Читать книгу Body Language - Millie Criswell - Страница 9

ELLIE PETERS WAS HAVING a midlife crisis.

Well, not exactly midlife, since she was only thirty-two years, three months, and seventeen days old. But she lived in midtown Manhattan, so the “mid” part was definitely valid.

And as crises went, hers was major!

“We need to find a place to live, Barn, and we need to find it fast. Brian will be back from L.A. next week, and we’ve got to be moved out of here by then.”

Her idea, not his.

Brian foolishly thought they could still work things out, even after he’d called Barnaby “God’s stupid mistake” and suggested to Ellie that she take the dog to the pound, and all because he’d peed in his Bruno Magli loafers.

It had been an accident, for crying out loud!

Ellie’s bulldog, who had a face only a mother could love (if said mother was blind), digested this news by letting loose with a very ungentlemanly fart, and then whimpered, obviously knowing that it was her ex-boyfriend’s hatred of him that had sent Ellie and Brian’s relationship into the toilet, forcing her to look for a new place to live.

She may have dumped Brian, but it was his apartment she’d been living in these past six months, and that had been really poor planning on her part.

“Don’t worry, Barnaby,” she said, patting the dog’s head affectionately. “Good dogs are much harder to find than good men. And Brian was too anal for his own good, anyway.

“I mean, what person in their right mind flosses after every meal?” As the image of yards and yards of dental floss hanging over the edge of the waste-basket emerged—floss she’d been forced to pick up and dispose of properly—YUCK!—Ellie shuddered in distaste, knowing she’d made the right choice.

It was so much better to be the dumper rather than the dumpee, for a change, she decided.

“At any rate, we are going to be much better off without Brian, Barn.”

Seeming to agree with her assessment, Barnaby licked her face, producing an inordinately large amount of drool, which Ellie wiped off with the sleeve of her Georgetown University sweatshirt—her alma mater—before going back to peruse the classifieds.

Apartments in New York City were ridiculously expensive. She was no Donald Trump, and Ellie’s job as a translator at the United Nations didn’t pay her enough to find something as elegant as where she was living now, within a stone’s throw of Central Park.

She sighed at the thought of moving. Barn loved walking in the park, rolling in the grass and romping with his canine buddies. Ellie loved strolling down Fifth Avenue and looking in the store windows at merchandise she couldn’t afford to buy.

It was important to dream, even if those dreams were occasionally dumped on.

“Thank you, Brian!”

NOT!

Brian Pomeroy’s taste ran to the expensive—Hugo Boss suits, Rolex watches, dinners at La Cirque—but he also had a substantial income as a law partner in Fields, Morgan and Pomeroy that allowed him to indulge his every whim.

And for a while, Ellie had been one of those whims.

For all his faults, which were too numerous to mention—What kind of a man didn’t like dogs?—Brian had been generous, buying her expensive jewelry, planning weekend trips to Bermuda, and taking her to the opera…which she loathed.

Apparently, her ex-boyfriend had been under the misguided impression that because Ellie was half-Italian and could speak the language fluently (in addition to speaking French and Spanish), this meant she would automatically be an opera aficionado.

Ha! She hated hearing the fat lady sing, in any language.

Ellie had met Brian at a cocktail party at the Italian embassy. He’d looked dashing, she’d been desperate, and somehow they’d hooked up.

It had been an opposites-attract sort of thing, because they’d really had very little in common, other than a love of good food—the city had fabulous restaurants, and they’d eaten at most of them—and a desire to read the Sunday New York Times from cover to cover. Occasionally they worked the crossword puzzle together, but usually ended up arguing.

Brian thought he was smart because he knew what bifurcation meant.

Like anyone would use that word!

Lifting the hem of her sweatshirt, Ellie looked down at the slight bulge that was now her stomach, thanks to the aforementioned good food. She needed to lose at least ten pounds, fifteen would be better.

Diet and exercise, she’d decided, along with all her other life-altering decisions of late, would become part of her new game plan.

