The Botox Diaries (23 page)

“Loved everything,” I say with a laugh. “Not that it matters.”

“But it does,” says Amanda gleefully. “That’s our surprise. We’ve arranged with the Chanel publicist for you to borrow a gown to wear to the benefit.”

Pamela and Amanda are both grinning in delight and waiting for my reaction.

“Are you serious? You didn’t have to do that. But I’m really glad you did,” I say, truly pleased at the prospect of my Cinderella night.

“I think the apricot strapless would look perfect on you, but if you really want,” Pamela says beneficently, looking to Amanda for approval, “we could let you have the floaty chiffon.”

“No, that’s yours,” I say. “Any Chanel gown would be more than I ever dreamed of.” And it would. But now I’m wondering if they can get me a deal on the shoes.

WHEN I SEE DAN
Wednesday morning at the Pine Hills train station, I tap him on the shoulder, reaching across the tight cluster of commuters who are packed at the exact spot where the first-car doors will open for the 7:57 express.

“Hey, handsome, come here often?” I ask.

Two disgruntled men look up from their newspapers, annoyed that someone would be joking within their earshot this early in the morning.

“Hi, Jess,” Dan says listlessly. His shoulders are slumped and he looks puffy and bleary-eyed.

“You okay?” I ask.

Instead of answering, he distractedly rubs the car keys in his pocket, his mind obviously far away.

“Dan, you okay?” I ask again, concerned.

“Not really,” he admits.

“What’s the matter? Anything I can do? Do you want to talk?”

He pauses. “Yeah, I kind of do.” The train pulls into the station, and I start to push forward, figuring I can grab a two-seater. But as the other commuters surge around us, Dan puts his hand on my arm. “Can we get out of here? Do you have time for a cup of coffee?”

“Miss this train?” I ask, in disbelief. He must have some big problem
to talk about. “I mean, sure. Of course.” There’s always the 8:17. Or if it’s a major problem, the 8:41. And getting more coffee—I’ve had only two cups this morning—can’t hurt. Great diuretic. With Jacques coming here in a few days, I need to get rid of this bloat any way I can.

At the Starbucks across from the train station, I ask for a venti toffee nut latte—not ordering sprinkles saves me fifty calories—and Dan gets a small Earl Grey tea.

“I’m leaving Lucy,” Dan says as soon as we sit down.

“What?”

He doesn’t repeat it. I put down the latte and wipe the froth from my mouth with a scratchy napkin. Should have gotten the sprinkles. I could use a surge of chocolate-fueled serotonin right now.

“No. No, you’re not. No way,” I say. “You’d never leave. You love her.”

“Lucy’s having an affair. Which you probably already know. I might be the only person on earth who didn’t.”

I don’t say anything for a long time. Then I realize that whether or not I know isn’t the point here. “People have affairs all the time,” I say finally. “It doesn’t have to end a marriage. Sometimes it’s just stupid. A fling that doesn’t really mean anything.”

“I know that,” Dan says. But at the moment, he doesn’t seem to know anything at all. He stares at his tea, as if confounded by how he’s supposed to drink through the straw hole in the lid.

“It’s crazy to leave,” I say, leaning over the table to take the bubble cover off the cup for him. “There’s got to be a better solution.”

“I don’t think so. At least not now.”

“Lucy hasn’t said a word to me about your going,” I say, wondering how my best friend forgot to share this little tidbit.

“Just happened. We were up all night. I found out and finally confronted her. I’ve sensed something was wrong for a while, and I guess I haven’t wanted to know. But if this is how she’s behaving and she doesn’t love me, then screw it, we’re over.”

“Of course Lucy loves you,” I say firmly. “I mean, I saw you two at the science fair the other night. You looked so happy together. With
the kids and everything. I was thinking that after all these years, you’re still in love.”

“
Were
in love. Past tense,” Dan says. “Sure, we’re pretty good with the family thing. But Lucy says she wants adventure. Excitement. Something new every day. And she doesn’t get that with me.”

“She said that?” I blurt out, surprised that even Lucy would have been that callous.

“Not right away. First she apologized and kept saying how much she loves me. But I wasn’t buying it. If you’re in love with your husband, you don’t screw around. Then she was trying to explain. As if it could be explained. She’s bored. We’ve been married a long time. The kids are leaving soon. Well, great, she’s practically a cliché. But that doesn’t mean I have to play the long-suffering husband.”

“Maybe it’s just a phase. Not a very pleasant phase, I admit, but a phase. You just have to ride it out. You and Lucy will get through it.”

