June comes in like a lamb. Stays that way. This is Southern California, after all. I’ve skipped the Trophy Wives Club for months now, and though I’m flaky as all get-out, someone calls every week to invite me. As if that weren’t enough, Lily comes into the office and nags me every Tuesday. And Lindsay makes me feel guilty by asking how far I am in the Bible she bought me. But Bud keeps me so late, and all I want to do each night is get to the condo and go running to shed the day’s stress. The last thing I need is to hear other people’s troubles. I’ve got enough of my own. Well, I’ve got enough of Bud’s at least.
I have, however, been attending church. In the back pew and reading my Bible, it brings me comfort.
I bought a treadmill. And I finally picked up my car from the broker after he sold the first one when I didn’t pick it up. It’s darling. A Mini Cooper in blue with a Union Jack flag on its roof. It’s rumored to have once belonged to Rod Stewart, but the broker couldn’t tell me for certain because of confidentiality clauses. I ravaged the glove compartment looking for a leftover Oil Changers’ receipt or abandoned registration paper, but there was nothing. So it’s Rod’s. I’ve decided and besides, it makes me sit up straighter when I drive it.
I pick up my next check this week, and with it comes the knowledge that I don’t need it as desperately as I once thought. Lindsay and Ron will come over to help me invest it properly, as they’ve done with the others. My threat for the $250,000 went unheeded. Jay knows me too well. I don’t have the strength to fight for money. I’m not like him; as long as I’m clothed and fed, I’m happy. Maybe a little spree at Sephora here and again…some online shoe purchases at Zappos during lunch hour, and, really, it doesn’t get any better than that.
I only wish I didn’t have to see Rachel’s belly grow on the tabloids. I feel as though its been sent from below. As though this ache will never go away. And please, could she have some dignity and lose the cropped shirt with her naked belly on display? But like I said, I’m content with my settlement. Didn’t Anna ask me that question eons ago?
At this rate, I can put a down payment on this condo soon. Perhaps not this one I’m living in, but a condo. I can look up Lily’s old neighborhood, perhaps. Though I’m tempted to keep living here if Lindsay will have it. Even if it is a little lonely. The neighbors are complete snobs who want nothing to do with me (most of them are ancient former actresses, and at least one of them has some type of bandage from plastic surgery on at all times.) However, I’m within walking distance of the grocery store, coffee shops, and especially restaurants, if I get home too late.
I tried at first to be a good neighbor. I offered to feed one of their cats when she was gone, and she just snapped she wasn’t going anywhere. I’m sure that meant she’d be only gone for a few days to the rehab center after the face-lift, and the cat could fend for itself. I don’t know who these women want to look beautiful for—they never leave the house—but I can say quite plainly that I have more wrinkles at twenty-eight than they do.
My doorbell rings, and I arrange the stuffed mushrooms on the platter. “Just a minute!” I call.
I put the plate back in the oven to stay warm and wipe my hands on my apron before opening the door. It’s not Lindsay; it’s a messenger.
“Delivery for Haley Cutler.”
“That’s me.” I sign for it and I tear into the envelope. The doorbell rings again, and Lindsay and Ron are on the front stoop. “Come on in,” I say absentmindedly.
“What’s that?”
“It’s my check from Jay. The rest of it, not the ten thousand from the agreement. It’s all twenty thousand that’s left.” I look up. “I think I’m free.”
“Not free if you got all that,” Ron quips. “Well, it’s a good thing we came tonight then. You owe taxes on that, and we should pay them here and now before it’s gone.” Ron pulls out his glasses. “The best thing the government ever did for themselves was get taxes prepaid out of a paycheck. People have no idea how much it really hurts. When you physically have to write the check, you see how much it hurts.” He takes out his specialty calculator that no human, without his brain, can operate, and punches a few numbers. He lets a long whistle out, which I can only assume is my tax bill.
“Don’t bother, Ron.” I sigh. “I’m not in the mood to talk money. I won’t cash it, don’t worry.”
“Haley, what’s the matter? This is what you’ve been waiting for. It’s all over.”
“Why didn’t he bring this to me himself?”