Ellie’s plan consisted of: locating an apartment near her work (something fabulous, but not expensive), losing weight and getting in shape (without giving up any of her favorite foods or killing herself on the treadmill—exercise was an evil necessity, but it was still evil), and last but by no means least, finding Mr. Right. And not just any Mr. Right, but Mr. Perfectly Wonderful Right. She’d been with too many Mr. Wrongs and was long overdue.

Not to mention, a decent orgasm wouldn’t hurt!

Her ex-boyfriend knew a lot about bifurcation, just not a whole lot about clitoral stimulation. And you could forget about that whole “G-Spot” thing. The man had been alphabetically challenged.

Shaking her head, Ellie cursed beneath her breath to erase the unpleasant memory of Brian Pomeroy. Picking up the phone, she began dialing several of the potential landlords listed in the “Apartments for Rent or Lease” section of the newspaper—the ones who accepted dogs, of course—and made arrangements to see them.

“Get your leash, Barn. We’re going hunting.”

A FEW WEEKS LATER, Ellie and her co-worker, Becky Morgan, who often shared coffee and lunch breaks together, were eating lunch at their desks in the Translation and Interpretation Department of the United Nations building; this was something they did with regularity, unfortunately, due to the never-ending workload.

“So, are you excited about your new place?” Becky wanted to know. “You’re lucky it’s so close to work.”

“Wait!” Ellie held up her hand, signaling for her co-worker to be silent, while she finished translating the last of the Italian ambassador’s address to the General Assembly.

Yanking off her headphones, she smiled contritely. “Sorry. I needed to finish that so I could get it in for Moody’s approval.”

Becky worked as an interpreter, while Ellie’s job was to translate. Becky interpreted orally, which meant she listened to the speaker on headphones, then rendered the speech simultaneously into the target language. Ellie translated the written word into the text of the target language, after the fact.

“That’s okay. I asked if you liked your new apartment.”

“Are you kidding? I love it.” She bit into her sandwich and listened to her stomach grumble in response. “It’s in an older building on East Fifty-third Street, between First Avenue and the East River. The rooms are large, I have a fireplace, a study, and I can walk to work, which fits in nicely with my new fitness regimen.”

Which I plan to start any day now.

“Sounds lovely,” Becky said distractedly, heaving a sigh, and Ellie knew right away that something was wrong at home. Becky was married to Ben and had a ten-month-old baby boy named Jonah.

“Jonah had an ear infection over the weekend. We were worried because his temperature had skyrocketed, but he’s fine now.”

“Thank goodness! I bet you were scared to death.” Ellie adored Jonah. Every time she baby-sat the adorable cherub her biological clock began ticking like a time bomb.

And wouldn’t my mother love to know that?

Rosemary Peters was Italian, by birth and by nature. By her standards, you weren’t considered a real woman unless you could breed like a bunny, cook a fabulous dinner for twenty with items you had on hand and recite the Ten Commandments in less than sixty seconds. (Ellie could do it in forty-five.)

Ellie’s mother was what one would call your stereotypical Italian mama. She was devoted to her husband and family—translation: she meddled—attended church religiously on Sundays—a card-carrying Catholic who lived to pass out guilt—and was an excellent cook—if you weren’t at least fifteen pounds overweight you were skin and bones.

This last part was only good if you were premenstrual and eating chocolate by the pound rather than the piece.

“Have you heard from your mother lately, Ellie? You haven’t mentioned her in a while. I hope everything’s okay.”

“That’s because if you mention Rosemary, she calls. I think my mother has ESP, or maybe she practices voodoo. I don’t know. All I know is that if I breathe her name, even think it, she calls.”

Ellie adored her mother, but she was happy and relieved that the woman lived in Florida and not New York. No way did she want to deal with Rosemary Peters on a regular basis. She’d had enough of that growing up.

Anal was the word to describe her mother, or maybe it was obsessive, as in obsessive-compulsive. The woman made Mr. Clean look like a pathetic pig! Rosemary carried a can of Lysol around with her wherever she went; germs didn’t stand a chance in her presence.

