Authors: Valerie Frankel
Last day of school. Why Moving Up Day had to take place at noon on a Wednesday was anyone’s guess. Brownstone administrators might’ve sat around together, asking, “What would be the least convenient time for the parents to drop everything and attend a trumped-up ceremony for ten-year-olds? I’ve got it! Middle of the day, middle of the week. It’s perfect!”
Carla had been invited to Bess’s for a party for the kids. The whole poker crew was there, all the kids, along with Tim Fandine and Vivian Steeple, Bess’s mother-in-law, the new widow. She’d flown in from California on a moment’s notice to watch Charlie’s exit from the lower school.
It must be nice to have free time and money to spend
, thought Carla. Odd, how she could be envious of a woman who was in obvious pain. Sometimes Carla fantasized about being old, her struggles behind her. Then again, for all Carla knew, when she was old, her struggles could be even worse.
Turn those thoughts around
, she instructed herself. It was a beautiful day, and Carla sat on Bess’s garden patio, soaking in the June midday
sun. On the picnic table nearby, Bess put out four delicious salads from the gourmet deli on Montague Street. The boys were running in and out of the garden, up the stairs, laughing, excited the school year was over. Even Joe Fandine was smiling and engaged with the others. The Zoloft appeared to have helped. Good for him.
Robin tilted her face up to the sun. “Tim looks intense today,” she whispered into Carla’s ear.
Alicia’s husband, standing alone by the grill, beer in hand, eyes narrow and brooding, did look dark and stormy, even in his summer wardrobe of white jeans and a pink shirt.
“We’re sure he’s not gay,” added Robin.
Carla said, “Reasonably.”
“Okay, that’s one more word out of you,” said Robin. “You’re up to sixteen today.”
Carla shook her head, sipped her Coke. She wasn’t in a conversational mood, although she certainly had plenty to say. She still hadn’t told the poker players that the Morgan boys would not be attending Brownstone next year or, possibly, ever again. Manny and Zeke knew, of course. She wasn’t sure if they’d told the other kids, or if it even mattered to them. When Carla and Claude informed him he’d start at a new school in the fall, Zeke said, “Okay.” Manny’s response? “Harder or easier?” he asked. Carla replied, “The school might be easier, but I’ll be coming down a lot harder on you.” That shut him up.
Borden came outside, carrying a platter of uncooked burgers, hot dogs, and chicken wings. Bess followed, carting a basket of buns and condiments, a plate of sliced tomatoes, pickles, and onions on her arm, napkins under her chin. Robin leapt up to help. The three of them started arranging the food on the table and slapping meat on the hot grill. The instant sizzle sound, and seconds later, the smell of barbecue, drove a sigh of pleasure out of Carla’s tight lips.
Alicia came through the sliding door. She talked to Tim for a minute, and he went inside, presumably to watch or talk to Joe. Then Alicia took Robin’s seat next to Carla at the picnic table.
“Is Claude coming?” she asked, drawing on a beer.
“He’s working,” Carla answered, as if he’d be here otherwise.
“I’ve got to hand it to him, finding a job so quickly,” said Alicia.
“He was motivated,” said Carla.
“To get out of the house, right?” said Alicia.
Probably. “We needed the money,” said Carla.
“Who doesn’t?” asked Alicia. “God, I wish Tim would just take
any
job. Waiting tables. That’d be the only way I’d get to see the inside of a decent restaurant.”
This was proving difficult, having an intimate conversation with Alicia—any of her friends. Carla felt like she was one step out the door, that the connection she’d made with these women would end as soon as they knew her family was done with Brownstone. Their link to the kids’ school was really the only thing they had in common. Besides poker.
Bess bubbled over and said, “Hot meat in five.”
Borden flipped the burgers, then stepped back inside to call the kids. From outside, the women could hear the sneakered feet stampeding down the stairs, which made them all laugh.
Kids would brave a hurricane for a fresh grilled hamburger
, thought Carla.
As fast as Borden could put the sandwiches together, the kids inhaled them. A sweet moment: Amy, the sullen brat (
forgive me, Bess, but that girl doesn’t know how good she has it
, thought Carla), gently helped her grandmother Vivian into an Adirondack chair on the patio, filled a plate for her with salad and a hot dog, and served it to her. Another: Tom (Bess’s middle son) accidentally-on-purpose tipping Stephanie Stern’s potato salad onto her shorts. An obvious attempt to get the girl’s attention. Stephanie said, “If you like me, just tell me! You don’t have to ruin my clothes!” Which made Tom turn bright red. Borden saved him by asking him to go upstairs and get more cups. The boy couldn’t run away fast enough.
