Happily Ever After? (4 page)

I was the first to arrive. A wholesome college girl named Jenna met us at the door. She was Lynette’s sitter.
She was studying to be an elementary school teacher. Lynette had all the luck finding sitters. They never hit on her husband,
they never yelled at her kid, they never used the phone or ate all the Milano cookies, and they always came with a backpack
full of puzzles and age-appropriate videos and old-fashioned books like
Mike Mulligan’s Steam Shovel.
Jenna reached her hand out to Pete and said, “Do you like race cars? We set up the coolest track in Hunter’s room.” Pete
took her hand and smiled. Pig heaven.

I wished I could go up and see the racetrack too. I didn’t want to stay downstairs with all the grown-ups and pretend to admire
the obscenely expensive Klenkastreicher baskets. I owned enough baskets. I bought them at Target. Six bucks, nine tops. Why
on earth would I want to spend $85 on another basket to gather dust on top of my kitchen cabinets?

Poor Lynette. I knew she’d been pressured into this party by Caroline Bacher, who’d been pressured into her first Klenkastreicher
party by none other than C.J. Patterson, the Klenkastreicher queen, who, thankfully, was absent at this affair. I helped myself
to a glass of sangria and then another. By the time Lynette started the party games, I was relaxed, to say the least.

“Okay, ladies, here we go!” Lynette was holding up a small woven basket, about the size of an ostrich egg. I could see the
price tag from where I was sitting. It was $35. “You each have a pencil and notepad. In the next
two minutes, I want you to list as many uses for this little beauty as you can dream up. Use your imagination! Don’t hold
back! Whoever comes up with the most ideas gets a prize!” A low murmur rippled through the group. Lynette reached into a pocket
and pulled out a red plastic stopwatch. “Ready, set … go!”

I was amazed to see every woman bend her head and begin scribbling seriously, frantically, like high schoolers on the essay
portion of their final exams. At first I thought it was funny, but then my competitive spirit kicked in and I, too, was scribbling.
“Okay,” Lynette said, staring at the stopwatch.” Three, two, one, and stop!”

There was a collective sound of pencils grinding to a halt, and a few self-conscious giggles. “Okay. Here’s the fun part.
Let’s go around the circle and see what we’ve come up with, okay?”

Letha Krause was first to go: “Uh, I’ve got a bunch here. Tissues, pennies, jellybeans, coins, store receipts, pooper scooper
bags”—scattered tittering—“sunglasses, jewelry, dog treats?”

Applause and approving nods all around. “Very good, Letha! Excellent! Valerie?”

By this time I’d shifted to the spiked lemonade. I stood up and smoothed my denim skirt. “Here it goes.” I cleared my throat.
“Keys, spare change, antidepressants, after dinner mints, keys—wait, I said that already. Did I mention antidepressants? Oh,
and
tampons and chocolate kisses and batteries and all the little crap that you keep throwing into the junk drawer, and hair doodads
and condoms.”

Someone made a choking noise and there was the sound of suburban asses shifting uncomfortably in their seats. Lynette looked
pained. Then Donna Gold, a willowy redhead I knew from aerobics class, let out an enormous guffaw. “Jesus, that’s more like
it. Now that’s what I call a list! Jesus! Oh, God. How funny!” A few other women giggled politely, but only Donna was truly
hysterical, laughing so hard she shook and sizzled like a spaghetti pot boiling over.

After the party (I managed to escape with a baguette basket for “only” $29), Donna stopped me at the door. “Don’t you just
love these Klenkastreicher parties?” She rolled her eyes. “Sometimes I have to remind myself: Donna, you used to have a job
in the real world. You were a productive member of society. There was a time when you actually did something besides toting
your children to basketball practice and going to Klenkastreicher parties.”

“And what was that?” I asked her. “I mean, what did you do before you started toting kids to basketball practice and going
to Klenkastreicher parties?”

She looked at me. “I forgot.”

’Til next time,

V

“We’re on the home stretch, Val. We’ve got a date.”

It was Omar. He’d called to tell me we’re going to court Friday morning. I was stunned. It was finally happening.

“So what’s it going to be, Val, a Porsche or BMW?”

“Huh?” What the hell was he talking about?

“A Porsche or BMW? Or maybe that’s too low-rent for you? Are you thinking Bentley?”

“You’ve got a great imagination, Omar,” I told him.

