Four of a Kind (34 page)

“Butterfingers,” said Robin.

“Anyway, the next night, I came home early,” continued Alicia. “I was exhausted, and barely had energy to get through dinner and put Joe to bed. I was half asleep when Tim got in bed next to me and started making the moves. It was very strange, kind of desperate. He was grabby and clumsy. No talking, not much foreplay either. It took five minutes before I got over the shock that we were actually doing it.”

Bess had to ask, “How did it feel? I mean, after going so long without.”

Robin asked, “How long
had
it been?”

Alicia frowned. “You know how long. Almost three years.”

“With Tim,” said Robin.

This was curious, thought Bess. Alicia and Robin were staring at each other, communicating without words. Bess didn’t understand what was going on.

Carla, though, got it loud and clear. “Some things in life are private and needn’t be discussed over cards—or ever.”

“Said the woman who just demanded to know about every ooze, infection, and cramp,” said Robin.

“Leave it alone,” warned Carla.

Now Carla and Robin were glaring at each other, and Alicia seemed relieved to have the focus off of her.

“You all make it sound like Alicia’s having a secret affair,” Bess said. “But that’s impossible. She wouldn’t do that to her family.”

Another touchy silence. What was going on? Bess would have dearly loved to know.

Carla said, “Shuffle and deal, Bess.”

She gathered the cards, and started shuffling.

Alicia said, “It was angry sex. Not loving or romantic at all. It was more like an aggressive animal act, which, in a romantic and loving context, can be hot. But, in this context, was soulless and empty. But still physically gratifying. When we finished, Tim said, ‘What took you so long?’ ”

“What did he mean by that?” asked Bess, dealing the pocket car.

“Could be any number of possibilities,” said Alicia. “Which I have analyzed to death. One: what took me so long to get home the night before? Two: what took me so long to come? And it did take forever. Three: what took me so long to … have an affair? As if he was waiting for me to take action against him, almost as if he wanted me to do it so he could hold it against me. It’s totally twisted. A real pretzel of a marriage.”

“Wait,” said Bess. “You
are
having an affair?”

“Afraid so,” said Alicia. “Don’t feel bad, Bess. The happily married are always the last to know.”

Robin said, “Tim initiated sex to confirm his suspicions.”

“Having sex with me would confirm I was sleeping with someone else? How would that work?” asked Alicia.

“For starters, you took ‘forever’ to come,” said Robin. “If I have an afternoon orgasm, it always takes longer to have one at night.”

“Who?” asked Bess, trying hard not to sound judgmental.

“Look, Bess, this affair wasn’t something I did to my family. I did it for my sanity,” said Alicia.

“Are you in love?” asked Bess.

Alicia said, “It’s pretty incredible. But I haven’t thrown the emotional switch yet that would make love possible.”

“Your partner at work, right?” asked Robin. “The younger man?”

The cheater nodded. “Finn. Having sex with Tim did clarify one important issue,” said Alicia, peeking at her blind cards. “I’m definitely not in love with him anymore. Maybe that’s why I never pressed the point.”

“As it were,” said Robin.

“And before you ask—Bess—I don’t know what’s going to happen next,” said Alicia. “Except that I’m going to win this hand. Raise.”

“Call,” said Robin.

“Call,” said Bess. “I’m almost too upset about this affair to play.”

“Why are you upset?” asked Alicia.

“I feel anxious,” she said, not adding, “for Joe’s sake.”

“I’m nowhere near separation,” said Alicia. “I was a lot closer before the affair, paradoxical as that might be.”

Robin said, “Flop, please.”

Bess liked what she saw, a jack and nine to go with her ten and queen. She had eight “outs” or chances—four eights plus four kings—to make a straight. “Before I forget, I wanted to ask you, Alicia, about summer internships.”

“For you?” asked Alicia.

“For Amy,” said Bess. “Unless your office is just one big orgy.”

They all laughed.
Whew!
Bess was starting to think they viewed her as a paragon of morality. Carla had always taken that role, but not tonight, God (if anyone) knew why.

