Back In the Game (28 page)

Chapter 63

I
had just buttoned the last button on my blouse when someone knocked on the door to the exam room.

“Come in,” I called.

Dr. Lakes came into the room holding a yellow file folder. She wasn't smiling.

“Am I okay?” I blurted.

“Well,” she said in that careful way doctors have, like anything they say can and will be held against them, “we won't know about the Pap results, of course, for another few days.”

I nodded. I felt sweat break out under my arms. I remembered that I'd forgotten to buy a new brand of deodorant at the drugstore the day before. The old one wasn't working like it used to.

“I am, however, a bit concerned. There's evidence of scar tissue. You stated on my forms that you've never had surgery. Correct?”

I nodded, again. Now my lower back was sweating. I wondered if you could use deodorant on places besides your underarms.

“Have you been treated for infections?” Dr. Lakes asked next. “Any STDs?”

“No,” I blurted. “No. I mean, I've had some yeast infections, but who hasn't?”

“Uh-huh. Any pain or discomfort of any sort, maybe something you ignored, something that should have been treated?”

I shook my head. And then I remembered that yes, on and off over the past ten years or so I'd had some weird pains. Once I thought I felt a lump right through my skin. And a few times it had been so hard to pee I thought I would die. But I'd always hated going to the doctor, ever since I was a little girl.

“Well, maybe,” I said.

“Any family history of endometriosis?”

“What?”

Dr. Lakes scribbled something in my file.

Oh, boy. Now the back of my neck felt wet. How was I going to go back to the office all dripping and smelly?

“Is it dangerous?” I asked. “Scar tissue?”

Dr. Lakes gave me a funny look, kind of like the look Nell gives me when I ask a simple question. Can't anyone just answer without making a face?

“No, not dangerous,” she said. “It could cause some problems down the line.”

“But I can still get pregnant, right?”

Dr. Lakes hesitated a moment before answering my question. I really felt I was going to freak out.

“Are you currently trying to get pregnant?” she finally asked.

“Not yet,” I said. “But I will be, very soon.” I held up my left hand. “I'm engaged.”

Dr. Lakes leaned against the counter with the sink built into it.

“Yes,” she said. “I noticed. Laura, when was your last gynecological exam?”

I scrunched up my nose and thought. Scrunching helps me to remember.

“Um, about three years ago,” I said. “No, four. I think.”

Dr. Lakes shifted a bit. “You know you should be having a Pap test every year.”

Yes, yes, I knew. But if you did everything you're supposed to do when you're supposed to do it, you wouldn't have any time left for other important stuff, like shopping or going to the beach. Besides, like I said, I hate going to the doctor's. Doctors scare me.

“I'm sorry,” I said, for no good reason. I wasn't really sorry.

Dr. Lakes wrote something else in my file. “You don't have to apologize, Laura,” she said then. “But you might want to start being more responsible about your health, particularly since you're hoping to have a family.”

I nodded. Now I felt sorry, really awful, like when my third-grade teacher kept me after class and told me that if I didn't stop whispering to my friends while she was trying to talk, I would be suspended.

“Think of the child you hope to have the next time you're tempted to put off a doctor appointment,” Dr. Lakes was saying. “If you learn you have an advanced medical condition that might not have been so serious if you'd caught it in its early stage, you're going to feel horrible. And your child is going to suffer.”

“Okay,” I said. I felt like I might start to cry. “What should I do? You know, about the scar tissue.”

Dr. Lakes smiled that soothing smile my own mother used to give me when I'd get all nervous the night before gym class. “There's nothing you can do right now,” she said. “We'll see what happens when you start trying to get pregnant. There are surgical options, but we won't talk about them now. Are you eating right?”

I thought of the hot dog I'd had for lunch, and the French fries. And the candy bar. And the soda.

“I think so,” I said. My voice trembled just a bit.

“Hmm.” Dr. Lakes gave me the suspicious look Nell gives me when she thinks I'm not telling her the whole truth. “Well,” she said, “I'm going to prescribe some dietary supplements. Start taking them right away. We want you in good shape for the future.”

I nodded.

Then Dr. Lakes told me to go to the reception desk for my prescriptions. When she was at the door of the examination room, her hand already on the knob, she turned.

“And Laura?”

“Yes?” I said nervously.

“One more thing. I'd like you to lose about ten pounds. For health purposes, of course.”

And then she was gone.

 

Matt was working late that night. I decided to stay at my place and go through my clothes. For some reason a lot of them weren't fitting right. It was annoying me.

After trying on three pairs of pants I could hardly button, I just gave up. Okay, Dr. Lakes had told me to lose ten pounds, but there was no way I'd actually gained ten pounds! I mean, really.