“Who, Jay? Probably because he’s following jail bait around to movie sets while she incubates,” Lindsay says. “Duh. It isn’t easy to keep up with a child at his age.”
“No, not Jay. Hamilton. It was supposedly part of the contract that he see me in person to deliver each payment.” I drop the check onto the entry table. “What changed?”
“Did you ever check the contract? He probably made that up to get close to you.”
“Hamilton? He doesn’t want to get close to the likes of me. Trust me.”
“Well, doesn’t he think you’re pregnant with another man’s baby?”
“That was a misunderstanding.”
“It’s not really a misunderstanding men understand,” Ron says. He sniffs the air. “What’s cooking?”
“There are stuffed mushrooms in the small oven and lamb chops in the big one. Help yourself.”
“What? No fanfare? No, Martha Stewart presentation?” Lindsay asks. “I live for that. It makes me feel inferior in all ways domestic, and you’re just going to let me down because you’re feeling sorry for yourself? No, no, no. Unacceptable. I came all the way over here with my money magnate husband. I want service!”
“I thought he liked me.”
“Hamilton? He doesn’t like anyone but himself, Haley.”
“He said he was sorry when Jay did what he did, and he never gave me the operation form, even when Jay had ordered him to.”
“What’s he supposed to say? Here, sign this so I can make money off your pain and suffering?”
“It’s not Hamilton himself. It’s that I can’t read men at all. When I first met him, I thought him a decent guy. Just like I thought Jay was decent. They both turned out to be complete dogs, and I was clueless until they both had me for breakfast!”
“You’ve lost me. When’s dinner?”
“I have this high school boyfriend. Gavin is his name.”
“What does Gavin do?”
“He sells windows and doors.”
“Scintillating.”
“But he’s the one guy I know is true and decent.”
Ron coughs. Ron looks like one of those news anchors who specializes in money. He wears bow ties twenty-four/seven with pin-striped shirts and probably hasn’t had hair in this decade.
“Besides you, Ron, but you’re already taken.”
“Thank you.”
“So my question is, why can’t I be happy with a man like Gavin? What is wrong with me that I wait for the sizzle of a man who will totally reject and humiliate me?”
“I thought you wanted to stay single forever anyway.”
“I did. I do. But I want to learn something from this. What did I learn?”
“You learned that you made a stupid choice in your twenties, and it had long-term consequences.” Lindsay calls out the last part as she enters the kitchen and opens the ovens. She grabs a pot holder and gets out the mushrooms. “These are dry. Haley, you’re slipping, girl.”
“But how am I a better person after all this?”
“You lost two hundred pounds of LDL, the bad kind of fat: Jay.” Lindsay pops a mushroom in her mouth.
“Why am I the kind of woman who can’t be attracted to the right kind of man?”
“You’re not that kind of woman. Is she, Ron?”
“You overestimate men, Haley. Most men will believe anything you tell them to get next to you.”
“Ron! Lindsay, I don’t know how you get anything done with this guy’s sweet-talking.”
“He talks sweeter to his calculator, but eventually I figured him out.” She winks at Ron.
“Deep in my heart, I thought maybe…just maybe…if I had a little more sense, kept my head out of the clouds, my face out of walls, I might find someone else and get a second chance. But that was it, wasn’t it? You can’t ever say my husband. You have to admit that it’s your second husband, and that implies failure. You’re always a failure. I will always be a failure. Even if I married Gavin.”
“You are not marrying the window salesman. You’re not marrying anyone, and you don’t have to say ‘second husband’ if it bothers you.”
“But even if I stay single. I’m not single. I’m divorced. It’s like having your middle name be failure. Haley Failure Adams Cutler.”
“Do you need another sermon on grace?”
“I don’t. You’ve told me it can all go away in God’s eyes. That might be true, but it never goes away in people’s eyes. Look at how the Trophy Wives Club is treated! We’re given a room in a corner and told to stay out of the way. Our roster is kept quiet.”
“That’s because we don’t want the husbands to feel bad. Do we, Ron?”
“A secret Bible study. How wrong is that? It’s not like we’re living in the middle of a Communist state.”
“You don’t even come, I don’t see why you’re complaining.”