“Actually, I have a horrible imagination. That’s what my kindergarten teacher told my mother. These aren’t flights of fancy,
Valerie. It’s your life. You’re going to be a very, very rich woman.”

“If you say so, Omar.” I hung up the phone and, for a moment, considered his original question. Porsche or BMW? Or Bentley?
The prospect made me laugh out loud.

The phone rang as soon as I set it down. “Okay, already. A Porsche. I’ll buy myself a Porsche! Are you happy?”

“Delighted,” came the smooth, sly response. “As long as you take me for a ride.” It wasn’t Omar.

It was Diana.

“Diana?”

“That’s me.” She made a kind of purring sound, a low gurgling in the back of her throat. “So, where shall
we go in your gorgeous new vehicle? Let’s see…. Oooh, I know! Vegas! Yes! Let’s do Vegas, absolutely. We’ll be those two chicks
from the movie. Ethel and Louise?”

“Thelma.”

“Ethel and Thelma?”

“Thelma and Louise.”

“Right. And we can wear kerchiefs and sunglasses and put the top down—you
are
getting a convertible, aren’t you?”

“Yes. No. I mean, I don’t know. When the phone rang, I thought you were—.”

“Omar? He’s
fabulous,
isn’t he? I told you he was the best, didn’t I?”

“Yes, he is; and yes, you did.”

“And? Did he get you tons of money? Did he leave your wretched ex-husband destitute? God, I hope so. The bastard.”

“We go to court on Friday.”

“Friday? Fabulous.
Fabulous!
So, what does your crystal ball tell you? Are you going to be outrageously wealthy? Are we driving to Vegas with the top
down?”

“My crystal ball?”

“Crystal ball, Ouija board, tea leaves—whatever. You’re a psychic, darling. I read all about it. You’ve got a
gift!
”

“No, I don’t have a gift. It was just a strange coincidence.”

“I don’t believe in coincidences, Valerie. No. Everything
happens for a reason, a higher purpose. That’s what I believe.”

“Okay. Then what’s the higher purpose behind this phone call?”

Diana sniffed. “Aw, don’t give me the bum’s rush, baby. I wanted to see how you’re doing. I thought you’d be happy to hear
from me. I thought we were
friends!
”

I felt a guilty twinge. Diana was the first person to tell the whole truth about Roger, his affairs, his fortune. But she’d
been miserable to me before that, getting in between me and Eddie, insinuating herself into my household as Roger’s “research
assistant.” I never completely understood why her loyalties shifted. This was as good a time as any to find out. “Diana?”
I began. “As long as we’re on the subject of friendship, could I ask a question?”

“Of course.”

“I never understood why you wanted to help me. I thought that you and Roger were such good buddies.”

“We were as thick as thieves—when I was drinking. And then I got sober and realized what a dick he is. And what a jewel you
are. You are a jewel; you know that, don’t you? A gem. A truly beautiful person.”

“Did you think you were in love with me?” I had to know.

“I didn’t
think
anything. I
knew.
Love, lust, yes. All of it. And I was sober and I saw Roger with a clarity I’d
never known before, and I saw myself—my old self— with that same clarity and I knew I had to make amends, and I knew I had
to tell you everything. About Roger. And I wanted to see you happy. Rich and happy and free.”

I took a moment to digest everything. “Well, I am happy. And, yes, I suppose I’m free. As for rich … I guess you’ll have to
call me back on Friday.”

“May I?”

“What?”

“Call you back. On Friday?”

I took a deep breath. Did I really want to open this door? Sober or not, Diana still felt like a wolf, teeth bared, panting
at my heels. She was a tight knot of intensity, all nerve endings, as purely sexual as a dildo. “Sure,” I told her. “Call
me on Friday.”

“Oh, goody! I’ll do that. I’ll call you!” She sounded so grateful it made me feel guilty. “Maybe we’ll have something to celebrate.
Should I chill something fizzy?”

“I thought you were sober.”

“I meant sparkling grape juice, you silly goose.”

“Sure, go ahead and chill the juice. You can have a party.”

“Not me. We. I’ll bring the bottle.”

“Let’s not put the cart before the horse,” I told her, knowing how prissy that sounded and wondering why she brought out the
priss in me. “I’ve got to go.”

I found myself thinking of how Diana looked that afternoon
at the hotel, lying in wait, so naked, so beautiful and sly.