And then I remembered that skinny thing at the phony dating agency, Ms. Berber, had told me the same thing!

I looked in the mirror. I thought I looked okay from the front. I turned to the side. That didn't look too bad, either. I mean, I guess I had put on some weight but really, I was under a lot of stress!

And then an idea came to me. I wondered if the weight gain was hormonal. Maybe my body was, I don't know, sort of getting ready to be pregnant. I wondered if that was even possible but then thought: hey, anything's possible, right? Just about anything.

I left the three pairs of pants on the floor of my bedroom and went into the kitchen. Just that afternoon I'd bought a pint of chocolate chocolate-chip ice cream. Dairy is good for you; everyone knows that. Women need calcium and even the fat can't really be bad; it's not like the fat in a cupcake or anything unnatural.

I took the pint from the freezer and dug in. Yum. I went into the living room and flipped on the television. There was a rerun of an old
Three's Company
episode. I love that show, but while I watched, my mind wandered.

I wondered what sort of medical insurance Matt had. Mine was not great. I was planning to go on Matt's the minute we got married. I guessed that would be okay with him. We hadn't talked about every little detail yet, like how I was going to stop working right after the honeymoon so I could really concentrate on getting pregnant. You know, have sex and then when Matt wasn't around, rest up and eat right and stay really calm so that my body would be ready.

My body. It was not going to betray me if I had anything to say about it.

I scooped up another spoonful of ice cream. There were at least ten chocolate chips in it! An individual chip can't have that many calories, I thought. A chip is so small. Dr. Lakes would probably frown, but Dr. Lakes, I thought, is supposed to frown. Doctors are such party poopers; it's their job, I know, but how about dealing with reality!

A commercial for some toilet-bowl cleaner came on and I remembered I needed to clean the bathroom. Matt liked a sparkling clean bathroom.

Matt.

Matt might ask me about the visit to the doctor. If he remembered I'd gone. He didn't seem to remember a lot of things I told him I was doing. Of course, I never bothered to tell him what I was thinking or what I was feeling. Even I know that would be a waste of time!

The show came back on. It was one with Suzanne Somers as Chrissy. She was my favorite.

Matt liked blondes. I don't know why he'd been attracted to Jess.

I ate another spoonful of ice cream. It was nice and melty. Matt hated melty things; he didn't like mess.

I supposed I should just tell him about the scar tissue.

But how could I? I mean, really. How could I possibly tell Matt that I might have trouble getting pregnant? What if he decided to call off the engagement?

No. Better to keep my little secret a secret.

I'm not dumb. I was never under any illusions about Matt and me. I knew we weren't getting married because we were deeply in love. We were getting married because it was convenient. Advantageous, too. That's what Nell had said. It was to our advantage to get legally married. We each had something the other wanted. It was as simple as that.

Matt wanted my ability to give him a child. If somehow I lost the ability, what would stop him from leaving me?

I ate the last spoonful of ice cream and tossed the empty container in the trash.

And there was another thing. I just couldn't be single any longer. I just couldn't. I just couldn't go on another awful date with another awful man and be humiliated yet again. There's only so much humiliation a girl can take before she loses all self-respect.

No, Matt and I just had to get married, the sooner the better.

You know, it's a lot harder to get divorced than it is to dump someone you're not legally tied to.

In my bedroom I kicked the stupid pants under the bed.

Chapter 64

“I
like Evan,” Nell said. “He's got the right stuff.”

“And,” Jess said, “he's very handsome. He's got that sophisticated thing going on, but he's not at all stiff.”

It was the night of Simon's opening. An hour into the event and so far there'd been no crisis, at least that I was aware of. Simon, though his usual social, manic self, hadn't yet jumped on top of the drinks table to perform an impromptu jig, a Simon Trenouth trademark act.

“No,” I agreed. “Evan isn't at all stiff. He's actually kind of fun. I never would have suspected fun from someone with his prestige, someone in his station. Shows what I know about people.”

Laura joined us then, a glass of sparkling water in her hand and a frown on her face. “I don't get Simon's stuff,” she said abruptly. “It looks like something a kindergartener could do.”

Nell opened her mouth, no doubt to insult her sister, but thought better of it. Like Nell, I'd long ago given up any hope of educating Laura in art history or appreciation.

“Well,” I said, suppressing a smile, “Simon's work is not to everyone's taste.”

“Matt would hate it,” she said. “I'm glad I didn't ask him to come.”

“Where is he tonight?” Jess asked. Of course, she knew the answer; we all did.

Laura shrugged. “Oh, there's some stupid football thing on TV, or maybe one of his friends has a video of some game; I don't know. They get together and watch these old games over and over. It drives me crazy. I mean, how boring!”

