Friendship Makes the Heart Grow Fonder (18 page)

Monique’s blood went cold. She tried to hone her aching senses, but above a pounding headache and a mouth full of cotton,
she felt nothing more than the bite of Judy’s belly pack into her tummy, none of the prickly soreness she’d expect from— She
fumbled with her shirt, jerking it out of the cinch of the belly pack. She found it on her stomach—the same square mark that
Judy had on her neck, the same square mark that Becky revealed as she tugged her sleeve over her shoulder.

Becky breathed a relieved laugh. “It’s one of those stick-on tattoos. The kind I won’t let Gina use on Brianna and Brian,
in case it gives my kids ideas.”

Monique suddenly remembered the sight of one of the bikers—not Jager—running his tongue along a piece of paper and then pressing
it firmly against her belly while she whooped at the top of her lungs.

“Yup,” Judy said. “The Hahns have staked their claim, girls, by planting their Austrian flag.”

Monique shook her head and turned into what passed as a lobby, currently occupied by a snoozing, fragrant, tattered old man
and a boy behind the counter. At the sight of them the boy perked up and slipped off his stool. His grin stretched apart the
rings that pierced his lower lip. Judy stepped up and said something in German. The boy bobbed his head and disappeared momentarily
to click a series of locks and chains on the nearby door. He swung the door open and pushed out two backpacks.

Monique nearly cried with relief. She fell to one knee and unzipped her pack, doing a quick inventory. She took out the half-empty
bottle of water, drinking it to the dregs even though it was piss-warm. The boy kept grinning. The kid was looking at them
like they were three forty-something cougars who’d taken on a whole fleet of bikers. Monique had never been so self-conscious
of her frizzed hair, her bloodshot eyes, her rumpled hoodie, and the smell of stale liquor that rose up from her pores.

Judy spoke to the boy briefly and then turned to them. “Jager left a message. He says good-bye and we can keep the blindfolds.”

Monique had left hers upstairs, tangled among the sheets, not really keen to keep a kerchief pulled off the head of some strange
man, even if he was the devoted husband of that older woman with the crew cut who spent the night sitting demurely in a corner,
sipping a glass of merlot and watching all the antics with great amusement. She was mother to three of the six bikers in the
room, including the war veteran amputee who’d joked, Monique remembered, that his new legs made him six foot one and that
was why he was never without a girlfriend.

“Jager also said that if we’re ever in Weerberg, just wave those bandanas in front of anyone and they’ll direct us to the
best bar in town.”

“Great,” Monique muttered. “Now we’ve got gang colors.”

Monique slung her daypack across her shoulder and followed Judy and Becky out the door, slipping on her sunglasses. Through
a squint she noticed the train station—Interlaken Ouest—and realized the rumbling she’d heard all morning was the passage
of incoming and outgoing trains. Judy seemed to know the direction of their hotel so Monique followed her with her head down,
feeling dirty and sweaty and rumpled and sore in places she hadn’t been sore in years.

“Okay,” Monique said, falling into pace beside Becky, wishing the whistling Judy would slow the heck down. “What exactly do
you
remember?”

“I remember we rode on the back of those bikes down the mountain and the steep turns scared the hell out of me.”

 “They took us to some sketchy place,” Monique murmured. “No storefront at all. Just a set of concrete stairs down into a
cellar.”

“As usual I couldn’t see a thing.”

“So the amputee—“

“Karl,” Judy barked. “He’s got a name, guys.”

“Yeah, Karl.” Handsome kid, Monique remembered. He spoke English fluently. He bounced like a kangaroo on his titanium prosthetics,
so full of fun. “I remember Karl,” she continued. “Once he heard that you were night blind, Becky, he pulled the kerchief
off his throat and tied it around his eyes.”

“Didn’t last long,” Judy said, “He nearly took a header down the last step. I think he was sweet on you, Monie.”

Warmth spread through her as she remembered a moment near the bathrooms, bumping into him, the brush of bodies, a fumble of
awkwardness, the lowering of his young face toward hers.

She stepped off the sidewalk to allow an older woman pulling a rolling canvas cart of groceries to step by, and to give her
girl parts time to stop reacting.

“There were strobe lights,” Becky continued, “and neon lasers. It was all a blur except for the long bar and the next thing
I knew there was a row of shot glasses swimming in front of me.”

