The Penny Pinchers Club (7 page)

“I don’t know. Gerry had a long talk with the chief of police and maybe, just maybe, they’ll let him go with a warning. But you know how they like to make examples of kids, especially at the start of the school year.”

“How about the coach?”

“Oh, yeah. Tay’s kicked off the football team for the duration. Definitely.”

Elaine and I sat in silence, she eating her Oreos and I sipping coffee, mulling over our separate worries.

“This might seem like a strange question,” I ventured, “but has Gerry ever cheated on you?”

She coughed on her cookie. “Why?” She coughed again. “Do you know something I don’t?” Recovered, she dove into the bag for another Oreo.

“No. I was thinking of Griff.” I paused, debating only for a second whether what I was about to confide would be considered a violation of our marriage. “This morning while I was doing the wash from his trip to San Francisco, I came across two wrappers for condoms in the pockets of his khakis.”

Elaine stopped mid-bite. “You’re
noth therious
,” she said, her mouth full.

“And, also, a receipt for a $200 dinner he had the night of Laura’s accident, even though he told me he was in his hotel room, sleeping.”

She thrust out the Oreos. “Take one.”

“No thanks.”

“I’m telling you, they help. They’re like magic.”

“I’m sure you’re right, but I couldn’t eat right now if I wanted to.” I flipped through the calendar until I found last Thursday, the day Laura hit the state trooper. “I just can’t believe he lied to me.”

“Oh, honey.” She rolled up the bag and tossed it onto the table, releasing a shower of crumbs that I prayed were gone by the time Chloe arrived. “It’s probably not as bad as it looks. I can’t think of a more perfect couple than you two. You put the rest of us to shame.”

“Hmph.” The more I thought about us, the more worried I got. Viv had been right. Married couples did drift apart and maybe Bree was giving him something I’d stopped gladly handing out long ago. Would it have hurt for me to ask him about his Fed book once in a blue moon? Not that his cheating could be justified. . . .

“I’m sure there’s a rational explanation. Did you ask him?” Elaine said.

“Well, that would be the logical thing to do, wouldn’t it?”

“Unless you were trying to trip him into an admission of sorts.”

“Why would I do that?”

She shrugged. “I dunno. If I found condom wrappers in Gerry’s pockets, I might consider laying a trap. But then, that’s me. Men, I’ve come to see, are the enemy, whether they’re husbands, bosses, or mouthy teenage sons.”

That was just talk. Gerry and Elaine had a fabulous relationship. “I did try to call him, and he didn’t answer, even though I know for a fact he’s at the office . . . with her.”

“Bree?”

I nodded.

“I personally think young women should be confined in convents until they have the permission of older women.” Elaine was about to criticize the forwardness of the younger generation when the door slammed and Chloe appeared in a pale beige swing coat to match her pale beige shoes and pale beige headband. With her frosted blond hair she gave the impression of a human iced latte.

“Ladies?” She zoomed right in on those Oreos.

Elaine swiped her feet off the table and slipped them into her navy pumps. “Hey, Chloe. What’s up?”

“Your feet,” she said, “on my antique Queen Anne.”

The only reason Chloe didn’t get along with Elaine was because Elaine was, for lack of a more flattering word, zaftig, and with generations of hefty Szabos in her past, Chloe feared fat people like they were contagious diseases.

“I’ve got clients coming in twenty minutes.” She adjusted the black Coach bag swinging from the crook of her arm. “It’d be nice if this place didn’t look like a frat house.”

She handed me her daily “to-do list” and marched across the room into her office, giving the door another slam.

Elaine stifled a giggle. “Does she know what dumps frat houses are? A frat house! I bet she’s never even stepped inside one.”

“If she had,” I said, turning on my computer,“she wouldn’t admit it.”

“I swear, that’s your biggest problem right there.” Elaine pointed to the white door marked with a brass plaque that read CHLOE SYKES in ornately cursive lettering. “If you didn’t have to focus all your energy on keeping her mentally stable, you’d be happier and so would your marriage.”

Aha. “So you think my marriage isn’t happy.”