Alicia said, “I’ll see what we can do. Do you think Amy would be a willing coffee lackey?”

“Yes,” said Bess.
No
, she thought.

“Amy would be glad to fetch coffee,” said Robin, “in Hell.”

Bets were called. Alicia dealt the turn. A king. Bess tried not to whoop. Instead, she said, “What’s the Harvey Wilson update?”

Robin said, “I’ve noticed, Bess, that you get awfully chatty when you’ve got a good hand.”

“I’m just asking,” said Bess, going for nonchalant.

Robin raised. Carla and Bess called. “Still haven’t heard from him since the Barbie massacre. Maybe he’s talking to lawyers before he calls me again. He has some rights, as Stephanie’s biological father.”

Bess nodded. The river card was dealt. Another king. This was her win, for sure. Even if someone held a pocket king, her straight beat three of a kind.

“Raise,” said Carla.

Robin snorted. “The Black Queen, on the rampage. Fold.”

“Reraise,” said Bess. “Carla, I read online that LICH is one of the safe hospitals in Brooklyn.”

“That’s what they tell us,” said Carla, pausing. Looking at her pocket cards. Looking at the community cards. Mulling.

Bess said, “You must be relieved.”

Carla said, “All in.”

“Call,” said Bess in a heartbeat.

Robin said, “Look at Bess. She’s salivating.”

The blond host triumphantly turned over her cards, one by one. “King high straight,” she crowed.

Carla whistled low. “Very nice,” she said admiringly.

Bess said, “Thank you. Thank you very much,” and started drawing the chips toward her.

“Ahem,” said Carla. She turned over one of her pocket cards. A king.

“A straight beats three of a kind,” said Bess.

“But not,” said Carla, turning over her last card, “four of a kind.”

Another king. Bess groaned. Goddamn Carla’s luck.

“Will you look at that?” said Robin. “It’s no fun to play with you anymore.”

Carla laughed wickedly, an outright cackle. “I just love winning!” she said, gathering her chips.

“I’m done,” said Alicia. “It’s late. For all I know, Tim is waiting for me in bed, naked.”

“If you decide to ditch him,” said Robin, “send him my way.”

Alicia laughed, but Bess didn’t think Robin’s comment was funny. Bess reminded herself that Robin had had a hard life, much of it spent alone or depressed, and that she used her obnoxious remarks to keep her emotional distance. Given the opportunity, Robin wouldn’t, couldn’t, seduce one of their husbands.

The thought that
any
of these women would replace her in Borden’s heart/arms made her feel nauseated. The whole nonchalant delivery of Alicia’s affair, too. The others seemed to think the deterioration of a marriage was a minor concern. Bess alone had filed
it under Major Crisis. Then again, perhaps the crisis was the time spent leading up to the decision. It was surely all downhill from there.

“Can I mention the possibility of an internship at the agency to Amy?” Bess asked Alicia as she walked the women out.

“As a possibility. Unpaid,” said Alicia.

Kisses all around, and they left. Bess glanced at the clock in the foyer. It was after ten. Borden wasn’t home yet.

Her feet dragged as she cleaned up the poker room, shut down the garden-level lights and locks, moved up to the parlor level, the kitchen, checking that the oven was off, then up to the living room level, making sure everything was shut down. Farther up, on the kids’ bedroom level, Bess popped her head into the boys’ room and told them to get in bed for the night. She paused before Amy’s door. The rule was to knock first. If she got no answer from Amy, Bess was to “take the hint” and go away. This vital information was posted on a sign taped to the door, a constant reminder of Amy’s insubordination.

Feeling dangerous and armed with the good news of a summer internship at an ad agency, Bess put her hand on the doorknob as if to open it unannounced. Her heart thudded in her chest, more than if she held a pair of aces with a pair on board. She turned the knob exquisitely slowly, silently. Bess wasn’t sure why she was creeping into her daughter’s “PRIVATE!!!!!” space. Once upon a time, Amy would delight when Bess snuck into her room to deliver a bounty of kisses.