And neither did daughters who had no boyfriends.

“So, are you and Ben still considering buying a house on Long Island? If you do, I won’t be able to baby-sit Jonah, which would be awful.” Ellie liked feeling maternal, as long as that feeling didn’t last for more than three or four hours. She loved kids, but knew her limitations.

“I bet you guys will miss the excitement of the city if you leave.”

Becky nodded, not looking at all happy about the prospect of moving to the suburbs. “Ben is determined to live closer to his parents. He thinks the city is lacking in child developmental activities and wants to raise Jonah in a more ‘normal’ atmosphere, whatever that is.”

Taking another bite out of her turkey sub, Ellie mourned the lack of mayonnaise and her friend’s possible move. “I suppose there are good and bad points to living in both locations. You’ll be far from the madding crowd, but also far from the great restaurants and theaters.”

“Ben promises that we can still come into the city for our social activities.” But Becky’s skeptical expression indicated she knew that wasn’t likely to happen.

Once Ben got a taste of suburbia, with grocery stores that had more than two aisles and streets with more than one tree for every sixteen thousand people, he’d be hooked. Casseroles and carpools would become a new way of life for Becky Morgan.

It was probably fortunate that Ellie hated casseroles, especially tuna, and didn’t know how to drive.

And it was also very fortunate that she didn’t have anyone, especially a man, telling her what to do.

And the most fortunate thing of all was that she was finally getting her shit together, not to mention her life.

THE PHONE RANG and Ellie’s stomach twisted into a tight knot. “It’s my mother, Barn,” she told the dog. “I can feel the negative energy surrounding me. There’s a dark aura emanating from the phone. Can you see it?”

The bulldog, who was lying on the floor in front of the fireplace, amidst dozens of rumpled packing papers, covered his muzzle with his front paws and whined pathetically.

“Oh, don’t be such a drama queen, you silly boy. That’s Mom’s role.” And did Rosemary ever play it well. Had the woman been a real actress she would have won the Oscar. With a sigh, Ellie picked up the phone.

“Oh, Ellie, there you are. I was beginning to think you weren’t home.”

“Hi, Mom! I’ve been unpacking. My new apartment is still quite a mess, but I love it. Or I will, as soon as I finish getting everything straightened out.”

“I’m looking forward to seeing it.”

Visit alert! Visit alert! Take evasive action.

Ellie did not want her mother visiting. “I’m sure it’s going to take me a while to get the apartment decorated.” Like about ten years or maybe never.

Ben Franklin said that fish and company stank after three days. In her mother’s case, it took about three hours.

“The apartment looks like shit right now, and I don’t have enough furniture to fill it. I’m really lacking in the bedroom area.”

Wasn’t that the damn truth!

“Such language, Ellie. Ladies shouldn’t swear.”

Sticking her head in the fridge, she debated ending it all, but decided against it and reached instead for the closest thing edible: a moldy piece of cheese. She bit off a hunk from the least offensive end.

Her mother’s visits, threatened or real, were always good for at least ten pounds. She prayed the woman wouldn’t be coming to stay any time soon. She really needed to lose weight.

And keep her sanity.

“How’s Dad? Has he been working a lot?” Her father, Theodore, or Ted, as he liked to be called, was a certified public accountant who worked out of his house. March and April were his busiest months, and the rest of the year he just coasted, doing books and reports for a number of firms he’d serviced over the last twenty-five years.

“Your father spends every waking moment on that computer of his. He’s on the Internet constantly. I don’t think that can be good for him, Ellie. He’s become a recluse, not wanting to go out shopping or to a movie, or do anything that remotely smacks of fun.

“I’m going nuts. We’ve lived in Florida for five years and I haven’t been to the beach, even one time. My friends, especially Estelle Romano, are starting to talk.”

“Have you considered going by yourself?”

“What fun would that be?”

