Back In the Game (15 page)

Chapter 34

“O
h, my God,” Brittany screamed as she burst into the room, “guess what? I just read that Simon Trenouth is having a show at some gallery in, like, three weeks!”

I looked up from the worktable where I was laying out origami paper for the afternoon's project.

“Get out!” Brianna screamed back as she grabbed Brittany's fleshy upper arms. “We so have to go!”

Brittany and Brianna, my summer interns, were fine art majors at Boston University and they were totally unlike any art majors I had known in my own college days. Two more mainstream, pop-culture addicts you'd be hard-pressed to find. Two less tortured souls did not exist in Boston.

That they read art journals came as a huge surprise, until I learned it wasn't the articles and critiques and quality reproductions that interested them but the notices of openings and other events at which they could drink for free and, more important, meet cute guys.

Guys like Simon Trenouth. I'd never mentioned my connection to Simon. There seemed no reason to tell these girls my life story.

Brittany bounced on her toes, which was impressive considering she was wearing chunky wedge sandals.

“I mean, Simon Trenouth is just so amazing,” she cried. “He's so awesome. He's like, he's like my idol or something!”

He's something, all right.

Brianna put her hand over her heart. “I heard he's really great in bed. I know someone on my floor who knows someone who slept with him once and she said it was, like, awesome.”

I turned away to hide a grin. Huh? That someone who knew someone on Brianna's floor—I assumed she meant in her dorm—must have confused Simon with another man. The sexual Simon I knew was a lot of flash and little substance.

But I knew the appeal of flash. It blinded you to the reality. That is, until your eyes adjusted.

“Oh, I so am going to try to meet him!” Brittany vowed. “I mean, the opening is probably private, but maybe I can find out where the after party is and be there. God, I would die if he, like, liked me!”

There was some squealing.

I was sorely tempted to burst Brittany and Brianna's happy little bubble and tell them the dirty truth about Simon. That I'd been his wife for years and that he was a lying, cheating bum, yes, a talented bum, but an emotionally abusive partner who had drained our bank account and destroyed our apartment and damaged my self-esteem until finally, finally I kicked him out. And divorced him. And continued for way too long to cater to his every need.

I was tempted. But I said nothing. Let Simon retain his gloss in these girls' eyes. Let them learn the hard way that once the gloss wears thin, and it always does, what's left is pockmarked and pimply.

“The Auster Gallery show,” I said, interrupting the squealing, “certainly will help Simon's career.”

Brittany cocked her head. Brianna squinted and scrunched up her bobbed nose. “What?” she said.

“The Auster Gallery. Simon Trenouth is showing there.”

Brittany nodded vigorously. “Oh, right.”

See, I thought smugly. This is the difference between these girls and me. I had—still have—great respect for Simon's talent. It wasn't all about the sexy persona. It never had been.

I'd made the sacrifices I made in the name of Simon's work. If he could come home to a clean house, if he had access to money to buy paint and canvas, if he had the freedom to stay away for days without explanation, then he could concentrate on the work.

Or so I'd told myself.

“Do you have the article?” I asked the girls. “I'd like to see what it says about Evan Auster.”

“Who?” Brianna asked.

It must be all the fast food young people eat these days that causes a constipation of the brain.

“Evan Auster,” I said carefully. “The owner of the Auster Gallery.”

Brittany shrugged. “Oh. Right. I only read the parts about Simon. Anyway, I put the magazine back in your office.”

“Thanks,” I said. “Can you girls help me move this table against the wall?”

 

That night I read the article that had sent Brittany and Brianna into fits. It included a fairly lengthy interview with Evan Auster. I was impressed by his simple evaluations of Simon's paintings and his lack of bogus art world mumbo jumbo. Articulate, intelligent, attractive, and successful.

This was the man I'd turned down.