Bess would introduce her presence casually, breezily, as in, “Sorry, forgot to knock.”

Just admit you’re spying
, thought Bess.
You’re dying to know what Amy does alone in her room for hours at a time
.

Bess had been curious and concerned. Something was bothering Amy. For the last few weeks, she’d been returning home from school, heading straight up to her room, closing the door, and not appearing again until dinner. She’d collect a plate and take it to her room, eat there, and stay inside for the rest of the night. In the morning, Bess
would find Amy’s dinner dishes cleaned and left on the side of the sink, as if to send the message, “I’ll eat your food, but I won’t give you the honor of washing my dishes.” Only Amy could turn cleaning up after herself into a hostile “I don’t need you” gesture.

Too late, Bess realized she could be barging in to find Amy masturbating. She’d already opened the door wide enough to look inside the room. Exhaling relief, Bess found Amy (not masturbating), seated at her desk, back to the door, laptop open.

On the monitor, Bess saw Simone’s face.

A downloaded TV interview?

No, the image wasn’t high quality. It was grainy, the movements of her face stuttering like … just like the faces of Charlie’s friends when he’d showed her video chat.

Bess backed away, closed the door tighter, and put her ear to the crack. She didn’t need to see this, but she’d do her best to listen.

Amy whined, “It’s been really hard, you know?”

Simone: “I know.”

Amy: “She acts like I don’t exist.”

Bess wondered,
Is she talking about me? I have been giving Amy a lot of room lately. Too much? Her sequestration was a cry for attention, and I blew it
.

Simone: “She’s very immature.”

Amy: “I feel trapped, but I can’t motivate to do anything. It’s agony. I hate her! She ruined my life.”

Bess frowned. As bad as it was when Amy said, “I hate you!” to her face, it was ten times worse when Amy told Simone.

Amy whined, “But I miss her, too. I really miss her. How could she dump me like that? Tracy already found a new girlfriend. Like, the next day! They probably hooked up while we were together. She might not have really loved me at all!”

Bess’s first thought:
Amy and her overpierced girlfriend broke up!
Second thought:
This has nothing to do with me
. Third thought:
Hey, wait a minute, she’s confiding in Simone. Not me
.

Her fourth thought:
My baby’s hurting. How can I help?

The right thing to do was to back away from the door. Take some time to think it through. Just as she was stealthily, respectfully shutting the door, she heard Simone say, “What you need is a change of scenery. How would you like to spend part of the summer in East Hampton with me?”

Amy: “Mom would never let me. She wants me to get a job or do a stupid internship.”

Simone: “Don’t worry about that. I’ll take care of
her
.”

Bess had heard enough. She crept away from Amy’s door and upstairs to her own bedroom, her own sanctuary.

So Simone thought she could pull the strings, and Bess—aka “her”—would jerk around accordingly. Granted, Simone had every reason to believe that. She’d been manipulating Bess, uncontested, for forty years. And Bess had just let it happen.

Not this time. Bess lay back on her bed, scheming. She would not let her mother step all over her again.

The chicken was finally done. Red, hot, and ready.

Playing the lottery was for suckers, Carla knew. And yet, she’d started a morning ritual of buying a cup of coffee and a Pick Six ticket at the deli on the way to the clinic each morning. Whenever she tried to stop herself, she thought,
What if this is the morning I would’ve won?
and then gave in to superstition.

Carla’s mother was superstitious. Her fears were wrapped up in her faith. Pagans rubbed a rabbit foot; Gloria Smith compulsively crossed herself, prayed, and spit to ward off the evil eye. She never missed a Sunday in church, believing that, if she dared, she’d bring down the wrath of God on her soul.
What kind of loving God would begrudge an old woman a lazy Sunday morning once in a while?
Carla wanted to know. But she kept her mouth shut. As a girl, she went along with Gloria’s religious rituals, and learned to be as afraid of deviation (devotion?) as every other Christian.