Ellie could hear the agitation in her mother’s voice and it worried her. Rosemary Peters was usually in control of herself, others, and any given situation. You could even say she was a bit…uh, controlling.

“You need to calm down and think about this rationally, Mom. You know Dad’s the quiet type. And now that he’s found the Internet it’s only natural that he’d be drawn to it. A lot of people have given up reading and television in favor of being online.”

“It’s not healthy, I’m telling you. The man needs exercise. He’s not getting any younger, and he’s developing a paunch. Why, the other day he could barely lace up his shoes.”

Ellie patted her stomach, and then tossed the cheese in the kitchen sink. “Yeah, well I can relate. I’m trying to lose a few pounds, myself.”

“Stop! You’re skin and bones.” Her mother’s tone bespoke horror. “Why would you want to lose weight? Men don’t want to take a skeleton to bed.”

Diet wasn’t part of any card-carrying Italian’s vocabulary, unless, of course, an annoying husband was involved. Then all bets were off. Any Italian woman worth her salt had a ready exception for every rule.

“I’m hardly a skeleton, Mom. Skeletons don’t have cellulite. And since I’m not sleeping with anyone at the moment, that’s not a factor.”

“Don’t tell me about your sex life. I don’t want to know about such things.”

Ellie rolled her eyes. “You’re the one who brought it up. And I’m hardly a child. You must have figured out by now that I have sex with men.”

“Well, at least it’s not with women. For that I should be grateful, no?”

“And I don’t do drugs or sell myself on the street, so you should be grateful for that, too.”

“You’re a naughty girl, Ellie. I should have washed your mouth out with soap more often when you were little. Maybe then you’d show some respect to your mother.”

Aretha Franklin had nothing on Ellie’s mother when it came to demanding R-E-S-P-E-C-T. Rosemary felt her exalted position as mother superior, so to speak, rated treatment from her family equal only to that bestowed upon the pope.

Rosemary probably would have loved everyone to genuflect in front of her, but she hadn’t made that request as of yet.

“Lighten up, will you, Mom? I was only kidding. You need to learn to take a joke.”

“Maybe you’re right, dear. I’m sorry. I’ve been a little tense these past few weeks. Your father…”

“Will be fine. Dad is Dad. He’s got his ways. You’ve known that for thirty-five years. Why should you think any differently now?”

“Things seem different. I can’t put my finger on it. But it worries me, Ellie. Something just isn’t right.”

“Have you spoken to him about it?” Maybe her father was ill and not saying anything. That possibility worried Ellie. Her father wasn’t one to complain.

“Your father refuses to discuss it, says it’s all in my head, that there’s nothing wrong.”

“Well, there you go,” Ellie said, trying to ease her mother’s fears. “See, you’re worrying for nothing.” She prayed that was true.

“That’s probably what Ted Bundy told those girls he dated. Don’t worry, you’re safe with me, then hack, hack.”

Ellie’s mother had a thing about serial killers. She was morbidly fascinated with them and frightened that she or one of her family members would come across one some day.

Ted Bundy was talked about so often that he had become like part of the family. The only one Mom drew the line at discussing was Jeffrey Dahmer, because he ate people, and apparently that made a difference.

Go figure!

“I’m not sure how Bundy and Dad relate, but I still think you’re worrying needlessly.”

“Nevertheless, I’m going to church tomorrow and pray about it again. Prayer changes things, you know.”

“Great idea! You can pray for me while you’re there. Tell God that I need to meet a really sexy man with gobs of money, who’s good in bed, loves my dog, and has a full head of hair.”

If only such a man existed!

“Brian was nice. You should have hung on to him. Rich men aren’t that easy to find. And neither are straight men, especially in New York. With all the gay men you’ve got living there, you can’t be too picky.”

Ellie and her mother had had this discussion before, ad nauseam. This was usually the place where Ellie made her excuses and hung up. “Well, Mom, I’d better get—”

“Not so fast, young lady. I want to ask you something.”

Oh, shit! It was never good when her mother prefaced a sentence with that particular statement. She sighed. “What is it?”

