Читать книгу Dispatches From Paradise - Shelly Gitlow - Страница 5

I’m in Alphonse’s arms. They’re not the arms of a hunky stud muffin, but he’s pretty hot for a sixty-four-year-old. We’re in his dance studio, doing what I like to call the “tango with a bango.” It’s a private lesson for his favorite student. As the music plays and we glide across the room, Alphonse gazes at me with love and, more importantly, lust.

“You make me feel so beautiful, Fonsie.”

“No words, mi amor. We must communicate with our bodies.”

He nibbles on my ear, and I start to feel something down below. What can I say? I’ve been this way since puberty and I don’t see any signs of it changing. Nor would I want it to. Sex is life. If I start losing interest, start writing my eulogy.

I notice that Fonsie’s a little flushed.

“Are you . . .”

He reprimands me with a stern look. I love it when a man takes charge, so I lock my lips. Keeping quiet is hard for me. It’s not my nature. Alphonse holds me tightly and dips me. When I come up, I’m dizzy from the dip and very turned on.

“Claudie, why didn’t we meet thirty years ago?”

I smile, but don’t say that I agree. I’ve had way too much fun with too many people to have tied myself down to one. I was married for a short time, a long time ago. One of those quickie, don’t-really-count marriages.

My father forced me to tie the knot with Elizabeth’s father. I was fifteen and didn’t even realize I was pregnant until it was too late for an abortion. I knew I didn’t love him, but at least it was a way out of that oppressive household. Looking back, I’m not sure which was worse, my father’s iron hand or my husband’s limp dick.

Maybe I can coast out with Alphonse and not have to find any more lovers. He does a pretty good job of keeping up with me. That’s not as difficult as it used to be. Seven times a day is too much for most men. The truth is most men are all talk and little action.

When I was modeling and doing coke, I had a stable of guys and gals to party with. I prefer men, but not having to worry about getting pregnant was very liberating. Pretty much anything is okay with me. I don’t judge and don’t want to be judged. Why can’t everyone be like me?

Anyway, things change. I’ve slowed down. But maybe Fonsie and I will break our record today. We tango over to the couch. He sits and I kneel in front of him. Fonsie’s already somewhat firm.

“That’s what I like, a man with a big hard cock.”

That arouses him even more. I take him in my mouth.

We’ve been together for nine years. That’s like a lifetime for a normal person. The day we met I went to the movies to see The Notebook starring the gorgeous James Garner and fabulous Gena Rowlands. It was very romantic and sad and reminded me that I am so right to live my life to the max, every day. You never know when you’ll lose your marbles or become a vegetable.

As I was walking out, I noticed this really nice-looking man who had been crying. We smiled at each other and struck up a conversation. He confided that he recently lost his wife. Over coffee I helped him realize that it was time to get on with his life. We ended up at Fonsie’s place and had incredible sex, three times. I moved in the next day, and we’ve been going at it ever since.

So I’m really into doing Fonsie when I hear “My Way” coming from my cell phone. Fuck me. Why didn’t I turn it off? I pull it out of my bra and look at it.

“Shit. It’s Liz. That girl has the worst timing.”

My life would have been so different if she were never born. I wasn’t meant to be a mother. Some people shouldn’t be parents, and I’m one of them. Most of them won’t admit it, but I’m honest. The whole thing was forced on me, and I had to make the best of it. What did I know about raising a kid?

“But Claudie, she’s your daughter. You should take it.”

He’s such a nice person.

“Okay, okay.”

Alphonse rips off my bra and starts playing with my nipples. That doesn’t make me want to talk to my daughter, but I do my best. I cannot be responsible for what comes out of or into my mouth. I’m somewhere else. I put the phone to my ear.

“Can’t talk now. Giving head.”

I shut the stupid thing off and throw it across the room.

“Claudie, maybe she needs . . .”

“Who cares what she needs. How about what I need?”

“Ay, mi amor. I can’t deny you.”

Alphonse grabs a goat mask from behind the couch and puts it on. We’re a little kinky sometimes. Nothing sick or dangerous, but occasionally something unusual to keep things interesting.

“You’re a horny old goat.”

“You like it?”

“You know I do.”

I look down at Alphonse’s cock standing at full attention. It’s a beautiful thing. Thank god for the wonders of modern medicine. He pulls on my thong and rips it off like an animal. I love his gusto.

“Fonsie, you’re like a teenage boy.”