’Til next time,

V

I went downtown for lunch, then stopped at the hardware store to buy those stupid globe lightbulbs in Pete’s bathroom, cursing
the builder for using ten of them in every bathroom. As I approached the Jeep, I could see a parking ticket under my windshield
and I was furious. My third ticket this year! I lifted the wiper and pulled the ticket out and stared at the list of violations.
Overtime parking. Parking adjacent to a fire hydrant. Parking in a permit-restricted zone. My heart slammed against my chest.
What the hell?

Then I saw the note. “Gotcha! Have a sweet day. Michael.”

I called him at the precinct from my cell phone. “I’m not laughing,” I said, still shaking.

“Oh, Valerie, did I scare you? I’m so sorry. I thought you’d get a kick out of it.”

I wanted to stay mad, but his tone, his sincere contrition, worked like a salve on my anger. I softened. “Well, it was kind
of cute.”

“I can accept cute. I was aiming for charming, though.”

“Charming? Charming is putting a flower under the windshield, not a parking ticket with every possible violation checked off.”

“Oh, you’re right, of course you are. How stupid of me. I can be such a dunce.”

I pictured Michael sitting in the corner of a classroom with a big white cone on his head. I saw his broad shoulders and big
hands, his freckled neck, the little scar above his lip. “No, no. You’re not a dunce.” I was filled with a warm, gooey affection
for him. I wanted to cradle him, stroke his copper hair and kiss him on the forehead. “What are you doing handing out parking
tickets anyway?” I said, changing the subject. “I thought you were a detective.”

“When I saw your Jeep outside the hardware store I grabbed one of the PVOs off the street—.”

“PVO?”

“Parking Violations Officers. What we used to call meter maids.”

“So you grabbed her and probably made her day.”

“So I asked the PVO for a blank ticket,” he continued, sidestepping my reference to his appeal, “and she gave me one, and,
well, hence the note.”

“Hence the note,” I repeated, marveling at how cute he sounded when he used words like
hence.

“Forgive me?”

“Yes, my son, all is forgiven. Say three Hail Marys and call me in the morning.”

“You’ve never been to confession, have you?”

“I’m not Catholic.”

“I can handle that,” he said.

“Oh, and what does that mean?” “Oh, nothing. Hey. No more parking tickets. I promise.” His voice was breaking up.

“My cell phone’s running out of juice,” I said.

“Cell phone? Are you in the car?”

“Yup.”

“In that case, I’ll let you go. I’d rather you drive safe, okay?”

“Yessir!” I said, feeling safe and cared for, something I haven’t felt in quite some time.

’Til next time,

V

Went to Lynette’s house to pick up Petey and my new baguette basket. She looked as if she’d been crying, then forced herself
to perk up. “You didn’t have to buy this, you know.” She put the basket in a paisley gift bag and tied it with a bright green
bow. “I just thought you’d enjoy being out and about.”

I noticed a few dirty dishes in the sink, a red flag if there ever was one. “Lynette, is everything okay?”

She smoothed her hair. “Fine, fine, I’m fine.” She pulled a crumpled tissue from her sleeve and blew in a quiet, ladylike
way. “Allergies. Happens every year.” She
blew again and stared at me. “I’m fine, really.” She gave me a plaintive, please-don’t-probe look. I backed off. I took my
basket and went home. I called when I got home but no one answered. Went to Josie’s for a new pair of shoes. Found a daisy
under my window wiper.

’Til next time,

V

Pete said he hates his new soccer team, and hates me for pulling him out of Jerry’s team. He said he would never forgive me.

I started crying, surprising myself and scaring my son. I tried to explain that my crying had nothing to do with him, that
I was stressed and tired, that I was nervous about an important appointment.

“What kind of appointment?” he asked, now curious and apparently no longer hating me.

“Just a grown-up kind of appointment, nothing you need to think about.”

“With Daddy?”

“Yes, sweetie, your dad will be there.”

“Are you going to marry him again?”

“No, sweetheart, Dad and I aren’t going to marry each other again. But we’ll always love you just as much.” Pete frowned.

“Hey.” I kneeled down to make eye contact with
him. “You want to talk about this? About me and your dad?”

He shook his head. “Can we have pizza tonight?”

I hugged him and he resisted me, contracting in my embrace. “You know, Pete, you don’t have to be afraid to talk about this.”