Charlie Steeple, Zeke’s best bud, asked Bess, “Mom, can I go to school next year with Zeke?”
Carla froze, fork halfway to her mouth.
Bess said, “I can write an email requesting they put you in some of the same classes, but no guarantees.”
“No, Zeke is going to a different school,” said Charlie. “And it sounds cool. A hundred more kids, full-sized basketball court outside, McDonald’s across the street.”
“Oh?” said Bess, smiling at Charlie, and then glancing at Carla.
Here goes everything
, thought Carla. She shrugged and said, “Claude and I felt the time was right to make a change.”
Silence from the parents. Only the sounds of chewing. The tension was broken (sort of) when Vivian tapped Stephanie on the shoulder and asked, “Where’s your daddy today, sweetheart?”
“My biological father was a sperm donor,” said Stephanie with comic banality.
“Is that so?” asked Vivian.
“If you think about it,” said Stephanie, “all biological fathers are sperm donors. I mean, that’s what they contribute to the whole deal. Fathers don’t get pregnant or give birth. Mothers do the hard work. In real life, people don’t explode fully formed out of Zeus’s head.”
“Isn’t she fascinating?” said Vivian, a bit taken aback by Stephanie’s grown-up conversational style—a parroting of things Robin must have told her at some point.
“They had a Greek myths curriculum this year,” explained Bess.
As soon as the kids were done eating, they ran back inside, leaving dirty paper plates and edible detritus everywhere. Cue the moms to start cleaning up, and the dads (and grandmother) to find urgent business elsewhere.
Carla was glad the women were alone outside so she could explain herself.
But Robin had some explaining to do, and (not surprisingly) she got there first. “Before anyone asks, I don’t want any grief from you all that I haven’t told Stephanie about Harvey yet,” she said.
Bess dumped some plates into a trash bag. “No lectures for you
today, Robin,” she said. “On the other hand,
Carla
, I am pissed as hell at you right now.”
“Charlie will be fine without Zeke,” said Carla.
“I’m sick of you holding out on us,” said Bess. “Okay, yes, I held out on you guys about my lump. We’ve all kept some things private.”
Alicia coughed. “Husband within range.”
Bess continued. “But this is worse that my lump, Alicia’s … and Robin’s … actually, Robin doesn’t hold back anything.”
“Oh, you have no idea,” said Robin. “The drinking, I do.”
Carla said, “It’s humiliating, okay? I’m supposed to announce to the group that we’re broke, that we can’t afford Brownstone, that I resent my husband for making me take a job I don’t want, that I’m failing my sons and giving up my dreams?”
“Holy smokes,” said Robin. “You just quadrupled your word count.”
Bess dropped the garbage bag and came at Carla, arms open. Before she could block the contact, Bess got her in a hug. What a funny sight they must have been. A heavyset towering black woman being grappled by a cheerleader blonde. When Bess started rubbing Carla’s back, her steel spine softened. She might’ve choked up a little.
“Let’s go inside and sit down at the table,” said Bess. “You can tell us what this is about.”
Back to where they started, at the poker table Borden never used. Carla shuffled cards for something to do with her hands as she explained the unavoidable and unexpected changes in her life.
Robin, who had managed to keep her mouth shut for fifteen solid minutes, said, “I’ll lend you the money to buy the private practice.”
“Half a million dollars?” asked Carla.
“Sure,” said Robin. “It’d be a business investment. I have a hundred percent faith that you’d make it a huge success.”
Carla said, “I can’t take your money. But thanks.”
“What if Robin and I both lent you some money?” asked Bess.
“Absolutely not,” said Carla. “My pride forbids it. I appreciate the offer. But please don’t mention it again, really.”
Alicia said, “I was prepared to front you a twenty.”
“I’d take a twenty,” said Carla.
“It’s just that we’d love to help,” said Bess, shimmering in her radiant loveliness. Carla blinked at her friend, and thought,
This is a good person. They’re all good people
.
