Grand Avenue (23 page)

The Grand Dames weren’t so grand without Chris.

Barbara reached the exercise room at the end of the long hall, spotted Susan slogging along on one of six treadmills, Vicki pounding away on the closest of three StairMasters. That can’t be good for you, Barbara thought, pushing open the glass door with the weight of her shoulder, feeling an immediate wave of heat wash across her face.

“There she is!” Vicki called out, as five sweaty heads snapped in her direction. “We wondered what happened to you.”

“We were starting to worry,” Susan admonished.

“Sorry. I lost track of the time.” Barbara dropped her parcels to the floor and slipped her coat from her shoulders, revealing a newly purchased blue-and-black-striped leotard underneath. She realized she’d forgotten her sneakers.

“That’s a pretty outfit,” Susan said. She was wearing a pair of loose gray jogging pants and a shapeless white T-shirt. Her chin-length brown hair was damp with exertion. “When did you get that?”

“This morning.”

Susan shook her head, dislodging several large beads of perspiration that quickly dribbled from her forehead to the tip of her nose. “Something tells me a certain college professor isn’t going to be very happy.” A bead of sweat fell toward her mouth, teetered precariously on the bow of her upper lip.

“Next time he gets a divorce, he should read the fine print,” Vicki said, jumping off the StairMaster, giving Barbara’s arm a squeeze as she headed for the free weights in the center of the room. She wore black
shorts and a matching T-shirt with a Bodies by Design logo over her left breast.

“She’s pregnant again,” Barbara announced, the words echoing against her ears, making her dizzy.

“What?”

“Who?”

“Rotten Ron and Putrid Pammy,” Barbara told them, steadying herself against a nearby bench. “They’re expecting another baby in June. Can you believe it? She’s still nursing barf-faced Brandon, for God’s sake.”

“When did you find out?”

“Tracey called from Ron’s first thing this morning.”

“How’s she taking it?”

“She’s fine,” Barbara marveled. “You know Tracey. Nothing fazes her.”

“How about you?” Susan slowed the speed of her treadmill, looked at Barbara with concerned eyes.

“I’m okay.” Barbara shrugged, although in truth she was anything but okay. She hadn’t slept well in weeks, and the weekends Tracey spent with Ron were especially difficult. She’d gotten used to having Tracey sleep beside her in bed. The news of Pam’s pregnancy had hit her with the force of a ten-pound barbell dropped squarely on her head. Spending her ex-husband’s money had provided only temporary relief. Even the knowledge that it was her former mother-in-law who was most likely footing the bills brought with it only momentary satisfaction.

I’ve made such a mess, Barbara thought now, knowing how angry Ron would be at her continuing extravagance. Hadn’t he already threatened to take her
back to court if she didn’t start controlling her spending? What was she trying to do? Didn’t she know that by forcing his hand she could get slapped in the face?

Barbara spun around, trying to avoid her reflection in the walls of mirrors that surrounded her. What was there to see, after all, but a pathetic, middle-aged woman in a stupid blue-and-black leotard whose horizontal stripes only emphasized the thickening of her waistline. What was she doing here anyway? Exercise wouldn’t help her. Nothing would help her.

“So, did you hear the news about Kevin?” Vicki was asking.

“Kevin?” Susan repeated, as Barbara’s heart stopped.

Good God, she thought. He has AIDS. I’m dead.

“My trainer,” Vicki said.
“Our
trainer.” She extended a barbell in Barbara’s direction. “Ex-trainer, I guess I should say.”

“He’s dead?” Barbara gasped.

“Dead! No, he just got fired, that’s all. Why would you think he was dead, for God’s sake?”

“Why did he get fired?” Barbara asked, ignoring the question, trying to regain her composure.

“Apparently he was sleeping with half his clients. Management got wind of it and fired his cute little ass.”

“Did you?” Barbara asked, horrified by the thought she and her friend might have been sharing the same cute little ass.

“Did I what? Sleep with Kevin? Are you kidding? I make it a practice never to sleep with anyone prettier than I am. Did you?”

“What? Of course not.”

“Too bad,” Vicki said, returning the ten-pound weight to its stand, picking up two fives, lifting them behind her neck and above her head. “I guess I don’t have to ask you,” she said, glancing at Susan, whose only reply was an exaggerated roll of her eyes. “Didn’t think so. Anyway, I’m going to have to cut this short, I’m afraid. I have a client coming in at two o’clock.”

