Читать книгу Dispatches From Paradise - Shelly Gitlow - Страница 4

Aside from the visual blight of the flabby guy in a thong biking past me, it’s another beautiful day in Miami. Zipping through Coconut Grove on my Rollerblades, I feel lighter than usual. Maybe that’s because I’ve declared my life a do-over, and I’m excited about making the changes. Looking out over Biscayne Bay, I take in the spectacular sunrise and wave at some kayakers. If all goes according to plan, I’ll be joining them soon.

First item on my agenda: Richard. I walk into the bedroom and find him sleeping with Susu’s butt in his face. She’s a bag of bones with a flowing blond mane, and Richard adores her. When she sees me, she starts yapping, and he wakes up, squinting and disoriented. Perfect. I strike while he’s weak and pull the blanket off him. He’s sleeping au natural and has an erection (yikes!). I forge on.

“Morning, sunshine.”

“Whaa?”

He glares at me and reaches for his darling dog.

“You came in late. Again. I’ve had it.”

Richard thinks it’s my typical tirade and ignores me. He has no idea it’s D-Day.

“Twenty years of cheating on me is enough. I can’t do it anymore.”

That gets his attention. He sits up.

“Didn’t think it bothered you, Lizzie.”

The dog is now yelping at a feverish pitch.

“Don’t call me that. And shut the damn dog up. I’m pulling the plug, Richard. I want you out!”

He jumps out of bed. I’m a tad distracted by his “happy organ.” It’s not easy having meaningful dialogue with a naked person, so I pick up his boxers and hand them to him.

He holds them, frozen in disbelief.

“I have to leave?”

I nod vigorously and plant a determined look on my face.

“Can you please put on your shorts?”

He obliges, then picks up Susu. He buries his face in her neck, and she finally stops barking.

“But it’s such short notice, babe. Where will I go?”

I shrug and fight to maintain the “face.” I’m weakening, but I reach out for my anger. It’s standing by and gives me an assist.

“I don’t care where you go. This isn’t about you. It’s about me and the rest of my life.”

Did I really just say that? I’m proud of myself.

“Wow. That sounds serious. Do you want to talk about it?”

He’s that dense, thinks he can turn on the phony concern and make this go away. Sorry, mister, that’s not going to happen.

“What’s the point, now?”

“Jeez, I was just trying to be nice. What’s with you?”

“Me? Uh uh, Richard. That’s not going to fly this time.”

I’m on a roll.

“Okay. I’ll see if I can stay with Janice.”

“Whatever. Tell her it won’t be for long. You’ll find a new bimbo in a couple of months.”

“That’s cold. Maybe we can work things out, babe. You never know.”

Am I being too mean? The thought passes quickly as I trip over his shoe. I pick up the rest of his clothes and throw them on the bed. Richard snuggles the dog some more.

“It’s sickening, you and that dog. You pay more attention to her than your own daughter.”

“Not true.”

“Oh yeah? Then where were you when Darcy was in rehab and she and I did the whole Family Therapy thing?”

Because I sure felt like all of her problems were my fault, and it was really hard for me.

“You know I was busy with the Gutman case. And she’s fine.”

Boy, I hope you’re right. I’m terrified that she’s on her own. I should have been a better mother. All the therapists told me not to beat myself up, so I won’t (at least not now).

“How would you know? When was the last time you spoke to her?”

“I sent her some money. That’s all college kids want.”

He says this like he should get a “Father of the Year” trophy because he’s so insightful about the younger generation. I look at him with disgust and shake my head. He’s smiling broadly. I’m confused.

“I made a reservation at Prime 112 for your birthday, Lizzie.”

I’m shocked and speechless. In all our years together, Richard never remembered my birthday. He slithers over to me and puts his arm around my waist. I remove it with clinical detachment.

“Come on. Want to reconsider?”

He can be very charming. I consider reconsidering. Maybe I’m being too harsh. Richard puts his face in Susu’s. She licks him and he french kisses her. Gross. What did I ever see in him? Oh yeah. I was twenty and pregnant. He was gorgeous (a 9, and I’m a 6, maybe a 6.5 on a good day). I was that shallow and stupid.

“No one’s at fault here. We shouldn’t have gotten married in the first place. If I wasn’t so far along, I could have had an abortion and we would have gone our separate ways.”

“But then there would have been no Darcy.”

Beautiful, sweet, baby Darcy. I gave up school for her and vowed to go back. Life got in the way, so that never happened.

“You’re right. And even though it’s been hard raising her, I don’t regret it.”

“Me neither. So we should try to work things out for Darcy’s sake.”

“Nice try, but no. I’m serious about starting a new life that doesn’t include you and your girlfriends.”