“I took a lot, just for you. Te adoro.”

Why didn’t he say I look like a teenager? It’s all Dr. Grant’s fault. Having the swine flu is no excuse for canceling my Botox appointment. Getting back to business, I kneel down and start pleasuring him, but something’s not quite right. He’s breathing too hard. I yank the goat mask off and see that his face is bright red and contorted, and not in a good way. At all. Alphonse clutches his chest and keels over onto the floor.

“Fonsie? What’s wrong?”

No response. I slap his face. Nothing. I feel his wrist. There’s no pulse. What do I do?

“Damn it to hell. Where’s my phone?”

I run to the other side of the room and retrieve it. The tango music is still playing. I dial 911.

“Help me, please. I think my boyfriend had a heart attack or something.”

“Listen to me, ma’am. Calm down. I’m going to tell you exactly what to do.”

“Me? He needs a doctor, you idiot.”

“There’s no time. If you want to revive him, do what I say.”

“Okay, okay.”

“Pinch his nose, cover his mouth, and blow.”

Those beautiful full lips. This is so weird.

“Push down on his chest between the nipples.”

I hope I’m doing it right. How many people do CPR naked? Probably a lot more than you’d think. Can you believe that while this is going on, I get another call? Shit. It’s Richard. I’ll have to call him back.

“Are you getting any response, ma’am?”

“He’s out cold. I did everything you said. I guess that’s it.”

“I’m sending an ambulance, ma’am. Don’t give up.”

Swell. I’m barely able to get on my bra and panties and cover Fonsie’s privates with the goat mask before the EMTs arrive. At least we’re decent. Of course, the EMTs are adorable and have amazing bodies, but I restrain myself. They try and restrain themselves too, from laughing, but I see the looks that pass between them. They can’t believe what they’re seeing. Guess what guys? Mature people have sex too.

“We’ll take it from here, ma’am.”

I hate when people call me ma’am, especially cute young men. It makes me feel ancient and not sexy at all. I put on my clothes as they try and perform a miracle on Fonsie. No dice. One of the cuties looks at his watch.

“I’m calling it, Jimbo. It’s 4:26.”

When they announce his time of death, reality sets in, and I break down. One of them comforts me and holds me in his strong arms, in a totally professional way, of course. After a minute, he pulls away. Maybe it’s my imagination, but I think he was hard. I have that effect on most men.

They place Fonsie on the gurney and cover him with a sheet. I discreetly retrieve the goat mask because I deserve a memento. I run after the EMTs as they take Fonsie out, tripping in my Jimmy Choo come-fuck-me mules. I look ridiculous, but I don’t care. As they put him into the ambulance, I kiss him good-bye and cry. Then they drive away. That’s it. What am I going to do? I really liked him. And I think he was really into me too.

I’m getting too old to look for a new man. It’s tiring. Although the Internet certainly makes it easier. You can check out at least six or seven guys a day. And even if they’re not good candidates for a relationship or “fuck buddy” material, they might be perfect for a quickie, or at least a free meal.

Not that I’m looking to settle down forever. I’m definitely not the marrying kind. But it would be nice to have a little security, especially monetary. I’m so bad with moolah. I made a lot when I modeled, but I blew most of it on clothes and drugs. At least I enjoyed myself. Some people never have any fun.

I better call his kids. I hate them as much as they hate me, but they are his children.

The funeral is horrific. The only saving grace is that I’m wearing a gorgeous Chanel suit, topped off with a vintage black hat and veil. I had to. I don’t see Dr. Grant until tomorrow. The heinous children, roly-poly Carmen and stick-up-his-butt Luis, are pretending I don’t exist, which is ludicrous. I’m wailing rather loudly. I will not be ignored.

Naturally, people are looking at me and discreetly asking them who I am. They’re too embarrassed to introduce me as Alphonse’s girlfriend, ladyfriend, woman, or anything else that would give me the status I deserve. So they shrug and pretend not to know me.

I shouldn’t be so hard on them. They lost Alphonse too. And there must be something good in them. They share his genes. Wait a minute. I take that back. They’re adopted. They’ll pay for treating me like a nobody.

I’m sitting with a bunch of Alphonse’s students. They’re mostly women about my age, all blubbering and blowing their noses. I smell way too much perfume. And that heavy makeup doesn’t cut it either. The clothes are matronly at best. I smile at the one with the brassy blond teased helmet-head sitting next to me. I haven’t seen a hairdo like that since I was a child.

