Ann asked Sally as they got out of Ann’s car and walked toward Nordstrom. Ann hit the
LOCK
button on her key fob, and then pushed it again, reassured only by the second toot of the horn that her car was secure.

“You are a saint,” Sally said to Ann. “I mean, do you know anyone who could put up with living with her parents for—how long is it now?”

“Seven weeks,” said Ann, dropping her keys into her purse and grabbing a bottle of water. “A very long seven weeks. And I swear to God, Sally, it’s so much harder than I thought.”

“You poor thing,” said Sally, putting her hand on Ann’s shoulder.

“She won’t leave me alone, for God’s sake,” said Ann, cracking the seal on the water bottle while Sally pulled open the large glass door to the mall. “I don’t have a minute to myself. She just walks in my back door whenever she’s got a free moment, several times a day.” Sally shook her head sympathetically. “I have never needed a vacation more,” said Ann. “At this point, if Mike cancels on me, I’m going alone.”

“Good girl,” said Sally.

They scurried into the women’s department, Ann in the lead by the usual step.

Sally pinballed from rack to rack, trying to match Ann’s frenetic shopping pace, searching for the perfect outfit for herself or an adorable shirt or sleek pair of pants Ann would find worthy of adding to her own stack of possibles.
Oh Ann,
Sally might casually say,
this would look just darling on you.
Ann would then look up from her avid hunt and do one of two things: shake her head and quickly return to business or smile and approach Sally. Sally flipped through the size two skirts and found nothing Ann did not already have or would find attractive enough for a second glance.

“Sally, come here,” called Ann from several circular chrome racks away. “Look at this skirt. It’s so cute.” Sally walked through the maze of clothing to where Ann was standing. “I tried to find it in my size,” said Ann, “but had no luck. Try this on. It’s perfect for you.”

Sally took the skirt from Ann and looked at the inside label. “It’s a four,” she said.

“That’s right,” said Ann.

“I’m a six,” said Sally, looking at the skirt instead of at Ann.

“Oh my,” said Ann, “I’m sorry. I keep forgetting.”

“I’m working at it,” said Sally, who couldn’t imagine eating any more fruits and vegetables than she already did.

“That’s the important thing,” said Ann, taking the skirt back from Sally. “We never want to lose sight of our goals.”

“Right,” said Sally with false enthusiasm. “I’m actually starting to like balsamic vinaigrette.”

“Excellent,” said Ann, patting her on the back. “You’ll be shopping side by side with me in no time.” Sally returned to the area she had been browsing in before Ann beckoned her. When she wore the same size as Ann, they would always shop together. Sure, sometimes Jesse and Paula would come along, but they, by their size, would shop away from Ann and Sally, the size twos. When she wore the same size as Ann, people in town would take notice. Some people had already told her she looked like Ann, as she had almost the same color hair cut in almost the same style, and she made a point of tucking in her shirts and wearing a belt. A belt, Ann once told her, was a constant reminder of waist size.

They walked out of Nordstrom and into the mall just after one o’clock. Ann had bought two pairs of light wool slacks, two blazers, and three pairs of shoes. Sally, unable to seriously consider a size six purchase after her pep talk from Ann, was empty-handed and, regrettably, hungry. She followed Ann past several restaurants, including Bohemian Bliss, her favorite. “Are you hungry?” asked Ann, turning her head to look back at Sally.

“Not really,” Sally lied.

“Great,” said Ann, reaching into her enormous black patent leather purse like a magician into a hat and producing two protein bars. “Eat one of these to tide you over and we’ll continue to shop while all the amateurs stop for lunch.” Sally forced a laugh as she took the peanut butter bar from Ann. She ate it in four bites, finishing the last one as they reached Neiman Marcus. “Another?” asked Ann.

“I’m full,” said Sally, patting her stomach for conviction. “That hit the spot.”

“Didn’t it, though? I find them so satisfying,” said Ann, again reaching into her bag, this time for her half-empty bottle of water. “I am so dehydrated, though. These malls are incredibly dry.”

“I know,” said Sally, who was suddenly thirsty for a Diet Coke. If she had been at home, she would have simply descended her basement stairs, as she did most afternoons, and reached into the spare refrigerator, where she kept an extra gallon of milk and a variety of pop and bottled juices. Here, Sally pressed on. Ann, she knew, thought anything but water, coffee, and alcohol was for teenagers.

An hour later they had gone through most of the department stores and $2,000 of the Baronses’ fortune. They strolled out of Macy’s and back into the mall, Ann announcing her dire need for a large latte. They walked to Java Hut in the food court, next to Mrs. Fields Cookies. As they waited in line, Sally’s eyes wandered over to the brightly lit glass cases of treats. Behind them, a hair-netted woman was removing a large tray of what looked like white chocolate macadamias from the oven. Sally was so hungry she would have paid twenty dollars for just one of those warm cookies. “Go ahead,” said Ann, following Sally’s gaze. “You’ve been good today.”

“Oh no,” said Sally, flustered, “I’m fine. The cookies, they just remind me of my childhood. I hardly ever eat them now; they’re just loaded with fat.”

“Too true,” said Ann, stepping forward in line. Large lattes in hand, Ann followed by Sally sat down on a vacant bench. After Ann rubbed hand sanitizer onto her hands and squirted some into Sally’s, she took her first sip. “Where to next?”

“I don’t care,” said Sally, who honestly didn’t. What she wanted most at this point was to go home and make a tuna melt.

“Well, I’ve got everything I need,” said Ann, “but I’m worried about you. You haven’t bought a thing.”

“That’s okay,” said Sally, brightening at the prospect of leaving. “Some days you find things and some days you don’t.”

Ann sipped her coffee drink. “I always seem to be able to find something,” she said. “I’ve got that fashion show coming up at the end of the month, so I’m motivated. I wouldn’t want to be caught in something everyone’s seen.”

“Don’t they give you the clothes for the show?” asked Sally, still sensitive about not being asked to participate.

“Well, yes,” said Ann, “but Marge Simon told me they’re doing furs this year. Well, you know that; you were with me that day. But I’m thinking about wearing my own clothes underneath. I’ve got several combinations that haven’t been out in public yet.”

“That’s a good idea,” said Sally. “You never know who’s been wearing those fashion show clothes.”

“Last year,” said Ann, “they put me in a blouse that smelled like it had been through gym class.” Sally chuckled. She would be happy to wear a smelly fashion-show blouse, if only Marge would ask her. Being a local celebrity, Ann was asked every year. But so were ordinary people, like school principals and real estate agents. Sally made a mental note to call Marge after the show to congratulate her on a job well done. Maybe Marge would sign her up for the following year. Wouldn’t Paula and Jesse just die to know she and Ann would be doing the fashion show together?

“Are you ready to go?” asked Ann, standing.

“Absolutely,” said Sally, popping up from the bench and grabbing four of Ann’s six bags. If they didn’t have too much traffic, she could be eating that tuna melt in just over an hour.

 

Eileen knocked on the back door just after Ann had returned downstairs from organizing her purchases in her closet. “Oh, for God’s sake,” said Ann, walking to the door and opening it.

“I’ve got it all figured out,” said Eileen, brushing past Ann and taking off her sweater. “I checked with Selma and she’s fine with my staying here.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Ann, standing by the open door, one hand still on the handle.

“Close the door, honey,” said Eileen, hanging her sweater on the back of a kitchen chair. “I’m talking about this weekend, of course. I can stay here this weekend with Nate and Lauren.”