Small Change (8 page)

“Well, we have a grade school class we need you to help with, too. But don't worry. You'll only be an assistant. Gene the gymnastics coach will be the instructor.”

Still. Mounting a beam? What else was she going to have to
help with? Someone was whimpering and Jess realized that someone was her.

“You'll be fine,” Mary Lou assured her.

“Are you sure you don't need another tennis instructor?” asked Jess.

“We might later this summer, but not now. What I really need is a kinder gym teacher.” Mary Lou cocked an eyebrow.

Jess thought of the office assignments she wasn't getting and could almost hear the old Beatle's song “Money” playing at the back of her brain like a soundtrack. “Okay. Teach me a forward roll.”

Mary Lou beamed. “All right. You do it exactly like we tell the kids: tuck and roll.” She turned herself into a tight ball and rolled across the mat, then bounced back up like a spring. “See? Nothing to it.”

Right. The last time Jess had been able to curl up that tightly was in the womb with her thumb in her mouth. She took a deep breath, then squatted on the mat and tried to turn herself into a ball. All the blood rushed to her head as she bent over and she suddenly felt sick. The thought of what she looked like from behind made her even sicker.

Mary Lou was next to her now, coaching her. “Tuck a little more.”

Easy for her to say. She didn't have to figure out where to tuck a couple of 38Ds. Jess made a superhuman effort, rallying every muscle in her body to help fold her into something that would roll. The sound of ripping fabric echoed through the gym.

“Please tell me that wasn't my pants,” Jess groaned and started to straighten up.

“Never mind. They're already split so you may as well keep going,” said Mary Lou, and proceeded to turn Jess into a pretzel.

Now Jess could barely breathe, but she managed to protest, “Hey, I'm not made of elastic.”

“Stretch more and you will be. Come on now, roll.”

Rolling was preferable to getting smothered by her own boobs. Jess let gravity take over and started forward. She was doing great until her nose made contact with something hard. Her knee, of course. She saw stars and rolled over onto her side, landing like a beached whale. “Oooh, my dose.” She reached a tentative hand to her nose and discovered it was bleeding. Great. Mary Lou could trot her out when she wanted to show the kids what not to do.

Her friend handed her a tissue. “Are you okay?”

In the space of ten seconds she'd managed to split her pants and give herself a nosebleed. Oh, yeah. She was great, a real natural. She flopped back on the mat, pinching her nose. “Fide.”

“Maybe you really aren't cut out for this,” mused Mary Lou.

Oh, no. She'd already washed out as a temp. She'd be darned if she'd flunk forward rolls. “I can do this,” she insisted. “Let's try it again.”

Half an hour later she limped to her car while all the muscles in her body cried, “Pain, pain, pain.”

“Oh, shut up,” she told them. “No pain, no gain.”

And she had gained something today. She was now a Park Department employee. She wasn't going to make a fortune at this, but at least she'd be making something. And, at this point, some-thing was better than nothing. She only hoped she didn't spend all her paycheck on aspirin and muscle cream.

Tiffany had driven straight home from work on Saturday. No bargain-hunting detours. (What was the point without a credit
card?) She didn't even so much as stop at the grocery store. Not only had she spent no money, she'd acquired a free book on how to live great on next to nothing. She could already hear how the conversation with her husband would go.

B
RIAN
:
You didn't so much as stop at the grocery store? That's amazing. And what's this, a book on saving money?

T
IFFANY
(looking modest):
I didn't pay anything for it. I'm going to save us so much money from now on, you won't believe it.

B
RIAN
:
I'm proud of you, Tiffy.

But the conversation did not go as planned.

“
Diva on a Dime,
huh?” he said, stopping work on the Jeep and wiping his hands on a rag. “You really think you can do that?”

“I'm going to try,” she said.

“The diva part won't be a problem,” he said, frowning at the book. “You already work that pretty good.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, we don't need half the stuff you bring home. This book looks like one more way to get you to spend money.” He took it and flipped through the pages, landing on the chapter that dealt with how to save on jewelry. He began reading, growing a frown in the process.

“Those are good tips,” Tiffany insisted. “Give it back. You're getting it all greasy.”

“Yeah, well, an even better tip is don't buy the stuff in the first place,” he said, handing over the book.

“I wasn't going to,” she said. “I'm trying, Brian. I'm really trying. Anyway, Jess and Rachel found me this book at the library, so it didn't cost us a thing.”

Of course, he hugged her and said he was sorry, but things were a little strained after that. Oh, they pretended everything was all right. They spent the evening with friends, playing Wii. Then they came home and went to bed and he kissed her good night.

And that was all. There it was, proof that everything wasn't all right (as if she'd needed any proof!). It hadn't been so long ago that on a Saturday night Brian would have been all over her. And she'd have been all over him, too, and not only on a Saturday. Friday and Sunday and Tuesday and Wednesday, and sometimes, even Thursday. After her second miscarriage, sex had dwindled down to the weekends. Now Brian was claiming he was stressed, but she knew, deep down, he was losing interest. How could he not be? She was a malfunctioning baby machine and he wanted kids. They both did. Or maybe he still hadn't really forgiven her for getting those credit cards and he was punishing her.

On Sunday, Brian watched a baseball game on TV and she read her book. It was all very cozy on the surface. The only thing missing was the cozy feeling. On Monday, life went back to the weekday routine with one exception: things were not right between them. She could feel it. Brian kissed her good-bye when he left for work and hello when he came home again, and he helped her with the dishes after dinner. But then he wandered outside and hung out across the street with their neighbor, who was restoring an old car.

