I must be a small person because I am really enjoying the stricken look on Kimberly’s face. And I didn’t even have to put it there!
She blinks a few times. “Well … actually …”
Jason frowns and leans closer to her. “What?”
She raises those gargantuan blue eyes of hers to his face. “I sort of do have a mother-in-law.”
I restrain myself from butting in, but I’m thinking: You don’t sort of have a mother-in-law, missy. You do have a mother-in-law. And I don’t think Jason could look more astounded if Kimberly had informed him she has relatives from Mars who will be joining us for dessert.
“You have a mother-in-law?” he says. “You’re married?”
She looks into her lap. “Sort of,” she mumbles.
“There’s no sort of being married,” Jason tells her, a statement with which I wholeheartedly agree. “You’re either married or you’re not.”
“Well, then, I guess I’m married. But I won’t be for long.”
“Oh, so you’re getting divorced?” That pops out of my mouth. And indeed that could explain why Kimberly’s husband was seeing Lisette. He was already one foot out the door of his marriage.
“I am getting divorced,” she tells Jason.
It’s interesting that she’s making this conversation between the two of them. It’s as if I’m not even sitting at this table.
Jason gestures to her left hand. “So that’s why you’re not wearing a wedding ring?”
“I took it off months ago. I even gave the engagement ring back.”
I bet I know why, too. Damian probably needed to cash it in.
Jason shakes his head. “I can’t believe that in all this time you never told me this. What’s up with that?”
“I didn’t want you to think about me differently,” she tells him.
Whoa. That’s rather a startling admission.
“Plus,” she goes on, “my marriage fell apart so fast that I was embarrassed.”
She looks at me, as if for support, but I’m going to disappoint her. She should be embarrassed.
“Kim Kardashian’s marriage to Kris Humphries lasted longer than mine,” she adds. “And hers was only seventy-two days.”
It is pretty amazing. That gargantuan wedding Kimberly had, with every conceivable bell and whistle, all for a union that lasted barely a few months. Maybe I’m way off-base, but I’ve often thought there’s a connection between nuptial extravaganzas and short marriages. Whether they’re made for TV, like Kim Kardashian’s, or not.
Though Jason is saying very little, I can tell this has disillusioned him about Kimberly. It does reflect a pretty monumental lapse of judgment on her part. All he can seem to do is shake his head. Then: “Well, I’m just surprised something this big never came out. That’s all.”
“Even on my wedding day I knew I shouldn’t go through with it.” Kimberly’s pink lips tremble and she swipes at her nose. Tears are coming but quick. “I knew it was a mistake, but I did it anyway. I didn’t know how to stop it. I’m sorry,” and she rises from the table to bolt for the ladies’ room.
If Kimberly were my friend, I’d go after her. As it is, she and I have already had one ladies-room run-in too many.
I’m not so heartless that I don’t feel bad for her. And I can well imagine how horrendously difficult it would have been to halt that matrimonial bandwagon the morning of the wedding. The money’s been spent; the guests are on their way; it would be easier just to go through with it and give the marriage a whirl. And who knows? Maybe you’ll surprise yourself and end up happy you did it.
Jason lifts his napkin from his lap and tosses it on the table. “When the server comes back, I’m gonna ask for the check.”
Fortunately, long before this I lost my craving for baklava. I search for something to say and end up mimicking Kimberly’s line. “I’m sorry, Jason.”
“I don’t care that she’s married,” he says. “I care that she didn’t tell me.”
“She was afraid it would make her look bad.”
“What makes her look bad isn’t that she’s married. It’s that she didn’t tell me she’s married. She and I have talked about you a million times.”
I wonder how I fared in those conversations. “Well, clearly your opinion of her matters to her. A lot.”
“Don’t pretend you’re on her side now. You’re enjoying this. Don’t pretend you’re not.” He manages to get a server’s attention and requests the check.
From that point on, I keep mum. Jason is upset and anything I say is likely to make it worse. When so much time passes that I’m thinking I’d better fetch Kimberly, she reappears, looking the worse for wear. Jason waits for her to sit down before he tells her he’s settled the bill.
“I should’ve gotten that,” she says.
“No problem. I’ll expense it. Thanks for a good day’s work today.”
It’s a perfectly nice compliment for Jason to pay Kimberly, but there’s little warmth in it. Staring into her lap, Kimberly nods without enthusiasm. I’m thinking it’ll be a miracle if we end the night without more waterworks.
Yet on the street we manage to part ways with no further drama. Back at the hotel, Jason jumps in the shower and I shed my clothes for the fluffy robe. I guess I am my mother’s daughter after all.
With Jason in the bathroom and the lamps down low, I sit by the window and take in the view. It may be late on Sunday night, but cars are zooming along West 44th Street as fast as they can. I guess nobody around here feels like they have extra time.
