Authors: Beth Gutcheon
“Does he?” Laurie was breathing more normally and seemed almost completely over her crying spell. “We know a lot of the Sun Valley people—what’s his name?”
“Walter Keely.”
Laurie stopped and put a hand on Rae’s arm. She smiled a real, if wan, smile.
“Walter Keely? The campaign guy? You’re Walter Keely’s mother?”
40 / Beth Gutcheon
“Well, yes, I am,” said Rae proudly. “I hope you haven’t heard anything terrible about him because it’s probably all true.”
“No, it’s—he was a friend of my husband’s. They played golf together…”
“It’s a
won
derful world,” Rae cried, and Laurie took note that she meant it deeply.
“Maybe Walter mentioned my husband to you,” Laurie said. Here was another dangerous moment, but after a pause, she got through it very steadily, like a skater after a fall, hitting a triple axel. “He was Roberto Lopez, the tennis player.”
“That beautiful man!” said Rae. “That smile!”
Laurie smiled herself, and nodded. “Yes. The billion-watt smile.
He was really like that too.”
“That commercial where he jumps over the tennis net…” Rae didn’t have to finish the sentence.
“My son Carlos looks just like him.”
“And tell me about the other four,” Rae said. With something like real savor, Laurie described each one. They had reached the overlook where the group stopped for water. Laurie and Rae were aware that the others had been waiting; the group shepherd was not allowed to lose any of the guests on the mountain. Someone gave them each a section of orange, and with the rest of the group, they moved off again briskly.
“Did you ever remarry?” Laurie asked Rae.
“Oh yes,” she said, “after Walter and Harriet were grown. I met Albie on a cruise. I was working and I had a strict rule about social-izing with the guests. But after we docked in San Francisco, he started courting me. We’ve been married for twenty-three years, and they’ve been very, very happy ones.”
“You were working? On a cruise ship?” Laurie didn’t exactly know how to ask the next question. Rae couldn’t have been the captain….
“I was the dance instructor. My partner and I taught ballroom, and did exhibition dancing in the evenings.”
“Like Ginger Rogers?”
Five Fortunes / 41
“
Exactly
like Ginger Rogers. We taught the samba, that was big.”
Rae performed a few steps on the rocky path, clicking her fingers as if she had castanets.
“The samba, the meringue, the tango, the Charleston…the twist…I do them all, divinely. My one regret is retiring before the lambada.”
Laurie laughed. “And your husband—is he a dancer?”
“He’s a marvelous dancer. After his first wife died, he went on this cruise, and…voilà!”
“That’s very romantic,” Laurie said.
“It was
very
romantic. He’s a very courtly man, Albie is. There aren’t many like him.”
“And how do Albie and Walter get along?”
“Famously. You can understand—Walter barely remembers his real father.”
“Does Albie have children?”
“Two. But he always wanted a houseful, and he treats mine as if they were his own.”
“He sounds wonderful,” said Laurie, meaning it.
“Yes. He really is.”
They had arrived back at Saguaro, where earlier arrivals were drinking lemon water and watching the television news. The polls were open in the east, and there was a lot of chatter about pollsters and Contracts with America and Report Cards on Congress and what would it all mean. Courtney and some allies sat waiting for mention of her brother’s race. There was a satisfying cry when the camera showed a picture of the brother entering the polling booth.
“Oh look,” Courtney screamed, “he has the dog with him!” You could see the candidate’s feet beneath the curtain, and beside the feet a little dachshund gazed soulfully at the camera. Then the coverage switched to another state, and someone switched off the set.
Outside the room, unaware of the television, Laurie and Rae stood close together.
“Thank you,” Laurie said. “I feel better.”
42 / Beth Gutcheon
“I’m glad,” said Rae. She looked at the younger woman a long moment. “You’re going to be fine,” she added.
“I know.”
“Do you?”
Laurie looked at her. “No—no. Am I really?”
“Yes, you are. Not as soon as you want to be. But you’re not going to cry till you blow away, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”
Laurie nodded. That was what she was afraid of.
Rae put a hand on her arm, and then went off toward her room, and her breakfast.
T
uesday lunch was a raucous affair served poolside, with a fashion show. A fancy shop in Santa Fe had sent the latest prêt-à-porter, plus handmade belts and scarves and jewelry from local artisans. The clothes were modeled by the Fitness Professionals, and there was lots of teasing and applause for favorite instructors. The clothes were all available for sale in the spa boutique.
