The Makeover (5 page)

EIGHT

At Henry’s urging, they took the train to his parent’s house upstate in White Creek for Thanksgiving. Camellia spent the ride staring out the window with little to say. Spending two days with Henry’s family normally would have been a pleasure. They were the perfect American family. Carl and Lena Rhodes had been married for forty-one years, both retired industrial design professors now living their retirement dream on five acres in peaceful surroundings. They were regularly visited by their three grown boys – Henry the oldest, and his twin brothers Alex and Joseph. Henry’s brothers had married pretty blonde girls while in their mid-twenties, and each had kids within two years.

Needless to say, it was a full house during the holidays at Carl and Lena’s.

The only downside to visiting Henry’s parents was Camellia’s struggle to maintain her slender frame. Lena was a fabulous cook, her stuffing so good Camellia would make an exception to her otherwise careful diet, putting back a hearty helping and secretly wanting more.

Carl and Lena met Camellia and Henry at the station, both of them embracing their daughter-in-law the second she was within their grasp, leaving Henry in the dust. They had obviously heard the news.

“Sweetie, we’re so glad to see you,” Lena said, holding tight to Camellia’s hands. Her graying hair was pulled back into a messy bun, showing off her clear, blue eyes.

“Yes, you’re home now,” Carl concurred, keeping a strong arm around Camellia’s shoulders, his bald head and wicked smile giving him a boyish charm. “Out here, you don’t have to worry about those bull-headed twerps in the city.”

Camellia wondered what her mother would think about Carl referring to White Creek as her home. While she had always found her hometown confining and her parents ranch unchanging, Carl and Lena’s tall white house, with a post-and-beam red barn set back on the property, had more of a retreat feel to it – a spot to wind down from her normally frenetic life where she was one of the family, and never judged.

Loaded into Carl’s Suburban, the group spent the drive catching up on day-to-day happenings, Lena chatting animatedly about a fat chicken that had found its way to their back door and was now the family pet. Camellia smiled at her mother-in-law’s funny stories, but she just couldn’t interact the way she normally would.

“Your silly father has decided to take up wild horse taming,” Lena announced, gasping as if hearing the news for the first time. “Can you imagine? So dangerous!”

“It’s not dangerous,” Carl reassured, turning his head severely to look at Camellia and Henry in the back seat. Well aware of her father-in-law’s daredevil ways, Camellia would normally have had a tight grip on Henry’s arm by now, wishing like mad Carl would spend more time driving with his eyes on the road. But today, she wasn’t phased. “We break them gently. Humanely,” Carl prattled on. “They’re amazing creatures, you know.”

“Enormous creatures is more like it,” Lena huffed. “One of them runs you down and only one person will be picking up the flattened pieces: me.”

“You sure are cute when you worry about me.” Carl stroked the side of Lena’s face affectionately, his eyes once again focused on something other than the winding street leading int
o the quaint village ahead.

Camellia turned her attention to the view out the window, not able to focus on her in-laws’ boisterous conversation. White Creek was a charming, tiny town of less than four thousand people with a few original, yet well-preserved houses still standing from the colonial period. Looking at the town was like looking back in time with men in overalls and congenial children running along the sidewalk and women in flowered dresses shopping the farmer’s market in preparation for dinner. And behind the tight cluster of buildings and dotting of well-kept houses was a widespread landscape of farmland and towering trees.

Carl pulled a sharp right turn, just barely missing the long dirt road that led to Rhodes’ home on County Route 68. As they approached the house, they could see Alex and Joseph and their wives, Hillary and Amy, waiting for them on the front porch, their lot of kids chasing each other around the yard. Camellia took a deep breath, exhaling slowly and quietly, not wanting to draw attention to the anxiety that was suddenly crawling up her chest.

Camellia let herself out of the car and smoothed her Milly dress, fresh for fall in gray with black polka dots. Thankfully, she had remembered to wear wedge boots to navigate the gravel driveway. She shivered. With no tall New York City buildings for protection, the chilly November wind was especially cutting. Henry came around the car with her cashmere coat in hand, draping it over her shoulders. “Thank you,” she said softly, putting her arm through his. She was trying hard to remember to be kind to her husband, who had been taking such good care of her through all the turmoil.