“It’s Saturday,” Susan reminded her.

“It’s business,” Vicki replied. “How’s lunch on Friday? I checked my calendar, and I actually have an hour free.”

“Can’t,” Susan said. “I’m having lunch with my supervisor on Friday.”

“Ooh, that sounds interesting. What’s he like anyway?”

“Very nice. Very smart.”

“Very cute I understand.”

“I hadn’t noticed.”

Now it was Vicki’s turn to roll her eyes. “God, Susan, you’re no fun. Is she, Barbara?”

Barbara shrugged, waited for Vicki to extend the luncheon invitation to her. But Vicki continued lifting the weights above her head in silence, and nothing more was said about lunch on Friday.

“Okay, got to go. Talk to you guys later,” Vicki announced minutes later, dropping the weights, gathering up her belongings, throwing kisses at the air, and exiting the room in a series of abrupt moves that made her look like a blurred photograph.

It’s only a matter of time till she’s out of my life entirely, Barbara thought, watching the door close
behind her. First Chris had left her, then Ron. Now Vicki and Susan were drawing closer together, sharing time and confidences, increasingly leaving her out in the cold. Hell, even Kevin’s cute little ass was gone. How long before Tracey decided she’d rather live with her father? How long before she had no one?

“Barbara?”

Barbara saw Susan dismount the treadmill, take several steps toward her.

“Barbara, what’s going on?”

“Going on? What do you mean?”

“I’ve been talking to you for the last two minutes, and you haven’t heard a thing I’ve said, have you?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Are you all right?”

“Sure. Why? Is there a problem?”

“You tell me. You’re just standing there in the middle of the room. You haven’t moved since you took off your coat.”

Barbara swallowed the surprising threat of tears. What was the matter with her? “I guess I just don’t feel much like exercising today.”

“What
do
you feel like?”

“Graeter’s ice cream,” Barbara responded softly, waiting for Susan’s gentle rebuke.

Instead Susan laughed. “Sounds wonderful.”

“You game?”

“Can’t,” Susan apologized. “Owen’s picking me up in half an hour. We’re going to visit my mother.”

Barbara felt instantly guilty she hadn’t inquired about Susan’s mother, who was in the hospital recovering from her most recent, surgery. Poor woman—a
mastectomy last year, and now another operation to remove a cancerous lymph node from her neck. “How is she?”

Susan tried to smile, but her lips only wobbled weakly before disappearing one inside the other.

“She’ll be all right.”

“I know.” Susan climbed onto one of the stationary bicycles, then immediately climbed back off. “To hell with exercise. Life’s too damn short, and I’ve got half an hour till Owen shows up. What are we waiting for? Let’s go to Graeter’s.” Her arm slipped across Barbara’s shoulder. “Have I told you lately that I love you?” she asked with a sad smile.

“Tell me again,” Barbara said.

She was coming out of Saks when she saw him.

No, Barbara told herself immediately, wiping the late-afternoon sun out of her eyes, feeling the dampness of lingering tears. What was the matter with her? Why was she crying, for God’s sake? The salesgirl hadn’t meant to upset her. She was a child, for heaven’s sake. What did she know of diplomacy, of tact, of life? “Lalique has just put out this wonderful new line of products for mature skin,” she’d said when Barbara had asked about a new face cream. And suddenly Barbara was crying. Right there in the middle of the makeup department at Saks. Right there in front of the horrified salesgirl and curious passersby.

It seemed as if she were crying all the time these days, as if all anybody had to do was look at her the wrong way or say the wrong thing or even think it, and right away, she was bawling her eyes out, which Dr.
Steeves would undoubtedly tell her was the worst thing she could do.

She was so tired. Tired of her days. More tired of her nights. Tired of coping. Tired of hurting. Tired of shopping, for God’s sake. Tired of pretending that everything would be all right, that Ron would come to his senses and come home. He was never coming home. She knew that. He had Pammy and Brandon and another baby on the way. A whole new life. And what did she have? The scars from the old one.

Sometimes she thought it would be nice just to fall asleep one night and never wake up. Maybe the anesthetist will put me to sleep, she remembered thinking during her last cosmetic procedure, and something will go wrong and I’ll never come to. It happens. She’d read about it often enough. And then Vicki could sue and make Tracey a wealthy young woman. Her friends would look after Tracey, and Barbara wouldn’t have to worry anymore about staying young and pretending to move forward with her life. What life?

