Secret Lives Of Husbands And Wives (24 page)

“Oh—I’m sorry. I just needed to . . . You’re Masha, right? I’m Lyssa. I’m a friend of Pete’s.” At a loss for what to do next, I stick out my hand.

Very awkward. Pete’s name does not elicit the response I’d expected. Instead, she glares at me as if I’ve just cursed her firstborn. (Despite the hickey Tanner received the night of the poker game compliments of her daughter, Natassia, I don’t feel that would be necessary. It was bound to happen sooner or later.)

“Pete? Ah, LYZZA. Yez, I know of yooouuu!” I don’t know if it’s her Slavic accent or her vodka intake that has her slurring her words, but I’m willing to guess the latter. The fumes from her breath have me reeling. As she grabs me by the shoulders with both hands and hugs me to her chest, she whispers in my ear: “Streep poker, yez? Not to worry. I not mad. You see, I have ‘hobby’ too! But, hey, not one verd to my Pete, dah?” She pushes me away.

I stumble into the bathroom, bruised from where she gripped my shoulders. I’m sure I have two contusions on my chest that match whatever nipple armor she’s wearing.

I’ve been marked in another way: thanks to Masha’s spray-on tan,
my brand-new sweater has been tagged with her fingerprints and a faint V that matches her neckline.

“Damn it! Damn it!” The soup has already dried into a dark, impenetrable shadow, while dabbing at the new stains only spreads them into a treacly Orangina.

My new outfit is ruined. Would it help if I banged my head against the wall? Nah. But if I died, they’d have an obvious clue for a murder suspect.

Then there’s the issue about Pete. He is a buddy, after all. If he were a girlfriend, of course I’d speak up. But what is the mancode about such things?

Harry knows the code. And since I don’t need any more enigmas in my life, tag, he’s it.

I find Harry chatting up Biker Mom. When he sees me, he waves me over. Instinctively I glance around to see if Brooke is anywhere nearby. Oh, great, she’s glaring at him from across the room. Between this and my most recent introduction to a supposedly friendly face, I don’t need a frantic call later from Brooke, questioning our friendship.

Seeing my concern, Harry excuses himself and casually meanders over. “What, you’re not into making new friends?” As he plucks a cookie off a dessert tray, he does a double take at the new stains on my sweater. “She promised me a ride in her Maserati. I was going to ask if you could tag along, but now I don’t know. I mean, what if you stain her seats?”

“Forget the joyride, Andretti. We have bigger fish to fry. I just caught Masha in the ladies’ room with First National Bank of Paradise Heights.” I tilt my head in the direction of Masha’s boyfriend, who is now scurrying after her into the clubhouse’s coatroom. Even from where I’m standing, I can see a large orange streak on his sweater. He is a marked man. “What’s the protocol? Do we tell Pete?”

“Jesus.” Harry closes his eyes for a moment, and shakes his head.
“Yeah, well, I’d want to know. Wouldn’t you?”

“Of course!” Harry’s right. Yesterday’s tiff with Ted now seems silly. I can’t wait for him to come home.

Harry tosses the last crumb of cookie into his mouth and wipes his hands. “Well, when you tell him, be gentle—”

“Whoa, whoa, wait—who, me? Think again, Slick. You’re his closest friend.”

Harry groans. “If I remember correctly, that was your doing.” It takes a while, but he nods. “Okay, but I don’t think this is the time or the place.”

“I leave it to your discretion.” I give him a thumbs-up. “Oh, great, Brooke is coming over, I guess to call you a traitor.”

He laughs. “Is that better or worse than an Undesirable? I forget.”

“In your case, it’s one and the same.” I glance around the room for our salvation. It comes in the form of Cal, who is standing uncomfortably beside Bev. True to form, Bev is oblivious to this. She has trapped the Emersons in a corner. No doubt she’s giving them a pitch about a house she knows would be perfect for them, now that they’re pregnant again and will need the extra space.

“Why don’t we save Cal instead? The girls are downright afraid of him, so that should keep them away for a while.”

Immediately I move in, tapping Bev lightly on the shoulder. “Hi, Bev! I just want to thank you for putting in that call to the Heights Market regarding the food drive. It’s what made the drive an over-the-top success.”

As Bev turns to me, the Emersons find their opportunity to scurry away. I see by the look in her eyes that she’s tempted to run after them, but realizes this is bad form, even for her. “Oh yeah, hi, Lyssa! Glad I could be of some help. Really, it was Calvin’s idea, but hey, all in the family, right?”