Henry gave her a little squeeze. “It’s going to be fun.”

They were quickly surrounded by Henry’s nephews and nieces, the girls – ten-year-old Alyssa and nine-year-old Caitlin – were looking for the customary bauble Aunt Camellia always brought for them from her own closet. “Oh girls, I’m so sorry. I forgot.” She looked just as disappointed as they did.

Henry leaned in and playfully tapped them both on the nose. “I’ll tell you what. When we get back home, we’ll pick out something super special for each of you and send it to you in the mail. How does that sound?” Alyssa and Caitlin nodded and scampered off, the revised arrangement appearing to meet with their approval.

On the porch, Henry’s family surrounded them, bestowing hugs and kisses and grabbing luggage. Lena shooed the noisy group into the house so she could finish dinner preparations.

Camellia helped out in the kitchen, inadequately chopping at what was once a beautiful, plump heirloom tomato that now looked as if it had been put through a food processor. “Ugh,” she sighed, as Lena came over to inspect her work.

“Ah, it all ends up in the same place anyway,” Lena assured her, with a kind pat on Camellia’s back. Turning her attention back to her strawberry-banana trifle, Lena expertly sliced through the fruit, her knife seeming to barely move as the strawberries fell away into evenly sized pieces.

“Your dress is lovely,” Camellia said to Lena, trying to mask her dark mood from the family by admiring her mother-in-law’s peony shirtdress that was covered by an equally attractive floral apron.

“It really is,” agreed Hillary, as she walked into the kitchen, tying an old white apron at her waist.

“It’s vintage from the ‘50s,” Lena noted with a hint of pride, twirling in place with knife still in hand. “I find the most amazing things at our flea market. No one in this town seems to appreciate these things, so I snatch them all up for next to nothing.”

“You’ve got a good eye,” Camellia said.

“Well, I did learn from the best.”

Amy eyed her own outfit, light-wash jeans and a cream turtleneck, with disapproval. “I think Joe would like me to wear more dresses,” she confessed. “Lena, you know where I live if you ever get tired of your clothes. You, too, Camellia.”

Henry’s family had welcomed Camellia warmly from the day he had brought her to White Creek to announce their engagement, nearly nine years ago. While Lena, Hillary and Amy were familiar with
Flair
– Lena even having a subscription to the magazine – they never treated her differently, or used her for her contacts or perks. She was one of them; and for a precious couple of days, once or twice a year when she and Henry made the trip to his parents’ home, she didn’t have to be anything more than a Rhodes.

“So Camellia,” Hillary said, standing at the sink peeling potatoes, “now that you have a little time on your hands, are you and Henry talking babies again?”

“Hillary, that’s a private issue,” Lena scolded, though she didn’t look too cross.

“Whoa, so now we’re entitled to privacy in this family?” Amy asked. “That would have been nice when the bulk of you squeezed into the delivery room to watch me give birth.”

“Only for the first one,” Hillary laughed. “Believe me, we saw enough to last a lifetime.”

“So sorry I was traveling and had to miss that scene, Amy,” Camellia piped up, eager to keep the subject changed.

Six months after they married, Henry began pushing hard to start a family. They had lived together for more than four years prior to marriage, so he felt no need to experience the no-kids-allowed “newlywed period”. Henry loved children. And while Camellia wasn’t one-hundred-percent opposed to it, building her career came first. She figured kids would come after she had made it to the top.

Henry, with his undeniable charm and constant pleading, had nearly worn her down, Camellia feeling some sense of wifely duty to give to the man who was constantly giving to her. And then
Flair
came calling. Over the course of six years, though her place was firmly planted at the very tip of the top, she had never brought up children. Neither had Henry.

“So? Babies then?” Hillary asked again, not missing a beat.

Camellia nodded at the glass of Cabernet that Amy was thrusting at her. “You’re going to need this,” Amy said deadpan, her routine sarcasm not inducing the laugh from Camellia it usually did.

“It’s not the best time,” Camellia finally said, taking a sip of the full-bodied wine. “Neither of us have jobs at the moment, you know.”