“I’m complaining because if it’s true what you tell me, that the old is washed away, there’s got to be a major clog in the sink! Because the old doesn’t go anywhere. Debbie Reynolds is still the woman that Eddie Fisher left for Elizabeth Taylor.”
“Rachel is no Elizabeth Taylor,” Ron says.
“All I can tell you, Haley, is that God isn’t His people. And you’ve got to make your peace with Him and yourself. You won’t ever find complete acceptance here. This is not heaven.”
“I think Gavin accepts me for who I am.”
“That’s because Gavin hasn’t lived with you and gets to play Superman when you need him, what, once a decade? Even Jay could probably muster up the commitment that requires.”
“He calls and checks on me since the divorce. That’s more than Jay ever did.”
“It’s still how you use him. He’s not God, Haley. Gavin has expectations of you; they just aren’t very high. He’s probably completely emotionally stunted and can’t handle relationships, so talking to a beautiful woman is payoff enough for him to believe he could get married anytime, and there’s nothing wrong with him.”
“Thank you, Dr. Laura.” I open the oven and set out the warmed dishes on the table and give the salad a final toss. “I still feel like a piece of furniture. Jay and Hamilton redecorate, and I am no longer a part of the décor.”
“Stop using Hammy’s name in the form of manhood. It’s emasculating poor Ron.”
Ron has my check and his calculator. He hasn’t heard a word of this. “Huh?” He looks up at the sound of his name.
“I can’t trust someone who will stomp on my heart again, and because I can’t read Hamilton, I can’t ever trust myself again. Don’t you see? It’s not Hamilton. It’s that if Gavin is my only option for trustworthy, I am doomed to being single because he bores the very life out of me.”
“I thought that’s what you wanted. To stay single.”
“So did I until I got in this house with all your crabby, old lady neighbors and realized that’s what I’ll become. A woman with cats, and the cats won’t even eat my food! What is wrong with this picture?”
“All I’m saying is that you really need a better test subject than Hamilton Lowe.”
“It’s not about Hamilton. Lindsay, you’re not hearing me.”
“That’s because I’m smelling lamb chops, and I’m hungry. They smell Greek.”
“They are. Focus with me here.”
“I am. You’re telling me that Hamilton Lowe was your test rat in your laboratory of love, and he didn’t respond properly to the bell. Do I have it right? How did you have time to make lamb after work?”
“Lamb doesn’t take long, just the marinating does. I did that this morning. Could I have your full attention?”
Ron guffaws. “Good luck with that. I don’t think Lindsay ever did one thing at a time in her life.”
She smirks at her husband. “I’m listening,” she says softly, like a bad counselor. She puts her elbows on the counter, and her chin rests on her fists. “Lay it on me.”
“This spark. The chemical combustion that happens with only a handful of certain people—I’m very particular that way, and—”
“Maybe you just had indigestion. Hammy will do that to a girl.”
“Would you not call him that? I can’t take this conversation seriously if you’re calling him Hammy.”
“It’s because he’s not kosher. Get it?” Lindsay slaps her own leg. “Seriously, I can’t take this conversation at all. He flirted with you, Haley. Now, maybe you’ve been married too long, perhaps you’re clueless to the effect a nearly six-foot blonde has on men in general, or maybe you’re feeling desperate for attention and admiration. Whatever it is, this too shall pass. And so will your obsession with why Hammy, the self-righteous, does anything. In the meantime, you need to teach me to cook like this.” She grabs the pot holders again and put the chops on the table.
“I’m going to watch the news,” Ron deadpans. “All this girl talk makes me nervous.”
“You want a beer, Ron?” I ask.
“No!” Lindsay pulls my hand off the fridge handle. “No, he doesn’t.”
“Lindsay, let the man answer for himself.”
“Haley, Hamilton can’t date you, so what does it matter? It’s not personal.”
“Why not? Jay’s not his client anymore.”
“He’s a believer. You’re not. The Bible says that is a no-go, and Hammy loves the rules, doesn’t he? He probably wants you so badly, he’s ready to pluck his own eyes out, but you’re off-limits, and if I know anything about Hamilton, it’s how he does love the law. He always errs on the side of it versus grace.”