“You know Harry Wilder, right?” I move to the side so that Harry can shake her hand.

“Yes! I mean, of course I know
of
you.” She looks at him
curiously. “Well, about the . . . 
you
know . . .”

“My poker games? I hope Cal attending doesn’t interfere—”

“
Cal?
Oh, yes! Not at all! So sweet of you to have him over! But what I meant is that, with the way the divorce is going and all, you’ll probably need this—”

She pulls a refrigerator magnet from her purse. On it is her profile and name, with that patented Bev Bullworth slogan: No Bull, Just Better Service!

Harry stares down at it. “Thanks . . . I guess.”

“It’s so you’ll remember to call me! You know, when you’re ready to buy your condo.” Her tone conveys just the right amount of sympathy. “Cal tells me you’ll want to stay in the neighborhood and keep commuting in, so that you can be close to the kids. You know, one of those new units they’ve built off Main has come available. It isn’t so roomy, granted. But the condo fee is very small—”

“Why would I want a condo? I already have a house.” He glares at Cal, who backs away from Bev, horrified. Whatever hole she’s digging for herself, he is not going to jump into it with her.

“Yes, but not for long. You know how these things usually go. DeeDee’s got the natural edge—”

“Is that what you think? That just because she’s a woman, she’s a better mother than I am a father?”

“Well . . . I . . . No, of course not!” Bev’s backpedaling is insincere despite her cheeriness. “But it never hurts to be prepared, right? Eventually, when the court rules on the situation, you’ll have to give up the ghost—”

I put my hand on Harry’s arm so that he will remember where he is, but he shrugs it off. I’m too late anyway. Slackened jaws, including many stuffed with leftovers, hang open as everyone tunes in to our little drama. Margot smiles triumphantly. To her mind, Harry’s comeuppance—at the hand of Bev Bullworth, no less!—is just deserts.

“Thanks for your concern.” Harry’s words are brittle and empty.
“But do me a favor and give it a break, at least until the court ruling. Better yet, here—” He hands her back her magnet. “Save it for the next time you see DeeDee.”

Before she can say anything else, Harry walks off in the direction of the front door. I follow him out, as does Cal.

“Wait, Harry! Look . . . I’m sorry Bev said all those stupid things.” Cal hangs his head. “Sometimes she speaks before she thinks.”

“She’s just parroting the party line around here.” Harry shrugs. “Ah, shit, here comes Pete. I guess we should tell him about Tanner’s and Jake’s suspensions.” Harry shifts uneasily, but waves our friend over anyway. “Do you want to do the honors, or shall I?”

“Judging by that long face, maybe he already knows.”

I’m poised to verify this, but Pete brushes me aside. “Anyone seen Masha?”

Harry gives me a warning nudge. He doesn’t have to worry. Since I’ll have to break the news about the boys’ tomfoolery, the last thing I’m going to mention is Masha’s too.

“Damn! She asked me to go home and get her sweater because she felt a chill. I guess she forgot that her mink is right here in the coatroom.” He rushes off down the hall.

Harry and I look at each other, then take off after him, with Cal trailing us.

But we’re too late. We get there just in time to see him freeze over his wife, who is in a love tussle with the guy who doles out the cash from his trust fund.

In a flash he yanks Masha’s boyfriend up by his hair, which comes off in his hand. Those who suspected FNBofPH sports a toupee can now collect on their bets.

Livid, the guy flails back at Pete. Unfortunately for him, Pete’s daily workouts give him a leg up. Pete’s lip may be split, but it’s FNBofPH’s nose that’s pushed out of joint.

Cal and I brace for what Pete might have in store for Masha as he lifts her, naked, out of the coat nest she and her lover made on the
floor. Seeing her that way only confirms what I suspected since our run-in: yep, she does indeed have an allover tan.

At this point a good smack won’t make up for my stained sweater, but I have to admit it would give me some satisfaction. Instead, Pete cradles his wife in his arms. “Did he hurt you? I swear, if he did—”

She shrugs, but the look on her face reflects what we’re all thinking:

You poor, pathetic fool.

Closing the door behind us, Harry shakes his head in disbelief. “Unbelievable! Now, that’s what I call denial. Doesn’t he see what’s happening?”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to say, “No, because he doesn’t want to,” but I keep quiet. What’s the point? I’m guessing we’ve all been there at one time or another.

Even Harry.

Especially
Harry.

