The Good Life (25 page)

“What did you do?”

“Just drove around, really,” said Josh. “I ended up at your house later on.”

“Were you spending time with my sister?”

Josh hesitated. “Nate, you’re my best friend,” he said. “I spend a lot of time with your sister.”

“Does she like you?”

“She’s over the top about Judd Acker,” said Josh. “You know that.”

Nate laughed. “I can’t believe he actually talks to her sometimes.”

“He’s a nice guy,” said Josh. “And your sister’s not ugly, Nate.”

“She’s no Angel.”

“There’s only one Angel,” said Josh.

“Okay, man,” said Nate. “I’ve got to open my history book or I’m toast on that test tomorrow.”

“You and me both,” said Josh.

 

The kitchen was immaculate and deserted, just the way Ann liked it, when she and Mike walked in from the garage. She washed her hands at the sink and then walked quickly across the floor, through the hall, and into the den, where her mother was reading. “We’re home,” she said.

Eileen looked up from her book and smiled. “Well, so you are. How was dinner?”

“Wonderful,” said Ann. “How’s everything here?”

“Just fine,” said Eileen, closing her book and getting up from the chair. “Nate and Lauren are upstairs in their rooms and Selma and Sam are down at the house.”

“It’s so quiet,” said Ann, taking off her coat and folding it over her arm.

“Well, yes,” said Eileen. “We’ve had a busy weekend. We’re all tired.”

“Did you have any trouble?” asked Ann.

“Not really,” said Eileen. “Your father was, well, your father, but he’s okay.”

“And the kids?”

“Great,” said Eileen. “You’ve got terrific kids.”

“Really?” said Ann, smiling. “You’ll have to tell me more about that.”

“In the morning,” said Eileen, moving toward the hallway. “I’m ready to hit the hay.”

“Thank you,” said Ann, following her mother back into the kitchen. “Mike and I really needed to get away.”

“Here she is,” said Mike, approaching his mother-in-law when she walked into the kitchen, “Saint Eileen.” Eileen smiled and accepted a scotch-scented kiss on her cheek. “It looks like you survived,” he said, putting his arm around her shoulder. “I’m impressed.”

“I’m impressed with your kids,” said Eileen. “We had fun.”

“It’s nice to know they’re good for someone,” said Mike, patting her on the back.

“Okay,” said Eileen, “Well, I’m going to head down to the house.”

“I’ll walk you down,” said Mike, taking her Irish-knit sweater from the wall peg and wrapping it around her.

“And I’m going to take a bath,” announced Ann. “I’m exhausted.”

Mike and Eileen walked out the back door and Ann climbed the stairs. Nate heard her walk past his door on her way to see Lauren. He turned off his light. Ann knocked on Lauren’s door and entered when granted permission. “Hi, Mom,” said Lauren, looking up from the pile of books and papers at her desk. “Did you have fun in California?”

“Lots of fun, honey,” said Ann, setting the stack of magazines down on Lauren’s desk, then giving her daughter a gentle hug. “I’m completely refreshed.”

“That’s good,” said Lauren.

“And how were things here?” asked Ann. “Did you survive the weekend with your grandmother?”

“Oh yes,” said Lauren, smiling. “She’s great. We really had a good time.”

“You didn’t tire her out?”

“She’s got more energy than anyone I know,” said Lauren. “And she’s an unbelievable cook.”

“Did you miss me?” asked Ann, putting on the same exaggerated pout she always wore when looking for attention.

“Of course,” Lauren lied, wondering how a mother who was no longer involved in her child’s everyday life could ask that question in earnest. Lauren used to miss her mother when she was away because her absence was as obvious as a blue sky without the sun. But for the past couple of years, Lauren had been somewhat relieved when her mother left town, taking her puppy dog look with her. Not that they spent much time together, but when they did, her mother either tried too hard or treated her like a child. She had trouble gauging the distance Lauren wanted between them. Lauren knew this was partly her fault because she wanted to be close with her mother one day and have nothing to do with her the next. But her friend Pammy’s mother seemed to understand this, knowing that a “You’re awesome!” note in her backpack the day of a volleyball game was cool—Pammy had, in fact, shared these notes with the entire team—and that hugging her in the car when she dropped her off at school in the morning was not. Lauren’s mother didn’t seem to understand this delicate balance. If Lauren pushed her away, her mother took it personally.