“Well, I won't say I told you so, but I told you so.”

Laura stuck out her tongue at Jess. “I'm going to the ladies' room and then I'm going to head off. I'm in the mood for a hamburger.”

“I see Laura's given up alcohol,” Nell said when her sister was out of earshot. “She must be purifying the vessel.”

I nodded. “She's gained a lot of weight lately, but otherwise she looks okay. I just hope she's happy.”

“Me, too.” Jess frowned. “She's known Matt for such a short time. It's awfully soon for her to make a commitment to marriage.”

“Well,” Nell said, “the wedding isn't for months yet. Hopefully she'll come to what few senses she has before then and call it off.”

There was a moment of awkward silence. Then Jess said, “You know something we don't know, about Laura and Matt.”

“I might. But I've promised to support Laura in this craziness and I will. Now, if you ladies will excuse me, I'm going to strike up a conversation with that tall fellow by the door.”

“She's amazing,” Jess said when Nell was gone. “She's gotten past the Richard crisis so quickly.”

“Nell's a lot tougher than she looks. I don't worry about her like I worry about Laura.”

Jess raised an eyebrow. “Do you worry about me?”

“I did,” I admitted. “For a while, but not so much anymore. I think you're over the worst part of the post-divorce trauma. Am I right?”

“I think so. Yes, probably.”

Laughter that sounded more like a series of shrieks broke out behind us. We both turned to see Simon with his arms around two college-aged girls in almost identical outfits—a flouncy, low-cut, sleeveless blouse; low-slung white jeans; and spiky sandals. Each girl held a glass of white wine and was gazing adoringly at the artist.

“Jess,” I said, “meet Brittany and Brianna.”

“Your interns?”

“Yup. I don't know how they got into a supposedly private party. Well, I wish them luck, whatever happens after hours.”

We both turned away from the spectacle.

“You know,” Jess said, “now I almost want to warn them about getting involved with Simon. But I suppose the best way to learn a lesson is to go ahead and make the mistake.”

I laughed. “Ah, yes, the joys of experience.”

The shrieks erupted again, but this time neither of us bothered to look.

“Does Simon know about you and Evan?” Jess asked. “I mean, that you're a couple.”

“I don't know,” I said. “I kind of doubt it. Simon is so self-absorbed he doesn't notice the majority of what's going on around him.”

“Someone might have told him, though. One of his friends.”

“I suppose,” I admitted. “But they're not the most perceptive bunch, either. Which, I suppose, is an odd thing to say about a group of artists. Besides, it's not as if I've made a formal announcement that Evan and I are dating.”

A waiter offered us a scallop wrapped in bacon, which we declined. When he'd gone off, beckoned loudly by Simon, who knew how to stuff himself with free food, Jess said, “But it's obvious when you two are together, even when you're not touching. It's the way you look at each other.”

I smiled. “I love looking at Evan. I never thought I'd be in this place again and I'm so grateful to . . . I don't know, the universe, fate, whatever, for giving me a second chance on real love and passion.”

“I'm so happy for you, Grace, I really am. You so deserve this.”

“Deserve?” I said. “I don't know about that!”

Jess nodded over my shoulder. I looked to see Evan. He winked, smiled, and went back to a conversation with a man he'd introduced to me earlier as a gallery owner visiting from New York.

“Simon's never seen you with another man, has he?” Jess asked.

I thought about that for a moment. “I guess not,” I said. “I doubt he knew about Alfonse. And there wasn't anyone else in my life of any significance. Gosh, how pathetic!”

I snuck another look at my ex-husband, who was at that moment downing a glass of red wine as if it were a soda.

“Is Simon the jealous type?” Jess asked.

I laughed. “I wouldn't know! I don't think it ever occurred to Simon while we were married that I might fall in love with someone else or that another man might find me attractive. Simon believes he's the most important person in the world. I don't think it's ever crossed his mind he might need to be on guard against other men. I don't think it's ever crossed his mind he might have to work on a relationship.”

“But when you divorced him,” Jess said, “he must have felt rejected. No one is that impervious to pain. No one is that self-assured.”

Not even Simon?

“Well,” I said, “it's not like the divorce meant the end of our relationship. Simon might have felt rejected at first—though honestly, I saw no signs of it—but before long, I was at his beck and call again. Nothing much changed for a long time. Not until these past few months.”

“Oh, these past few months have seen a lot of change for all of us!”

“Mostly good, I hope.”

Jess shrugged. “The good has been slow in arriving, but it will come. I have to believe that or go nuts.”

