The Good Life (29 page)

“What do you think?”

“No,” said Josh.

“I’ll tell her I’m going out with friends. You don’t even have to come inside.”

Josh hesitated. “Do you want me to come inside?”

“No,” said Lauren. “She’d want to know the whole story and then she’d probably tease us.”

“What is the whole story, Lauren?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean with us,” said Josh softly. “Are we really going to do this, or was it a spur-of-the-moment thing the night of that party?” Lauren inhaled and held it. She slowly let out her breath. She wasn’t thinking about Judd anymore. “I want to be with you,” Josh said, “but only if you want to be with me. I don’t want to potentially lose my best friend over a girl who’s not that interested.”

“That’s not very nice,” said Lauren.

“Maybe not,” said Josh. “But I’m about to come out of the closet here with Nate, and I don’t want to look like a fool, Lauren.”

Lauren sat up. “You’re not a fool,” she said, more interested in Josh than she had been in the last fifteen minutes.

Josh said nothing, and then asked her about Judd. “He’s free,” Josh said. “He’s free for the first time in three years.”

“I know,” said Lauren, picturing sitting in his car.

Lauren heard a knock on her door. It was her grandmother, telling her dinner was ready. Lauren hollered she would be right down. “I guess you have to go,” said Josh, laughing.

“Yes,” said Lauren. “It’s time for dinner.”

“Okay, then. Do you want to go to the movies tonight?”

Lauren bit her bottom lip and thought about what her grandmother had told her about rebound relationships. Judd probably already had a date for that very night. He would certainly want to play the field and Lauren knew she wasn’t first-string material. “Yes,” she said.

“Good,” said Josh. “I’ll pick you up at eight thirty, at the front door.”

 

Lauren, Eileen, and Sam sat at the table in the guesthouse kitchen. Selma was having dinner with her sister, but would be home in time to help Eileen settle Sam in for the evening. Lately, he had been getting out of bed and walking around in the middle of the night. On the one hand, his behavior told Eileen he was comfortable in the guesthouse, comfortable enough to think he belonged there and had things to do at two o’clock in the morning. On the other hand, his nocturnal wanderings were a source of concern. How long would it be before he figured out the new locking system on the doors and wandered off again into the darkness? He was an intelligent man—had been, anyway—and his moments of lucidity brought with them opportunities for everything from coherently participating in a conversation to working a mechanical device. Eileen knew Sam would eventually discover the new locks and consider their conquest an honorable pursuit; she just didn’t know when, because he was different now. Sometimes he was her husband, but most of the time he was a stranger, more animal than human. She watched him shove a large chunk of meat loaf into his mouth. He ate ravenously. It pleased Eileen to know that after all these years he still loved her cooking. But he’d lost his sense of decorum, which disturbed her. Proper speech, dress, and manners had always mattered to him. As a healthy man, he was always aware of how he was perceived by others, much more so than most in their farming community. He changed his shirt and washed his hands rigorously before sitting at the dinner table, his fingernails rid of the field. Now, he sometimes reminded her of a feral dog grazing in a diner Dumpster on castoff daily luncheon specials, unaware of anything but what was right in front of him. Food was so important to him now; maybe because it was the only thing he had to look forward to. Sam looked up and caught Eileen looking at him. He smiled at her, and she patted his hand. Good boy.

After dinner, Sam watched a movie in the living room while Eileen and Lauren did the dishes. “Gran,” said Lauren, drying a pot, “can I talk to you?”

“Of course you can,” said Eileen.

“It’s about Josh.”

 

As promised, Josh rang the big house doorbell at eight thirty. Lauren, who had already told her mother she was going to the movies with some friends, called good-bye and bolted out the front door. Josh, who was suddenly standing six inches from her, laughed. “I guess you really don’t want me to come in,” he said.

Lauren smiled at him. “It’s just my mother in there,” she said. “We don’t need to talk to her.”

“Your mother’s okay,” said Josh, putting his arm around Lauren and steering her toward the car.

“And you’re just being polite,” said Lauren.