In the break between afternoon classes, when she and Rae Strouse stopped in to check out a hand-dyed silk caftan they had rather fancied, Carter Bond was astonished to learn that about $23,000
worth of clothes had already been bought by a salty little barrel-shaped woman named Bonnie Gray. Carter had followed her around the machine circuit in weight training class that morning.
“Yes, she does that every year,” remarked the woman who ran the shop. “She made a lot of money raising Angora goats in the Rockies.”
“But doesn’t she
live
in the Rockies? On a ranch?” Carter asked.
Bonnie had given her the impression that she spent her life in overalls, shoveling goat dung.
“Yes, I think she does.”
“Then, where does she wear the clothes?”
“
¿Quién sabe?
Maybe she dresses for dinner.” Carter and Rae looked at each other.
“I
love
it,” said Carter, who was used to conspicuous consumption in capital letters. Your average Beverly Hills matrons were not shy about announcing the size of their bank accounts by every kind of 43
44 / Beth Gutcheon
semaphore known to woman, from haircut to car model. Here was little Bonnie, without a scrap of makeup or an ounce of pretension, with fingernails ragged from work, going home with a fortune in evening clothes to impress no one. “This place is like Oz. Everyone looks like a normal human, but then they turn out to have a pocketful of magic pebbles, or keys to a kingdom.”
“There’s a reason I’ve been here twenty-two times,” said Rae.
“I
guess
.”
“I think we may need these sweaters,” Rae said, descending on a rack of colorful clothes. For an old bag, Carter noticed, Rae certainly didn’t go in for Old Bag accoutrements. Rae seized a long scarlet jacket that appeared to have been knitted of silk ribbons. She handed it to Carter.
“No, you put it on, I can’t wear red,” said Carter.
“Don’t be silly. Everyone can wear red.”
Carter put it on and went to the mirror. She looked at herself as if she’d never seen this image before. She looked fabulous.
“I think it’s particularly good with the sweatpants,” she said.
“Got your name on it, honey. I knew it.”
“Uh-oh, a bad thing just happened.”
“What?”
“I accidentally looked at the price.”
Rae put on a jacket made of some kind of Japanese-looking silk.
“I love that stuff, what is that?” Carter asked her.
“Ikat, it’s called. It’s my favorite thing. Here, this is going to go nicely with your sweater.”
She took a necklace made of large black beads cut from stone and bone, and dropped it over Carter’s head. “God wants you to wear this, that’s why She made you tall.”
Carter went back to the mirror. She looked like a woman with style instead of the Carter she had fashioned in her adult life, the one who would never shame herself by trying to be feminine and looking like a hippo in a tea dress, but who did instead look rather like a cop in drag.
“Where would I ever wear this?”
Five Fortunes / 45
“Who cares? You could dress for dinner, like Bonnie.”
“I eat Ritz crackers and cream cheese at the kitchen sink for dinner,” said Carter. She took off the scarlet sweater and put it back on the hanger. The necklace did not look as good against her sweatshirt.
They sallied out again and back to Saguaro; it was time for juice break. When they got there, they found the group crackling with excitement.
“What’s up? What’s going on?” Rae cried. If something new was afoot, she wanted to be in on it.
“We took the self-defense class,” said Carol Haines. “It was
fab
ulous. You’ve got to do it.”
“I was going to Dance-a-thon,” said Rae.
“So was I,” said Jill, joining the group. She had a glassful of watermelon chunks in one hand and a bottle of Evian in the other.
Every afternoon there were special offerings, classes designed to teach new skills or work different muscles and, most of all, to stop the boredom induced by pop music and starvation. Dance-a-thon was a goofy class taught by a team of tappers and rappers from L.A.
Rae took it every chance she got. She loved new dances.
“No, I’m not kidding, you have to do Self-Defense,” Carol insisted with the zeal of the convert. “She’s a terrific teacher. I’ve taken Self-Defense, believe me, but this you can use no matter how weak you are…”
“Well, that sounds right for me,” said Rae.
“Really,” said Carol. “I’m going to take it again.”
“I think I’m going to Dance-a-thon,” said Jill.