“Sometimes it’s hard to be a woman

Giving all your love to just one man.”

—Tammy Wynette

Saturday, 30 Nov., 10:37 a.m.

Brooke is hosting the league meeting at which I’m to be voted in as president. That is fitting, since it was she who pushed to get me on the board in the first place.

“It seems like eons ago, doesn’t it, that you were just another of those newbie mommies who came into the Heights without a clue as to what was what.” Like a mother who’s just found out that her child has won a first-place ribbon in the science fair, Brooke beams with pride.

“You’re telling me. Hey, just to set the record straight: I forgive, but I
never
forget.”

She knows I mean it.

To make it up to me, Brooke is treating me to a morning of primping at the Heights of Beauty. Besides a face full of avocado and the high-gloss shellacking of my finger- and toenails, she’s talked me into trying out a new do that our stylist insists will “rock my world.” It’s a drastic cut that tames my frenzied curls into something sleek and edgy. What I see in the mirror shocks me a bit. I can’t decide if I look sultry or just cruel. If Olivia breaks into tears when she sees me, I’ll have my answer.

“I’ll be leaning on you heavily, you know.” I skipped breakfast, and my stomach is growling. To make matters worse, the avocado in my facial smells good enough to eat, but I resist the urge to lick it off my cheek.

“Sure! I like being the power behind the throne. You know that.” She’s practically giddy. “Besides, I live vicariously through you. Speaking of which, how’s your new best friend?” That’s what she calls Harry these days. I don’t know if she’s jealous of him or of me.

“I’d say he’s holding it together okay.”

“It didn’t look that way at the potluck.
Oooh
, he’s so hot when he blows his stack!” She smiles and licks her lips at this mental catnip. “The drama king thing sure does become him.”

Why are we so fascinated with other people’s emotional car wrecks? I shake my head in wonder. “You know, Brooke, just because the others are treating him like a pariah doesn’t mean you have to. He really enjoyed your friendship. And I thought you enjoyed his.”

At first I don’t think she’s heard me because she’s so busy scrutinizing her face in a magnifying mirror. Her nose has always bothered her, and a day doesn’t go by when she doesn’t threaten to go under the knife. The problems that are skin-deep are easy to fix, but not the ones that pock our souls or balloon into tumors of insecurity. “Yeah, well, I like Harry too. But in all honesty, Lyssa, there are certain friendships that just aren’t worth the hassle. Besides, if I alienate Margot, I’ll be marked as an Undesirable.”

“I’m not marked.” She doesn’t say anything, so I have to ask: “Or am I?”

“Don’t be silly! Of course not. After what you pulled off, you’re golden. You know that.” Her smile wavers. “Hey, tonight’s your night, so enjoy. In fact, show up fashionably late. We can’t start the party without you, right?”

She looks back down into the mirror. I wonder if she likes what she sees.

7:21 p.m.

“A toast, to our golden girl.” Margot raises her martini glass in the air.

On cue, the laughter dies down, gossiping is suspended, and the eyes of my peers—Margot, Brooke, Colleen, and Isabelle—turn to me. Even Tammy wipes the smirk off her face.

Colleen, reveling in this rare moment of gal-pal détente, shouts out, “How about a speech?”

Wow. Wow, wow. I am aglow. I am living the dream. I have the adoration of my peers.

I’m also a little tipsy.

“I’m honored. I’d just like to say that I couldn’t have done it without—well, without . . .”

I pause here, because it’s just hit me:

There is not one person in this room who was there for me when I needed her most.

Instead, I should be thanking Harry for donating his firm’s Tahoe cabin, which motivated donations of a couple of hundred cans. And Pete, whose plea in the
Boulevard Bugle
netted more than four hundred cans, not to mention the fifty others that came in from his basketball team (which will have no more benchwarmers for the rest of the season). And, of course, if Cal hadn’t strong-armed Bev into calling in a favor from the Paradise Heights Market—

But I know if I bring this up, I’ll be asking for trouble.

If I keep my big mouth shut now, then later I’ll be able to smooth things over between the league board and the guys. Just think: if I can pull it off, future generations will liken it to Nixon’s meeting with Mao Zedong. How symbolic would it be for the two sides to reconcile over Chinese food?

Silly me, I’m getting ahead of myself. This is painfully obvious as Margot intones: “Of course, as our new president, you’ll have to
adhere to the prime directive already established under our bylaws. Because you’ve been under a lot of pressure this last month, we’ve let it slip. But no better time than the present to set things straight—”