“That’s my girl,” said Ann, turning to leave. “I’m going to take a tub, then crawl into bed. I’ll see you in the morning.” Lauren made a face at the door after her mother left. She hadn’t even noticed Lauren cleaned her room. Ann walked back down the hall to Nate’s room. She lifted her hand to knock on his door when she noticed his light was out. Her mother had probably kept him hopping all weekend, doing chores and running errands. He must be exhausted to be asleep at nine o’clock. Instead of knocking, Ann simply said good night to the door. On the other side, Nate, lying in bed and waiting for her departure, raised the third finger of his left hand in the air. As soon as she left, Nate switched on his light and picked up his favorite vintage Gameboy. Not tired enough to sleep, but not awake enough to do homework, Nate played Super Mario Brothers for half an hour. His father never came to see him.

Lauren was just about to turn off her light when her cell phone rang. She picked it up on the second ring. “Hi,” said Josh.

“Hi,” said Lauren, cannon blasts in her chest.

“Did you have a good day?”

“I had an awesome day,” said Lauren, “until my parents came home.” Josh laughed. “I wish my grandmother could be here all the time. She’s easy to be around.”

“Nate says she makes you guys work.”

“A little bit,” said Lauren. “I don’t think that’s so bad for you.”

“You’re kidding,” said Josh.

“I’m not kidding.”

“Then you can come live at my house,” he said. “My parents work us to death.”

Lauren laughed. “You have very nice parents,” she said.

“That’s in public,” said Josh. “In private, they’re slave drivers.” Lauren laughed again. “I thought about you today,” Josh said quietly. Lauren blushed. “Did you think about me?”

“Yes.”

“Are you okay with last night?”

“Yes.”

“I want to take you out next weekend,” said Josh. “Do you want to go to the movies Saturday night?”

“Sure,” said Lauren excitedly.

“Good,” said Josh. “I’ll call you this week and we’ll figure out what we want to see, okay?”

“Yes,” said Lauren, feeling like warm water was running through her veins.

“And I’ll talk to your brother,” said Josh. “I don’t want you to worry about it.”

 

Mike walked into their bathroom, where Ann was soaking in a bubble bath. “Your mother’s a piece of work, isn’t she?”

“You’re just finding this out now?”

“No, but maybe I’m just finding out what an unbelievable woman she is.”

“In what way?”

“In every way,” said Mike. “She’s just very principled.”

“And I’m not,” said Ann, sitting up.

“I didn’t say that,” said Mike. “I said she was.”

“But you were implying I wasn’t.”

“I was doing nothing of the kind,” said Mike, unbuttoning his shirt. “This is not about you.”

“I beg to differ.”

“I’m not going to get into an argument,” said Mike, looking in the mirror. “You owe me something.”

“And what in the world would that be,” said Ann, sitting back in the tub.

“Think about it a moment,” said Mike. “I’ll undress and wait for you in the other room.”