“But you do help,” said Carla, looking at each in turn. “You don’t know how much you’ve helped me get through this year. I know I haven’t talked much about what’s been going on. It’s not my style to complain or overshare. Yes, I mean you, Robin.” She paused. Let the truth surface. “It’s not that I don’t want to express my feelings,” said Carla. “I was raised to swallow a lot. My only acceptable emotions growing up were gratitude and humility under God. Expressing any other kind of feeling was selfish, lazy, a sin. Show too much happiness, and you’re tempting God to teach you a lesson. Show sadness or fear, and you’re asking for more of the same. As a kid, I wanted to sing when I was happy and cry when I was upset, but life was easier for me when I did what I was told—keep it all inside, or else. I had an unsettling realization just last week about how superstitious I’ve become. It’s from the ‘or else’ part of my childhood. I’m starting to think, though, that I’ll never win the lottery. And that if I
don’t
take risks, my soul will suffer.”
“God helps those who help themselves,” said Robin. “And he punishes those who are wimps.”
Carla grimaced. “You think I’m a wimp?”
Robin laughed. “You are many things, Carla, but wimpy isn’t one of them.”
“Playing poker has been a wedge for me,” said Carla. “Going for it on a flush or straight draw, and then seeing my card come up on the river? It’s a great feeling. And when the card doesn’t come up, at least I know I tried. From now on, I want to go for the draw in real life.”
Bess clapped her hands together. “Oh God, I just had the most fabulous idea.”
“What?”
“Road trip,” said Bess. “Atlantic City, tonight. We’ll gamble with real money against real poker players. We can sleep over, and drive back early tomorrow morning. Carla, don’t even think about the money, not a single penny. This is my end-of-school gift to all of you. A hotel suite, fattening expensive meal, and a nice stack of chips to get started.”
“Our gift,” said Robin. “I’ll pay for Carla. You pay for Alicia.”
Carla shook her head. “I’m sorry, but—”
“Screw your pride,” said Robin. “You can pay me back when you
win
. And you will win. Honestly, Black Queen, do you really think bad luck lasts forever? No, ma’am. It does not. Your karma is already swinging the other way. I can actually see it moving.”
“I love this idea,” said Alicia. “Speaking for myself, I have zero problem with taking your money.”
“What about the boys?” asked Carla. “Clothes?”
Bess jumped and bellowed, “Borden! Honey!”
After a minute, the handsome host descended the staircase to the garden level, revealing himself step by step, as he’d done that first night months ago, taking their breath away.
“The garbage, I know,” he said, walking toward the patio.
“Honey,” said Bess, stopping him. She put her hands on his shoulders, getting his full attention. “We want to drive down to Atlantic City tonight to play poker and stay at a hotel.”
If Carla had spoken that sentence to Claude, he’d have keeled over from shock.
“Sounds fun,” said Borden. “And you’re hoping I’ll watch the kids.” Bess smiled and nodded slowly. “Wait, you want me to watch
all
of the kids?”
“Tim will help!” offered Alicia. “I think!”
“And you’ve got Amy and Vivian,” said Bess. “The boys—and
Stephanie—are officially middle-schoolers now. Tom, Eric, and Manny are practically adults. They can take care of themselves. God knows, we have enough sleeping bags. And leftover food.”
The decision was made, but Bess gave Borden the courtesy of final approval.
He smiled into his wife’s beaming face. How could he, or anyone, deny her? “Go,” he said. “I’ll keep the kids alive until you get back. But don’t expect much more than that.”
Bess cutely squealed and hugged Borden, who had to peel her off. The women flew into action, explaining their plan to the children (they all
loved
the idea of a mass sleepover), making the necessary phone calls and arrangements. Vivian’s face brightened when she heard the plan. Even Amy seemed to approve of the idea.
Claude was a hundred percent opposed.
“You don’t know what the boys will do or watch,” he said. “And you’re going to gamble? With Robin Stern’s money? I can’t believe what I’m hearing.”
“I’m going,” she said succinctly, without regret. “If you want to pick up Zeke and Manny to bring them home, just call first.” Then Carla hung up on Claude, something she’d never done before. She might pay for it later. But tonight, she’d speed to the ocean in a BMW with her friends, eat a huge meal, drink as much wine was she wanted, and play poker against real gamblers. The surge of excitement was disorienting. Carla was afraid she might burst out of her skin.
Nine months ago, if someone told her that, come June, she’d abandon her husband and children to play poker in Atlantic City with a bunch of white women, she’d have laughed herself into hyperventilation. She felt eyes, and turned to see that Robin was smirking at her.