“Were you one of Alphonse’s students?”

She pats my arm, as if we’re old pals.

“Yes. For many years. He used to say I was his star pupil.”

“Oh really?”

She nods emphatically and winks. Were you servicing her too, Fonsie? And the rest of this pitiful crew? There’s no point thinking about it. I’m sure he loved me the most. And I was faithful to you, Fonsie . . . pretty much. Anyway, these bitches look like they could be my mother, so what am I worrying about?

A middle-aged guy sits down next to me. He’s not bad looking and has on an expensive suit. I acknowledge him with a sad half-smile and nod. He does the same. I move a little closer to him. He clears his throat uncomfortably and sidles away from me. A much younger woman sits down on his other side, and they hold hands. They have matching wedding rings. She’s pretty, a perfect trophy wife. Oh well. I guess he won’t be my next. And sadly, I’m too old to be anyone’s trophy wife, even though I can still turn a head on a good day.

Later that night, there’s a knock at my door. I look out the peephole and guess who it is? Carmen and Luis, looking like, well, death warmed over. Carmen has no fashion sense whatsoever. She’s sporting elastic-waist baby-blue pants and a top with a wild animal-print theme. It’s painful to look at her. But if I had to dress that lumpy body, I don’t know that I could do much better. Luis is thin and resembles Alphonse, although not nearly as handsome or well built. At least he doesn’t make me cringe.

I’m in a beautiful ecru peignoir set, perfect for the occasion. I open the door and usher them in, with a grand, sweeping gesture and a welcoming smile.

“I’m so glad you came. We should be together at a time like this.”

They look at each other but don’t respond to my magnanimous greeting. I’m doing my best to be kind and sympathetic, but I can feel the tension and hostility coming from them. I try and hug them in a motherly way. They act like a dirty bum in the street accosted them. Something tells me this isn’t going to go well.

“Why don’t you sit down? Can I get you something to eat or drink?”

“We’re not here to socialize,” says Fat Carmen.

Like I want to hang out with her. Give me a break. She is such a loser. She thinks she’s hot shit because she drives a big Cadillac, but I know what she does for a living. Alphonse swore me to secrecy. She hates her family so much that she’s desperate to get out of the house. But, she’s not qualified to do anything, so she cleans cheap rooms at the Hampton Inn. She’s a chambermaid! How pathetic is that?

“Oh. Well, it’s really nice that you came. I miss your father so much. He meant the world to me.”

They’re thoroughly uncomfortable and look at each other. Each one wants the other to spit out whatever it is they have come here to tell me. I don’t budge. Let them stew in their own awkwardness. Finally, Tight-ass Luis clears his throat. He looks at Carmen. She gives him the “do it already” look. He clears his throat again. I look at the floor and dab my eyes with a tissue. Finally he speaks, not making eye contact with me.

“We know that you’ve been living here with our father, but it’s our apartment now.”

They look at me intently. I better work this. I sniffle, wipe my nose, fluff the feathers of my peignoir, and look straight at them with wide-open eyes.

“And?”

Not what they expected. Poor Luis looks like he’s going to cry. Carmen takes over, and boy is she snippy.

“And you need to pack your things and move out. Now. We’re putting the condo on the market. The Realtor is on her way over. She says she already has a buyer. So you need to vacate the premises.”

I know it’s probably futile, but I try a guilt trip.

“Your father, may he rest in peace, would not approve of what you’re doing. We shared this home together, and he adored me. He was miserable after your mother died, if you recall. I brought him back to life. Don’t I deserve something?”

Carmen can’t contain herself. She starts screaming at Luis in Spanish. From what I gather, she wants him to force “la puta sucia” to leave immediately. Whoa. How dare the chambermaid call me that.

“First of all, I am not a dirty whore and second, I have nowhere to go. What am I supposed to do? Go to the Hampton Inn?”

She’s turning red. God, I hope she doesn’t explode. She lunges at me. I step back to avoid her, and Luis grabs the whale’s flapping fins. She spits at me, but it lands on her own chin.

“Let me go, Luis. I can’t look at that puta’s face.”

I get out of her way, and Carmen goes into the bedroom. I watch her pull Alphonse’s things out of the closet and put them in a suitcase. She throws my clothes on the floor. This is officially serious.