I take a deep breath. So. With dawn’s early light I turn 35. Now that I’m 34 it’s not such a big number, but at 17 when I married Jason it seemed impossibly old. How things change.
I wonder, as I always do this time of year, if my birth mother is thinking about me. When I was a child, I was never sure. Ever since I became a mother, I’ve felt pretty darn certain I was on her mind. Thank you, I tell her silently, as I always do on this day. Thank you for the nine months, for the labor, for the choice you made. It had to have been heart-rending. I can’t even imagine. Wondering what propelled her to make it occupied a lot of my young mind, but with time I set the question aside. As I do again as I prepare for bed.
The next morning the sun rises like it always does. I wake to find my husband at my side, propped up on an elbow smiling down at me. He is one handsome devil and that is only the most obvious of his charms.
“Happy birthday, babe,” he murmurs then bends lower to give me a kiss.
I kiss him back. Nice way to kick off the next thirty-five years. “I guess the world didn’t stop spinning.”
“Nope. Kept turning when I hit thirty-five, too.”
“We’re not that old, huh? We’re still pretty young, don’t you think?”
“We’re plenty young enough.”
I’m about to ask for what when I catch the twinkle in his eye. Yup, we’re plenty young enough.
I make it out of bed eventually. Room service arrives to spoil me even more.
“I know it’s not as good as if Rachel made it,” Jason says, fresh from the shower, shaved, and dressed. “But you can eat it in bed if you want.”
“That’s what I’d be doing at home.” I push away the thought that this is the first birthday I’m spending away from my daughter. Instead I lift the lid on my breakfast. “My favorite!” A Belgian waffle with blueberries, syrup, and whipped cream. Not to mention a pot of coffee and a glass of pineapple juice.
“The juice is to make you remember Oahu,” Jason tells me. “And winning your title.”
I give him a kiss. “You’re a pretty great guy, you know that?”
“Sometimes, anyway. Sorry about my bad mood last night.”
“Don’t be.”
He seems about to say something more but stops himself. That’s just as well. I don’t care to discuss Miss Drayson first thing on my birthday.
We don’t eat in bed but set up our meal on the table by the window. Believe it or not, it’s so sunny I’m tempted to wear sunglasses. “This looks like a great day for a photo shoot,” I tell Jason.
“I heard on the news it’s supposed to get into the low sixties. That’s like twenty-five degrees above normal for this time of year.”
I’ll take it. And I bet Kimberly will, too. Or should I call her Mrs. Paganos? Whichever, she and Jason are going to kick off the day’s work at Uncle Jerry’s studio reviewing the gallery of photos from the first two days of shooting.
“So you up for the usual tonight?” Jason asks me.
We have a tradition for my birthday. We started it when we were 17 and have never once missed it. “Absolutely!”
“I’ll make sure Kimberly and I wrap up early,” he says, and gives me a kiss.
You know what? I bet he will.
A little while later, after my second Walk of Shame in as many days, I’m back at the apartment. Trixie and Shanelle, both dressed in skinny jeans and flirty tops, barely let me take off my coat before sitting me down in front of a muffin with a birthday candle in it.
“I love your hair!” I tell Trixie. “That pixie cut looks fab on you.”
She gives her head a shake. “Cynthia did an excellent job.”
“I guess that nutcase can cut hair after all,” Shanelle says.
Trixie bats Shanelle’s arm. “Stop saying mean things about her! She wanted to be a beauty queen just like us and she probably would’ve been if her childhood hadn’t been so hard.”
Shanelle rolls her eyes. “And I love that gold dress on you, girl,” she tells me. “But just so you know, it doesn’t work for daytime.”
“Ha ha ha.” By this point I am so ready to take it off.
My BFFs sing me the birthday song but spare me the verse asking how old I am. Then: “Make a wish!” Trixie cries.
Where do I begin? I look at Trixie and Shanelle’s shining eyes then close my own. First wish: to be able to share my birthday next year with all the people I love most. I open my eyes and blow out the candle. Trixie and Shanelle clap madly.
Shanelle points at the muffin. “It’s chocolate chip. Today is no day to count calories.”
So true. Although that must resume very soon, along with working out.
We go to town on the muffin as Shanelle and Trixie brief me on last night’s preview. “The show is so much better,” Trixie says. “Overall it went pretty well.”
“But it wasn’t perfect,” Shanelle says.
“They had to stop the show twice to switch out mics,” Trixie says.
“And a bunch of people screwed up their lines,” Shanelle adds.
“Never Tonya, though,” Trixie says. “She was perfect.”
“Probably because you guys ran lines with her,” I say.
“And the audience was great,” Shanelle adds. “They kept clapping and cheering. It almost didn’t matter what happened.”
“I think they were trying to give the cast a boost.” Trixie lowers her voice. “Probably because of what happened to Lisette.”
“Obviously you succeeded in keeping Oliver’s father away,” Shanelle says.