In contrast, Simon's quotes were almost incomprehensible. Here's a sample:

To be fair, I thought, people really shouldn't expect an artist to explain his work. That's a job usually better left to the critics. Still, the contrast between Evan's considered words and Simon's rambling spoke volumes to me.

I put the magazine on the bedside table and turned off the lights. And I wondered if I was ready for a relationship of simplicity, clarity, and sense.

Chapter 35

“S
o,” Nell said, “my darling offspring are coming for a visit.”

“When?” Jess asked.

The four of us were having dinner at a brick-oven pizza restaurant I'd suggested. The prices were reasonable and the salad bar was free. I'd skipped lunch because I'd forgotten to bring a sandwich with me from home and there was no way I was going to pay eleven dollars for a sandwich from a shop! Not anymore.

“Soon.”

“For how long?” Grace asked.

“Two weeks. Unless they get bored with sleeping until noon and shopping all afternoon, and then I suppose they'll head off to campus early.”

“Gosh, I've missed them,” I said. “I'll have to come up with an idea for a fun excursion.”

“Laura,” Nell said, “they're not ten. Don't be disappointed if they can't find the time to spend with their aunt. Eighteen- and twenty-year-olds have very busy schedules that rarely include family.”

A cool, fun aunt isn't the same as a boring old mother, I replied silently. “They'll stay with you, right?”

“I suppose.”

“You don't sound very happy about this visit,” Jess said.

Nell shrugged. “It's nothing. It's silly.”

“Oh, come on, Nell.”

“All right. I'm a bit hurt by their lack of sympathy for me. Don't misunderstand,” Nell said. “I don't want my children to pity their mother. And I don't want them to hate their father, either. The divorce should not be their concern; I know that. I guess it's just that I still feel so fragile. I'd like a little bit of sympathy from at least one of them.”

“I'm not sure they're capable of sympathy,” Jess said. “I think they're too young to understand the depths of emotion you feel. Has either of them ever been in love?”

Nell considered for a moment. “Not that I know of. Colin usually hangs out with a crowd of boys and girls and God knows what they do for fun. Clara dated someone last year for about two months. It was a record for her.”

It was true. Colin and Clara had never been in love. They would have told me, the cool, fun aunt, about a serious relationship, even if they kept it from their mother.

“See?” Jess said. “Besides, maybe they feel a lot more than they're letting on. Maybe they just don't know how to take care of a mother who's always taken care of them. You've been a very strong person for Colin and Clara. It might be confusing or even depressing for them to see you in pain.”

Nell sighed. “I know. I do know, and I understand. I'm still trying to be strong for them. The last thing I ever want to be is a burden on my children.”

“Nell,” Grace said earnestly, “it's not in your nature to be a burden on anyone. We're the burdens on you!”

Well, Grace could speak for herself and maybe for Jess, but not for me! I'd never been a burden on my sister.

“There's another thing,” Nell said with a grimace. “God, I hope it doesn't make me a bad mother to say this—to feel this—but I'm glad the kids are only coming for two weeks. I'm enjoying being on my own. I'm enjoying the freedom of making my own schedule, answering to no one, tending to no one.”

Well, I thought. Miss Perfect Mother isn't so perfect after all! I just know I'll always be thrilled to spend time with my children, even when they're being all icky and teenagey.

“Oh, Nell,” Jess said, “you're not a bad mother or a bad person. You're normal. And for the first time in your adult life, you have the time and the space to think about your own needs.”

Nell laughed. “Well, I guess I have something to thank Richard for! You know, I wouldn't be surprised if Clara decides to stay with Richard. She's always been a daddy's girl. Now that I've been eliminated as a rival, Clara really is the only woman in Richard's life.”

“So,” Jess asked, “does that make Colin a mama's boy?”

Nell shuddered. “God, no. I tried very hard not to ruin him for other women. I want his future wife to thank me, not curse me.”

I made a mental note to find a book about raising emotionally healthy boys. Girls, I thought, were a snap. I'm a girl. I know what we're like.