“Come on. At least let me take you out for your birthday.”

“Please take your precious little dog and go. That would be the best birthday present.”

“Okay. So I should cancel the reservation?”

“I’m sure Janice will love it.”

I grab my clothes, go into the bathroom, and slam the door. I sit down on the bathtub, turn on the water, and start to bawl. This isn’t as easy as I thought it would be. Richard knocks on the door. I ignore him.

“Bye, babe. I’ll call you. I know you’re going to miss me by tomorrow.”

You self-centered, egotistical asshole. Still playing the old game. But thanks for clarifying things. I’m not going to miss you tomorrow (or ever).

“Just go, Richard.”

The hot shower washes away some of the tension. Mercifully, when I get out, Richard and Susu are gone. As I pull up my taupe Control Top pantyhose, my fingernail snags them, but I so don’t give a shit. After slapping on the minimal amount of makeup, I grab my attaché case and head out, fortified for the next bomb.

I’m in my cubicle at the Bank of America, puttering around, having given up all pretenses of trying to look productive. I hear my supervisor Madeline approaching, her four-inch heels click-clacking, and don’t even feign industriousness. She knocks on my half-wall.

“Gerald wants to see us in the lunchroom ASAP, Liz. I think it’s about the safety deposit boxes.”

“Okay. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Since it’s my birthday, I know exactly what’s coming. I enter the lunchroom and there they are, right out of central casting: “Bank Employees.” Only they’re whooping it up in party hats, blowing noisemakers, and throwing confetti at me as they sing a rousing “Happy Birthday.” Big surprise! We do the exact same thing for everyone’s “special” day.

They seat me at the table in front of my cake with its 39 (+ 1 for good luck) candles, reminding me that I’m almost 40. I feel even older. How did I get here so fast? Surrounding the cake are my presents. I know what they are without opening them: picture frames, candles, empty journals that I’ll never fill. And the really clever ones will give me “liz”ard knick-knacks. All safe, easy gifts for someone you don’t really know and don’t want to offend.

The ritualized mayhem continues. I can’t take it anymore. I stand up, put my fingers in my mouth, and whistle loudly. That gets their attention. They figure I’m going to make a nice “thank you” speech, so they look at me with smiling anticipation.

“I want to thank you all . . . and . . . I quit.”

As I reach under my skirt and pull down my pantyhose, my former co-workers look dumbfounded. No one can believe I’m actually taking this job and shoving it, or maybe they’re all fantasizing about leaving too. Whatever. I’m out of here. I throw the pantyhose over my shoulder like a bridal bouquet as I walk out the door. I wonder who caught them?

Driving home, I open the sunroof and take in the breeze. I blast Jimmy Cliff’s “You Can Get It If You Really Want.” Oh yes I can, Jimmy. And I will. I pull into the driveway. Hard to believe it’s been less than two hours since I kicked Richard out. I can’t remember when I’ve had such a productive morning. What’s going on next door? Who’s that guy? He’s cute. Am I serious?

I grab my bags of work memorabilia and get out of the car. The shirtless guy smiles and waves. He’s taking boxes out of a van. Is he a mover or my new neighbor? I couldn’t possibly be that lucky. Must be his job. He’s coming over. He’s about my age and definitely hot.

“Can I help?”

“No thanks, I’m okay.”

“Well, just wanted to say hi. We’re moving in. Michael Pollack. And that’s my son Cole.”

He points to an adorable teenager who’s coming out of the house. I wave and Cole flashes me an irresistible grin. His perfect white teeth look chewable. Father and son, what am I thinking? Uh oh. Richard’s gone and I’m turning into a pervert. I put my bags down and offer my hand to Michael. He shakes it just right, not wimpy, not too hard.

“Welcome to the neighborhood. I’m Liz Harris. Where are you guys from?”

“Cincinnati.”

“Wow. Big move.”

“Yeah, well, the weather’s a little better here. And Cole’s a diver. He’s on a full scholarship at the University of Miami. If he works hard, he could make the Olympic team.”

“That’s great. My daughter’s in her first semester at Rollins, up in Winter Park. No scholarship for her, so it’s pretty pricey.”

“I bet.”

“Not that I’m complaining. My husband, soon to be ex, has it under control.”

That’s the first time I’ve said that. He seems to look at me more seriously. I’m probably imagining that.

Cole struggles to take a box out of the van.

“I should help him.”

“Sure. If you need anything, just holler.”

“Um, actually, is there a good health food store around?”

Must be a vegetarian. They can be preachy and self-righteous. I hope he’s not a strict one.