I tell them how I managed that. Of course they’re aghast to learn that he’s responsible for some of the meanest posts about Dream Angel on AllThatChat.com.
“But now you’re blackmailing him.” Trixie eyes me with admiration. “So you get to meet Violet Honeycutt!”
“Maybe. I’ll probably have to remind Senior a time or two to make that happen.” I check my phone. I’ve received several birthday messages—including a text from Rachel, who’s now in class—but no communications yet from the old coot. It is still early. Then I find the Twitter photo of Blondie wearing my mother’s fur and hold it up for Trixie and Shanelle to see. “Get a load of this!”
After I tell that wild story, Trixie declares she wants to accompany me to the salon. “I feel like I can really learn from the way you tell people off,” she tells me.
I’ll take that as a compliment. I rise from the table. “That was fabulous, ladies. But now I’ve got to get a move on.”
“Not so fast,” Shanelle says, and she whips out a small box beautifully wrapped in shiny white paper and tied with a yellow bow.
Trixie beams. “We hope you like it.”
I already know I’m going to love it. I sit back down. “Asymmetrical earrings!” I screech ten seconds later. (I’ve never been one to unwrap gifts slowly.) “They’re gorgeous!” One a star, one a moon, both adorned with—
“Swarovski crystals,” Shanelle tells me. “We couldn’t resist.”
“They’re French,” Trixie adds.
“I adore them.” We engage in a group hug, a fine tradition if ever there was one. “They’re perfect for what I plan to wear today.”
A half hour later, I too am in skinny jeans, in my case paired with a black tank top featuring a lace overlay, scalloped hem, and buttoned-up envelope back. The new earrings complete the outfit to a T.
Trixie almost topples off her high-heel boots when we arrive at the Plaza Hotel and I confess I haven’t yet told my mother that a salon worker has her fur. “And you don’t want to tell her even now?”
We walk past taxis lining up to collect fares to the local airports. “I suppose I shouldn’t keep holding it over her. But I’m so upset with her for leading Bennie on.”
We enter the lobby, as bustling as ever. “Bennie can take care of himself,” Trixie says. “I’m sure he knows your mom still has feelings for your dad, but he wants to be with her anyway.”
“But being with her and buying her fur coats and stays at the Plaza and trips to Japan are two different things. Just follow my lead, okay?”
Trixie reluctantly agrees. We go up to my mother’s room to find her in yet another chic ensemble, this time a black jersey top and pants set worn beneath a sheer duster jacket featuring an animal-print pattern. “That should look great for your photos!” Trixie cries.
“That’s the idea.”
“Your skin still looks amazing, Mom,” I say.
She feigns modesty before she points at me. “It’s you who should be getting all the attention today.” She grabs me in a hug. “Happy, happy birthday, sweetie.” She pulls back to look at me, tears glistening in her eyes. “I can’t believe it’s been thirty-five years. Happiest day of my life was the day you came to me.” She twists around to look at Trixie. “That explains the name we gave her. Lou didn’t fight me on that one.”
“He knew he wouldn’t win that battle,” Trixie says.
“He was so happy, too. He cried like a baby himself that day, just like I did.” My mother pulls a tissue out of her pocket and swipes at her nose.
I meet Trixie’s gaze over my mother’s head. She doesn’t have to say a word: I know I’m beat. “So I’ve got good news,” I tell my mom. “The salon has your fur.”
My mother throws out her arms. “Hallelujah!”
“Trixie and I are going over there to pick it up and return Bernadette’s fur.”
“All’s well that ends well!” my mother cries.
“Will you do me a favor?” I ask as I retrieve Bernadette’s fur from the closet. “Will you think long and hard about how you treat Bennie? Because he’s a very nice man and I don’t want you leading him on.”
“I’m not leading him on!” she protests.
“As a favor to me.” I give her a kiss. “Because it’s my birthday.”
“You’re using your birthday to sort of blackmail your mom, too,” Trixie whispers as we head out. “You’ve got mad skills.”
Maybe. I am getting frighteningly good at blackmail. I should examine my soul. But not today. That doesn’t sound like a birthday activity to me.
It’s while we’re outside waiting in the taxi line that my phone rings with the call I’ve been dreading. I clutch Trixie’s arm. “Oh, my God. It’s Mr. Cantwell.”
“Just answer your phone.” Trixie is ridiculously calm. “I think you’ve been much more worked up about that whole testimony thing than you need to be.”
I force myself to answer the call with a cheery voice. “Mr. Cantwell! How are you this fine morning?”
“I’ve been better, Ohio.”
My heart clenches.
“So you’re off the hook,” he tells me. “I don’t need you to be a character witness for me anymore.”
I don’t like the sound of that. I really don’t like the sound of what comes next.
“Sherry Phillips will do it. You remember her, right, Ohio? Your runner-up. Now I know what she’s good for. When you can’t do something, she can.”