“A temporary setback, I’m sure,” Lena said, crumbling angel food cake into the trifle bowl.

Ashton and Aaron burst into the crowded kitchen, quashing the baby talk for a second time. “We’re hungry,” Aaron whined, sticking close to his older brother’s side.

Lena marched to the refrigerator and pulled out two apples. “This will hold you until dinner.”

Ashton frowned. “Apples? Ice cream would be a much
better option.”

Amy laughed, taking the apples from Lena and putting them into her boys’ hands. “Nice try. Now get out of here before we put you
to work.”

Camellia made it through the rest of Thanksgiving without having to talk about babies or jobs or the future. If there was anything she had to be thankful for that day, it was that no
one had brought up the magazine or asked for the details. While they were baby crazy, and could talk about kids – and when she was going to add to the brood – for hours on end, this was a family that understood professional discretion. And for as much as she loved them, she couldn’t say she had ever really let her guard down around them. That air of confidence, the restrained demeanor – these were the traits she had projected since her internship at
The New Yorker
. Even as she fell for Henry, she had rarely broken character. It was a calculated persona that over the years no longer had to be forced. By the time she had landed at
W
, she had truly become that person. And though her shell had most definitely been dented over the last few months, Henry was the only one she would allow to see it. That was bad enough. She certainly wasn’t going to go about oozing venom over Tray’s uncaring conduct or admitting how devastated she was being snubbed by both the fashion and publishing communities. She had fallen far enough. How would she make that perilous climb back to the top if her protective shell was in pieces at her feet?

Just after midnight, she was finally able to slip away from the family, who were still going strong over wine and old photos in the living room, to the small guest room assigned to Henry and her. Mentally and physically exhausted, she fell into bed without removing her clothing or makeup, and dreamed of living in a tall white house with acres of land and four children holding fast to her apron.

The next day, Carl and Lena drove Camellia and Henry back to the station. “It’s a long weekend, are you sure you can’t stay another day?” Carl asked, obviously disappointed to see them go.

“Sorry Dad, other obligations,” Henry fibbed. Camellia nodded, wishing there really was something they needed to get back to in the city.

As the train approached, Lena handed her overloaded shoulder bag to Carl, and with two free arms gave Camellia an extra-long hug. “Everything happens for a reason,” she said in a low voice meant just for them. “Before you know it, you’ll find happiness again. You both will.”

Camellia closed her eyes and nodded in Lena’s embrace, praying she was right.

NINE

“We should have sex.”

Camellia had just stepped out of the shower, her hair dripping down her back as she wrapped a plush towel around her body. “Excuse me?” she responded, just as surprised at the question as she was to find Henry home in the early afternoon.

“Just because our lives are in upheaval doesn’t mean our relationship has to be.” He tugged playfully at the towel, which she held firmly at her breasts.

“Henry, I’m not exactly in the mood.”

“Sweetheart, I can’t remember the last time we got naked together,” he said, continuing to wrestle the towel away. “Don’t we deserve to feel good?”

“I don’t think I could muster up the energy to do more than just lie there,” she said wearily.

“I’ll take it.” Moving behind her, he began to nudge her in the direction of their bed.

She sighed, knowing she should relent. He
did
deserve that. “What are you doing home so early, anyway? And why is your hair wet?”

“My hair is wet because it’s snowing like mad. Now I finally believe Christmas is around the corner.” He removed his tie and started unbuttoning his shirt. “And I’m home early because today was my last day at the hospital. My fellowship is over.”

Camellia gasped, clapping a hand to her mouth in a too-late attempt to muffle the sound. Henry used the moment to release her from the towel, which was met with a howl. “This is
not
the right time!”

“This is
exactly
the right time,” he corrected, pushing her wet, naked body down onto the bed. “It’s going to be fine. We’re going to be fine. Right now is just about us.” And he began kissing her from her neck to her breasts, moving lower and lower.

Camellia was surprised how excited she was; how good his mouth felt on her. She writhed against the sheets, pushing his head down until he was right where she wanted him. And then she held him there, basking in the delight of his tongue.