“Sure. There’s a Whole Foods two blocks that way, take a right, and it’s about a mile. Do you only eat organic?”

“I’m a vegan.”

Swell. I don’t even know exactly what that is. But he seems okay with the Whole Foods.

I stand in my closet, eyeing my pitiful wardrobe. Nothing’s right for a South Beach club. How did I let Anna talk me into this? I should have treated myself and bought something cool, but I was too busy plotting my major life changes. Oh well. Do I have anything from this decade?

My choices are pathetically inappropriate. There’s the purple bridesmaid’s dress from Bernadette’s wedding that makes me look like a pregnant munchkin. Why do I even still have that? The white linen Tom Wolfe pantsuit would be perfect for an evening of throwing back mojitos and puffing on a big fat cigar. There’s the low-cut minidress that I never had the guts to wear. Hmmm.

Looking at myself in the mirror, I wonder why I thought it was so revealing. It’s just above my knees and no cleavage is showing (not that I have any to speak of). Richard wanted me to get a boob job, but I refused. Would that have made a difference?

Anna’s been my best friend since the third grade. Tonight we’re seated in front of the stage at The G-Spot, a Chuck E. Cheese for women, consuming a bottle of Dom Pérignon. I’m making a fish face and can’t feel my teeth. Nothing wrong with a little mood alteration, especially today. Anna’s beautiful, fun, sexy, and comfortable in her own skin, everything I’m not. Plus she’s the only person who’s ever totally gotten me.

The place is filled with bachelorette parties and gals celebrating birthdays, divorces, and new babies and grandkids. We are a strange brew of hot young chicks, shell-shocked middle-aged women, and happy-to-be-out-and-about seniors. But there’s a common denominator among many of my fellow revelers: huge breasts. Not big C-cups, but enormous DD-cups. Some of them look okay. But some are teeny-tiny gals with sticks for legs. Those canteloupes protruding from their chests look absurd. Are huge mammaries the rage everywhere, or just Miami? Wherever there are men, I guess.

“Tell me the truth. Do I have the smallest boobs in town?”

Anna giggles as she examines the goods.

“Well, they are small, but they’re nice and perky. No worries. Some guys prefer cupcakes.”

I’m inquiring about “cupcakes,” when a voice bellows out of the loudspeaker.

“The G-Spot is proud to present Miami’s one and only, the fabulous Miss Lilly. Let’s hear it, ladies. Give it up for Miss Lilly.”

As we applaud, the spotlight hits an octogenarian decked out in a leopard jumpsuit and a pink boa, with yellow hibiscus flowers perched in her beautiful long white hair. But the most impressive thing about her is that she’s wielding a walker, a red polka-dot walker but a walker nonetheless. The place suddenly goes silent. No one can believe what we’re looking at. Anna winks at me. I gulp some Dom.

All eyes are on Miss Lilly as she shoves the walker out of her way and shakily grabs the microphone stand. She takes a deep breath and looks out into the sea of expectant faces. We’re curious about her poem, but even more concerned about whether she can finish her recitation without having to be resuscitated. Miss Lilly speaks.

“This poem is called ‘How to Keep a Man.’

Hear me now and take my advice.

To hold on to a man, you must be nice.

When a guy gets hard, he’s ready to go,

So whatever you do, don’t say no.

They say men are from Mars and women are from Venus.

Just thank your lucky stars and suck on his penis!”

Everyone’s laughing and clapping. I’m uncomfortable and look awkwardly at Anna.

“She did not just say that.”

“Oh yes, she did. And that’s one of her R-rated ones. You should hear the X-rated.”

Part of me thinks she’s obscene; part of me wants to scream, “You go, girl!” Can you say that to an eighty-some-thing? I’d like to be that comfortable with my sexuality before I reach senior-citizen status.

Two hunky young escorts sporting red polka-dot jockstraps roll Miss Lilly’s walker over and help her offstage. She pats their behinds. That’s something my mother would enjoy immensely. Dear god, what will Claudette be doing at that age?

“This is embarrassing.”

Anna smiles. “It’s South Beach. Anything goes.” She grabs my hand, looks at my wedding ring. “What’s that still doing there?”

“Shark repellant. Any guy that hits on me with this on will just be another Richard. That, I can live without.”

Anna raises her eyebrows. Am I really ready to be single? Can I do this?

“You need to lighten up, sweetie.”

“You’re so right. I’m going to have fun and do whatever I want.”

“And that would be?”

“Don’t know yet. Give me a minute to think about it, okay? By the way, this really cute guy moved in next door.”

“Whoa. That’s so desperate. You can’t go for the first one that comes along.”

The voice of reason.

“You’re so right. What was I thinking?”