Oh God,
thought Ann,
the blow job.
Slowly, she stood and slid her hands down her body to remove the bubbles. If she had only passed on that pinot on the plane, she wouldn’t be in this position. Of course, she had two glasses of wine at the restaurant, but, again, she wouldn’t have had those if she hadn’t had the damn pinot. But it had tasted so good. There was nothing like alcohol to dissolve the stress of a travel day, any day, for that matter. The first sip from a graceful glass was her absolute favorite—the tangy taste of the wine pooled in her eager mouth, the aroma filling her nose and the welcome fire sliding down her throat. The world always looked better through an empty bottle. She stepped out of the tub and dried herself. She wrapped her robe around her naked body and walked into the bedroom. Mike was lying in their bed, propped up against two pillows. The sheet and blanket covered his legs and waist, but his hairy chest and large shoulders were exposed, a mating posture. He was lean, as many powerful men are, with a stomach that was almost as flat as when Ann had met him in college. He didn’t always watch his diet the way Ann wanted him to, but he was fairly good about getting exercise. He ran on the weekends from home and three days during the week from his office. Three or four of his top men ran with him, like the Secret Service accompanying the U.S. president. They talked sports, no business, on the four-mile loop around headquarters, Mike and his boys. He smiled at Ann as she sat on the bed. He told her to remove her robe, which she did, slowly. She enjoyed showing him her body because she worked so hard to maintain it. She weighed less now than when she graduated from college, a fact that circulated around town whenever Ann and Mike made a public appearance together for the company. The local newspaper reporters seemed to enjoy describing her toned arms as much as her designer outfits. And while she outwardly whined about such frivolous description, she inwardly basked in the spotlight every other woman in town could or dared not enter.

As she drew closer, Mike slid the covers down from his lap, revealing his hard cock. Ann smiled at it, making Mike’s chest swell with anticipation. She climbed onto him, straddling her legs over his. Ever so slowly, she lowered her head to his penis. She kissed the tip, causing Mike to shudder. She then ran her tongue around the head and down the shaft, while Mike whispered, “Yes, baby.” She took it in her mouth and began to gently suck. She knew it would be only a matter of seconds at this point and her mind drifted to the tasks that faced her tomorrow. She would get up and make herself a double-strength latte before calling Sally to arrange a workout and possibly lunch at Susie’s Kitchen. She couldn’t get enough of Susie’s no-fat sesame noodle salad. After that, she needed to talk to Dede about redecorating her living room. The whites and beiges were no longer interesting. Everyone had them. She sucked. She was ready for some color in that room—maybe warm cranberry tones, something dramatic but inviting. Suddenly, there was an explosion in her mouth. Brought back to her task, she swallowed dutifully, avoiding making a face. “Thanks, baby,” said Mike.

Ann met his eyes, then got off the bed and walked into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. She bent over the toilet bowl and stuck her finger down her throat. Moments later, the fluid she’d just ingested, flew into the water. Ann gagged, then stood, wiped her mouth, and brushed her teeth. She walked back into the bedroom, where Mike was reading
Businessweek
. He looked up at her and smiled. She crawled into her side of the bed and turned on the lamp on the table beside her. She picked up
Architectural Digest
and flipped through the glossy pages of an article about sun-rooms. She closed her eyes and pictured such an oasis off their family room. Yes, that would be the perfect solution to the long Michigan winters.

C
HAPTER
14

M
ail in hand, Ann walked into her kitchen after a morning workout and lunch with Sally to find her mother, bent over, taking cookies out of the oven.
Good God,
thought Ann,
what in the world will get the message through to her that this is not her house?
“Hello,” said Eileen cheerfully. “How did your exercise routine go?”

“My
workout,
” Ann said, “was just fine.”

“I don’t suppose you want a cookie.”

“No,” said Ann, setting the mail down on the counter to take off her coat.

Eileen coaxed the sugar cookies onto a wire rack with a spatula. “Nate and Lauren love them,” she said.

“Mmm,” said Ann, flipping through the stack of magazines and bills. She stopped when she saw the American Express envelope. She opened it with the bone-handled letter opener she kept in the basket on her desk and inhaled deeply as she quickly scanned its contents. She folded the bill in half and put it into the pocket of her yoga pants.

“Your friend Jesse called,” said Eileen, spooning more dough onto the cookie sheet she had just emptied.

Ann looked up from the mail. “You answered my phone?”

“Well, I was standing right here,” said Eileen.

“Isn’t that an invasion of privacy?”

Eileen smiled. “I’d call it secretarial,” she said, peeling the page with Jesse’s name and phone number off Ann’s message pad and handing it to her daughter. “She said she tried your cell phone.”