“I’m not sure I want to get through it,” Dan says defiantly. “This didn’t just happen overnight. We’ve been on a downward slide for months. She’s been distant. I go to work, she goes to work. When we talk, it’s only to figure out logistics for the kids. The last time we had fun was probably Coney Island, 1997.”

“You went to Coney Island?” I ask, distracted for a moment by the image of Lucy eating a Nathan’s hot dog—with or without the sauerkraut—and riding the Cyclone.

“Yeah, once.”

“Was it safe? I’ve never been to Brooklyn.”

“Never?” Dan asks, momentarily distracted himself. “Wait, didn’t we all once go to a Lou Reed concert at BAM?”

“That was Brooklyn?”

“Brooklyn Academy of Music,” Dan says, finally smiling. “Remember you crossed a bridge? Brooklyn Bridge?”

“At least I didn’t buy it,” I offer. “And see, that was a fun night. And just a couple of years ago.”

Dan nods solemnly, falling back into his dour mood. “Okay, we’ve had our good moments. Glad we have the videos. But I don’t see any
more terrific times ahead for me and Lucy. If she wants her own life, I’ll have my own life, too. Have my own adventures. See how she likes that.”

“She won’t,” I say. “You’re just hurt right now. Don’t make any hasty decisions. Give it some time.”

“Sure,” Dan grumbles. “I won’t call the realtor until this afternoon.”

I hear the cell phone in my tote ringing. It’s probably the other side checking in and I bet Lucy’s even more upset than Dan. I’ve done all I can here for the moment and my services are needed elsewhere. Boulder, Dan, Lucy. If I take on one more client, New York State’s going to require me to get a counseling license.

Dan glances at his Rolex, a birthday gift from Lucy. I wonder if he’s going to throw it out now and replace it with a symbol of his new adventurous life. Probably the TAG Heuer chronograph that will tell him the time in six zones, the altitude when he’s mountain climbing and the depth of the deep blue sea when he’s scuba diving. And he’s going to need it. He’s about to be in for some extreme highs and lows.

“Should we catch the next train?” I ask Dan, finishing off my latte and eager to call back Lucy.

“Nope. You go ahead,” Dan says, putting the lid back on his tea. “I’ve had it. I’m taking the day off.”

“The whole day off? That’s not like you. What are you going to do?”

“Anything I want. Just like Lucy. I can do anything I please. Just as soon as I figure out what that is.”

When I call Lucy from the train and tell her I’ve just been in Starbucks with Dan, she’s relieved that she doesn’t have to break the news to me.

“I’m so upset. I’ve been popping blueberries and Ativan all morning,” she says.

“Ativan? On top of everything else are your allergies acting up again?”

“No, that’s Claritin for allergies. Although I probably should take one of those too. My nose has been stuffy.”

“Crying?” I ask.

“Oh, right, that’s probably why. Anything I can take for that?”

“I don’t know. What does the Ativan do?”

“It’s a benzodiazepine,” she says helpfully, as if that explains everything.

“Yeah …” I coax.

“I don’t know exactly. My assistant Tracey gave me one with a Diet Coke. She says she takes them all the time when I yell at her. Calms you down. Takes the edge off.”

“And the blueberries?” I know we’ll get to Dan eventually.

“Atkins.”

“I thought that was the diet where you eat bacon cheeseburgers without the bread.”

“Too many people were switching to Weight Watchers. Atkins had to add blueberries to compete.”

“When they add ice cream sign me up.”

Lucy sighs. “You’re right. Screw Atkins. You want to meet for ice cream as soon as you get in the city?”

“That’ll be 9:42.”

“Perfect,” says Lucy, obviously off her diet and slightly out of her mind.

Sure enough, when I get to Serendipity 3, Lucy is sitting with a huge ice cream sundae in front of her.

“It’s called the ‘Kitchen Sink,’ ” she says. “Can I order one for you?” She dips her spoon into the bowl, swirling up a mouthful from the six scoops of ice cream, hot fudge sauce, caramel, bananas, whipped cream, nuts, and maraschino cherries. Four of them. At least they don’t have red dye no. 3 anymore.

“I don’t think I need a whole sink,” I say diplomatically. “Maybe just a taste of yours.”

Lucy looks down trying to decide if she can spare a spoonful. “No, I’ll order you your own,” she says. “I think I’m going to need all of this. Seems to be working better than the Ativan.”

Or maybe everything’s just starting to kick in. Including the reality of what she’s done.

