Syd was depressed. Perry was brokenhearted and out of work. Tim hadn’t even shown up for Sunday dinner. Saving the Valley from the clutches of them was more work and less fun than Ann had thought it would be.
Why do things like this always happen to me? Ann wondered, feeling the weight of it all press down on her slight shoulders. I don’t know how much more of this I can take.
So it was no surprise that she had decided to accompany a small group of CUSS members to a weekend retreat at a health spa in Laguna Beach—a chance for them to shed pounds and problems, to do good for their bodies and their city, to get away from the pressures of the life in the Valley and see the challenges they faced more objectively from a quaint, arty beach town in Orange County.
“How’s the food at the spa?” asked one of the women as the tiny splinter group sat in a booth at Art’s Delicatessen.
“Very brown rice, very egg white and carrot juice,” explained another. “Sort of early Pritikin, but it works. You leave this place feeling ten years younger. You won’t believe the energy you’ll have.”
“What time do they make you get up?” asked another.
“There’s a brisk walk along the beach at seven A.M., but you’ll want to eat first.”
“Do they have yoga?”
“Do they have Pilates?”
“Do they have a labyrinth? I’ve always wanted to try a labyrinth.”
“What I really need is a deep-tissue massage.”
“I just need the opportunity to be healthy,” said a slightly overweight woman. “You can’t get that here.”
“This sounds perfect,” said Ann. “This is exactly what I need right now.”
They all agreed. Plans were finalized. Reservations were made on a cell phone right there in the booth.
“I’ll bring a bottle of scotch,” piped up one woman. “Who wants to bring the vodka?”
The chubby woman raised her hand.
Gentiles, thought Ann, who drank only at the occasional party. I’ll never understand them.
Ann thought about the woman packing their liquor as she readied her own suitcase for the big weekend. Let them pack all the booze they want, she thought. Ann had SAM-e, which Newsweek said good things about, but she was unsure she was feeling any mood-elevating effects. There was also her Premarin—she couldn’t forget her hormone-replacement therapy for menopause. Ann was never sure if hormone replacement was a good idea. As best as she could tell, most of her problems
came from hormones. Perhaps she’d be better off without them. She could be so happy one day and so miserable the next, even though nothing around her had changed. That just had to be hormones. Once, years ago, during her realestate incarnation, she’d had PMS so badly, she had rejected an offer on a house without telling the owner. A better offer came along, so it was no big problem. Another time, she bought an ugly sofa—and was never sure why. It caused her to wonder whenever she made a big decision: Which part of my body is doing the deciding? And which part is smarter?
Her other major concern was sleep. She never slept well away from Syd, so she decided to unplug the Brookstone sound machine from next to her bed and take it with her. She had gotten used to the sounds of artificial surf emanating from a microchip—although the babbling brook sound was nice also—and she thought the familiarity of her own machine would help in Laguna. Of course, there would be the sound of the live ocean right outside her window, but nature is so unpredictable. Sometimes nature is too loud and sometimes it’s too soft. Brookstone had thoughtfully included a volume control.
Sleep was only one of Ann’s problems. Syd was another. Syd tended to be a bit lost when left to his own devices. He could kill an afternoon or evening easily enough, but a weekend was formidable. She decided to alert the boys.
It was easier to reach Tim these days. He was usually at the office. Perry, at loose ends, was sometimes at his apartment but sometimes not. He’d go to the gym, to the mall, to Borders. Or maybe he just wasn’t answering his phone.
“I’ll only be gone two nights,” she told Tim. “And you know how your father is.”
“He’s not the most self-reliant man I’ve ever met,” acknowledged Tim. “He really needs a hobby.”
“Don’t I know it,” said Ann, shaking her head. “Why can’t I be a golf widow like every other woman my age?”
“I’ll ask him if he wants to go to a movie or something,” suggested Tim. “I’ll try to get him out of the house.”
“You’re a wonderful son,” said Ann. “I love you, and I’ll call you when I get back.”
As she feared, she was only able to get Perry’s voice mail. She left a message, trying to sound upbeat. But she was worried. Tim was used to picking himself up off the floor, dusting himself off, and trying again. He’s like me that way, Ann realized. Perry is more like Syd. They haven’t had much experience with adversity or change. Maybe Perry had great coping skills, and Ann just didn’t know it because he hadn’t had to use them before. Or maybe this setback would throw him, and it would take him a long time to recover.
Ann couldn’t shake that bad feeling. If I don’t feel any better, she thought, I can always pretend to be a Gentile and get loaded on scotch or vodka.