The Solomon Sisters Wise Up (26 page)

“Valerie…” Andrew began.

Ah, so this was This Valerie Person.

“Oh, no,
Andy,
let her continue,” I said. “I’m fascinated. A woman like what? A woman like you?”

Valerie took a bite of her salmon as if to show she was hardly fazed by my presence. “You’re not worth it. I’m quite done.”

“Then you won’t be needing this,” I said, picking up her dinner plate and turning it upside down on her head. The salmon slid along her lacquered hair and adhered halfway, near her ear, which poked out a bit. Rice tumbled over her in every direction, along with some asparagus, which hit the table and the floor. Valerie jumped up and screamed. Real screams.

Everyone in the restaurant was staring.

“I want her arrested!” Valerie yelled, tears streaming down her face. “I’m pressing charges! This is a silk dress! I’m pressing charges! Call the police!” she screamed at the waiter, who was simply staring, his mouth open.

“Val, honey, calm down,” Andrew said, his eyes darting around in embarrassment as he stood up with his napkin and began dabbing what smelled like mustard sauce off his date’s face. “Let’s all just calm down.”

“I want the police!” Valerie shrieked. “Someone call the goddamned police!” Blondie ran screaming and crying in the direction of the bathroom.

Andrew was shaking his head. Zoe had her hand plastered over her mouth.

And Rupert was staring at me. Everyone, actually, was staring at me.

The maître d’ came rushing over with a cell phone in his hand. “I want you all out now! Out right now! Or I will call the police and have you all arrested! You pay first, then you leave!”

“Hey, what did I do?” Andrew said. “I was enjoying a nice meal until this lunatic dumped my girlfriend’s plate on her head.”

My husband had a girlfriend.

Suddenly I felt very sick. Very tired and very sick.

“Ally?”

I turned around and there was Rupert, looking quite disappointed.

“Are you with this woman?” the maître d’asked Rupert. Rupert nodded.

“Out now!” he shouted in Rupert’s face. “All of you!”

Andrew threw some bills on the table and stomped over to the ladies’ room. He called Valerie’s name, and she came out crying hysterically. He led her past a throng of tables outside and into a cab.

“Out now!” the maître d’shouted at us again. “Pay first, then leave!” he screeched.

Rupert pulled out his wallet and handed the man a hundred-dollar bill, about eighty dollars too many for the two drinks we’d had. Zoe was half-hidden behind a very large Ficus tree, gnawing her lower lip.

“Did you dump that woman’s dinner plate on her head?” Rupert asked me.

“Why, did you see that?” I asked.

“Look, I don’t need this,” he said. “I realize you’re going through the early stage of separation and it’s tough stuff. I’m going through the same thing. But if I saw my wife on a date with another man, I’d have enough self-control not to attack the guy.”

I was about to say
Well, bully for you,
but Zoe was shaking her head back and forth in a very serious way.

“I’m sorry, Rupert,” I said. “I—”

“I’m not interested, Ally,” he interrupted, and walked out.

As Zoe and I left the restaurant, I got two thumbs-up and a
“The homewrecker probably deserved it”
from two women sitting near the door.

“I don’t know about that,” Zoe said as we walked up Lexington Avenue. “Why is the
woman
the homewrecker? The spouse who
cheated
is the homewrecker.”

“You’re absolutely right,” I said. And she was. “I should have dumped Andrew’s food on
his
head.”

Zoe shook her head and laughed, and we walked in silence for a block or two, enjoying the cool November night air and watching two cabdrivers argue out of their windows right in the middle of Lexington Avenue. Suddenly Zoe stopped dead in her tracks. “No, forget that thought,” she said, and kept walking.

“Huh?” I said. “What thought?”

“For a second I was thinking that I should apply that rationale to Dad and Giselle, but I realized it doesn’t apply. Giselle
is
a homewrecker.”

“What’s different in the situation?” I asked.

“Because Giselle
knew
my father was married,” Zoe explained. “She willingly went for a married man.”

“Okay, that’s true. She knew he was married. But, and I’m playing devil’s advocate here, Zoe—she met him and fell in love. Was she supposed to say you’re married, so sorry, you’re not available, see ya?”

Zoe nodded hard. “Yes. That’s exactly what she should have said. And she might have added, ‘And you’re my
friend’s
married dad, so really see ya.’ Why go on a date with a married man in the first place? Why set yourself up to fall for a married man? To ruin his marriage? To hurt his children?”