“Are you sure I can’t stay, even for a few days, Carmen dear? It’s such short notice.”

She eyes me like I’m a lump of moldy rotten cheese. Maybe I can get Luis on my side.

“Luis, you know, you were Alphonse’s favorite. He always said that. Please talk some sense into her. I’m only asking for a few days.”

Carmen rolls her eyes at Luis, and he shrugs and cowers. At least he demonstrates a shred of humanity and helps me pack my bags. Watching him handle my dildos is very amusing, but I don’t snicker out loud. I’m up Shit Creek without a paddle. What am I going to do?

My phone rings. It’s Richard. I totally forgot to call him back. I might as well see what he wants. I walk out onto the terrace and close the door. My affairs are none of their business. Luis continues to pack my bags as Carmen furiously wags her finger at him.

“Hi, Rich. Sorry I didn’t call you back, but it’s been a crazy couple of days.”

“Me too. Your daughter kicked me out.”

“No way.”

“For real.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’ll live. I moved in with a friend.”

“So Liz is alone?”

“I guess. She won’t answer my calls.”

“Figures. My life’s a mess too. Alphonse had a heart attack.”

“Is he okay?”

“No. He’s gone. Just like that.”

“Wow. I’m really sorry. Can I do anything?”

“Actually, you’ve already helped, honey. Listen, I’ll call you some time. Take care.”

Richard’s great. We’ve always clicked. He and I are very similar. Funny, that’s probably why Liz married him and probably why she can’t stand him anymore. I never quite got their relationship, but then again, I don’t get most relationships.

So, maybe I can move in with Liz. She’s vulnerable now. Who am I kidding? She’ll never let me stay with her. She hates me. Not exactly hate. She’s threatened by me. I embarrass her. I’m the mother from another planet. I don’t care who likes me or doesn’t, and I don’t apologize for who I am.

I’m comfortable with my sexuality, and she barely acknowledges that she’s a sexual being. We don’t understand each other, and we’re not simpatico. Hard to imagine she’s mine, but then again, she’s just like her father. What a prude! I had to beg him for it. Can a man be frigid? I should Google that. I didn’t think about it then, but maybe he was gay or had a mistress.

Carmen’s in the bathroom, hurling the contents of my medicine cabinet into a garbage bag that Luis is holding. Actually it’s more like Luis is using the bag to catch the flying bottles, tubes, and spray cans. I poke my head in, and smile sweetly.

“Are you sure I can’t stay until morning, Carmen darling? It would be such a nice gesture, in memory of your dear father.”

Carmen just glares at me and keeps flinging. There goes my extensive collection of lubricants and stimulants.

Everything I own is packed in my 1992 Mercedes. I could barely see through my tears and running mascara to drive here, but coming to the beach seemed like the right thing to do. The breeze and the sound and smell of the ocean have always soothed me, but not tonight. I can’t stop bawling.

I’m gripping Alphonse’s goat mask tightly as I walk toward the water. The full moon is golden and its reflection on the water is magical. Maybe I should just end it all? Make things easy for myself. I have nothing to live for. No one. I’ve had a great life. Drowning wouldn’t be such a bad way to pack it in. Plus, if I die at fifty-five, I’ll never have to be an old bag.

Here goes nothing. I walk deeper into the water. Oh, that’s a big wave coming. Damn it. My dress got wet, and it’s “Dry Clean Only.” Here comes another big one. I better get out, but I can’t see where I’m going. I have salt water in my eyes. Uh oh. I just bumped into someone, a big black guy with dreadlocks. He has a conga drum slung over his shoulder, and he’s heading toward a massive party on the beach.

“Sorry. I am really sorry . . . sir”

“No worries.”

He pats me on the shoulder. For some reason, when he’s nice to me, I start sobbing again.

“Why you so sad, Mrs. Lady?”

“I lost someone.”

“I and I know how that feel.”

I summon up my courage and look at his face. He has piercing blue eyes. And he’s young. Way too young, but you never know how guys feel about older women. What a delicious-looking, creamy chocolate body.

“You’re very handsome.”

I put the goat mask up to his face and touch his rockhard chest. I’m getting hot. He pulls away, but smiles. Talk about mixed messages.

“You’ll regret it.”

“You don’t know me. I don’t regret anything, sweetheart.”

“That won’t make you feel better.”

“Oh yes, it will. I’m no good at being alone. My vibrator can’t fill the void.”