Monique pushed away the memory of a young man’s kiss. “Edelweiss liquor,” she said. “I can still taste it.”

Judy stopped abruptly in front of a restaurant. A barrel-chested man with a pipe clenched in his mouth shouldered by them.
“Hey, I’m starved. Breakfast?”

Monique gasped, “Coffee.”

“You lightweights need more than coffee. You need protein. This place is advertising a ‘Big American’ breakfast.”

Judy plowed in through the front door, chattering in German to the maître d’ who obliged quickly by sending all three of them
deep, deep into the restaurant, into a little corner table as far away from a window as they could possibly get. Probably,
Monique mused, so their stench wouldn’t seep through the room and their bedraggled looks scare off other patrons.

A waitress arrived, slipped three menus on the table, and filled their coffee cups. Monique gulped down half the brew and
lifted the cup for a refill before the waitress could slip away. Then she added cream and took another sip. She moaned and
closed her eyes, feeling the healing effects seep through her system.

“If you girls really want to remember the night,” Judy said, sipping her coffee with more grace, “you may want to look at
Monie’s cell phone.”

“Photos?” Becky stiffened. “We have photos?”

Monique’s heart did a little lurch.

“Videos too.” Judy perused the menu with a cat-in-the-cream look on her face. “Do you think they have bacon like our crispy
American bacon? Or that lame fatty stuff we got in Germany?”

Monique dove into the front pocket of her daypack searching for her cell phone. She poked the screen until she saw the small
blurry icons of a series of pictures and videos. With hesitation, Monique pressed on the first video.

“You know,” Judy said, sinking back in her chair and idly perusing the thin population of the restaurant. “This is definitely
the way to do a midlife crisis.”

Monique tried to puzzle out what she was seeing as noise blasted from the speakers. “Becky, I think those are your sneakers.”

“Oh, God,” Becky murmured. “I’m doing Zumba. I remember this. I’m teaching Zumba to a bunch of Belgian backpackers.”

“Here I am,” Judy continued, “moping around in Europe of all places, trying to figure out who I am—since I’m not twenty-two,
or an active mother, or employable anymore. I’ve been thinking I just have to get through this time, just have to wait it
out.”

“Oh, God.” Monique’s eyes widened as she flipped through a series of photos. “We
are
doing shots.”

“But you know what?” Judy said. “I should have eaten a hash brownie in Amsterdam. At Le Jules Verne, I should have ordered
another bottle of the Cote d’Or Grand Cru vintage, even if I had to finish it myself.”

Monique gasped at the next video. Between the strobe lights and the lasers it was hard to pick out silhouettes, but the longer
she looked at the two people gyrating in a cage elevated on some sort of pedestal—like the kind you’d see in a cheesy strip
club—the more sure she was that the butt filling up the screen was hers.

“Nice sports bra, Monique,” Becky said.

“Judy, did we really dance in a
cage
?”

“Yeah, and your sports bra is pink, Becky,” Judy added. “And I didn’t just find that out this morning when you were washing
up.”

Monique pushed the phone into Becky’s hands. Monique didn’t want to look anymore, but Becky couldn’t seem to look away. Becky
made little gasping noises as the tinny music continued to play from the camera. Monique sank a little lower in her seat,
wishing she could just curl up and hide in a crack somewhere.

“Oh, no.” Becky covered her mouth with her free hand. “I guess I should be relieved we’re partially dressed.”

Judy toasted her with her coffee cup. “I knew you’d thank me for that later.”

Becky blinked at Judy. “Did it hurt when the alien took over your body?”

Judy’s grin was sly. “You like the new me?”

“Please.” Monique gave up trying to squeeze the headache out of her temples. “This isn’t a new Judy. This is a
young
Judy.”

“Oh, no, foolish young Judy stuck to her own generation. She would
never
have struck up a conversation with a bunch of old guys on Harleys.”

Becky muttered, “Neither would the mother of five who ran the PTA for six years.”

“That’s the point. I’m switching gears.”

Becky sputtered, “Right to overdrive.”

Judy shook her head.  “Have either of you ever driven a manual transmission?”

Monique frowned, having difficulty keeping up with the conversation. “That’s all they’ve got for cheap rentals in Trinidad.”

“When you’re driving a manual,” Judy explained, “you’ve got to press down on the clutch. And for a moment you’re between gears.”