“Tell me again why you’re in my kitchen making cookies,” said Ann.

“I’m making them,” said Eileen, “for Lauren and Nate, who will be home soon from school.”

“They don’t need cookies,” said Ann.

“We all need cookies,” said Eileen.

“Well, I certainly don’t,” asked Ann, giving her mother a sarcastic look.

Eileen bent down and opened the oven door. “I think you do,” she said.

Go to hell,
thought Ann as she walked out of the kitchen and up the stairs to her bedroom, where she shut the door behind her. She sat down on the bed and called Jesse.

“You know,” said Jesse, “if you want people to be able to get in touch with you, you have to turn your cell phone on.”

“Then my children might call me,” said Ann.

“You gave them your number?”

Ann removed her shoes and then lay back on the duvet. “My mother is driving me crazy.”

“So what else is new?”

“I’m not kidding, Jesse.”

“Your mother,” Jesse said, “is delightful. I don’t know why you say the things you do.”

“You don’t live with her,” said Ann. “She’s in the middle of everything.”

“She sounds like she’s a tremendous help. I can’t believe how often she makes dinner for you.”

“She makes dinner all the time,” said Ann, rubbing her temples.

“How can you not love that?”

“First of all, I’m not a meat and potatoes girl and haven’t been since the ninth grade,” said Ann. “And second, if I eat one more tuna casserole, I’ll explode.”

“That I’d like to witness.”

“She just likes to show me up,” said Ann, sitting back up.

“I doubt that’s her primary motivation, Ann.”

“And I’m quite sure it is.”

“At any rate, she was just delightful on the phone,” said Jesse. “And it seems quite silly and rude of me, actually, that I’ve made no effort to spend any time with her.”

“Trust me,” said Ann, taking the bill out of her pocket and putting it in her bedside drawer. “You’re better off.”

“And so,” said Jesse, “I have a proposition.”

“This is why you called?”

“No, I called because you have to be at the fashion show tomorrow at one instead of one thirty,” said Jesse. “But my proposition is to invite your mother to the show and we all have lunch together beforehand.”

“I’m not sure I can get a ticket,” said Ann.

“I’ve got an extra,” said Jesse. “Janice Parker can’t come.”

Ann hesitated and then breathed into the phone. “Do we have to do this?”

“I’ll take care of everything,” said Jesse. “You extend the invitation. We can meet at the Marriott. I’ll make reservations in the Peach Tree Café for eleven thirty.”

Ann opened her mouth to protest, but Jesse hung up.

 

At eleven ten the next morning, Ann walked through the garage door into the kitchen and found her mother, dressed in a wool skirt, freshly ironed white shirt, green cardigan sweater, and pearls, sitting in her kitchen and reading the newspaper. “Didn’t I just find you here yesterday?” said Ann, setting her keys down on the counter.

“That you did,” said Eileen, looking up from the newspaper and smiling at her daughter. “But today, I was invited.”

Ann looked at her watch. “We’re not due there until eleven thirty,” she said.

“Are you going like that?” asked Eileen.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Ann. “You know these are the clothes I wear to the gym.”

“Well, you’d better change then, hadn’t you?”

Ann left the kitchen and ran up the stairs to her bedroom. “Well, you’d better change then, hadn’t you,” said Ann, imitating her mother with a whiny, nasal twist to her voice. She walked into her closet, took off her clothes, and stuffed them into the hamper. She pulled on her jeans with the map of Italy print and then a camel-colored, scoop-neck cashmere sweater over her head. She wrapped a black leather belt around her waist, slid her feet into three-inch black heels, and grabbed some amber jewelry from her safe. She snipped the price tag from her charcoal black leather blazer and put her arms through the sleeves as she walked out of her room.

Downstairs, Eileen was standing by the garage door. She looked at her watch as soon as Ann walked into the kitchen. “It’s eleven twenty,” she said through tight lips.