He laughs heartily. I grab his hand and touch it to my face. He rubs my head like I’m a little kid, messing my hair.

“For real. The only ting that will help now is being with the people who love you.”

I feel like he smacked me across the face and jolted me into action.

“You are so right.”

He smiles warmly and kisses my hand. Maybe he’s changing his mind.

“Everyting going to be irie, Mrs. Lady. Jah will show you the way.”

I have no idea what he’s talking about. It must be some kind of Jamaican voodoo or something. I don’t want him to think that I’m not into that hocus pocus, so I nod enthusiastically.

“Thank you! I feel so much better now.”

I’m taking the Rastaman’s advice. Listening to “I Like It Rough” by Lady Gaga while driving to Liz’s place is helping with my attitude adjustment, but I’m still desperate. What if she won’t let me stay? We really haven’t had much contact. We have our own lives, and that’s a good thing. I’m not the kind of mother who needs to be overly involved. I think she appreciates that. I know I would have, if I had a mother.

My mother died when I was twelve. I was devastated. She doted on me and loved to dress me up and show me off. My father was a sexist pig who pretty much ignored me and put all his energy into my brother, the boy wonder. I tried hard to get his attention but nothing worked until I got pregnant. I can’t say that his behavior caused me to be a sexpot and seek endless attention from males, but I’m sure it was a major factor.

I hope I remember how to get to her house. Nothing looks familiar. Has it been ten years? That’s a little scary. Time moves so fast, and seems to speed up as I get older. Funny, I don’t feel older, except sometimes when I’m due for my shots and I look in the mirror. It’s very depressing to study every new line and wrinkle. But I can’t stop myself. If I’m not vigilant, I could end up looking my age.

I know I look good for a fifty-five-year-old woman, but I want to look young. It is so not fair. Why can’t we pick when we want to stop aging? Most people lie and say they wouldn’t want to be twenty-one again because they know so much more now. Not me. I’m vain enough to admit that I’d like to be “Forever 21,” just like that store. I was gorgeous and basked in the limelight. Modeling was so much fun. Who wouldn’t want that? The attention is a drug. Once you’ve had it, you always crave it.

There’s the house. It looks different. They changed the front entrance. The lights are on. She must be home. I’ll leave everything in the car for now. I trot up to the front door, summon up my nerve, and knock. There’s no answer, but I hear music. I try the bell. No answer. Maybe she’s in back.

I walk around the side of the house to the backyard. Surprise! There’s Liz and some guy. Good for her. Richard just left, and she’s already got a new man. Maybe that’s why she kicked him out. Maybe she’s turning out to be more like me than I thought. Genes line up in interesting and unpredictable ways.

He’s got a nice body. I can’t see his face because he’s trying to plant one on her. My oh-so-proper daughter’s pushing him away. Typical Liz. So maybe she doesn’t take after me. This is so interesting to watch, but I better let her know I’m here or I will majorly piss her off.

“Hi, there.”

Liz is startled to see me and bolts out of her chair, leaving her rejected partner in the lurch. She looks awful. Sometimes nature needs a little help.

“You should cover your grays.”

She smoothes her hair, sticks it behind her ears, and glares at me.

“What are you doing here?”

Rude, but then she recoups and makes the proper introduction.

“Michael, this is my mother, Claudette.”

He’s a cute guy who appears to be more than a little tipsy. He’s fixated on my cleavage. I gauge his reaction closely. In my objective assessment, he can’t quite believe that I’m old enough to be her mother. Perfect. That’s the way I like it. And in a way he’s right.

There’s not a big age difference. And since she hasn’t had anything done, and I’ve indulged in everything, I might even look younger.

“So nice to meet you, Michael.”

I take his hand. He’s all smiles.

“Your mother?”

“Yes.”

“You look more like sisters.”

“That’s so flattering. Thank you.”

Liz rolls her eyes. It’s her own fault. She could have plastic surgery and partake in all the other amazing procedures and potions out there, but she chooses not to. Maybe she’ll change her mind now that she’s back in the dating world. I could take her to Dr. Grant. He can work wonders. I’ve seen the results in his waiting room. She really should get some boobs, or at least a Wonderbra. It’s so competitive out there.

Damn you, Alphonse. Why did you have to die on me? I’m not ready to go hunting. It’s a good thing I didn’t let myself go to pot. Ha! Like I would ever let that happen.