“Ah,” said Josh, opening the car door for Lauren. “You’ve caught me.” Lauren sat down and Josh shut her door. She watched him as if for the first time as he walked around the front of the car through the headlights. He had beautiful skin, clear and the color of an early June tan. His cheeks were rosy, as if he had run to their house instead of driven. He was an inch or so taller than Nate, who was five foot, ten inches. Judd was six feet, two inches. She’d seen that somewhere—maybe a football program. Josh had nice teeth, the result of spending his junior high years in braces and nighttime headgear, and lips that were red enough to warrant a second glance. His lazy brown eyes and long dark lashes made him look like he was from another country. A lot of girls at school thought he was cute and asked Lauren what it was like having him around her house all the time. But she had always shrugged off their questions. She had not been seriously interested, until now, and wasn’t sure why. He was such fun. Lauren had a mental picture of him from a couple of summers ago on their pool deck, his broad, hairless chest and strong, wiry arms flexed into an Incredible Hulk imitation, done without the slightest hint of self-consciousness. He was a good friend to Nate because he was loyal, but also because he didn’t let Nate run all over him. Josh opened his door, allowing a blast of cold air into the warm exterior. Lauren shivered and Josh turned up the heat. “You look pretty,” he said, looking at her. “I’m glad you’re going out with me tonight.”

“Me too,” said Lauren, who had spent more time than usual on her appearance. While she was certainly aware of what other girls wore to school and to parties, and, consequently, had much of the same clothing, she didn’t linger in front of the mirror. Tonight, she did, brushing the tangles out of her hair, brushing her teeth, applying light makeup. Just before she left her room, she sprayed perfume into the air and then walked through it. She’d read about that in a magazine.

Josh leaned over and kissed her cheek. He slowly pulled away from her before shifting the car into
DRIVE
. “Okay, let’s go.”

 

Ann opened her eyes and realized she was lying on the couch in the living room with the newspaper, refolded, sitting on her lap. She looked at her watch; it was just after nine o’clock. She must have fallen asleep. Slowly, she sat up, put the newspaper on the coffee table in front of her, and gently rubbed her eyes. She had a headache. She got up off the couch and walked into the kitchen. There, she took the bottle of ibuprofen out of the cabinet above the sink and spilled three terra-cotta-colored tablets into her hand. She filled a glass with water, then, leaning against the counter and closing her eyes, swallowed the tablets one at a time. She ran her hands over her abdomen and realized she was hungry. When she opened the refrigerator, the first thing she saw was a Tupperware container filled with the leftovers of one of her mother’s casseroles. Fat from the hamburger or bacon or sausage or whatever meat her mother had mixed into it had congealed, forming a half-inch layer of pale yellow lard on top. Ann gagged. With her thumb and index finger, she lifted the container from the shelf and threw it into the garbage. Next in line was another container, this one half-filled with green beans. Again, Ann threw the whole thing away. Three pieces of well-done steak wrapped in aluminum foil; two spoonfuls of crusty scalloped potatoes in a small glass jar; dressed salad so soggy it could have been served with a spoon (Ha, thought Ann—send
that
to the starving children in China); chocolate pudding with its crust peeling away from the sides of a plastic bowl; and three one-inch cubes of cantaloupe wrapped in plastic wrap all sat on the second shelf of her refrigerator, as if it stood in the one-bedroom apartment of a single mother in the city’s projects. While disgusted, Ann was not surprised to find leftovers in her fridge. Her mother simply could not throw food away. It didn’t matter if it was sixteen kernels of corn. She would find them a temporary home in a plastic container she had once purchased at the grocery store, eaten the contents of, and then washed out carefully for future use. As a child, Ann had been the one assigned to find the perfect container for whatever leftover her mother wanted contained. The bottom was never hard to find; Eileen had a hundred of them in varied sizes. It was finding the matching top that proved vexing to Ann. Often in utter frustration, Ann had called her mother away from the sink to help. And it was then, time and again, that Eileen had explained the Ring on Deli tops always went with the A&P Forever bottoms. Together, Eileen and Ann would package up whatever they didn’t eat and refrigerate it. On Friday nights, Eileen served what she called the Week’s Review, declaring, “Waste not, want not!” as she set her creation down on the middle of the kitchen table. Ann’s father always smiled appreciatively as Ann held her stomach in anticipation of the ache it would inevitably suffer later. Even then, as Ann silently prayed for survival when her father was saying grace, she vowed to never eat another leftover as soon as she was on her own.