“Nell,” Grace said, “I just have to say that you look fantastic. I've never seen you wear something so clingy. And leather pants!”

I frowned. I thought Nell looked—well, I didn't really like her outfit. “I thought leather pants were only for winter,” I said. There was one piece of pizza left on the platter. I slid it onto my plate.

“Oh, no,” Nell said. “They come in all weights and finishes and colors. Leather and suede are appropriate all year round. You just have to know the right styles and where to buy them.”

“You've become quite the expert on animal skins, haven't you?” Jess said.

Nell laughed. “I'm working on it. But seriously, there's something else I'm working on becoming an expert at, something far more important to my well-being as a woman.”

“What?” I asked. “Are you taking up knitting?”

Nell looked at me with one of her annoying I'm-so-much-smarter-than-you looks.

“What?” I asked. “Is there something wrong with knitting?”

And then Jess slapped the table, something I'd never seen her do.

“You didn't,” she said. “You did!”

Nell grinned. “I did.”

“What?” I asked, annoyed by this secret code or whatever was going on. My sister can be very rude. “What are you talking about?”

Jess leaned across the table and stage-whispered, “Nell had sex.”

I took a sip of water. The pizza sat like lead in my stomach. Why, I wondered, had I eaten that last piece, and so quickly?

“Oh,” I said. Well. Sex certainly wasn't knitting.

“What was it like after so many years?” Grace asked. Like Jess, she seemed all excited and happy for my sister.

Before Nell could reply, Jess said, “Who is he? Are you seeing him again? Where did you meet him?”

“What's he like?” Grace asked. “What's his name? Did you go to his apartment?”

I took another sip of water and wondered if I had any antacids in my purse.

“No, no,” Nell said, “I took him to mine. I read somewhere about the home-turf advantage and believe me, I was nervous enough. There was no way I was going to a strange apartment.”

But you had no trouble having sex with a strange man! I didn't say this aloud. I'd done the same with Marcus, Mr. I Have Kids After All. Nell would love to throw that in my face.

“So, are you going to see him again?” Grace asked.

“I might. I suppose it would be mostly for sex. I mean, what sort of adult woman sleeps with a man on the first date and then expects a relationship? Anyway, I'm not looking for a relationship. I won't call him but if he calls me . . .”

I was not at all happy with Nell's behavior. She sounded like, like a prostitute! “This is all Trina's fault,” I said. “That woman is a bad influence on you.”

“Her fault?” Nell repeated. “All she did was introduce me to Oscar. Anyway, nothing bad happened, Laura. I'm having fun, finally. It's a bit scary but no one is putting a gun to my head and forcing me to go out at night. This isn't middle school where peer pressure can make you do idiotic things just to be liked.”

Grace shuddered. “Ugh, being a kid is not all it's cracked up to be.”

“Okay, so who is this Oscar?” Jess asked.

“A friend of Trina, currently divorced, back in the game, and by the way, very attractive.”

“Obviously!” Jess said. “He got the re-virgin into bed on the first try!”

Nell grinned. It was getting annoying, all this grinning.

“Actually,” she said, “we never made it to the bed.”

“Oh, my God! Give us some details, a highlight or two, anything. I'm living vicariously.”

Before my sister could answer Jess's totally gross question, I said, maybe a bit too loudly, “Enough! I don't want to hear any more of this.”

“Since when,” Nell asked, “have you become a prude?”

“I'm not a prude,” I snapped. “I just think what goes on between two people in the bedroom—”

“Or on the floor,” Jess said.

I glared at her. “Wherever. I just think it's private. I don't think you should sit around talking about it, especially not when you're eating.”

Grace suddenly looked to the empty pizza plate. “Hey, what happened to that last piece? It was mine. I only had one.”

Well, you snooze, you lose, I thought. I turned to my sister.

“Do you really not want to get married again?” I demanded.

“All I'm saying is that marriage isn't on my agenda at the moment.”