“I think things are going to turn around soon for us,” Henry said with confidence, lying naked under the covers with Camellia snuggled tightly against his chest.

“For you, maybe,” Camellia replied, running a hand up and down Henry’s muscular arm.

“There have been a number of openings recently for radiologists around the country. It may not be New York, but–“

“Are you suggesting we
leave
New York?” Camellia’s head popped up to look at her husband, her body tense all over again.

“We may not have a choice. I haven’t had any promising leads around here. Neither have you.”

“Thanks a lot.” She sat up and wrapped the sheet around her, inching herself away from Henry.

“I didn’t mean that as a snub,” he said, feeling for her leg and getting a shot of uncharacteristic stubble. “I’m just being realistic. We’re at the point where we have to go where the jobs are.”

“And just where are the jobs?”

“I have an interview with a group in Michigan.”

“Michigan!” she cried out. “We don’t know anybody in Michigan. What’s in Michigan?” She got up and sat at the bench at the end of the bed, mindlessly picking at a hangnail, her heart racing.

“Don’t get excited, it’s just an interview. But it is reassuring to know I have some possibilities.” Henry sat up, the
remaining sheet falling away to reveal his toned upper body that was already losing its tan from their summer holiday on the French Riviera.

“Well don’t scare me like that,” she scolded. “Me without a job in New York is bad enough. But no job in Michigan? Sitting in an apartment all day not knowing a soul while you’re busy at work? Might as well shoot me now and get it over with.”

Henry chuckled. “Nice to see you’ve still got a fire in your belly.” He crawled across the bed and scooped her up, pulling her on top of him. “Now come back over here and show me just how hot you are.”

A week later, Henry stood at the front door with a garment bag and overnight duffle in hand, waiting for his wife to kiss him goodbye. “Just remember, the sooner I go, the sooner I can come back,” Henry called out.

Camellia appeared from around the corner, her mouth in a pout. “How will I get through the next two days without you? I fear I’ve become completely dependent on you.”

“And you know I secretly love it.” He set his bags down and took her in his arms. “It’s just an interview and it’s only two days.” He kissed her forehead and each cheek. “Don’t forget, we spent way more time apart when you were jetting off to fashion weeks around the world.”

“Emphasis on
were
,” Camellia said, pushing Henry away then pulling him back again to wrap her arms tightly around his neck. “Besides, I had plenty to do. There wasn’t time to properly miss you.”

“Well, see that, you can enjoy properly missing me for the next two days. Seriously, Camellia, why don’t you call your mother?”

Camellia released Henry from her tight grip and sunk into the tufted chair set in the corner by the door. “My mother? Are you kidding me?”

“Do you have any idea how many times she’s called the house since
Flair
folded? I don’t, because I lost count.”

“Har, har,” she replied
unconcerned, running a hand through what was now root-apparent hair. 

“You haven’t spoken with her once, Camellia. I, on the other hand, have experienced numerous conversations with Gina. Because I’m the only one who will talk to her. It’s been three months, honey. And it’s almost Christmas. If you asked her to, she would be here by dinnertime.”

“Is that a threat, or a fact?”

“She’s not a bad person, Camellia. You chose to run away from her lifestyle. You don’t have to abandon her, too. He opened the door and picked up his bags. “I’ll call you tonight.”

Camellia closed the door softly behind him, wondering how she would pass the next two days alone. Calling Gina was out of the question. If her mother were to pick up on her depression, she really would be on a train and knocking down the door before Camellia could gather the strength to change out of her pajamas. Then, inspiration struck: a letter. A good, old-fashioned, thinking-about-you letter on good cardstock would satisfy Gina’s need for information without a conversation. And it was significantly more thoughtful than a quick and easy email. She hurried to the office and pulled out her stack of stationery from the bureau. She had just enough time to write a few lines and still make the day’s mail pickup.

The note card she selected had a red cover with her monogram stamped elegantly in white. With pen in hand, she stood over the desk, searching her mind for something appropriate to say that would be satisfying without saying too much. The mail carrier would be downstairs in minutes. The pressure made it all the more harder to focus. Finally, she started to write in her elegant, slanted script:

Mother,

Been terribly busy. As you can imagine, many offers have been presented to me, and trying to choose the one that is best for both Henry and me has been a challenge, to say the least. Sorry we’ll be absent for Christmas. We hope by this time next year we are fully settled in our new roles and can enjoy the holidays in a leisurely manner. Give my love to Dad.