Becky shrugged. “Don’t get it.”

“I get it,” Monique said. “When your foot is on the clutch, it’s a moment when you have no control. When the car can roll
absolutely anywhere.”

Judy slapped the table. “Exactly. Next week I’ll be home putting up Halloween decorations on my lawn. Right now I’m hungover
in a restaurant in Switzerland. Welcome to my clutch moment.”

Monique nudged her coffee cup as the waitress came by to refill. She watched the black brew fill the cup nearly to the brim.
She went through the motions of adding cream, of stirring it more than she needed to, wincing at each tap of the spoon against
the ceramic cup. It was hard to think when her head was pounding so much, when her body felt stretched and drained and ill-used.

“Why didn’t you stop us?” Monique gave Judy the evil eye. “Why did you let us make complete asses of ourselves?”

“Because I kept thinking that we three should have drunk ourselves silly the very first night in London.”

“So you took videos to memorialize our idiocy.”

“Well, yeah.” Judy shrugged, smiling at the waitress as she approached. “Now I can post them on my Facebook page.”

Monique stilled. Judy started chattering in German to the young girl in an apron, chattering away as easily as if it was a
Friday morning stateside at the Cozy End. “I ordered your eggs over easy, Monie,” Judy said, her Cheshire-cat grin widening
as the waitress left. ”And Becky, I figured you’d go for pancakes.”

With cold-hearted purpose, Monique seized the phone from Becky and flipped through the rest of the photos and videos until
she came to the one she wanted. She pressed play and turned the phone so Judy could see it.

“Here’s something Bob might be interested in.” Shouts of “
giddy up
” rang through the tinny speaker. “Jager’s got quite a wide, comfortable back, don’t you think?”

“I sent Bob that one already. We have a full-disclosure kind of marriage.” She winked. “Boy, a hangover really sucks the sense
of humor right out of you two. Of
course
I’m not going to post anything incriminating on my Facebook page.”

Monique narrowed her eyes because Judy ended that sentence in a way that suggested she hadn’t quite finished it.

“I won’t post them,” Judy said, planting the cup back on the table, “as long as Becky stays for the rest of the vacation,
and you, Monique, agree to finish Lenny’s list.”

Judy gave Monique  the kind of pinned-butterfly look that had her shrinking in the little European chair. Monique found interest
in the swirl of light cream in her coffee. She must have told Judy last night what she’d decided about the list. She had a
vague memory of an intense conversation screamed over the music, with Becky bouncing to the beat in the background. She remembered
shaking her head and doing another shot, telling Judy that her mind was made up.

Yes, her mind was made up, but Becky’s revelation still stung. On that cliff yesterday Becky had yanked back the curtain to
reveal Lenny tugging at levers and gears. Until then  Monique had been perfectly happy believing in the illusion. So, yeah,
maybe Lenny had meant well. But she’d be damned if she did the things he’d wanted her to do, just to close the door on him
forever.

“Well,” Becky said, “despite a serious case of cotton-mouth, the fact I have bruises I can’t account for, and a rather diffuse
sense of sheepishness, last night was the most fun I’ve had in a very long time.”

Judy mumbled, “Amen.”

“So if you don’t mind changing the flight plans one more time, Monie,” Becky said, casting a hesitant glance as she searched
among the videos on the phone until she found the one she wanted. “There’s no way I want to miss any more of this.”

Becky tilted the phone, playing a video that appeared to be Judy doing a chicken dance. A smile played around the corners
of Becky’s mouth. An easy smile that Monique hadn’t seen in a long, long time.

Judy didn’t bat an eye. “What do you think, Monie? Are you going to finish what you started?”

“It doesn’t matter what I want. Clearly we’re not making our train today.” Monique leaned back and folded her arms tight.
“I’ve still got five more items on that list. Physically it just can’t be done.”

Judy pursed her lips. “I wouldn’t say that.”

“It’s impossible,” Monique insisted. “Not without tightening the itinerary. And I know both of you are sick to death of planes,
trains, buses, shuttles—”

“—and motorcycles,” Becky added, as she shifted her thighs.

“Open your minds, ladies.” Over the rim of her coffee cup Judy’s lips stretched in a slow, wicked smile. “Lenny didn’t say
that all those things on the list were chiseled in stone. He didn’t disallow…slight modifications.”