“Oh God, Zoe. If I spent a minute being angry at your mother for breaking up my parents’ marriage, I would be a walking volcano.”

“Um, Ally, you sort of are. Or are you forgetting your recently demonstrated inability to control your impulses?”

I glanced at her and had to laugh, though I could see she was quite serious. “Okay, maybe you’re right.” We walked in silence for a few minutes. “I suppose it was a lot worse that Giselle was your own friend,” I continued. “I can’t imagine how that must have felt. What are you even doing here, picking out china patterns and tasting salmon and mashed potatoes and watching Giselle twirl around in wedding gowns? Are you really that worried about your mother?”

“Well, I was. I mean, I came because of my mom, and I guess I ended up sticking around because there’s no real reason to go home. Charlie and I are kaput, and you and Sarah and Dad and even my mom are here. It’s nice to be around you all, even if no one’s ever home at the same time. And then there’s Daniel, who’s become a really good friend—more, maybe.”

“So, was Charlie right?” I asked. “Did you want to break up and waited for him to do it?”

“I guess,” she said. “Maybe I was just clinging to the relationship because it kept me safe. Involved but not involved with my heart and soul, you know?”

“Or maybe you were clinging to the relationship because you did love Charlie,” I pointed out. “At one point. Maybe you needed something to shake things up to make you realize that your feelings had changed. Take me, for instance. If I hadn’t caught Andrew fucking another woman, I wouldn’t have realized that I didn’t love him. I would have just thought that it was long-term marriage, that I did love him but that the passion was gone or whatever. But when the dust settled, I realized I didn’t love him. That we didn’t love each other.”

“Then why did you get so upset in the restaurant?” she asked. “Was it just the anger at his lies?”

“I think so,” I said. “To find out your whole life, your marriage, is a lie. That your husband isn’t who you thought he was. That he’s been lying to you, making a fool out of you—I’ve always thought I was pretty smart, and it turned out I’m an idiot.”

She squeezed my hand. “I think you’re plenty smart, Ally. I also think you should call Rupert and try to explain things. He seemed like a nice guy—maybe he’ll be willing to start over. It was quite an experience to share with someone on a first date.”

I smiled. “Rupert and I can tell our children that Mommy dumped a plate of fish on someone’s head during her first date with Daddy.”

Zoe laughed and linked her arm through mine. “And Auntie Zoe was a witness.”

“Uh, Zoe, you’re not going to mention this little dating disaster in the article you’re writing for
Wow,
are you?”

“Your dating secrets are safe with me,” she said.

We swerved out of the way of a teenager on a skateboard going fifty miles an hour down the sidewalk. “You know, Zoe, Giselle
did
get her comeuppance—I mean, look who she’s marrying.”

She grinned. “Very good point. And Dad will probably leave Giselle in fifteen years for a younger woman! Maybe an eighteen-year-old!”

“A friend of Madeline’s,” I offered.

We both cracked up. And arms linked, we headed home.

15

Zoe

T
his was a Thanksgiving of firsts. For the first time in my life, I was having Thanksgiving dinner without my mother—and with my father and his fiancée. For the first time in ten years, Ally was having Thanksgiving dinner with her father. For the first time ever, Sarah was having Thanksgiving dinner with a sudden distaste for turkey and sudden craving for cheddar cheese, which Zalla had rushed out to buy for her.

And also for the first time, I’d brought a male guest to Thanksgiving. Daniel, looking absolutely irresistible, sat on my left, to my father’s right, and pretended great interest in the Zone diet, which my father was waxing on about ad nauseum.

“It’s like Barry Sears says, Daniel,” my father pontificated, his forkful of dark-meat turkey, skin and all, pointed at Daniel, “
carbohydrates
are the real culprit. Not fat. Carbohydrates. And—”

Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.

My father was halted in midsentence by the sudden appearance of my mother, in a skintight red dress that flounced about her knees, and a long, slinky faux fur leopard-print coat, in the entrance to the dining room.

“Mr. Bart,” Zalla said, “Mrs. Judith Solomon is here.”

My father smiled. “I see, Zalla, thank you.”