“Listen to me, girlfriend. I think
you’re
not happy. But being a typical woman, you put on a happy face and pretend to be.” She got up and picked the list out of my hand. “Look at this. Three follow-up calls, a write-up of her meeting Susan and Dick Weinstein, and—I can’t believe it—a re-measure of the Andersons’ kitchen. Tell me why this couldn’t wait until Monday.” She let the list flutter to my desk. “And you’ve got a party to throw tonight. That woman has no soul.”

“No, but she does have my paycheck.” Picking up the phone, I started to dial the Andersons to ask if I could stop by in half an hour.

Elaine yanked the telephone cord out of the wall. “Stop it.” Checking over her shoulder to make sure Chloe couldn’t hear, she whispered, “You need to call Madeleine Granville right now.”

“Now?”

Elaine recently sold a house to a New York television producer named Madeleine Granville and, since then, had been trying to talk me into doing the redecorating for her as a way of jump-starting my own design business. A pipe dream, really, although one I couldn’t quit obsessing over.

“I happen to know she’s in town. This is the perfect opportunity.”

“Chloe’s got clients coming any minute.”

“So?” Elaine rolled her eyes. “When Chloe’s meeting with them, you can call Madeleine. The only reason she hasn’t called yet is that she’s so freaking busy, she doesn’t know what day it is.”

I was tempted. I really was. Only one teensy-weensy problem. Chloe possessed an unforgiving vengeful streak as hard as the diamonds on her fingers. When combined with her insistence on devout loyalty, calling Madeleine Granville was akin to career suicide.

If Chloe so much as suspected I went behind her back and sought a client on my own in an effort to take the first steps in establishing my own business, she would not only fire me, she would see to it that no one in the tri-state interior decorating network took me on, too. That I could not risk, not with Laura to send to school the following year in an economy where professional interior decorating was the first luxury to be axed from the average homeowner’s budget.

“Take a chance.” Elaine pulled out her BlackBerry, scrolled to Madeleine’s number, and wrote it down on Chloe’s to-do list. “Nothing good happens if you don’t take chances.”

With a last thumbs-up, Elaine grabbed the
Town & Country
, picked a few Oreo crumbs off the white carpeting, and went across the hall to her office. I was left to stare at Madeleine’s number.

The door to Chloe’s office flew open. “Is she gone?”

“Yup.”

Chloe checked her watch. “None too soon, either. Ray and Andrea Perotta are five minutes late. Can’t you do something about her? She’s bringing down the property values.”

“She’s my friend. And she gets us clients.”

“At the very least, she could make an effort. Oreos. All that saturated fat.” Chloe shivered. “Have some self-respect, for god’s sake.”

Two minutes later, in walked the Perottas—a retired couple moving to New Jersey to be closer to their daughter and son-in-law—for the ritual of contract signing that Chloe demanded be done in her office. I never understood why she didn’t do this in people’s homes, like other interior decorators did, until I was searching through her desk one day and came across a mini digital recorder.

Along with vengeful and demanding, I could add paranoid to Chloe’s many delightful characteristics.

I led the Perottas to Chloe’s office and once I’d fetched the usual coffee and tea, went back to my desk, where Madeleine’s number stared up at me like a dare.

Do it,
I thought.
Do it now or you never will.

My fingers tapped out the numbers on my cell as I applauded myself for having the decency not to use Chloe’s phone. If anything, I was ethical.

“Hello?”

I didn’t expect her to answer right away. But then, in worrying about this fact instead of talking, I created a pause that was so long, Madeleine had to say hello again.

Quickly, I introduced myself, throwing out Elaine’s name a billion times until Madeleine eagerly said,“Oh, yes. I’ve been meaning to call you. This house is wonderful, but it’s so . . . dark. I was just thinking how much I’d like to get it redone this winter and how I should probably get started now.”

Great. We were getting somewhere. Moreover, I had done my homework on her Lambertville home (former rectory; possible historic designation; great views of the Delaware; desperately in need of new windows, floors, and an updated kitchen) and was about to wow her with my knowledge when my phone beeped and I looked down to see—
Griff.

“Excuse me,” I apologized. “I’ve got another call on the line that I have to take. I’m afraid it’s my family.”