“No going nuts allowed. Hey, speaking of changes for the good, I've started to paint again. On my own, I mean, not for use at school.”

“That's fantastic, Grace! You're an inspiration, you and Nell. Life gave you lemons and you made lemonade.”

“Not to rely on a cliché . . .”

Nell rejoined us. “What cliché?” she asked.

“Nothing,” Jess said. “So, how was your chat with the tall man in the navy blazer?”

“Very nice. He seems to be a good conversationalist. And he asked me out for a drink after the opening.”

“What did you say?” I asked. Nell really was an inspiration. She'd gone from naive wife to independent woman about town in a few short months.

“I said yes. He's a friend of Evan's. At least he says he is. I'll give him a mini third degree and if I smell a rat, I'll hop a cab home.”

“I'll ask Evan about him right now,” I said, “if you like.”

Nell shook her head. “Don't bother. I'm sure he's fine. I'm just being more cautious these days.”

“After that awful episode with, what was his name, Brian something or other?” Jess asked.

I thought I saw an uneasy look in Nell's eyes, but it passed. Maybe I imagined it.

“Oh, yes,” she said. “You know, Trina still swears she had no idea he was such a horror show.”

“And you believe her?” I asked.

“I do. Since I told her that Mr. Kennedy deserves to be behind bars, she's made it her personal mission—well, aside from divorcing Miles, of course—to get his victims to go to the police.”

Jess smiled. “Good for her. I bet she can be very convincing. But what about you, Nell? Are you going to help the cause?”

Nell hesitated. “I'll do what I can,” she said finally. “Even if all it means is that I help pay for a lawyer if something goes to court. I'm sorry if that sounds weak. Maybe I'll find more courage in time.”

Before either of us could answer—and honestly, I wasn't sure what to say—Nell excused herself to go to the ladies' room.

I spotted Evan at the door, greeting a group of three quite elderly people, two men and a woman. His graciousness and social ease continued to impress me.

“I think I can take back my jewelry now,” I said suddenly.

Jess looked a bit surprised. “Are you sure? It's no problem at all for me to hold on to it.”

“I'm sure,” I said. “I'm really finally over Simon and our sick little dynamic. I'm working on a healthy relationship with Evan.” And then I laughed. “Besides, look at my ex-husband now.”

Jess turned to where Simon was standing by the largest of his canvases. He was surrounded by fawning women, young and old, including the elderly woman who'd just arrived. Brittany and Brianna stood on the periphery of the group, pouting. Brittany's face was an alarming shade of red. I suspected that before long, Brianna would be holding her friend's hair while she vomited in the nearest alley.

“I think,” I said, “that Simon will meet his next mommy tonight.”

Jess turned back to me. “So, you're never opening your door for him again.”

“Nope.”

“Good for you. I'll bring the jewelry over tomorrow evening if that's okay.”

“It is. We'll celebrate my liberation with a glass of champagne. Evan gave me a bottle for a special occasion with a friend. Isn't that a thoughtful gift?”

“He's a keeper; there's no doubt.”

I looked closely at my friend. During her messy divorce and for a long time after, she'd looked a bit worn out, as if she'd hardly been eating or sleeping. Now, I thought I saw more animation in her features. There was something brighter about her all around.

“And you, Jess?” I asked. “Anyone on the horizon aside from Mr. Real Estate?”

“No,” she said, “no one else on the horizon. Nick would like to get serious, but I'm just not ready to commit myself again. In fact, I'm really not sure how long he'll stay with a woman who's not interested in getting married any time soon. So, the future stretches out before me like an open road. It lies before me like an empty book or a—well, you get my meaning.”

“I do. Sometimes it's nice not to have a plan or a goal. It's nice just to live each day and see what happens. Of course, I don't really know what I'm talking about because all my life I've been busy as a beaver, plotting and planning for myself and for Simon.”

Jess gave me a considering look. “Evan's not entirely Simon's opposite, is he? I mean, he's not a control freak, I hope.”

I looked around the crowded room for Evan. I spotted him listening to the animated chatting of a tiny man everyone knew as “that tiny man who shows up at every art-related event and never buys a thing!”

I looked back to Jess. “I don't know for sure,” I admitted. “I don't think he's a control freak, but I suppose I'll learn in time. Like you, I'm in no mad rush to make a commitment I'm not ready to make.”

Jess raised her almost-empty champagne glass. “Here's to enjoying the moment.”

I raised mine to hers. “Here's to independence, in all its many forms.”

Our toast was cut short by a loud thud and the shattering of glass.

I laughed. Simon had finally crashed his way up onto the drinks table.

“For the first time in my life,” I said to Jess, “I'm going to enjoy the show. Because this time, I don't have to clean up after it.”