I’m still holding Michael’s hand. He’s infatuated with me. I can tell. It’s an ego boost, but I’m not interested in him. He’s got a weird vibe. And I don’t know where they stand. She was pushing him away, but maybe she’s playing coy with him. It’s not my style, but if she can work it, more power to her.

“Is my daughter giving you a hard time, Michael?”

Michael looks down, and Liz glares at me. I don’t want to mess up her game, so I better back off. If she likes him, she’ll be furious and won’t let me stay. I let go of his hand. She grabs his hand and pulls him away.

“You should leave, Michael. It’s going to get ugly.”

Why would she say that? I haven’t done anything. Michael totally doesn’t get what’s going on, but he knows enough to split.

“Uh, thanks for dinner. It was great.”

“I’m glad you came.”

I can’t help myself. It’s too tasty to pass up.

“But you didn’t. Did you?”

I wait for them to laugh, at least a little chuckle. Michael looks down, but I can see his slight grin. Liz is mortified. That girl really needs to lighten up. Michael says “Good night,” and I give him a little peck on the cheek. Probably shouldn’t have, but I’m friendly and spontaneous. Sue me. As Michael leaves, I call to him.

“Hope to see you again, sweetie.”

She hisses, “What the hell do you think you’re . . .”

I tried to be good, but I’d much rather be naughty and have fun. Apparently I have set her off. I put my hand up to stop her attack.

“You have to be nice to me. Something bad happened.”

It’s lame, but effective. Her voice softens a bit.

“I am nice to you, but you . . .”

“Alphonse died.”

It’s a showstopper. Death will work every time. You can depend on death. Too bad you have to use it so sparingly. Her eyes roll back. She’s shocked and appropriately upset.

“Oh my god. I’m so sorry.”

But the sympathy only lasts about thirty seconds. I’m bawling again. But does she put her arms around me or offer me any comfort? No way. How did I raise such an ice queen?

“Can I at least sit down and have a glass of wine?”

“Of course.”

She pours me a glass. But I can tell she wishes I would evaporate. She gawks at me in a clinical kind of way.

“How did he die?”

“Massive heart attack.”

From the expression on her face, I can see that she would love to ask me if it happened during sex. But my streaming tears keep her from coming out with it. I better seize the window of opportunity.

“What am I going to do?”

“One thing I know, Mother. You’ll find another man soon. You always do.”

I can’t believe she just called me a slut. I’m in mourning.

“Alphonse was different. He understood me. We were compatible. He was the only one who didn’t notice when I missed my shots. It’s hard to find a man. Especially if you’re not young.”

“I don’t feel sorry for you. With all your enhancements and fake parts, you’ll never age. Don’t worry. You’ll find a replacement soon.”

The depth of her disdain is appalling. I need to turn this around. Come on, brain.

“I had an epiphany, sweetheart. I was walking on the beach and I ran into this Rastaman. He helped me see that what’s really important to me is family. I need to be with people who care about me to help me through this difficult time.”

I can’t decide if she’s buying it. She looks perplexed and doesn’t respond. Sorry, but I need an answer, ASAP.

“So what do you say?”

“I’m your daughter. I have to care.”

Not what I was going for, but I can work with it.

“I know how much you care, darling. You can’t imagine how comforting that is. So I can stay here until I get myself together?”

Got her. And she knows it too. I sniffle, take out a tissue and wipe my eyes. She’s madly trying to come up with a reason to say no.

“I . . . uh . . . isn’t there somewhere else.”

My only child. I can’t believe she’s not stepping up to help me. What else can I use?

“You need me now, too. I can help you.”

She looks at me suspiciously.

“I know that Richard’s gone.”

She’s angry.

“Who told you?”

“Richard. At least someone had the decency.”

“I can’t believe you just said that. I called you to tell you, and you said you were busy giving head. That’s not exactly what I wanted to hear, especially under the circumstances.”

Picky, picky, picky. Hasn’t she ever been interrupted by a phone call during sex? She never cuts me any slack. I shouldn’t have listened to Alphonse. I should have let it ring. Now I have to suck it up and apologize.

“Sorry, sweetheart. I was totally lost in the moment. Too bad that doesn’t happen to you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, it didn’t look like you were enjoying yourself with Michael. You’ve always been cold and sort of asexual, don’t you think? But at least you’re not wasting any time, moving right on to the next. Maybe you’re more like me than you think.”

