Hit & Mrs. Page 2
She drained her Chardonnay. “And where’s my darling Wes? He’s so angry and mortified he doesn’t even like to come home. So where does that leave me? Alone.”
Linda finally sat down like a rag doll and let her wine glass fall to the floor. “Wes blames me, you know. He thinks it’s my fault his father ran off with a girl young enough to be his sister.”
Augusta leaned over and put an arm around Linda’s shoulder. “No, he doesn’t, sweetheart. He’s angry right now and it’s easier for him to be angry with you. Believe me, I can tell. I’ve had a lot of practice.”
Linda gave Augusta a grateful glance.
Bette spoke up. “This is ridiculous. I say we go over to that condo and face the little bitch. We can pick her up and throw her out the window into Lake Saint-Louis. And while we’re at it, we can scoot back to my place and do the same thing to Izzy and Ida.”
“And ruin their perfect marriage?” Linda said.
Gemma twirled her glass around. “We’ll do Mama Rossi after that.
Trouble is, I’d be next, since my husband loves me so much. Apparently, no one on the planet has a great marriage anymore.”
“I had one,” Augusta said.
Gemma gave her a sad smile. “Yes, you did.”
Bette leaned over to grab a handful of cashews from a crystal dish on the ottoman in front of her. “What’s Angelo done now, Gem?”
Gemma poured herself another glass of wine. “He hasn’t done anything, that’s the problem. I ask him to fix a leaky sink and he does, at his mama’s. He finally tells me that we’re going out to dinner, so I get all dressed up. Guess where we go on my big night out?”
Her friends shrugged.
“We go out the door, turn left, ring the doorbell, and get buzzed upstairs to Mama’s. He’s angry that I’m upset and his mother tells him I’m a desgratiata.”
“Translation, please?”
“A big bitch.”
Bette shook her head. “I had it backwards. We’ll do Mama Rossi first and then the Ryan slut. Thank God I never married. What a nightmare.”
“It’s not always like that,” Augusta reassured her. “Sometimes it’s wonderful.”
Linda touched the wedding band around her finger. “That’s why I don’t believe there’s a God. Why did Tom die? What did he ever do but love you madly?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
Linda took her wedding band and threw it across the room and out the door. They heard it clink on the ceramic kitchen floor. She wiped her hands together as if she were dusting them off. “There. Good riddance to bad rubbish.”
“I say we do something for ourselves,” Bette said. “Let’s forget miserable parents and in-laws and ungrateful kids and two-timing husbands. When’s the last time we did anything for us? Other than fire the latest Oprah Book Club Selection out the window.”
“You’re right,” Gemma nodded. “We’re almost fifty. Life is passing us by.”
Linda leapt up off her overstuffed couch. “We’re all fifty this year. That’s worth celebrating. Sort of. We should take a trip together.”
“Where?” Augusta asked.
“Where have you always wanted to go?”
“New York.”
Now Bette hopped out of her seat. “New York for a long weekend. We could go to Broadway.”
“I’ve always wanted to see a show on Broadway,” Gemma said. “I’d love to see Mamma Mia, wouldn’t you?”
Augusta joined into the spirit of things. “I want to see the MoMA and the Metropolitan Museum of Art. What could be better?”
“Macy’s and Bloomingdale’s,” Linda answered. “Not to mention Saks Fifth Avenue.”
Bette hopped up and down. “Let’s do it. What are we waiting for?”
The four friends reached out for each other and did a little dance around the ottoman. Linda’s cat ran under the couch.
“Wait,” Gemma said.
They stopped dancing.
“I can’t go. I hate to fly.”
“You’ve never flown,” Bette said.
“Exactly. Because I hate to fly.”
Augusta’s face fell. “And what about the girls?”
Gemma turned to her. “What about the girls? Your mother will be around. She can stay with them for a few days.”
“I’m not sure. She’s sort of frightened of them.”
They let themselves go and looked at each other, their excitement draining away.
“I can’t go,” Bette said. “I can’t afford it.”
“Neither can I,” Gemma admitted. “My secret cache in the fridge only has two hundred dollars in it.”
“Your secret cache is in the fridge?” Linda asked.
“It’s in a yogurt container, and since they all hate yogurt they never open it.” Gemma was quiet for a moment. “But I’ll try and get the money somehow if you promise me you’ll go, Augusta. You and Linda need this. The girls can live without you for seventy-two hours.”
“But you don’t like to fly.”
“Don’t worry,” Bette said. “We can dope Gemma up the wazoo. I have a cocktail of tranquillizers at my disposal; necessary ammunition for living with my folks. ”
The friends eyed each other hopefully again. Finally Augusta said, “There’s still the money issue, though. Even if Bette and Gemma could raise the money for airfare and their share of a hotel room, that would still leave them with nothing left to go anywhere. We don’t want to wander aimlessly around New York City with no money. And anyway, the tickets for Mamma Mia alone would cost a fortune.”
Four glum faces returned.
“Well, it was nice while it lasted,” Bette sighed.