Tiffany watched out the window. Hanging out under the neighbor's car hood was as close as Brian could get to his dream of having something old to play with, and it was her fault. Sigh.

Tuesday she got him to watch a chick flick on TV with her, but it didn't inspire him to do anything more than kiss her good night,
and by Wednesday, the emptiness deep inside her that had opened up after her second miscarriage was back. She'd managed over the last few months to fill it with all her bargains, keeping herself happy with shots of shopping vaccine, but there was no vaccine now, and worse still her marriage needed a wonder drug.

On Wednesday she attempted to nurse it back to health by pulling out candles and her best Victoria's Secret bargain and making margaritas. She managed to lure Brian into a wild bout of sex on the living room couch, but it didn't lead to any real intimacy, no spooning, no whispering in her ear how much he loved her—not that he had to do that every time, but this time, after he'd been so mad the week before about her spending, it would have been reassuring.

Instead, he said, “Wow, babe, you did me in,” and wandered off for a shower.

Wow, babe, you did me in.
Well, that was … not the same as
I love you.

“I love you,” she called after him. All she heard in response was the water running. He probably hadn't heard her. She should go after him, tell him she loved him, pour out her fears, and promise that in exchange for his love, she would never again sabotage them with her reckless spending. Instead, she poured herself another margarita.

When he came out she asked, “Can we do something together tonight? It doesn't have to cost a lot of money.”

“Like what?” He dropped his towel and began pulling his clothes back on.

“I don't know.” She picked up the towel and hugged it to her. “Something romantic.”

He looked at her with a perplexed smile. “We just did.”

“Something more,” she said. “I know! Let's go to The Family Inn and see what we can get for five dollars.”

He frowned. “Five dollars, ten dollars, twenty dollars—Tiffy, it all adds up. We really need to get into the habit of cutting back. You know that.”

All week she'd been trying so hard. She'd just wanted to reward herself with a little treat—dessert someplace inexpensive, or sharing a cup of hot chocolate and holding hands with her husband across the table. Was that really going to break them?

He pulled her to him.
Good,
she thought as he kissed her. He got it. He ended the kiss and grinned down at her. “I've got a better idea.” He picked up the TV remote and handed it to her. “This doesn't cost a thing. I'm going to work on the Jeep, so the remote's all yours tonight. I bet one of your reality shows is on.” With that he gave her a peck on the forehead and then left her alone and unsatisfied.

She went through the next day at work with a smile pasted on her face, watching other women parade through the salon, flaunting their credit cards at the cash register. No one paid by check or with cash. The whole world ran on credit and she'd been knocked out of the race. It was like being the only woman at a dance with no date.

She thought back to Black Friday when she and Brian had their big fight. She'd told Jess and Rachel that Brian had taken her credit cards. It was true. No, he hadn't yanked them out of her hands or grabbed her wallet from her and removed them. Instead, he'd emotionally blackmailed her into giving them up, telling her she wasn't being a team player, that she hadn't been honest
with him. He'd insisted they had to get rid of the credit cards. Those credit cards were going to ruin their marriage. Well, now she had no credit cards and she wasn't seeing much of an improvement in the marriage department. That showed where spending nothing got you.

By the time she left Salon H she had a good head of angry steam propelling her out the door, and the last thing she wanted to do was go home to Brian. She still had her tip money in her pocket. Suddenly she was possessed by a need to buy … something, anything. It took over, moving her hands on the steering wheel, guiding the car toward the mall. Then it drove her from the mall parking lot into the nearest department store where she found, miracle of miracles, the same shoes she'd gotten the week before and had to return, back on the rack and waiting for her, and still marked down. She had just enough money to buy them… .

If there was no sales tax. She frowned at the money on the counter.

“If you open up a credit card account you get ten percent off,” said the clerk.

“I have an account,” Tiffany muttered glumly. Much good it did her when her credit cards were cut in tiny pieces and buried in the garbage. “I don't have my card.”

“We can look up your card number,” the clerk said brightly.

Good idea. She'd only be spending a dollar more than what she already had sitting on the counter. What was one more little dollar on the account? “Okay,” said Tiffany.

On the way out of the store, she saw a clearance rack at the back corner of the Juniors department. She'd just take a minute and look. Oh, that top. It was only $8.99. She'd make that much in tips tomorrow. As she marched to the service counter a new
script played out in her head, one that completely justified her behavior.

B
RIAN
:
This is not the way to be a team player.

T
IFFANY
:
Neither is refusing to go on a date with your wife when all she was asking to spend was five measly dollars.

B
RIAN
:

Ha! Nothing to say.

Still, when she got home she left her purchases in the trunk. Not that she had anything to hide, really. She'd only spent her own tip money. Well, today's and tomorrow's, but that was beside the point. The point was she was in control of her spending.

She went inside and found Brian in the kitchen, stuffing sand-wiches and wine coolers into a big grocery bag. “What are you doing?”

“Getting ready to take you out to dinner,” he said.

She looked inside the grocery bag. In addition to sandwiches he'd packed a couple of snack-sized packages of chips and two bottles of her favorite coffee drink. And what was this? She pulled up a Hershey's chocolate bar and looked questioningly at him.

“I had a dollar in my wallet,” he said with a smile. He took the candy bar from her and dropped it back in the bag. “You ready?”

“Where are we going?”