“I just met the guy. He happened to move in next door. I was being a nice neighbor and invited him to dinner. I’m not looking for a bedmate. I’m not like you. And I never will be.”

I’ve managed to rile her again. Why do I do that? I can’t seem to help myself. I see things more clearly than she does, and I’m too direct for her. But I should learn to keep my big mouth shut. It’s not helping me get what I want.

“Sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You might as well pile it on with everything else.”

“I can imagine. Kicking Richard out after all these years must have been tough. You look like a dish rag.”

She sucks on her cheeks. Uh oh. I should be nicer.

“Nothing a new hairdo or a makeover couldn’t fix.”

“I just got a haircut.’

“Maybe you should try a new stylist.”

“Maybe you should butt out.”

She’s pissed. I lock my lips.

“I have more important stuff to deal with. Darcy dropped out of school and came home.”

“How fabulous!”

“Your granddaughter drops out of college, and you think it’s terrific?”

“Well, if she didn’t like it there, she should quit and do what makes her happy. There’s no point in being miserable. She has other options.”

“Spare me the career counseling and please stay out of it.”

“Okay, but this could be a lot of fun. We’ll be like the Three Musketeers.”

She’s not buying it. But Darcy and I get along really well. She’s just like me. We’ll have a great time, if her mother lets me move in.

“Why can’t you stay where you are, wherever that is?”

“I’ve been living with Alphonse, in his condo. But now his kids want to sell it. You’d think that they would at least let me stay there until I find a place, but they threw me out in the street. Probably already have the “For Sale” sign up. Can you believe it?”

“It is their place.”

She thinks they were right. How can she side with them over her own mother? Simmer down.

“I suppose.”

“What about Marjorie?”

“I haven’t spoken to her in years.”

“Your oldest and best friend?”

“Marjorie showed her true colors when I hooked up with Alphonse. She kept referring to him as ‘your spic,’ so I dropped her. I won’t put up with those racist attitudes.”

“Not like you have so many friends. You could try and reconcile with her.”

“How would you know how many friends I have?”

It’s true. I don’t have many friends, but she doesn’t have to rub it in. Women don’t like me. They’re jealous. And I don’t see the point of having a male friend, unless he’s a friend with benefits.

“Anyway, I’m not calling Marjorie. I heard she married an eighty-three-year-old guy with a lot of medical problems. I can’t live in a hospital ward. That’s way too depressing. So you’re my only option.”

“I have enough on my plate as it is, Mother. Darcy’s not in a good place.”

“That’s where I come in. She listens to me.”

I shouldn’t have gone there. That scares her. She thinks I’ll be a bad influence on Darcy.

“I can help you too, sweetie. Richard’s gone. Fonsie’s gone. We need each other.”

She looks disgusted. It’s getting late. I should move on to the pleading. She won’t be able to say no to that. I put my hands together and kneel down. I can hardly stand it, but I force myself to do it. How dare she make me grovel?

“Pretty please. I’m begging you.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“But I promise I won’t get in your way. And it won’t be for long. Pretty please with sugar on it.”

She’s trying to hang tough, but then she takes a deep breath and looks hard at me. I can see the wheels turning, as she ponders the situation and its possibilities. Finally, she makes her decision.

“Okay, we’ll see how it goes.”

She’s tentative, but I get a strange feeling that she’s into it. That somehow she wants to deal with Darcy and me. I’m certainly curious about where this is going to take us. And I have somewhere to stay. Yippee!

“We’ll have a blast. It will be just like a pajama party. You’ll see.”

She gapes at me.

“You don’t even remember, do you? I never went to any of those.”

That’s right. She never liked pajama parties. Probably too intimate for her. That’s where I learned to french kiss. And I gave my friend Susan a hickey by accident. I never lived that down. Junior High kids can be so cruel.

I really need a smoke; I pull out my ciggies and lighter from my gorgeous new purse.

“Not in the house. If you’re going to stay here, you’ll have to follow the rules. You can only smoke outside, and don’t leave any butts on the walkway or in the bushes, please.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I can deal with it. I kid around and salute her. This totally backfires.

“Don’t you dare mock me in my house. I won’t have it, Mother.”

Guess I shouldn’t have done that. She hates me and everything I do.

“Sorry. We’ve both been through the wringer. I was just trying to lighten things up a little.”

“I don’t have much of a sense of humor at the moment.”

Does she ever?