I finally have my freedom. This is the first time I’ve ever lived alone. I went from my college dorm to Richard and my first apartment. One of the house stud muffins comes over and kisses my hand. Uh oh. I’m not ready for whatever this is. Anna grins.

“Happy birthday, Lizard.”

Great. Before I know it, he’s gyrating and pulling me up to dance with him. Everyone’s watching and clapping. I’m mortified and can’t even remember how to dance, so I sit down. His business is right in front of my face . . . nestled against my nose, now his derriere in a g-string (Holy crap!). I cover my face. Get me out of here! I sneak a look at him. He’s cute and young, and he smiles warmly at me. I half-smile back. He leans down and whispers in my ear.

“Don’t worry, it’s almost over. And I’m gay.”

I giggle and suddenly it’s all okay. I take off my wedding ring to wild applause from the DD-cup crowd. The guy gives me a kiss on the cheek and that’s that. I throw my wedding ring into the bottomless pit of my purse and give Anna a big hug.

“Thanks.”

“It wasn’t too terrible, was it?”

“Actually, it was kind of fun.”

I really am grateful. What would I do without her?

“Claudette didn’t remember my birthday, and neither did Darcy.”

“You know you can’t expect anything from Claudette.”

“I guess I’ll never stop hoping that she’ll act like a mother.”

“Not going to happen, sweetie. I remember when we were kids and she was away modeling. You’d run home to see if she sent something for your birthday.”

“Never did. And didn’t even call.”

“She’s not going to change.”

“You’re so right. But Darcy?”

“Come on. Cut her a break. It’s her first semester at school. That can’t be easy for her.”

Of course she’s right, but I’d like everything to be perfect (ha!). I’m not going to obsess about my problems (double ha!). At least for today.

The next morning I wake up feeling refreshed and energized. Having the bed to myself was fantastic. And not being woken up by Richard’s snoring and farting was pure bliss. I’m whistling as I get dressed. After purchasing a kayak, I go to Books & Books, get a decaf nonfat cappuccino, also known as a “Why bother?” in barista-speak, and grab a Kayaker magazine.

It’s pretty quiet, but why wouldn’t it be? It’s ten a.m. on Tuesday. Only those of us with charmed lives can do this. And a few soccer moms over there and the guy at that table. As I pass by, I look at his face closely. He’s really cute, even with the gray hair. He caught me. He’s smiling. I sort of smile/nod back. What’s going on with me? Am I turning into my mother?

“Want to join me?”

I am so not ready for this. Should have put on some makeup. I don’t respond quickly enough, so he fills the space.

“You kayak?”

“Just bought one, but I haven’t even tried it out yet.”

“Cool. Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

“Come on, sit down. I’m a nice guy.”

“I’m sure you are, but I should read this.”

He shrugs. I give him a stupid, pinched smile, sit down at another table and open my magazine. I choose a spot where I can sneak a peek at him every so often. A young woman displaying her DD’s in a tube top comes up behind him and starts to massage his shoulders. He’s into it. I guess it’s his girlfriend. She must be all of twenty-two. What’s it to me?

I look up from my magazine. He smiles and waves. Maybe she’s not his girlfriend. I smile back, take out my phone and call Claudette to guilt her for forgetting my birthday (a totally useless endeavor, but what the hell).

“Hi, it’s me.”

“Can’t talk, busy giving head.”

“But . . .”

She hangs up on me. Oh well. That’s my mother.

I pull into the driveway and unload the new kayak from my Jeep, remembering that just yesterday I was in pantyhose, spending my time with a bunch of bankers. What a difference a day makes! I’m feeling very up-to-the-minute, yet down-to-earth in my Tevas, clutching my kayak. I peer next door hoping that Michael will catch a glimpse of me. No such luck.

I drag the kayak into the house, walk through the kitchen, and into the living room. Whoops! There’s Cole pulling up his pants. We’re both surprised and embarrassed. I drop my kayak.

“What’s going on?”

“I was swimming, with Darcy.”

“Darcy? She’s at school.”

“Uh uh, dude. She’s outside.”

He grabs his shirt and walks to the door.

“Say hi to your dad for me!”

Jesus, where are my priorities? I have a sinking feeling in my gut. Why is Darcy home?

I go out to the back yard where my stunning daughter is drying off. When I haven’t seen her for a while, I forget what a knockout she is. She’s got the perfect combination of Richard and Claudette’s looks. Doesn’t look a thing like me. I look like my dad (as far as I can tell from the old, wrinkled picture I have).

“Mom!”

She runs to me and throws her arms around my neck. I’m caught up in the moment and hug her tightly. Then I remember that she probably isn’t bearing good news, so I retreat.