Linda snapped her fingers. “I’ve got it. Just a sec, I’ll be right back.” She tore out of the room. The other three held hands in a mini vigil of hope. Linda roared back into the room with her hand behind her back, then whipped it out in front of her and held up a Platinum Visa Card.
“Dr. Viagra forgot to take this with him.”
Nobody moved.
Linda kissed the card. “Let’s call this a Fuck-You-Charlie, Going-Away Present. What do you say?”
“New York City, here we come!”
The Book Bags did a conga line all around Linda’s very expensive house.
CHAPTER TWO
Gemma’s bomb exploded at the supper table. Might as well freak everyone out at the same time.
She let them get well into their meal. A family with full stomachs was easier to deal with, so she waited for the chance to slip her news into normal conversation. But that moment never arrived. Everyone’s tongue flapped a mile a minute and no one listened to a thing anyone else said. Finally she couldn’t stand it.
“I’m going to New York.”
Her husband, mother-in-law, and five kids dropped their utensils on their plates and then sat in stunned silence for a good ten seconds. You’d think she told them the Pope was at the door.
“What?” Angelo croaked.
“I’m going to New York, whether you guys like it or not.”
Angelo’s mother bit her knuckle, then spat, “Putana.
”
Gemma glared at her. “I’m a slut? Is that what you said? I don’t have to take…”
Angelo interrupted her. “What’s in New York? Another man?”
Gemma got up from the table. “As a matter of fact, there is. I met Donald Trump at the grocery store a couple of days ago. He wants me to run away with him. Didn’t I tell you?”
Angelo’s mother proceeded to wring her hands and howl.
“Don’t go, Mama,” said her youngest. “I’ll miss you.”
Gemma reached over and cupped her daughter Anna’s heart-shaped face in her hand. “I’m not going forever, only a couple of days. Mama will come back and bring you a present.”
Anna looked relieved. “Really?”
Gemma nodded.
“You can’t go,” her husband said.
“I can’t? Watch me.”
Gemma spun around and faced him. “Is this the eighteenth century? I need your permission to go somewhere for a weekend?”
“You do if you take the money from this family. I work too hard for my paycheque to go and give you a good time in New York.”
The old woman screeched from the table. “Porca putana! ”
“Do you hear the way your mother talks to me? Do I deserve this kind of treatment?”
Angelo turned to his mother and pleaded. “Mama…”
His mother continued to give Gemma the evil eye, but at least she closed her mouth.
Gemma proceeded to wash the dishes in the sink, to give her hands something to do. She wasn’t nearly as confident as she looked. “Well, you’ll have no worries on that score. It’s Linda’s treat. I don’t have to pay for a thing.”
That took the wind out of his sails, but not for long.
“You still can’t go.”
“Angelo, I’m going. The kids will be fine and your wonderful mama can cook for you while I’m away. You won’t change my mind.” She looked back at her mother-in-law. “You’ll have your baby boy all to yourself for four days. That should make you happy.”
The old crone in black muttered under her breath. Gemma had no doubt it was a curse.
Seinfeld was over. Izzy turned off the television. Ida released her parking brake and started to roll away to bed.
“I’m going to New York.” It was Bette’s lucky day. Both her parents looked like they were going to have a heart attack. “You can’t stop me. I’m going and that’s that.”
Ida looked at Izzy. “She’s lost her mind. Call a doctor. Call Herschel Levy’s son…”
“He’s a proctologist.”
“And she’s a pain in the ass. What do you mean, you’re going to New York? What’s in New York?”
Bette stood up. “You two aren’t, for one thing.”
Ida grabbed her chest. “Do you hear the way she talks to her mother? That I should live so long to hear a grown daughter treat her mother like dirt.” She appealed to the ceiling with her upturned hands. “What did I ever do to deserve such disrespect? Where are my sons? Where are they?” She beat at her breast like an overexcited chimp.
“That’s a good question, Ma. Where are they? When was the last time any of them came over to visit?”
“They’re busy. They look after their families, just as you should look after us. What do you think they’ll say when they find out you’ve abandoned us?”
Bette walked over to the doorway. “Knowing them, probably ‘Oh shit, who’s gonna take care of them now?’”
The astonishment on her parents’ faces gave Bette a stab of satisfaction—but a small one, because she knew she had to come back, and the disappointment of that reality was bitter.
Her father took a coughing fit. Her mother tore at her dress. “Do you see this heart?”
Bette sighed.
“It’s broken,” Ida sobbed. “Do you hear me? It’s broken.”
Her father pointed at her mother. “You broke your mother’s heart. What kind of daughter breaks her mother’s heart?”
“Cut the crap. I’m only going for four days.”
Her parents looked at each other.
“Did she say four days?” Izzy said. “I think she said four days.”
“You wanna give your mother a stroke? Why didn’t you say four days? Why you need to go for four days, anyhow? Who can do anything in New York in four days? Where you get the money to go for…”
Bette had had enough. “What I do in New York is my business. How long I go is my business. How I can afford it, is my business. I’m fifty, Ma. Not fifteen.”
Her father, who was so skinny his shirt collar was three sizes too big for him, fumbled for his cigarettes. “Who’s gonna feed us?”
