Sisterchicks on the Loose (13 page)

“Yes! Those pants were pathetic!”

“I know. I can’t believe we didn’t save them and try to enter them into the
Guinness Book of World Records
for ‘most worn pair of ugly pants.’ ”

The legacy of the Mom-o denims started when I was pregnant for the first time. The jeans were a strange color. Sort of a nasty faded khaki green. My sister-in-law, Bonnie, gave me the baggy pants when I was two months pregnant because she said she liked having something loose to wear the first few months before she needed maternity clothes and then again during the few months after the baby was born.

She was right. I appreciated the worn-in comfort and elastic waist. I wore them when I was pregnant with Tyler and Ben
and then loaned them to Penny after she had Noah. We traded those hideous pants back and forth through all seven of our combined pregnancies. I mended them twice and was certain they eventually would disintegrate in the washing machine. But they didn’t.

One clear autumn afternoon, Penny came over with the green Mom-o denims in a big wad. “Don’t let the kids see us do this,” she said. “But we’re going to torch these Mom-o losers!”

“Why?”

“Our pregnancy days are over, Sharon. Neither you nor I will ever wear these hideous blobber-britches again. That’s why they must burn. The world should never again be exposed to the sight of them.”

We made sure the kids were all inside. Penny and I went to the far corner of the backyard by the huge rhododendron bush. With our backs to the house, we doused the wad with lighter fluid and each struck a match in unison.

“In the name of all that is decent and fashionable,” Penny stated, “we hereby ignite these slacks and vow never again to cover our flesh with pea green denim.”

“Agreed.” I solemnly tossed my match in with Penny’s and
kapoosh
! We could have roasted marshmallows over the leaping flame. I shoveled the remaining ashes beneath the rhododendron and told Penny we would have to pay attention the next May to see if the rhodies blossomed with a green tint.

“You aren’t regretting that you threw away your old bra at the airport, I hope,” Penny said.

“No. It had served its full tour of duty. You were right. It needed to be tossed out.”

“Good. Now you can replace it with something stunning.”

Penny kept holding up lacy, colorful numbers while I gravitated
toward the basic cotton wide-strap Mom-o styles. The sizing was different than in the States, so I had to try on a variety of styles before I had a fair idea of what would work for me.

“Try looking for one that’s the same size as this one.” I handed a bra to Penny over the top of the dressing room door. “Only see if they have it in white.”

“Are you sure I can’t interest you in another color?” Penny asked. “I think I saw this one in bright orange.”

“Just white, if you please.”

“What about lavender or something blue to match your new sweater outfit? They have light blue, Sharon. That’s almost white.”

“Plain, normal white works for me,” I said impatiently from inside the dressing room.

I was trying to figure out the front snap on a pink floral underwire bra when Penny irreverently tossed two more bras over the top of the dressing room door. Neither was white.

“Penny!” I opened the door a crack. “What’s the deal? Don’t they have any white ones in my size?”

“I’m declaring a boycott on white bras. Life is too short. You need to live a little.” Penny slipped into the dressing room and closed the door behind her. “Hey, now that pink one is a winner! It looks great on you!”

“Hardly! I was only trying it on to get a better idea of the size I need.” I glanced at my reflection. “This looks like the top of a bikini that would only be worn by someone who doesn’t want to keep a lot of secrets.”

“Jeff would love it,” Penny said. “You should get it.”

I felt myself blushing. “Jeff wouldn’t notice.”

“Oh, yes he would. All men notice their wives’ undergarments. They might not ever mention them, especially if there’s
nothing particularly exceptional worth mentioning. But believe me, they notice.”

I couldn’t remember Jeff ever making a comment about my undies, positive or negative.

“I have a theory.” Penny planted herself on the narrow bench in the dressing room. “Men who have affairs have them with women who wear memorable undies.”

I turned my back on Penny and undid the pink bra so I could modestly try on the light blue one.

“Mind you,” Penny went on, “the men don’t know at the onset that the woman is wearing memorable undergarments. But the woman knows. She knows how good she looks under her clothes, and she walks around as if she has a secret just waiting to be revealed.”

“Oh, Penny, I can’t believe you’re talking about this.”

“It’s my little theory. Part of what I’ve learned after the past two years of working in a large office.” Penny crossed her legs and picked up the pink padded bra for closer examination. In a low voice she said, “I only worked there a month before I went out and upgraded my lingerie wardrobe.”

I paused. Why was Penny telling me she upgraded her unmentionables? Slowly turning to meet her gaze, I said in a low voice, “Penny?”

She looked at me innocently.

“You’re not trying to say that …” I knew Penny couldn’t, wouldn’t ever be unfaithful to her beloved Dave. “Tell me again exactly why you went out and bought new underwear?”

F
or Dove,” Penny said
“I decided to buy the cha-cha undies because my husband works at a big office, and you know dozens of women are strutting around there in memorable underwear. I spiced up my lingerie so that Dave would remember what he had waiting for him at home.”

“Oh.”

“Why? What did you think?”

“I wasn’t sure what you were getting at.”

“I’m suggesting that you spiff up your undies. It’s for Jeff, not for you.”

I looked in the mirror at my less-than-glamorous body. I won’t go into details, but I will say that I had done very little over the years to “spiff up” the part of my person only my husband sees. Penny probably was right. My landscaper husband would appreciate a little color and lift in what he saw every day.

With a fresh eye, I evaluated the pretty, light blue bra. It looked softer and smoother than my standard, industrial-strength style. Plus, it had more support.

“I like this one,” I said bravely. “I’ll buy this one.”

“Bravo! Now I’ll go find matching blue panties.”

“I don’t need blue panties.”

“Yes, you do,” Penny said. “Where’s the package of panties you picked up? I want to match the size.” She started to leave the dressing room but stopped and with a grin said, “You really should buy two bras, you know. In case you have any more disasters with foreign babies.”