Yours,

Camellia

Scribbling the address on the envelope and licking it closed, Camellia threw on a long coat from the front closet, buttoning it to the top so her pajamas wouldn’t show, and ran out the door to the elevator. By the time she made it to the ground floor, the mail carrier had already arrived and was chatting pleasantly with the concierge, whom Camellia had learned – after so many interactions sneaking in and out of the building – was named Mihail.

She scurried across the lobby, practically breathless by the time she reached the men. “I have mail,” she announced, waving the envelope.

“I can take that,” the mail carrier said, his thick mustache wiggling as he spoke.

“Thank you so much,” Camellia replied softly, realizing this was the first conversation she had had with anyone outside her husband since Thanksgiving.

“Is there, um, anything else you need, Mrs. Rhodes?” Mihail said, looking at Camellia strangely.

Camellia followed his eyes down to her feet, which were bare. She blushed crimson. “Oh, no, no, I’m fine, Mihail, thank you. Just, uh, had an important letter to get out. Very important. All set now. Thanks again, gentlemen. Have a lovely afternoon.”

She walked as quickly as she could back to the elevator, restraining the urge to break into a full run. Luckily the doors were still open and she clamored inside, holding her breath until the doors closed.

Once she was safely back in the apartment – she was shocked she hadn’t managed to lock herself out in her rush – she threw
the coat onto the tufted chair and went into her bedroom, pulling the covers off the bed and dragging them into the living room. She was tired of hiding out in her room. Now that Alain and Yara were gone, she could be a mess right out in the open.

After she threw the sheet and comforter over the sofa, she grabbed the remote and tossed that on top of the pile. Then she went into the kitchen, opening cabinets and scanning the shelves. Finding a silver tray, she
placed on it an open bottle of Cabernet, a box of Carr’s crackers, a thick chunk of Gruyére cheese, a container of chocolate ice cream, and a large spoon. She carried the teetering tray out to the living room, placing it on the square coffee table, then dragged the table so it was right beside the sofa. With everything in place, Camellia slipped under the covers, grabbed the remote, and powered on the flat-panel television. She reached for the bottle of wine and drank from it directly. It was dry and full, just how she liked it. Flipping mindlessly through the channels, she landed on MTV and smirked, barely recognizing the channel that in her youth had been fashion inspiration. Now it was filled with teenage dribble dressed in wife beaters and tattoos. She took another swig from the bottle and flipped the channel. Swig and flip. Swig and flip. Still on the tray, the ice cream sweated and melted and leaked.

When Henry arrived home two days later, Camellia was still on the couch. The covers haphazard over her body were covered in crumbs and food wrappers. And the silver tray now looked like a Jenga game, with containers and plastic wear stacked in a teetering heap. Henry’s bright smile turned to an expression of concern. “Camellia, are you sick?”

Camellia pulled herself to a seated position and looked quizzically at her husband. “Uh, no, just camping out I guess,” she replied groggily. She eyed Henry, who looked like he had just returned from a spa trip rather than a job interview. “Why do you look so fresh and wide-eyed?”

Pushing a pizza box onto the floor, Henry fit his body into the limited seating left on the sofa. He picked up his wife’s legs and laid them across his knees, grimacing as he made contact with more pronounced leg hair, which didn’t seem to phase Camellia. “First let me go on record that we’re getting you into the shower today and cleaning your campsite.”

“Whatever, funny man. Let’s hear about your trip instead.”

“It was terrific. The doctors in the group are as nice as can be and the offices are modern. They partner with two area hospitals and also do work for the outpatient-imaging center. There is an immediate need for a radiologist, too. Honey, we can be back in the black and living really well in no time.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Camellia said, ripping away the covers, the crumbs flying into the air then falling like rain. “Immediate need? Henry, what are you saying?”

“I’m saying they offered me a job, Camellia. We’re moving to Michigan.”