Welcome to the World, Baby Girl! (5 page)

She had just remembered:
the affiliates were in town for the NAB convention.
Today was the day she was supposed to be guest of honor at their luncheon.

She moaned. “Oh, God … no, please don’t tell me I have to go to that luncheon, I’d rather be beaten to death with a baseball bat with nails on it. God, kill me in my bed, anything, please just let me lie here, don’t make me have to go to that luncheon … don’t make me have to get up and put my clothes on.”

She lay there for ten more minutes, debating whether or not she should try calling with a sudden attack of appendicitis, thinking of a serious enough ailment that could hit you on Saturday and be gone by Monday. God, she wished she had a baby; nothing better than a sick child, they’re good for all kinds of sudden ailments. As hard as she tried to convince herself that she had a right not to go, that the luncheon was just public relations for the network and not real work, she finally came to the conclusion that she had to go because if she didn’t she would feel so guilty she wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway. She always liked to be dependable.
Especially
when it could do her some good, too. The affiliates had come from all over the country and this luncheon was for many the highlight of their trip. Most of the men had brought their wives along just for this occasion, to meet Dena Nordstrom in person. Some had followed her career from that first big interview with ex-senator Bosley, and she had become
known to more of them after she went network. She was popular with almost all the wives, who watched her morning show every day. So she crawled out of bed and went back in the bathroom to see if there was any hope of getting herself together. She looked in the mirror expecting the worst, but was pleasantly surprised at what she saw.

Through some lucky genetic quirk, Dena Nordstrom was a woman who happened to look especially wonderful when she had a hangover. Her blue eyes seemed to shine, there was a wholesome flush on her cheeks, and her lips looked sexy and slightly swollen (after smoking a thousand cigarettes). No matter how many times this had happened, she never ceased to be amazed.

At twelve-thirty in the Tavern on the Green, a roomful of excited wives and their affiliate husbands were trying to pretend they were not looking forward to this luncheon. They kept glancing at the door to see if she had arrived yet. At 12:57 all attempts at conversation stopped. Every eye was on the tall, stunning, blond woman standing at the door looking “fabulous,” as more than one wife put it, dressed in a camel cashmere suit, black turtleneck sweater, a pair of perfectly sized gold earrings, and wearing almost no makeup, so the wives would report to envious friends at home. There she was, in person, Dena Nordstrom, looking just like herself with that fresh, wholesome, open midwestern face of hers flashing that million-dollar smile.

As the entire room in one great mass leaned toward her, she stood at the podium microphone and apologized to everyone. “I’m so sorry I’m so late. Here I’ve been looking forward to this luncheon all year and wouldn’t you know it, just as I was walking out the door, the phone rang and it was my sister calling long distance all the way from Copenhagen to tell me she was in the emergency room with a broken ankle. It seems that last night she and her husband had gone to some party and had been served all these strong drinks she was not used to … anyhow, long story short, she had tripped over a pair of wooden shoes so I had to run and dig out all the insurance information and give it to her or they wouldn’t release her and they have a plane to catch. So please forgive me …”

She stopped there, rather than run on further. Why did all of her excuses somehow involve family? It wasn’t very original and besides, she didn’t have any family. But had she announced that she had just slaughtered six nuns with an ax, this crowd would have forgiven her. Afterward they rushed toward her, happily chattering away about how much prettier she was in person and wondering if they might have just one picture with her. What seemed like a hundred Instamatic flash cameras began snapping at her from all directions until she saw nothing but little white dots floating before her eyes. But she kept on smiling.

Macky had flushed the toilet and turned on all the faucets to make sure they were working. Norma was wondering if they needed a new bedspread and called him out of the bathroom. Macky looked at it. “I don’t think so and I’ll tell you why. I think it’s best if we just leave things the way they are, not do anything different. I’m sure after the places she’s been she won’t be impressed with a new bedspread. We can’t begin to compete with all those fancy apartments. What we need to do is try and make her feel at home, you know, something she can’t get everywhere.”

“Yes, but Macky, a twenty-year-old, ratty-looking chenille bedspread might not look homey to her, it might just look old and ratty. Did you ever think of that?”

“Honey, it’s perfectly fine. I promise you.”

“Well, if you think so. But I can at least wash the quilt and the bedclothes. I can do that, can’t I?”

“Of course.”

They started to strip the bed as Norma said, “Still, Macky, there is such a thing as not doing enough. I don’t want her to think we’re not excited she’s coming home.” She pointed at the windows. “Can you get those curtains down? I might as well do them all at once.”

Macky started to take the curtains down. “Norma,” he said, “of course she’ll know we’re excited she’s coming home. She’ll be able to tell. I just think we should try and live the way we always do and not try to put on any airs or do anything different. Isn’t that why she’s coming, to get away from all the pressures? She probably needs to spend some time in a normal home, eat normal food, and slow down.”

“I know that,” said Norma, “but don’t forget when we were up in New York she entertained us royally, threw out the red carpet, catered to our every need. I don’t want her to think we are not willing to do the same.”

Norma looked suspiciously at the little oval rug on the floor. “This rug needs to be shampooed; can you do that for me?”

“All right, whatever you say. I’ll come up and do it later. Anything else?”

“Yes, grab the towels and washrags in the bathroom. I don’t know how long they’ve been there. And, honey, check that shower curtain for mildew.”