I didn’t know if putting her on hold was something Madeleine would tolerate—Elaine described her as very harsh, very rushed, and not exactly family friendly—but at that moment, my marriage came first.

“Hi,” Griff said, his usual cheerful self. “Were you trying to reach me? I forgot to turn on my cell and Janice isn’t here today.”

Janice was the Emerly Economics Department secretary. Her absence was a plausible excuse for why he hadn’t picked up his office phone. “Good!”

“Good?” He chuckled. “You’re
glad
you couldn’t reach me?”

“No, it’s just that I thought you were doing the avoiding-the-ball-and-chain thing.”

“Why would I do that? Unless . . . oh, god.” He pretended to sound devastated. “Tell me you don’t want me to do a bunch of Saturday errands.”

“Just one.” I smiled to myself, so relieved he hadn’t been avoiding me after all. All those worries about him having an affair with Bree—pure rubbish, I was sure.

“Okay,” he said,“I’ve got my spreadsheet up. Give me just this one errand ’cause I know it’ll turn into twenty.”

He was so jovial, I didn’t have the heart to bring up the condom wrappers. “First, stop at Marksom’s Jewelry. There’s a lovely antique opal ring I’ve had my eye on that you might want to check out.”

“Now, why would I be in the market for a ring? It’s not some special occasion, is it? Wait. Is it your birthday?”

“Cute. You know what day it is tomorrow.”

“Oh,
tomorrow
. See, now, that’s a different day altogether. Wait. Don’t tell me. I remember. It’s our
dog’s
birthday. But, then, shouldn’t I be getting
him
the antique ring?”

I pictured Jasper with a ring on his paw and laughed. Big mistake.

In a flash, the door flew open and there was Chloe glaring like an angry gargoyle. “Do you have a price sheet on travertine? The Perottas are thinking of it for their master bath.”

“Okay.”

In my ear, Griff was softly singing an off-tune version of “Ding, Dong! The Witch Is Dead,” from
The Wizard of Oz
.

Chloe didn’t budge. “Actually, I’d like it now.”

She wanted to watch me hang up the phone. She wanted to see me depress the power button and see me cringe in disappointment and embarrassment.

Instead, I said,“Hold on a minute,” put down the phone—thankful for more than one reason that Griff had stopped singing—and reached into my drawer for the file on tiles, realizing with dismay that I’d totally forgotten about Madeleine on the other line.

Chloe thrust out her hand. “I’m afraid it’s a rush. The Perottas have to leave by one.”

I riffled past marble and granite, ceramic, porcelain, and limestone. No travertine. Crap. I eyed my phone. If only she’d go back to her office like a normal person so I could say good-bye to Griff and ask Madeleine if I could call back later. But, no. She insisted on standing there like a prison guard, being no help whatsoever as I fumbled through flooring tiles and then wall tiles, finally finding the damned sheet on travertine when I got to countertops.

“There.” I gave her the sheet.

“I need a few copies. At least three.”

No you don’t
, I thought, pushing back my chair and turning on the copier, waiting for it to slowly warm up as my phone just lay there.

“Do you mind . . . ,” I asked, my fingers walking toward it.

“Is it Griff?” She folded her arms. “He’ll understand. That is . . . if it’s Griff.”

How did she do that? It was as though she just knew I’d been up to no good, like she had a sixth sense or something. At last the copies were done and, satisfied she’d ruined my personal fun, Chloe went back to the Perottas. This time she closed the door quietly in celebration of her subtle victory.

Griff was off. So was Madeleine, understandably. When I dialed her back she acted distracted and said she couldn’t talk at the moment. Now was not a good time.

I’d blown it. And I’d been so close. Slumping back into my seat, defeated, I debated what to do and ended up sending her a quick email apologizing for putting her on hold and explaining as tactfully as possible why I hadn’t been able to talk.

I also included the information about her house I’d researched, along with a rough estimate of my incredibly modest rates and various telephone numbers where she could reach me, if interested. That would put the ball in her court. If she never called, I’d just have to write off the incident to experience, as painful as that would be.

Shortly after I pressed send on the email, the Perottas emerged, followed by Chloe, a vision of sweetness and light when she introduced me as “my girl Friday.”