“Are you coming home for Christmas? Your father and I aren’t getting any younger, and we’d like to spend the holidays with you.”

“How would I know? Christmas is still months away.”

“It’ll be here before you know it. Promise me you’ll come.”

Usually, it was possible for Ellie to blow people off if she didn’t want to commit, but not with Rosemary. Once her mother had decided on something she wanted, she didn’t give up. First the phone calls started, and then came the packages of home-baked cookies. But it was the threats of her mother coming to plead her case in person that would finally wear Ellie down. Sighing deeply at the thought of palm trees and sand instead of evergreens and snow, Ellie finally gave in, knowing her mother would hound her until she did.

“All right, I’ll come. But you should know that sometimes they make me work during the holidays. I can’t always get the time off.”

“You’ll ask your boss. He’ll understand the importance of family and will let you come home.”

“Mr. Moody’s not married, Mom. He doesn’t have a family, and I doubt he’d give a rat’s ass about anyone else’s.”

Herbert Moody was a prick. Ellie lived for the day when the man retired and was replaced with someone of this century.

“What is he, an atheist?”

“No, just a crotchety old man who should have retired years ago. I think Moody’s been at the U.N. since the day it opened.” There’d been talk of letting him go, but so far it hadn’t happened. Ellie figured the man had dirt on anyone who was anyone, like J. Edgar Hoover, only she didn’t think Herbert Moody was gay.

“There’s a lot to be said for older people. You shouldn’t discount them, Elinore. You could learn a lot from them, if you would just listen.”

Rosemary always called Ellie by her given name when she had a point to make, as if stretching Ellie into Elinore could somehow emphasize the importance of what she was saying: Elinore don’t ignore.

“Normally, I don’t, but Mr. Moody is hard of hearing and has a very sour stomach. His breath could knock down an elephant from a mile away.”

“I’ll let your father know you’ll be coming. Maybe it’ll cheer him up, get him interested in something other than that computer of his.”

“Maybe you and Dad should think about going on a cruise, or taking a romantic vacation somewhere. A change of scenery would be good for both of you.”

A moment of silence ensued as Rosemary digested this suggestion. Then she said, “You know, Ellie, that’s not a bad idea. Most of the cruise ships leave from Miami or Fort Lauderdale. We wouldn’t have to pay extra for airfare. I’m going to look into it.”

“You can get some really good fares online.”

“Good. I’ll check. I’m not as good at the Internet as your father, so I rarely use the computer, but I think I can find my way.”

Ellie felt hopeful. Her mother rarely took her advice. Actually, she never took it, and Ellie gave very good advice, if she did say so herself. But Rosemary was of the opinion that she knew everything. Pearls of wisdom spewed forth from her mouth like an uninterrupted lava flow. And like lava, which hardened when it cooled, her mother’s opinions were of the etched-in-stone variety.

“It’ll give you and Dad something in common that you can talk about,” Ellie added. “And cruises are very romantic. I think you should go. But make sure you book a good line, splurge a little. You both deserve it.”

“Thank you, dear. I’m glad I called. I feel so much better.”

Breathing a sigh of relief that Rosemary wouldn’t be purchasing a plane ticket for the Big Apple any time soon, Ellie smiled to herself and replied, “Let me know what you find out about the cruise.”

“Of course I will. Did you think I wouldn’t discuss every detail with you? You’re my daughter; this is an important decision I’ll be making.”

Ellie rolled her eyes. The woman was going on vacation, not having brain surgery! “Okay, Mom. I’ll talk to you soon.”

“And Ellie—”

“Yes?”

“Be sure to spray your toilet bowl and seat with Lysol before using it. You never know who was living there before you. And it wouldn’t hurt to scrub your floors with Murphy’s Oil Soap, and then—”

“Someone’s at the door, Mom. Gotta go. ’Bye.”

As Ellie hung up the phone, she looked heavenward or, in this case, at her ceiling, which was slightly soiled with soot. “Please, God, let the cruises be available.”