“Penny, I’m not going to have any more baby disasters.”

She wasn’t listening. “How about a black bra and panties to match? Trust me, once you wear black, you’ll never go back to white.”

I bought two bras that day in Helsinki. One light blue and one black. With four pairs of matching panties.

Penny said she was proud of me and that I should consider my expensive purchases as souvenirs for Jeff.

All I could think of was the souvenir money I was carrying around for Uncle Floyd and Joanie from the Clip ’n’ Curl. I was certain both of them had something other than underwear in mind when they blessed me with souvenir money.

With Uncle Floyd on my mind, I convinced Penny to take a detour to the stationery department before loading up our shopping bags at the chocolate bar. I found postcards and bought stamps there as well. I asked for specialty stamps, like Uncle Floyd wanted me to. I’m not sure exactly what I ended up with, but that evening I planned to write all ten postcards and mail them with the hopes that they would arrive home before I did.

However, none of the postcards was written that night because we had a promising breakthrough in our case of locating Penny’s missing aunt. Tuija’s husband at the government office agreed to meet with us at four o’clock. He greeted us
with a professional demeanor and invited us to sit down.

“I have information,” our deep-voiced detective said. “I have located your aunt, Marketta Järvenin. This is her phone number. I called her today, and she is eager to talk with you.”

Penny jumped up and grabbed the slip of paper with the phone number. “My aunt is still alive?”

“Yes. Would you like to place a call to her now?”

Penny stared at the paper in her hand. “No,” she said slowly. “I’d rather go back to our hotel and call her. This is such great news. Thank you so much.” Penny reached for his hand and shook it eagerly. “You have no idea how much I appreciate this. Thank you.”

Penny and I took a cab to our hotel. Joona was on duty at the front desk. Irrepressible Penny left me waiting at the elevator while she dashed over to tell him the good news. Just as the elevator arrived, Penny motioned for me to join her at the front desk.

“Joona is going to help me make the call in case my aunt doesn’t speak English and I need an interpreter.”

Ever-helpful Joona dialed the number on the phone at his front desk and handed the phone to Penny.

“What is this crazy sound?” Penny held out the phone and laughed nervously. “I can’t tell if it’s ringing or if she’s electrocuting her cat.”

She handed the receiver to Joona, who appeared to be trying hard to repress a grin. Apparently someone answered because Joona conversed in what sounded like serious tones. He wrote furiously on a hotel notepad. Penny and I kept looking at each other, about to burst with curiosity as the conversation went on. When Joona looked up at us, Penny was squeezing my arm.

“Well?”

“Your aunt would like you to come to her home tomorrow,” Joona said.

“Tell her yes!”

“You may tell her yourself. She speaks English.”

“You goof, why didn’t you tell me that?” Penny grabbed the phone. “Hello?”

I stood by her side, smiling and watching Penny’s face. A new galaxy of golden adventure dust sparkled in her misty eyes.

“Yes … Of course … Okay … Yes … Wonderful … Yes … Tomorrow afternoon … Okay. Bye!”

All aglitter, Penny turned to Joona. “She said you wrote down the information on how to get to her house.”

“Yes.” Joona tore off the page of notes and handed it to Penny saying, “Here is the information.”

Penny looked at the paper and looked back at Joona. “It’s in Finnish.”

“Is it?” Joona grinned.

“Yes, it is. Would you be so kind as to tell me what this says?”

“Certainly. I will write the directions for you in English. Is there anything else I may do for you, Ms. Lane?”

“Yes, there is something else. You can tell me what the going rate is for tipping hotel clerks when they have been especially helpful.”

“I cannot accept a tip,” Joona said.

“How about gifts?” Penny held up one of her shopping bags. “I have chocolate, and I’m not afraid to share it.”

He shook his head.

“Okay. Then I’ll just have to tell your manager how helpful
you’ve been. Hand me a piece of paper there, will you?”

Penny wrote her glowing report of Sir Joona the Helpful while Sir Joona wrote out the information about Marketta in English for us.

Over the years I’ve noticed how Penny can look as if she’s eighteen when the lighting is soft enough and when she tilts her head just right. All the necessary elements were working for her at that moment. She handed Joona her note and, with a tease in her voice, said, “Feel free to translate
that
into Finnish for your boss.”

He gave a noble bow, as if Penny had just knighted him.

Penny pulled a business card from her purse and handed it to Joona. She suddenly looked well over forty. “If you ever come to San Francisco, you have a free place to stay at our home. Our neighbor has a son who is twenty-one. I’m sure he could direct you to all the hot spots.”

I thought I caught a fleck of adventure dust sparkling from the corner of Joona’s eye. “Yes. Thank you. I may come someday.”

“Good.”

With that, Penny turned, and we paraded through the lobby as she led me straight to the hotel restaurant. “Time to eat,” she declared.

We were seated in the middle of the restaurant when I noticed Penny’s hand was shaking. “Are you okay?”

“I’m more than okay. I’m ecstatic! This is incredible. My mom’s sister is still alive. What a gift from God! It’s pretty much a miracle, don’t you think?”

“Yes!”

“Just think, Sharon. What if you hadn’t lost your luggage? We wouldn’t have gone shopping, and we wouldn’t have met Tuija and …”

I didn’t share Penny’s enthusiasm over the major inconvenience of my lost luggage. But I did agree it was remarkable to have found Marketta.

Penny looked as if she were about to cry.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

Penny put down her menu. The first tear left the starting gate, followed by a dozen equally eager racers. “My mom’s sister is still alive. I have a living aunt! I thought she was dead, Sharon. When her letter came back, I thought for sure Marketta was dead. But she’s alive. I have someone left in this world!”