“Jilly,” said Carol, “you are taking this class if I have to carry you.
You young girls, you think nothing can ever hurt you, but we know!
Listen to your aunties.”
Rae and Carter looked at each other and shrugged; why not?
“Are you doing it?” said Jill, seeming suddenly timid.
“Sure, let’s do it,” said Rae.
“But isn’t Dance-a-thon only this once?”
“I’ll dance with you later,” said Rae. “Follow me.” And she started a merengue step around the pavilion, with Jill following her. Rae 46 / Beth Gutcheon
pranced over and grabbed a cup of juice and then she and Jill danced out the door and down to the studio where the self-defense class was being held.
The class was led by a small, exotic woman who looked half black, half Asian. In any category she was extraordinarily handsome. She wore loose white pajamas and a black belt. So much was not surprising; what was was the presence of three men dressed like people you wouldn’t want to find beside your car in a dark alley. One was large and Latino, wearing blue jeans and a windbreaker. One was white, with bare arms showing a pair of dice tattooed on his bicep.
One was either Asian or Indian, with a long ponytail down his back.
He looked as if he could easily tear your head off with his bare hands.
The ladies in their sweatpants and leotards sat on the floor to listen.
“My name is Kim,” said the instructor. “I know we can’t cover much today, but we have enough time to learn one important thing.
How many of you have taken Self-Defense before?”
Carol, Carter, and two others raised their hands.
“That’s good, that’s very good. The thing that is different about this class, what I want to teach you, is something women need to learn that men don’t. We were brought up to be good, to be nice, okay? We were brought up to protect puppies and children, we didn’t play with guns. When you’re faced with someone who wants to hurt you, you have to be ready to hurt him back. It doesn’t matter how strong you are, it doesn’t matter how big you are, it matters that you want to live and you’re ready to fight for that. The man who attacks you, he doesn’t expect that. He doesn’t expect you at all, he isn’t thinking about you, he’s thinking about what he wants.
“What I am going to teach you is not to think about
him
. Think about what
you
want. What do you want? You want to live. And you want to not be hurt. To do that, you have to be able to hurt somebody else, okay? That’s not easy for us. That’s not easy for women. But we
can
learn, okay?”
Jill was looking out the window, toward the pool. “I wonder where my mother is…” she whispered to Rae.
Five Fortunes / 47
“She’d like to take this, wouldn’t she?” Rae whispered back. “I think she’s in Manicure.”
The men were coming forward.
“That’s why I have brought my friends with me. This is Lenny, this is Tom, and this is Johnny, my brother.” The Indian. “They are all black belts. They all believe that women should not have to be afraid of men, and they have volunteered to be here to help you learn to fight back the only way you really can. Now I’m going to show you what to do if someone comes up behind you and grabs you. Tom.”
Kim turned her back to the men, and Tom, the very large Latino, came up behind her and hooked a huge arm around her throat.
There was a blur of motion, and in the next second, Tom was on his back on the floor receiving a mock kick in the groin. The women watching gasped, then clapped. Tom got up.
“You think you can’t do that?” Kim asked them. “Well, maybe you can’t, but that doesn’t mean you can’t do anything. We’re going to go through it again, and break down what to do, and when we are all done, you will each get a certificate of graduation…”
“I think if I’m attacked I’ll just hold up my certificate,” Rae said.
“Okay, watch,” said Kim. She turned her back to the men, and Tom again locked his elbow under her chin. Kim said, “First! Turn your head to the side,” she demonstrated, “and breathe! You can’t breathe with his arm straight on your windpipe, but you can if you turn. Next: hit him where his muscles are tensed.” With a knuckle sticking out of her fist, like a child giving noogies, she drove her hand into Tom’s clenched thigh. He gave an inadvertent yell, and changed his grip.
“Or
here
” Kim said as she drove her knuckle into the back of his hand where it gripped her shoulder. He let go of her and the ladies involuntarily gasped. “Hurts,” said Kim. “Try it on yourself. Now the minute you have the advantage,
follow
it. Kick with your instep, or the ball of your foot, so you don’t break your toes. Try for the groin. He’ll protect his business but try to come up between his legs and hit behind the balls. That hurts more anyway. Or get your fingers into his eyes. Or bash his nose with the side of your head. Use your neck to punch with.