“And the restaurant,” said Ann, grabbing her black leather purse from the countertop, “is ten minutes away.”

“Then we’ll be late,” said Eileen, turning to open the door.

“Fashionably so,” said Ann, walking into the garage behind her mother. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you to be fashionably late?”

“Not when friends are waiting for me,” said Eileen, opening the passenger side door to Ann’s car. “That’s not fashionable; that’s rude.”

“Trust me,” said Ann, sitting down in the driver’s seat, “we’ll be the first ones there.”

 

When they arrived at the restaurant, Jesse, Sally, and Paula were sitting at the table with Betsy Weyerman, who was given complimentary tickets every year mostly because her great-grandfather was partly responsible—100 years ago—for the startup of the company that Mike and others before him had coaxed and nurtured into world-class excellence. “Hello, girls,” said Ann brightly. “This is my mother, Eileen.”

“Yes,” said Jesse, standing and giving Eileen a quick hug. “It’s so good to see you again. It’s been too long. Please, sit and join us.”

Eileen reintroduced herself to Sally and Paula, both of whom she had met years before. Betsy extended her hand and said, simply: “I’m charmed.” Two minutes later, Janet Bellows and Jean Ste-fanski, two pigeon-breasted women in their midfifties, arrived together as they did everywhere. Pat Waters arrived next and sat down beside Ann. Introductions were made again around the table and the small talk began. Ann narrowed her eyes at Jesse, annoyed at being tricked. She had no idea this lunch would include anyone other than Sally, Jesse, and Paula.

“Ann,” said Pat, “it’s so good to see you. Where have you been hiding?”

Ann glanced down the table at her mother, who was busy chatting with Jesse and Paula. “At home, I’m sorry to report,” she said, keeping her voice down. “My parents arrived in the fall. My dad’s got Parkinson’s and dementia, and we’ve all been doing our best to make him comfortable.”

“Oh, you poor dear,” said Pat through thick frosted lips. “I had no idea. Do you need anything?”

“We’re doing pretty well right now, Pat,” said Ann, lifting her water glass and wondering when the server would arrive and take drink orders.

“You must be exhausted,” said Pat, tucking her dyed black bob behind her ears as she always did when she had new earrings to show off; the diamond studs were maybe two carats each. “Call me if you need a hand or a sympathetic ear. And you know I mean that.”

“I certainly do,” said Ann.

Pat patted Ann’s hand. “Call me anyway,” she said, already looking past Ann to Janet and Jean cackling at the other end of the table. “Maybe I can sneak you away for a facial.”

Finally, the server arrived and announced the specials. Ann ordered two carafes of pinot grigio for the table and a spinach salad—no bacon, cheese, olives, or dressing—for herself. She sat back and listened to the others order everything from quiche Lorraine to chef salad with blue cheese dressing on the side. She wondered, not for the first time, how these women with thick middles could stand in front of a mirror. What were they—size tens? twelves? Janet and Jean looked like they could be on the verge of size fourteen.

Ann’s first glass of wine went down like water. A touch sour, it awakened her dormant taste buds and emboldened her tongue. She poured herself another glass as the bread baskets arrived and another with the presentation of the entrées. She raved about her various treatments at the San Francisco resort spa, calling the massage therapist a genius, even though he was gayer than a male nurse. At that, the clicking of stainless steel forks and knives against china plates stopped—led by Pat, whose son was in nursing school—as if frozen by a metallic power failure. And the cloud of silence hovering over the table near the window, where a couple married for twenty-five years ate their matching burgers without speaking, shifted, surrounding Ann and the others. Ann lifted her glass and took the final sip. By the time she set it back down on the table, the cloud had moved on. Jesse switched topics to the charity the fashion show was supporting, and everyone eagerly joined in on the conversation. Ann quietly picked at her salad, feeling suddenly deflated and having no idea why.
It must be my mother,
she thought as she speared a dry mushroom and raised it to her mouth.