“I hope you take this the right way, Darcy. I mean, it’s great to see you and all, but what’s going on?”

“Can we talk about it later? I’m really tired.”

She lies down on a lounge chair, curls up in a fetal position. I stroke her hair.

“Just tell me, sweetie.”

“I left school.”

I stop petting her, put my face in my hands and bow my head. I’m really trying to remain calm, but it’s so hard.

“I hated that stupid place. I didn’t fit in. The classes were boring. My roommates were a drag.”

“Meaning what? They didn’t do drugs?”

Can I take that back, please, please, please?

“God, Mom. It had nothing to do with that.”

I deserved that. Good for her. I hope it’s true. Recidivism is so common. Stop it. Get back in the moment.

“So what was wrong?”

Darcy’s looking at me closely. Maybe she figured out that I spoke to the dean about her room assignment. I doubt it. She’s not that clever.

“It was almost like someone put all the nutcases in the same room, next to the R.A. so they could be watched. And I was there because of my former drug use, I suppose.”

She’s sharper than I thought. Guess that’s a good thing. I stay cool as she vents about my not trusting her. I’ve heard it before (ad nauseum).

“That wasn’t the only reason I left. You’re not going to like it. Remember I told you that these guys hang out at the college bars and film the girls doing stuff?”

“Go on.”

Uh oh. That awful terrified feeling is washing over me.

“Yeah, I remember. And remember I told you to stay away because you’re not twenty-one.”

I have to stop being so judgmental. It doesn’t get me anywhere. Darcy sighs and shakes her head.

“There’s nothing else to do in Buttfuck, Florida, Mom, except go to bars. And my new friends invited me to hang out with them. Do you want me to tell you or not?”

Oh please, can I opt out? I nod for her to continue.

“So one night I’m there with Jen and Barbie and we’re like fooling around, and all of a sudden, Barbie pulls up my top. Before I could pull it back down, they got my boobs on film. I think they set me up. I totally didn’t see it coming. I thought they liked me.”

“Still looking to blame everyone else for your mistakes.”

She looks disappointed and miserable. I shouldn’t have said that. I want her to confide in me. Maybe I can recoup.

“I’m sorry, Darcy. Maybe you’re right. Girls have always been jealous of you. So was that it?”

She looks down. “When I went to my History of Civ. class, which is huge, it was playing in a loop on the screen. Everyone was laughing. Even the professor saw it. I ran out, got my stuff and here I am.”

What should I say? I’m glad you were mortified? It’s not such a big deal? That’s what you get for not listening to me? None of the above.

“I’m really sorry that happened to you. If I could make it disappear, I would.”

Not bad. She softens. I hug her, and she smiles.

“I’m not going back to school, no matter what you say. It’s my life.”

“Fine. So where are you going to live your life?”

Not here. Anywhere but here. I’ve only had one day of peace without anyone. I want more! I deserve more! Am I being selfish?

“Can’t I stay here?”

I’m entitled to live alone. That doesn’t make me a bad mother. Or does it? I’m not sure I care. I really am a horrible person.

“Not a good idea.”

“Why? It’ll be different. I promise. And you could use some company now that Dad’s gone.”

So that’s it. Even though she said it didn’t bother her, she’s stressing about the breakup. I should talk to her about it.

“Is that the real reason you came home? The split?”

“It’s pretty upsetting.”

“I waited till you went to college. I thought it would be easier for you.”

“It’s still hard, Mom. You should help me get through it. I’m not strong enough to be on my own.”

That’s a button I didn’t need to have pushed. How do I handle this one without seeming like a coldhearted monster?

“Maybe you should move in with your dad? You guys get along pretty well.”

Richard lets her do whatever she wants. He gives her money, and she stays out of his face. That’s callous. Maybe I’m jealous because they seem to have a decent relationship.

“I already asked. He said no. Janice doesn’t want me in the way.”

Oh really? That’s a shock. Keeping the smugness from oozing out of me is a challenge. It’s not her fault. He’s the only father she has and she didn’t pick him.

“I have nowhere else to go, Mom. And I’m going to get a job. You’ll see.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“Model.”

“Not that again, please. When you finish college, you can try modeling. End of story.”

This is one battle that’s worth fighting. I don’t want her involved with Claudette and those people again. Darcy sits up, gets into her combat stance. It’s like old times.

“With all this stress, I could easily start using again.”

This round goes to Darcy. I don’t want to get sucked in, but I can’t turn her away. She’s my only child. And I’d be way too guilty if she did drugs again. Maybe it will be different with Richard gone. Maybe we can forge a better relationship.

“I guess we can give it a try. But you have to promise. No drugs.”