I frowned. “You don't want to wait too long to get serious. It's much harder to get a man at fifty than it is at forty.”

Nell gave me her angry look. Again. “What if you focus on your own life, okay?”

Jess and Grace were very quiet. Suddenly, I felt very tired and close to tears. I don't know why.

I reached for my sister's hand. “I'm sorry, Nell. I just don't want you to get hurt.”

Nell squeezed my hand and slipped out of my grasp. “I've already been hurt. But thanks. I appreciate your concern.”

I wondered if she did.

“I need to rant for a minute.”

I looked at Grace. “I don't think I've ever heard you complain. Except about Simon, of course.”

“Well,” she said, “Simon's part of this rant, too.”

Then she told us about how her interns had gotten all excited about meeting Simon Trenouth, Mr. Moody Art Guy.

“These girls were going on and on about Simon like he was a god or something,” she said. “I felt like shaking them and telling them the ugly truth, which is that Simon is human just like the rest of us. On his good days. On his bad days he's more, I don't know, wolverine.”

“He always reminded me of something reptilian,” Nell said. “Maybe an iguana.”

“Don't insult iguanas,” Grace said. “They make excellent companions, which is a lot more than I can say for Simon.”

“Anyway, Grace,” Jess said, “a groupie wouldn't care what you had to say about Mr. Wolverine. A groupie thinks she's the one woman in the entire world who really understands his tortured soul, the one woman who's his true soul mate.”

Grace laughed bitterly. “Just like I did. Boy, what a crock of shit. I'm sorry. I don't usually use foul language, but listening to them made me very angry. I hate the fact that otherwise intelligent, self-respecting women get so stupid about the emotionally abusive men, the artists, the musicians, the poets. It's ridiculous.”

Really, sometimes I just didn't understand my so-called friends. I'd never fallen for any of those awful types. I might have made some mistakes, but at least I hadn't fallen for some guy with greasy hair, tattoos, and paint under his fingernails!

“It is ridiculous,” Jess agreed. “But it probably will always be the case. No one really listens to sound advice when it comes to matters of the heart. Or hormones. All you can do is be there for the women when they're left alone and drained of energy. And money.”

“I suppose. But that's enough, my rant is over.”

“What about you, Jess?” Nell asked. “What's new and exciting in your life?”

“Absolutely nothing. My life is pretty dull right now and I'm glad. I work and I sleep and I watch an occasional DVD and whenever my girlfriends' busy schedules permit, I see them for dinner.”

“Nothing lasts forever,” Grace said. “A cliché but true. This dormant period will end. Your life will be vital again.”

“Sigh. I know. That's why I'm cherishing the peace while it lasts.”

“And then it's back in the game?” Grace said.

Jess nodded. “Once more into the breach, I suppose.”

“When you put it that way,” Nell said, “dating doesn't sound very appealing, does it?”

“No, it doesn't. A battlefield is not a fun place to be.”

“Speaking of ugliness,” Grace said, “I witnessed another example of ageism just yesterday. I was in a café waiting at the counter for my lunch order and standing right up by the counter was a woman probably in her seventies. She'd come in just after me and was nicely dressed, not exhibiting any crazy behavior, just a normal person. Behind the counter were two guys in their twenties, earrings, tattoos, no doubt convinced they were very cool. And then in walks this girl maybe eighteen, maybe not even, in the full standard outfit.”

“Jeans so low slung they should be illegal,” Jess said, “a skintight tank top, belly ring exposed, messy hair piled on top of her head.”

“Messy blond hair.”

“Of course.”

“Anyway, she flip flops right up to the counter—you know how young girls never seem to lift their feet?—and stands right next to the older woman. That's it, it's only the three of us so there was no possibility for confusion, and both guys charge over to her, ask for her order, completely ignoring the older woman who I know they knew had been standing there while they took their lazy time making my sandwich.”

My sister made a face. “Disgusting.”