No longer hungry, Ann made herself a decaf, sugar-free, skim-milk vanilla latte. She sat at the kitchen table and slowly sipped it. Her head was pounding. She took her coffee up the stairs to her bathroom, where she set it down on the side of the tub. Taking off her clothes, Ann stepped on the scale and was pleased to see she’d lost ten ounces. She then poured her favorite, special order, French bubble bath into the running water and watched it foam. She stepped into the tub, lay back against the cool ceramic, and closed her eyes. In twenty minutes she would towel off and get into bed, where—without Mike, an active sleeper—she could get a decent night’s rest. Tomorrow, she would talk to her mother about the leftover situation. Tomorrow, she would sterilize the refrigerator. Tonight, she would do nothing for anyone but herself for a change.

C
HAPTER
17

F
ebruary always chilled Ann to the bone. She had enough trouble with January and its obligatory New Year’s resolutions. What was she supposed to do, lose ten pounds like everyone else? Get into shape? At forty-five, she was in the best shape of her life. And January was too damn long. It was as if every day someone secretly tacked on another, of skin-freezing cold and endless snow. Yet it was February and its deceiving twenty-eight-day length that tried Ann’s patience. She pulled her car into a parking space half-cleared by the overworked snowplows and prepared herself for the wall of winter she would slam into the moment she opened her door to step outside. The wind blew harder than ever and the sleet stung her face as she ran from her car to the offices of Noble and Robertson, the best and most expensive architects in the area.

Peter Noble and Tim Robertson knew the Barons family well because they designed and built their $3.4 million house and guesthouse. In Ann’s mind, they were worth every penny. It was all in the details, she told Mike, who had asked about it every time he wrote them a check. Four-inch molding around the windows and along the floor and ceiling didn’t come cheap. Neither did imported Italian marble or hardwood floors or six-panel solid wood doors or custom windows. Her house was a testament to the finest building materials available. During construction, Ann was ecstatic. Peter or Tim visited the site every day throughout the nine-month project, both joking this was the Baronses’ third and final baby. They worked closely with Ann, catering to her whims. Ann hadn’t received such attention since she and Mike were dating.

She was hoping to recapture that feeling of power and feminine authority with her sunroom proposal. What she had in mind was a sunny, tropical room off the family room end of the main hallway. The southern exposure was perfect for it. Floor-to-ceiling windows would ensure light and warmth throughout the day; the month of February would pass in a blink. Casual and inviting, the room would serve as a perfect location for anything from an afternoon of reading and napping to an informal luncheon spot for close friends.

“Hello, Ann,” said Peter Noble, with a warm smile. He ushered her out of the waiting room and into his spacious office, impeccably decorated with contemporary furniture, carpeting, and window treatments in soothing earth-tone colors. “It’s good to see you again. Sit down and tell me what you have in mind.” Just before he closed the door, he called back to his receptionist: “Darlene? Please get Mrs. Barons a sugar-free, caramel latte with skim milk.”

Ninety minutes later, the preliminary plans for Ann’s sunroom were mapped out. Peter suggested a semicircular room, mirroring the shape and intensity of the sun, and Ann readily agreed, even though she had pictured something square or rectangular. Peter acknowledged his suggestion would give her less useable space, but it would certainly be more dramatic and more architecturally pleasing from both the outside and the inside. It would make a statement, said Peter, knowing how much Ann Barons loved and lived to do just that. Ann left his office after promising to talk to Mike that very evening. She ran to her car and called Sally, hoping she would be free for lunch. Sally was on her way to a library committee meeting. “You don’t need to go to that meeting,” said Ann. “You need to have lunch with me.”

“I can’t,” said Sally, who, truth known, had not fully recovered from the fashion show snub. Ann had called her just twice since—once to go shopping and another time to have coffee after exercise—and both times Jesse had been asked, too.

“Of course you can,” said Ann. “Those library committee meetings are excruciating.”

“How would you know?” sniffed Sally. “You haven’t been on the library committee.”

“Mike’s been on that board,” said Ann. “And he said it should have been called a B-O-R-E-D instead of a B-O-A-R-D.” Sally allowed herself to smile. “Come on,” said Ann. “I need my best friend. I’ll treat.”