“Don’t worry, Mom. It’ll be cool.”

She kisses me on the cheek, and for the moment, it all feels okay. We walk into the living room. Darcy almost trips on my kayak.

“What’s that for?”

“I’m learning to kayak.”

“Wow. That’s something new.”

Should I tell her about the rest? I should, but maybe she’ll freak out and . . . I have to stop treating her like any stress will push her back to drugs.

“I quit my job.”

I watch her closely. She seems surprised but not upset.

“No way. You without a job?”

Here goes. This is the first time I’m uttering this out loud.

“I’m thinking about starting my own business, opening an art gallery.”

“That is so cool, Mom.”

Really? Maybe it will actually fly. But what does she know? She’s a kid. And she’s trying to butter me up so I don’t kick her out. Why am I so insecure? Duh, maybe it has something to do with my mother?

We take Darcy’s stuff into her room.

“By the way, what was going on with you and Cole?”

“God, Mom. Nothing. We were swimming. That’s all. He’s cool.”

I don’t believe her, but I restrain from saying anything. This might not be as hard as I thought. Oh yes, it is.

“I hope you’re not mad. I invited Cole and his Dad for dinner.”

I try and act nonchalant, but I’m blushing. Damn it.

“That’s fine. I met him this morning, seems like a nice enough guy. And we should welcome the new neighbors.”

She’s on to me, gets it immediately.

“You like him. Good for you. It’s about time. Dad’s had so many chicks.”

She’s actually giving me permission to have a life after Richard. Why can’t I be as tolerant of her? Darcy opens a suitcase and hands me a package.

“Happy birthday, Mom. Sorry it’s late.”

Now I really feel awful. She was dealing with all that stuff at school and still remembered. I open it and find an oil painting, a beautiful image of the moonrise over the ocean. My eyes well up with tears. It’s something my father did. Darcy and I have both always loved it. I let her take it to school as a reminder of home, and she had it framed.

“Thank you. That’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

“I thought you’d like it.”

I squeeze her tightly and leave her to settle into her room.

What’s that on the couch? It looks like a . . . joint. There’s the yin and the yang of it. One minute she’s doing the most thoughtful thing imaginable, the next she’s turning me back into a narc. I don’t want to go through this again. I won’t. I pick it up and go back to Darcy’s room, open her door.

“What’s this, Darcy?”

“Jeez. Can’t you knock? Looks like a joint to me. But it’s not mine, must be Cole’s.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“Of course, you don’t. You never believe me.”

“I can’t deal with this now.”

I get the old icy glare.

“There’s nothing to deal with.”

I give her the old stern look. She ignores me.

“That better be true.”

Unfortunately, it looks like Darcy’s and my conflict, second only to the Israeli-Palestinian one, has been rekindled. I leave her room and look at the joint. Hmmm. When was the last time I smoked pot? Back in college. It was fun.

I’m about to flush the joint when something hits me. Maybe I should hold on to it, just in case. Who knows what I might do in my new life? I’m not an addictive personality, so why not keep it for a special occasion? I put it in my jewelry box, next to my engagement and wedding rings. So many changes, but they feel right.

Darcy, Cole, Michael, and I are chowing down on tofu, veggies, and brown rice. I made a quick trip to Whole Foods and brought in some vegan food. Michael’s wolfing it down. I’m trying to like it and not succeeding, but I keep that to myself. Darcy makes a face and pushes her almost-full plate out of the way.

“How can you eat this? It’s gross.”

“It’s good to try new things. And it’ll help you get in shape for modeling.”

That totally backfires. She gets defensive.

“You think I’m fat.”

I have to be careful. Darcy used to purge. I definitely don’t want her going down that road again.

“Not at all. You’re perfect. But you know how the fashion world is.”

Michael stops gorging himself and jumps into the fray.

“Whatever you want to do, this stuff is good for you. It gets rid of the toxins in your system.”

Darcy’s not buying it. Neither is Cole. She rolls her eyes at him, and he smirks and nods. He’s totally infatuated with Darcy. He bonds with her about the food.

“He makes me eat this crap, even though I hate it”

“You’ll thank me when you make the Olympic team.”

The kids exchange looks. They’ve had it with us. Darcy gets up.

“Let’s go, Cole.”

He jumps up so quickly that he knocks over his chair. Michael’s nervous.

“Where do you think you’re going, Cole?”

“With Darcy. To a party. It’s not a big deal, Dad.”

“I didn’t say you could go. You have a meeting with the coach tomorrow.’

“Don’t sweat it. I’ll be there.”

“You better be. Otherwise no more parties for you. And make sure your phone is on so I can call you.”