“Funny,” my mother said, “and both funny ha-ha and funny strange, anyone would think that this woman—” she pointed at Giselle’s mother “—was the bride-to-be, and that the four young lovelies at the table were your daughters, and that this little cherub—” she made a kissy face at Madeline “—was your granddaughter.”

Giselle smiled pleasantly, as she always did. Daniel squeezed my hand in support, and I squeezed back.
Do not let this turn into World War Three,
I chanted silently.

“So this is the ex-wife?” Giselle’s mother asked, forkful of turkey laden with cranberry juice on its way to her mouth. “That’s some getup,” she added, looking my mom up and down, disapproval smacking her lips.

Again Daniel squeezed my hand.

“Giselle, June, Madeline, this is Judith, Zoe’s mother,” my father said. If he was the least perturbed by his ex-wife’s appearance, you’d never know it.

“Oh, I’ve met the blushing bride, Bartholomew,” my mother said with a smile. “Are you forgetting that she and Zoe used to be friends? Where did they meet? That’s right—in a college class, doing what young people their age do.”

“Mom—”

“Zoe and I were having lunch one day last year when we ran into Miss Archweller,” my mother interrupted. “Amazing how I didn’t call her young friend the next day to arrange a date!”

“Mom, enough—”

“No, dear,” my mother said, “it’s not enough. But I’m through giving a flying fuck. I came to give you this, Bartholomew.” She took off her wedding ring and walked over to my father. We all stared, waiting to see what she would do.

What she did was drop the ring with quite a plop onto my father’s pile of no-carbs stuffing.

Giselle’s mother gasped. “Look, lady, there’s a two-year-old at this table, if you haven’t noticed. If you can’t watch your dirty mouth, you’ll have to leave. In fact, I suggest you
do
leave.”

“My dear woman,” said my mother, “I’ve noticed
all
the children at this table. Zoe, honey, I’ll call you tomorrow about setting up a lunch. Nice to see you again, Ally and Sarah. You’re both looking lovely. You take care now, everyone. Happy Thanksgiving! Toodles.”

And then she whished out of the room, Zalla trailing behind her.

My father fished the ring out of his stuffing with his salad fork and set it on his napkin.

“Shall I clean it?” Zalla asked, hurrying back to his side.

“I really don’t know,” my father said, looking quite perplexed. “All right, everyone—” Big smile. “Let’s make a toast! No, I have a better idea. Let’s go around the table and say what we’re thankful for.”

That was my dad. Able to change an uncomfortable subject in ten seconds despite the fact that my mother’s wedding ring sat gleaming with goo stuck to it twelve inches from his hand.

“I’ll begin,” he continued. “I’m grateful that—”

“Dad,” I interrupted. “I’ll take the ring. Maybe Mom will want it back.”

“I doubt it,” Ally said.

“Do you believe that woman?” Giselle’s mother snapped, shaking her head. “The nerve of some people! Waltzing in here like she’s Elizabeth Taylor. Well, she’s not! Who
does
she think she is, that’s what I’d like to know!”

“So what’s this stuffing made out of, anyway?” asked Sarah, always the diplomat, looking from my father to Giselle. “Vegetables? Soy? It’s just delicious!”

“Who she is, Mom, is Zoe’s mother,” Giselle said very quietly, and all eyes swooped to her. “And she deserves our respect.” All of a sudden she jumped up, tears in her eyes, and fled the room.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” my father said. “Now look what happened!”

“Poor Dad—you’ll have to deal with your upset fiancée!” Ally singsonged. “Or maybe you’ll just finish your carbs-free stuffing first. And it’s not delicious—it’s absolutely disgusting!”

He looked at Ally with the honest confusion of someone who had no idea what the hell she was talking about. “Ally, is something wrong?”

“Is something
wrong?
” she repeated.

“Yes, is something wrong?” he asked, his blue eyes, recently lifted (well, the eyelids), flashing concern at his eldest daughter.

“Why would anything be wrong?” Ally retorted.

“Well, for starters, you just snapped at me and practically accused me of acting like my upset fiancée was a nuisance to me. As though I would be more interested in my meal than in making sure she was all right.”

“That
is
what I think, Dad,” Ally said. “But that wouldn’t make ‘something wrong.’ That’s just the status quo.”

Sarah and I were volleying our gazes back and forth from our father to Ally. It’s what we thought too, but neither of us had ever said it aloud.