Bette folded her arms across her chest. “You haven’t eaten since 1982. Four more days won’t matter.”
Ida grabbed her stomach. “I starve to death in four days.”
Izzy answered before Bette had a chance to open her mouth. “We could live off your fat for years.”
“Why, you…” Ida rushed towards Izzy, but Bette quickly grabbed the wheelchair’s handles from behind and held on tight. “Let me at him.”
Bette wished she could do that, but this nightly ritual needed to be played out. It was their only source of entertainment.
“Come to bed, Ma.”
Ida reached for Izzy and he ducked out of the way. “You’re slowin’ down, old woman.”
“I give you slow.” She kicked him.
Izzy hopped around. “She kicked me.”
“I thought you were lame, Ma.”
“Every so often, God give me strength.”
Bette closed her eyes. “Amen to that.”
Augusta made homemade pizza and bought the ingredients to make ice cream sundaes for dessert. She planned what she would say when the girls came home from school. She would be firm.
Once they’d smacked the last of the chocolate syrup from their lips, Augusta spoke. “I thought I might go on a trip to New York.”
“Wow,” Summer said. “That will be fun. When do we go?”
“We’ll miss school,” Raine grinned. “Cool.”
“I won’t go to any museums,” Summer added. “I know you, Mom. You’ll make us prance around and look at stupid art. I need to go shopping.”
Augusta cleared her throat. “I’m going. You’re not.”
She tried not to panic at the sight of their stricken faces. The two of them looked so much like Tom, with their strawberry-blonde hair and smattering of freckles. She’d never left them alone before. Not since their father died.
“It’s only for a long weekend. I’m going with Linda, Bette, and Gemma. A sort of slumber party for our fiftieth birthdays.”
Summer frowned and twirled a dessert spoon in her hand. “You’re little too old for slumber parties, aren’t you?”
“I don’t think it’s very nice that you won’t take us,” Raine said. “When do we ever get to do anything wicked?”
“You do lots of nice things,” her mother answered.
“Right,” Raine said, “Did we go to Disney World like the rest of the planet? No. You won’t take us. Daddy wanted us to go. Don’t you remember?”
Augusta blinked. “I don’t want to fight about this. It’s a few days away with my girlfriends. It’s not a big deal.”
Summer crossed her arms. “You don’t love us; otherwise you’d take us too. It’s not fair.”
“Don’t be silly.” Augusta knew what would happen next and tried to stay strong.
Raine looked up with tears in her eyes. “I don’t want you to go, Mom. What if something happens? We’d be orphans.”
Augusta’s stomach did its customary flip. “Nothing will happen, girls. New York isn’t far away.”
“Daddy died on the front lawn. That’s not far away either,” Summer said. “You can’t guarantee nothing will happen.”
“Yeah, Daddy wouldn’t want you to leave us alone. He never left us alone.”
Augusta’s head throbbed and the muscles in the back of her neck seized. It wasn’t worth it. Nothing ever was. She brushed her bangs out of her face and reached over to pick up a plate and take it to the sink.
“Fine. I won’t go if that’s the way you feel.”
“Go if you want to. Don’t let us stop you.” Summer got up and left the kitchen.
“Yeah, don’t let us stop you.” Raine followed her sister out of the room.
It passed through Augusta’s mind that she was left with the supper dishes again. She should tell them to come downstairs and help, but right now they were the last people she wanted to see.
No. Not true. Now that she wasn’t going, that honour would go to Gemma.
Linda picked up th
e phone and dialled. She let it ring six times. She was about to hang up when an out-of-breath voice said, “Yeah?”
“Hi darling, it’s Mom.” She heard heavy breathing. “Hey Mom, what’s up?”
Linda sat on the breakfast stool by the island in her kitchen. “Nothing really, did I catch you at a bad time?”
There was a pause. “No…no…I just got in the door, that’s all.”
“Oh. Well, I’ve called to tell you I’m going to New York for a few days with the girls.”
“Hey, that’s great. Have a good time.”
Linda got the distinct impression Wes wanted to rush her off the phone and it ticked her off. She wasn’t the sort of mother who bugged him every day of the week.
“Thank you, I will. Don’t you want to know when I’m leaving?”
Another pause and then Linda was sure she heard whispering. “Hello. Wes? Are you there?”
“Yeah, Mom, I heard you. You’re going to New York. I’m glad. You deserve it. Have a great time and call when you get back.”
She heard a female voice giggle and coo. Wes made shushing noises. Fabulous.
“I’ll leave my travel information on the fridge door, just in case you…”
“Great. Great. Bye, Mom.”
She heard another groan and then the fumbling of a phone being hung up.
She clicked the phone off and sat with her thoughts in her silent kitchen. Her eyes wandered to the pictures she’d framed of Wes’s drawings when he was in elementary school. He begged her to take them down, but she refused.
When had he become a man? She couldn’t have been paying attention, or she’d have seen it. To think back was a blur. She hadn’t noticed the years of her life falling away like leaves in an autumn gale.
The cat jumped up on her lap and nuzzled against the underside of her chin, his motor on full throttle.
“You won’t leave me, will you, Buster?”