“Okay.”

“Promise?”

“Yeah, sure.”

I should say something so Michael doesn’t feel like the bad guy.

“Be careful, Darcy.”

She glares at me.

“Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing, Mom.”

And off they go. I’m nervous too. But I have to get used to her being home and having a life. I hope she doesn’t get Cole involved in anything too outrageous. He’s from Ohio. This is Miami. At the very least, he’ll get an education hanging out with Darcy.

I’m alone with Michael in the backyard. Harry Connick Jr. is serenading us with “It Had to Be You,” which is way too mushy for the occasion, but my iPod is on shuffle. Is this all happening too quickly? Too quickly for what? I’ve been celibate for a long time. I can’t even admit to myself how long. Richard tried to keep up some semblance of a sex life, but I didn’t want his pity sex. Stop thinking about Richard. I offer Michael a taste of the Malbec I’m drinking.

“No, thanks. I don’t like to share glasses. You know, germs.”

I get another glass and pour some for him.

“Sorry. You shouldn’t have. I don’t put that poison in my body.”

Is he really this uptight?

“Don’t they say that drinking in moderation is better than not drinking at all? Red wine lowers your cholesterol or something.”

“They say a lot of things.”

He pulls out his cell phone.

“I’m going to call Cole, make sure he’s okay.”

“It’s only been an hour. I’m sure they’re fine. Darcy will take care of him. She knows her way around.”

He’s not entirely convinced. Neither am I. But he relaxes a little and puts the phone away. When Harry finishes crooning, “Walk like an Egyptian” by the Bangles starts playing. Michael seizes the opportunity to actually walk like an Egyptian and plant one on me. I guess he’s not that worried about germs. It’s an unsettling experience. My first kiss in a long time doesn’t even meet my very low expectations. He dives in with an open mouth, and he doesn’t even put his tongue in my mouth. His open mouth is just there, and I don’t know what to do. Am I supposed to put my tongue in his mouth? I try, but his tongue doesn’t respond, so I pull back and take a sip of wine. It’s all very creepy and embarrassing.

He grabs the bottle of wine, pours himself a big glass and starts chugging. Traumatic for him too, I guess. Where do we go from here?

Michael’s a lot less uptight when he’s been drinking. He’s so loose that he grabs my arm and pulls me up to dance to Donna Summer’s “Bad Girls.” He shakes his booty and flails his arms, without a trace of rhythm. I’m a better dancer than he is, which is pretty unbelievable. He rubs up against me and grabs my behind. I dance away.

I’ve been fending him off for the last hour. That kiss did me in. I don’t think I can get past it. I boogie back to a lounge chair and get comfy. He follows me and zooms in for another make-out attempt. Why doesn’t he get that it’s not going to happen?

I hear footsteps. The kids are back already?

“Hello. Anyone home?”

Oh no. It can’t be. But here she comes, in all her glory. And she really is glorious (looking). Can she please disappear? I can’t handle this now.

“What are you doing here?”

“That’s some way to greet me. You look awful.”

“Gee, thanks.”

Michael looks very confused.

“Who’s that?”

“I’m sorry. Michael, meet my mother, Claudette. Claudette, this is Michael, my new neighbor.”

Claudette pours on the charm, flashes him her big, toothy model’s smile.

“Has my daughter been giving you a hard time, sweetheart?”

She must have been watching. Michael’s uncomfortable, so I give him an out.

“You should probably leave, Michael. Things are going to get ugly.”

Michael doesn’t hear me. He’s transfixed on Claudette, under her spell, like most men. It’s one of the traits that skipped a generation and landed in Darcy’s gene pool. I don’t want Darcy to turn out like her, but I don’t know how to stop it. Should I even try?

“Um, well, thanks for dinner.”

“Glad you came.”

Claudette seizes the opportunity.

“But you didn’t, did you?”

I want to evaporate, and Michael doesn’t respond. Maybe he didn’t hear or didn’t get it. Claudette throws her arms around his neck and kisses him on both cheeks. How Continental!

“Hope to see you again, sweetie.”

Poor Michael. He doesn’t know what to make of this strange mother-daughter combo. Why is the one who seemed to want him pushing him away? And why is her so-called mother all over him?

I clear my throat to bring him back to reality. He stammers something unintelligible and scampers off like a scared rabbit. I’m furious at her (not at him, maybe him a little).

“First of all, you can’t just show up at my house. And second, what do you think you’re doing with . . .”

She throws up her hand.

“You have to be nice to me.”

“I am nice to you. But you take advan . . .”

“Alphonse died.”

“Oh my god. I’m so sorry. Sit down. Have some wine.”