Best friend?
Sally’s heart swelled. “Okay,” she said. “Where do you want to go?”

“I’ll meet you at Tony’s in thirty minutes,” said Ann. “Believe it or not, I’m absolutely craving carbs.”

As they ate linguini drizzled with olive oil and garlic and drank house wine, Ann told Sally all about the sunroom. Feeling envy but feigning enthusiasm, Sally nodded her head, smiled, and said, “Ooh, sounds lovely,” in the appropriate places. As the story dragged on, Sally realized Ann didn’t need
her,
in particular. She merely needed an audience, anyone to listen to her talk about her money. Maybe she’d tried Jesse or Paula before she called her. Maybe she hadn’t thought of the best friend trick until the other two had declined her invitation. Sally glanced at her watch—a well-established signal of boredom in Ann’s little coterie—but Ann, oblivious, carried on. It wasn’t until their plates were empty that the topic turned for the better. “So, here’s what I think,” said Ann, filling her wineglass for the third time. “We need a little trip to Florida for some sunroom inspiration. Just the girls.”

“Now that sounds marvelous,” said Sally, meaning it. “When do you want to go?”

“Before the end of the month,” said Ann. “You know how much I hate February, and this year is no exception. It’s been nothing short of horrendous.”

Sally took a sip from her water glass. The two glasses of wine she’d consumed had gone to her head and she was feeling slightly dizzy. “Have you spoken to the others?” asked Sally, referring to Jesse and Paula.

“No,” said Ann. “I thought I’d run it by you first.”

Sally smiled. “Let’s go!”

Ten days later, Ann and her friends were at the airport, headed for the Baronses’ four-bedroom duplex in the Keys. Mike had given Ann permission to go ahead with the sunroom and construction was penciled in for the fall. Eileen had volunteered to “look in on” Lauren and Nate while Ann was away, and Emma—knowing Eileen would again give her time off in secret while Mike was at work—had declared herself available for extra help. The Baronses’ Fun Only bank account was full, thanks to Mike exercising some stock options; Ann was as giddy as a high school senior on prom night. When everything was as it should be, she loved her life. And she was generous with those close to her.

When they stepped off the second plane in Florida, the weather was perfect—a cloudless sky and brilliant warm sunshine. Ann removed her cherry red leather blazer and slung it over her arm as they walked into the tiny terminal. A hired car and driver were waiting, courtesy of Mike, enabling the women to get away quickly, without going through some of the procedural hassles that arriving in the Keys could include. Twenty minutes later, they arrived at the beachside condo. It was clean and bright and fresh—Ann having made all the arrangements ahead of time. The windows were wide open, allowing the ocean breeze to flow from one room to another, leaving its salty scent behind. As soon as the driver deposited their luggage into the foyer and accepted his generous tip and drove away, Ann opened the refrigerator door and pulled out a pitcher of margaritas. “Welcome to the Islands,” she said, filling the first of four glasses.

“Oh, honestly, Ann, you think of everything,” said Paula.

“That I do, my friend,” said Ann, handing a glass to each woman. “When you’ve got a limited amount of time, it’s best to use it wisely.”

“Cheers,” said Jesse, clinking glasses with everyone.

“Now,” said Sally, after her first sip. “Where is everyone going to sleep?” In fact, Sally had mapped out who was sleeping where and cleared it with Ann beforehand. She and Ann would share the master bedroom. It was so big, and Ann didn’t like staying in it by herself. And Paula and Jesse would bunk in at the other end of the hall in the next biggest room, simply called the East Room. The two bedrooms on the lower level—where Nate and Lauren stayed—would remain vacant. Sally told Ann it was much more fun to share a room than be alone.

“I’m easy,” said Jesse. “And I don’t snore.”

Ann laughed, her carefree mood enhanced by half a margarita.

“Great,” Sally said. “I was thinking it would be fun to share rooms.”

“Well, the last time we were here, I was in that room at the back,” said Paula. “You know, the one that gets the morning sun.”

“Yes,” said Jesse. “The East Room; that’s lovely.”

“Then it’s settled,” said Sally, a little too quickly. “You two will share that room.”

Jesse smiled at Sally. “And where will you sleep, Sally?”