“I believe in God.” I grab the plates from the cupboard. “Sort of. I just believe in being a good person and that He loves us all as His children.”
“It’s different. I know sometimes it doesn’t feel different, but it is.”
“He’s not a better person than me. For crying out loud, he’s really sort of a jerk. Don’t you think?”
“Yes, I do. I think he’s an incredible jerk, in fact. If I had a dollar for every jerk sitting in the pew, I’d be a rich girl.”
“She loves you. She preaches at those she loves.” Ron moseys to the table, and I place the plate in front of him.
“Because I want to see my friends in eternity! What kind of friend would I be if I believed this were the way to heaven and didn’t tell you how to get in? It’s like I didn’t put you on the waitlist for a party at Sky Bar.” Lindsay scratches her head. “You’re not getting in without your name on that list.” She stares at me. “Okay, well you’d probably get in because you’re hot, but if you were normal, you would totally be standing out on the street without my say. Get it?”
“That’s a terrible analogy.”
“I know, Ron!” Lindsay says, clearly frustrated. “I haven’t been a Christian very long, I’m not that good at this. I only know it changed my life, and I want it to change yours too, Haley, because I love you. I see my former self in you, and it makes me want to cry.”
“I’ve prayed for what you have, Lindsay, but I’m a slow learner, all right? But we need to feed your husband.”
She nods.
“Oh, I forgot to let the wine breathe.”
“No wine, Haley,” Lindsay says gruffly.
“With lamb?”
“What she’s trying to tell you, as subtly as a freight train, is that she’s married to an alcoholic, and I can’t have a beer and I can’t have any wine or I will officially fall off the wagon and perhaps have another stroke.”
I look at Lindsay, and she nods. I stare at Ron like a monkey in a cage. “You, Ron? I think of you as the epitome of sober.”
“You’re confusing sober with boring. I am boring.”
“He’s sober, too. Been so since the stroke. Sixty-three days and counting.” Lindsay beams proudly at him.
“Congratulations. But I thought you were a womanizer.” I place a lamb chop in front of him and grab for the salad. Sheesh. “Speaking of subtle.”
“I sort of implied that,” Lindsay says in a voice barely audible.
“Why would you do that?” I ask.
“Yeah, why? That’s why I get all those dirty looks from those women when I drop you off at church. They probably think I’m hitting on them.” Ron rolls his head to his chest. “Do I look like a womanizer, Haley?”
“Is there a type, really?” I ask.
Lindsay breathes in deeply. “I never said why we separated, Ron. They just assumed, and I never corrected them.” She looks at me for support. “Beautiful women attract men who care too much about beauty, less about substance. Right, Haley?”
“I thought we just picked badly.”
“Lily’s in the class, Ron, and I didn’t want it to slip that you were a drunk or you’d never get work with Hollywood big money again. You had a lot of business at her agency. It was selfish, but I’ve grown accustomed to the lifestyle. I didn’t think you could lose your job and be all right.”
Ron takes his wife’s hand, and he looks deeply into her eyes. The love they exchange in that momentary gaze is more than I ever shared with my own husband in eight years of marriage. My heart tightens at the thought that no one will ever love me like that. I am a third wheel at my own dinner party.
“I know why you did it,” Ron says. “You’re not fooling anyone; you were protecting me.”
“No, it was solely for me.” She smiles at him. “There was a sale at Gucci.”
“I know better, Lindsay. Don’t I, Haley?”
“I guess.” I shrug. “Let’s eat. Before I puke on the both of you.”
Later that night when I’m lying in my bed, I realize I just need to find a new lab rat. I stare up at the ceiling and think about the men at work. There has to be somebody out there.
The women in the Trophy Wives Club all deal with something intense, I’ll give them that, but they’re not trophy wives. If the definition is a younger woman who married an older, affluent guy for security and became little more than a bauble, taken out and polished up for the right moments in life, then I may well be the only true Trophy Ex-Wife, present. And that? Well, at the risk of sounding sixteen again, that just sucks, quite frankly. I’m deathly tired of being in relationships of one.