I pour her a glass. She takes a big gulp and a deep breath. Tears start streaming down her cheeks. She looks vulnerable. I want to put my arms around her. But I restrain myself, knowing she could be manipulating me into something that’s not necessarily in my best interest.

“What happened?”

“Massive heart attack.”

“Poor Alphonse. He seemed like a nice guy.”

“He was. Just my luck. I finally find a man who understands me and he croaks. What am I going to do?”

“You’ll find another man, mother. You always do.”

“It’s not that easy. I’m getting older.”

“You’re not that old, and with all that stuff you do, you’ll never age.”

“I don’t need sarcasm now, Elizabeth. I need to be around people who care about me.”

“I’m your daughter. I care.”

Uh oh. There’s the inroad. I am such a moron! Don’t I ever learn?

“That’s so sweet, darling. So I can stay with you for a while?”

I can’t believe I didn’t see this coming. There is NO WAY she can stay here. I’m already sacrificing by letting Darcy come back. Each one of them is difficult for me, but both at the same time? The dynamic duo will definitely push me over the edge. I have to be strong, resist. Oh hell, she’s crying again. I should say something.

“Uh . . . I . . . uh . . .”

“We need each other now. Richard’s gone. Fonsie’s gone. We can help each other.”

I’m livid. How did she find out about Richard? And I don’t want her help. I want to be alone.

“Who told you?”

“Richard. At least he had the decency to call.”

“Excuse me, but I tried to tell you. You said you were busy ‘giving head.’”

“Oh. Sorry.”

I guess Alphonse was the recipient. Maybe he died while they were having sex? I definitely don’t want to go there. It’s difficult to believe that those are real tears, but I think she did like him more than most of her bedmates.

“I noticed you’re not wasting any time, sweetheart.”

“What do you mean?”

“Michael.”

Not this too. I shouldn’t have let my guard down. I’m out of practice.

“He’s my next-door neighbor. Nothing’s going on.”

“But you’d like it to be, wouldn’t you?”

“How should I know? I just met the guy.”

I search my brain for a new subject, something that will get her off the Michael track.

“You know yesterday was my birthday.”

“That’s right. I was a bit busy, trying to revive Alphonse.”

Like she would have remembered otherwise.

“Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

She tries to hug me, but I don’t hug her back.

“You’re such a cold fish, Elizabeth.”

I can’t let you get close. It will be too painful. Been there, done that.

“Here’s another news flash for you. Darcy dropped out of school and came home.”

She lights up.

“That’s great. Then it will be the three of us, the Musketeers.”

Not exactly what I had in mind. I’d like to keep Darcy away from you and your depravity as much as possible.

“Why can’t you stay where you are?”

“Alphonse’s kids won’t let me. They kicked me out. The mercenary little shits are putting his condo up for sale.”

I’m sure there’s another side to this, but it’s not worth pursuing. How do I get out of this without seeming like a terrible ogre?

“How about Marjorie? She’s your good friend. Did you try her?”

“She was my only gal pal, but I haven’t spoken to her in years. Not since she hooked up with that loser, Herman.”

She doesn’t have an ounce of compassion. Marjorie married a much older man with heart problems.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to stay here, Mother. I have my hands full with Darcy.”

“I can help you. Darcy listens to me.”

Unfortunately, that’s right. That’s all I need, the genetically blessed twosome ganging up on me.

“I have nowhere to go. I’m begging you. Please.”

I take a deep breath and blow it out. Claudette puts her hands together, in praying mode. She knows me too well.

“Pretty please?”

I can’t say no to that. What the hell. I’m already dealing with Darcy. If I really want to start a new life, I should work out my issues with my mother too. I may regret it, but why not do it all at once? Who knows? Maybe we’ll find out we all have a lot in common, see the world similarly and help each other (fat chance!).

“Okay. You can stay for a little while.”

“Goody. It’ll be like a pajama party.”

My sentiments exactly. Not! Is it time for everyone to leave yet? She takes her ridiculous gun-shaped lighter and a pack of cancer sticks out of her bejeweled, fringed, leopard-skin purse and starts to light up. I shake my head.

“You’re still smoking. I thought you quit. You can’t do it in the house.”

“I did stop. But when I’m stressed out, it’s not easy. Don’t worry. I’ll smoke outside.”

She heads for the door. I try to set some limits.

“And don’t throw the butts in the bushes or on the walkway.”

She gives me a mock salute. That is so unfair. I’m trying to assert my authority in MY house, and with one gesture, she makes me feel like a militaristic jerk. I can’t let her have that much control. I take a deep breath. This should be an interesting opportunity for a “growth experience” (if only I can maintain that perspective).