Barbara pictured the bottle of painkillers in her medicine cabinet at home. Surely if she swallowed them all, that would be the end of her misery. She’d literally feel no pain. Her pitiful excuse for a life would be over and done with, no more waiting around for her body to catch up to her soul. Except then Tracey would find her, and Tracey would no doubt blame herself, assume she’d failed her mother, and she couldn’t do that to her daughter, she couldn’t inflict that kind of horror on the one person who mattered more to her than anything else in the world. Barbara recalled how devastated she’d been at her own mother’s death, how
alone she’d felt, how black the world had seemed, how pointless her existence.

But Tracey had saved her. Barbara hadn’t allowed herself the luxury of falling apart because she’d had an infant daughter to take care of, and the same was true now. Tracey might be a teenager, but she was still her baby. And she needed her mother. As much as ever. Maybe more. Together, they would get through this. Together they could get through anything.

What was the matter with her? Why couldn’t she be more like Susan, who took difficult situations in her stride, or Vicki, who bulldozed her way right through them? Or Chris, who just seemed to accept whatever hardship and indignity life tossed her way. Oh, God, poor Chris. Poor, sweet, wonderful Chris. Why was she thinking about her so much lately? Was it because Christmas was only a month away, and Chris had always taken such a child’s delight in the holidays? Losing Chris had been like an amputation. The limb had been severed, but even now, years later, the phantom pain remained.

Which would explain why she was seeing ghosts, apparitions that weren’t there. Walking out of Saks, Christmas music ringing in her ears, seeing a stranger cross the street, his face buried against the collar of his heavy jacket, her mind playing tricks, thoughts of Chris swirling around in her brain like the errant flakes of snow the wind was pushing in her eyes, the glare of the sun slapping Tony’s features onto the stranger’s face, the man disappearing into the crowd, the apparition vanishing.

Of course it wasn’t Tony.

Except suddenly there he was again, Barbara realized, as she was pulling her car out of the parking lot behind the post office at Fifth and Main. And this time there was no mistaking him for anything other than what he was—a vile, evil, little man. “My God,” Barbara whispered, her heartbeat quickening, her breath creating small pockets of steam on the car’s front window. “What do I do now?” she whispered out loud, slowing her car to a crawl, lowering her chin and her eyes in case Tony looked over and saw her.

He walked quickly, his strides long and confident as he turned left onto Sixth Street. Barbara steered her car around the corner, careful to keep a comfortable distance between them, pulling into an available space at the side of the road when Tony stopped for a second to tie his shoelace. Of course he wasn’t wearing boots, Barbara thought derisively. Too damn macho for that.

Where were they going? How long was she planning to follow him?

At Race Street, Tony turned left. Now they were right in the heart of the hotel district, the Cincinnatian, the Clarion, the Terrace Hilton. Was it possible he was staying in town at one of these hotels? Probably she should get out of her car and follow him on foot, Barbara thought, deciding that was a stupid idea. She’d never be able to keep up with him, especially in these heels, and besides, what if he suddenly got into his car and took off, then where would she be?

They were back at Saks, she realized. Why? Where was he going? Was he walking around in circles? Did he know she was following him? Barbara ducked down in her seat, slammed on the brake. The man in
the car behind her blared his displeasure with a loud blast of his horn. Barbara felt her breath escape in short, painful spasms. She was afraid to sit up, afraid to raise her eyes. What if Tony was standing beside her car window? What if he was standing there right now, looking down at her with that awful satisfied smirk across his face?

Behind her, impatient drivers honked their horns. Barbara slowly lifted her head, like a turtle emerging from its protective shell. Tony was gone. “Shit!” Barbara exclaimed, slamming her hand against the wheel, listening with horror to the sound of her own horn slicing through the outside air.

And then, there he was again, pulling an old blue Nissan into the traffic, turning right onto Elm Street. Barbara cut in front of a black VW, whose owner promptly gave her the finger, then passed another car on the inside lane. Tony turned right at Sixth Street, turned right again on Central Avenue and again at Seventh Street. And suddenly they were out of the Fountain Square District and on Gilbert Avenue. They passed the Greyhound Bus Terminal, bypassed the Mount Adams District, and headed into the 184 beautiful acres that made up the historic district of Eden Park.