As they were walking downstairs, Norma said, “Macky, what about Aunt Elner!”

“What about her?”

“Are we going to tell her? Baby Girl said for us not to tell anybody she was coming. Do you think she meant Aunt Elner, too?”

“Did she mention Aunt Elner?”

“No. She didn’t say a word about her.”

“There’s your answer, then. If she had wanted us to tell Aunt Elner, she would have mentioned it.”

“I know, but I cannot imagine she wouldn’t want Aunt Elner to know.”

“All I know is we have to go by what she said.”

“But she hasn’t seen Aunt Elner since she was four; why
wouldn’t
she want to see her?”

“Honey, I’m sure she will see her. Why not let her decide when she wants to?”

Norma put the first load of washing in, added detergent, closed the lid, and sat down with him at the kitchen table. “Macky, what if she doesn’t want to see Aunt Elner when she’s here, and Aunt Elner finds out that she was in town after she’s gone? Aunt Elner will be so hurt.”

“Norma, there you go making a mountain out of a molehill again, over something that hasn’t even happened yet. Everything will work out fine.”

Norma got up and poured herself a cup of coffee. “OK, this is what we will do. After she’s been here for a while and gotten settled in and all, I’ll just bring it up naturally, you know, in conversation. I’ll just casually say, Baby Girl, I’m sure you will want to see your Aunt Elner. She would be so disappointed not to see you. She’s so proud of you and brags about you to everyone in town when she sees you on TV. She always says, ‘That’s my little niece.’ ”

“In other words, you’re gonna blackmail the poor girl into going.”

“Don’t be silly. Then, when she decides, I’ll call and say, Aunt Elner, guess what? Baby Girl has just flown into town as a surprise. That way Aunt Elner can be surprised.”

Macky offered another suggestion. “Why don’t you just take Baby Girl over there, knock on the door, and
really
surprise her?”

Norma looked at Macky in utter disbelief. “Macky, are you thinking with your elbow? You can’t just go up and knock on a ninety-three-year-old woman’s door and yell
surprise!
She could have a heart attack and drop dead right there in the doorway and wouldn’t that be wonderful for Baby Girl to come home and kill her aunt, just like that, right off the bat. That would just be a wonderful vacation for her, wouldn’t it? How would you like to have that on your conscience for the rest of your life?”

“Well, at least she’d be in town for the funeral.…”

Norma looked at Macky and shook her head. “You know, Macky, sometimes I worry about you, I really do.”

The luncheon went well. Extremely well. There were times today when Dena was smiling and shaking hands that she really cared about what the other person was saying. Sometimes it seemed the worse she felt, the nicer she became. A twinge of guilt. What if these people had seen her a few hours ago, sloshed to the gills? They would have been horrified. But although she was standing there looking calm and relaxed, emotionally she was crawling on her hands and knees. She had been lucky because the luncheon had not ended one minute too soon. At about 2:45 all the aspirin, Alka-Seltzer, Valium, and the two Bloody Marys she had managed to drink had started to wear off and she could feel that big, dark, pounding headache looming in the background, ready to hit her like a herd of buffalo. Her stomach started to burn again and every muscle in her body felt as if she had been dropped from a ten-story building. Only in the last ten minutes had she begun to sweat ever so slightly and noticed a tic beginning in her left eye. But she made it through.

She got into a cab and said, “One thirty-four West Fifty-eighth, please.” Smiled and waved good-bye. When the cab made a left turn out of the park and she was out of sight, she almost collapsed with
relief. It was over. She could finally stop smiling. Now she could go home, take more aspirin, another Valium, drink an ice-cold beer, and get in bed and sleep. All she had to do was just hang on a little longer.

But hanging on was not made easy by this cab driver. He drove in short spurts, slamming on his brakes and whipping one way then another. She leaned forward.

“Sir, do you mind not jerking the car. I’m just getting over a hip operation.”

The driver paid no attention except to give her a dirty look and mumble something in a foreign language. He continued to oversteer and to jerk and slam on his brakes. She could feel the herd again closing in on her head. She tried again, “Sir, would you please—”

She could tell he was ignoring her. She gave up, sat back, and tried to hold on as best she could. Jesus, was there a cab driver left in New York who spoke English? Not only did this guy not speak English, he was mean, surly, and obviously hated women. His body odor was strong enough to strip paint off walls. She got out on the corner of Fifty-eighth and Sixth because she didn’t have the energy to try and explain to him how to go around the block. After she handed him a five-dollar bill for a $4.70 fare, he gave her another dirty look, grunted something, and held out his hand for a tip. She said, “Listen, buster, if you expect a tip you better learn to drive, to speak English, and learn some damn manners while you’re at it!” The driver screamed at her in his native tongue, whatever it was, threw her change on the ground, and spit at her. As he squealed off, he yelled the one English word he did know: “Faggot!”

Dena gave him the finger and screamed back, “You jerk—why don’t you go back where you came from, you creep!” Not only did screaming hurt her head, it caused people to stop and stare. As she looked around she thought, Oh, great, here I am standing on a street corner with a hangover and turning into the Ugly American right before my own eyes. She was probably recognized and would be quoted tomorrow in
The Daily News.

The only consolation was that as she walked away, several people applauded.