The server returned with the dessert menus as Ann was pouring herself more wine.

“Look at these choices,” cooed Jean. “They’re absolutely sinful!”

“You can take their cheesecake,” added Janet, “and just apply it directly to your hips!”

Or your big fat abdomen,
thought Ann.

“How’s the apple cobbler?” asked Paula.

“Fabulous,” said Jean, closing her eyes and slowly shaking her head as if she were scanning her brain for a picture. “They make it here.”

Paula bit her lower lip. Right now, Ann thought, Paula was doing her best to muster up the willpower to decline on dessert. At the same time, she was wondering how bad it would look if she ordered it without the mountain of whipped cream that came with it. Then, Ann guessed, she would announce that she could order it with the whipped cream and simply skip dinner. Paula was always talking about skipping dinner.

“Well,” announced Jean, “I’m going to get the cheesecake.”

“Oh, you naughty girl!” said Janet, chuckling. “I’ll join you.”

The server, pencil on pad, looked at Paula. Paula hesitated. “I’ll have the cobbler,” she said finally, as if there were really any choice in the matter.

“Whipped cream?” asked the server.

Paula looked at Jean, who gave her the thumbs-up sign. “Yes,” said Paula, smiling.

“Bravo!” said Janet. “I knew you had it in you.”

“Looks like I’m going to have to skip dinner,” said Paula.

Jesse ordered a cup of lime sorbet, and Sally, looking at Ann, declined. Eileen ordered a “small wedge” of cherry pie. The server looked at Ann, who was sipping more wine. Ann waved her away.

When the desserts arrived, the true celebration began. “Doesn’t this look marvelous?” asked Jean, holding up her cheesecake.

“Gorgeous,” said Janet. “I’m going to eat mine one decadent bite at a time!”

“And look at that cobbler!” exclaimed Jean. “That’s the freshest-looking crumble I’ve ever seen.”

Paula, who had already shoveled a piece into her mouth, said, “It’s delicious.”

Ann looked down the table at her mother, who was talking to Jesse. “Does this look like a small wedge to you?”

Jesse smiled at her. “Just eat what you want, Eileen. The portions here are always ample.”

“Yes,” said Eileen, taking a bite.

Jesse touched Eileen’s hand with hers. “Enjoy it,” she said. “It looks terrific.”

“It is,” said Eileen, smiling. “Would you like a bite?”

“No,” said Jesse, “but thank you.”

A moment later, Jesse was on her feet. “I’d like to thank you all for coming,” she said. “Ann and I have to scoot over to the arts center to get gussied up for the show. You still have some time to enjoy yourselves. We’ll see you over there.”

Eileen called down to Ann, “Do you want me to come now? I’ve just started my pie.”

“No,” said Ann. “Sally will take you.”

Able until now to hide her disappointment about not being chosen for the show, Sally’s face flushed. She raised her glass to her lips to cool the fire kindling in her cheeks, but her shaking hand missed its mark, sending water down her chin and onto her suede vest. Immediately aware of her miscalculation, Sally grabbed her napkin from her lap and dabbed at the repelled wetness. “Are you okay?” asked Jesse, putting her hand on Sally’s shoulder.

“Fine,” said Sally, focusing on her vest instead of Jesse. “It’s just water.”

After Ann slipped her mother three twenty-dollar bills to cover their lunches, she and Jesse walked away from the table as Sally continued to dab at her chest, much longer than was warranted by a missed mouthful of water. Why hadn’t Jesse told her she was in the show? And why had they chosen Jesse over Sally? Sally continued to blot her vest, willing herself not to tear up. How could they pick Jesse? Was it because of where she lived in town? Jesse certainly had a lovely house, but it was not—like Sally’s—in the historic district. Was it Jesse’s car? She drove a Lexus, but who didn’t? Year after year, the committee had snubbed her for no good reason. And year after year Sally had taken some solace in the knowledge that Paula and Jesse, too, didn’t cut the mustard. And now it was just she and Paula.