“Did Dan seem really upset when you talked to him?” she asks.
“He was threatening to leave, but I’m sure he won’t.” She goes for another scoop then drops the spoon back down. “That stupid Le Retreat. It’s all their fault. They’re supposed to be so discreet. And instead, they’re a bunch of idiots. Hello, the room was registered in both our names. Hunter Green is not ‘Mr. Baldor.’ ”

“Huh?” I say, feeling like my edges are getting fuzzy. “What happened?”

She licks some hot fudge off the tip of the spoon, then sighs. “Hunter forgot his watch in the room and for some moronic reason they sent it back to Pine Hills, addressed to ‘Mr. Baldor.’ So Dan opens it thinking it’s for him and there’s Hunter’s Rolex. The one I gave him for his birthday that I’d inscribed on the back:
TO HUNTER, HUGS AND KISSES, L.”

“Lucy, are you out of your mind? You bought both Dan and Hunter Rolexes?”

“I expensed Hunter’s to the TV pilot,” she says dismissively. “He’ll wear it on camera.”

“Have you no decency? You don’t buy two men the same watch,” I say, as if I have experience with these things.

“I know,” Lucy says mournfully. “I’d do anything for another chance. I’d definitely get Hunter the Baume & Mercier.”

“You’re in trouble,” I tell her bluntly.

“Dan’s mad?”

“Yeah, Dan’s mad. And that threat to leave sounded pretty real to me.”

“Hunter says he’ll marry me,” Lucy announces. “It was the first thing he said this morning when I told him what’d happened. Actually, it was the second thing. He was really happy they found the Rolex.”

“And marrying Hunter’s going to be your solution?” I ask, dumbfounded.

“No, I don’t think I want to marry him. But you never know. If Dan’s going to be so impossible, everything’s up for grabs. It’s amazing, isn’t it? I thought my husband loved me, and now this.” She plays
with a spoonful of ice cream and then decides to eat it. And another one. And another one after that.

“Lucy, may I point out that you’re the one having an affair? Did it ever occur to you that maybe Dan thinks you don’t love him?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. We’ve been married forever. He knows I love him. I tell him every day. Well, maybe not every day. But he knows.”

This is starting to give me a headache. Maybe that counseling license isn’t such a good idea.

“You have to understand this is serious, Luce. Stop pretending it’s some little spat over not putting the cap back on the toothpaste. Dan’s talking about calling the realtor and you’re sitting here self-medicating.”

“Self-medicating? I just took one Ativan. Don’t be so dramatic.”

“Not the pills. The ice cream. You’ve eaten enough to send the defensive line of the Pittsburgh Steelers into sugar shock. And you don’t seem to give a hoot. Two days ago you would have run three miles if you’d slipped up and had an orange Popsicle.”

“Okay, I’ll run this afternoon,” Lucy says lackadaisically, completely missing my point. “Anyway, I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Cheer me up. Give me some good news. What’s up with Jacques?”

I sigh. “I don’t know if this will brighten your day or not. But he’s taking me to a fancy inn in Vermont when he comes Friday night.”

“Jacques in Vermont?” Lucy says, indeed perking up. “Does he know they have cows there?”

“He thought it would be romantic.” I laugh. “Somewhere far away where all we have to think about is each other.”

“Did he have his inoculations?”

“He’s totally up to date. Malaria. Dengue fever. Leptospirosis. Mad cow disease. Just in case.”

“So when do I get to meet him?” Lucy asks. “Weren’t the four of us supposed to have dinner? I remember Dan saying that.”

The ice cream’s working—really has numbed her brain. How can we have a foursome when it’s not clear that Lucy has a twosome? “You’ll meet him,” I offer vaguely. “By the way, with everything going on, can you cope with having Jen this weekend? That still okay?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” asks the Princess of Denial. Make that the Queen. Lucy’s always the best at what she does.

“Listen,” Lucy sighs, “you should get going. You’ve babysat me long enough now. You must have stuff to do.” She looks ruefully at the rest of the supersized dish in front of her. “And I have at least another four thousand calories to plow through.”

“Well, enjoy yourself,” I say. “And don’t give up. I hear that if you polish off one Kitchen Sink you can get another one. On the house.”

Last time I went to Vermont, I spent six hours trapped in a car, stopped twice to use grimy restrooms, got a ticket at a speed trap and spilled a Roy Rogers chocolate shake all over my white shorts when I slammed on the breaks to avoid two Canadian geese crossing the road. Should have sued—but whom? Canada? Mother Goose? Roy Rogers? Dale Evans? Anyway, the shorts looked kind of hip with that brown-and-white tie-dye look.