“Well,” said Sally, avoiding Jesse’s amused gaze, “I guess I could keep Ann company.”

“Whatever,” said Ann, refilling their drink glasses. “Let’s unpack and go to the beach.”

“Sounds good,” said Jesse, putting her untouched refill down on the counter. She had made a pact with herself and her husband that she would not spend three days living in a wineglass. Jesse could not match Ann’s drinking capacity and had long ago stopped trying. For the first few years of their friendship, Jesse got drunk whenever Ann did. It didn’t matter if they were meeting for lunch or a late afternoon catch-up, Jesse drank whatever Ann was drinking, glass for glass. For Jesse, it was an effort to be social more than it was a desire the consume alcohol. She didn’t want Ann to drink alone. It finally came to her one night when she was kneeling on the bathroom floor in front of the toilet, waiting for the next round of nausea, that Ann didn’t care if she drank alone.

The women walked up the stairs with their suitcases and parted company at the top. “Let’s meet on the deck in fifteen minutes,” announced Ann, walking toward her bedroom with Sally in tow.

“Perfect,” said Paula, downing the rest of her margarita and setting the glass down on a table in the hallway.

As soon as she and Jesse reached their bedroom, Paula sat down on one of the two queen-sized beds separated by a wicker nightstand. A moment later, she lay back, appearing as exhausted as her coral-colored capri pants straining to imprison her generous thighs. “Phew!” she said. “I’m feeling a little dizzy.”

“Close your eyes for a moment,” said Jesse, looking at her watch. “You’ve just had two drinks in twenty minutes.”

“Oh God,” said Paula, following Jesse’s advice. “I can’t do this.”

“You don’t have to.”

 

Down the hall, Sally closed the door to the bedroom as soon as she and Ann were inside. “Did that go okay down there?” she asked.

“Did what go okay?” asked Ann, rolling her bag across the floor to a whitewashed pine bureau.

“The bedroom discussion,” said Sally, setting her drink on the pine table next to the king-sized bed. “I hope no one has hurt feelings.”

Ann unzipped her suitcase and pulled out a stack of T-shirts in bright colors, freshly ironed by Emma. She carefully laid them in a bureau drawer. “And why,” asked Ann, returning to her suitcase, “would anyone have hurt feelings?”

“About the sleeping arrangements, silly,” said Sally, hands on her hips, standing over her unopened suitcase. “Honestly, Ann.”

“And honestly, Sally,” said Ann, removing the first of eight pairs of sandals from her shoe bag. “You think about this stuff too much.”

Sally opened her suitcase. “I’m not sure that’s true,” she said, taking out three pairs of capri pants and setting them on the bed. “Because I know Paula can have issues with this kind of thing. You know how easily her feelings get hurt.”

“Paula has a lot of issues,” said Ann, placing six of her favorite cotton sweaters in the bureau’s bottom drawer. “But I don’t think sleeping with me is one of them.”

Sally smirked. “That’s cute, Ann,” she said sarcastically.

Ann, several bathing suits in hand, turned and looked at Sally. “Let’s move on,” she said. “I’d like to get to the beach before dark.”

“That’s fine,” sniffed Sally. “I just like to bring these things up so they don’t blow up on us later.”

Ann turned her back on her friend, walked into the master bathroom, and closed the door behind her. She took off her clothes and checked out her body in the mirror that sat above the double sinks embedded in pink marble and ran from one side wall to the other. The dieting she had done in the last week had paid off. Her stomach was completely flat, almost concave. She slipped on the first of three bikinis she recently bought, then twisted and turned in front of her image. When she wheeled all the way around, she frowned; her bottom looked big. The second suit was better, from every angle. Ann walked toward the mirror, then away from it, looking over her shoulder. Yes, this was the suit for the day. Ann smiled at her reflection before opening the door to the bedroom. Sally was sitting on the bed, examining her new pedicure, and wearing the same suit. “Oh my gosh!” said Sally, smiling. “We’re twins!”

Not smiling, Ann said, “Where did you get that suit?”

“Going Along Swimmingly,” said Sally. “At the Sunset Mall.”

“That liar Candace,” said Ann. “She told me she’d just unpacked the suits and that no one had bought one.”