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SINCE HYDRA MOVED INTO OUR HOUSE, the kitchen has always been a beehive of activity at any time of day. In the mornings, members of the crew come and go while Angela cooks breakfast to order, and countless mugs of tea go in and out of the kitchen sink. I remember that, when the band Boston released the album Third Stage, they wrote in the liner notes things like how many lightbulbs they’d gone through while recording that album. At the time, I thought it was interesting; now I wish I’d counted how many tea bags we’ve gone through in the two months that Hydra has lived in my house. When I wake up on Tuesday, it’s dead silent in the kitchen; none of the band or crew eating there acknowledges my existence. It would seem that news travels fast. Angela is the only one who says good morning; she flashes me a sympathetic smile. Obviously, she knows about my discussion with Erik, and that, by the end of the week, she’ll have to find another housekeeping-for-hire gig. Yet she still manages to smile at me, and I am thankful for that.
She follows me into the pantry and whispers, “Honestly, I can’t blame you. That Erik guy is horrible. You have to do what is right for you and Tim, honey.” I thank her and pack my lunch. I decide I’ll grab breakfast from the drive-thru on the way to work, since being in the kitchen with these people is now way too awkward.
When I get into my office, I see that Amanda has marked up the drafts I left on her desk last night. She made a note in the margin about researching Baxter’s claims of product superiority a bit more. I let out an irritated sigh and toss the draft aside. The last thing I want to think about is Baxter, since I don’t know yet if Hydra’s going to leave. I check my cell phone again for messages, even though I know there aren’t any.
“Well, good morning to you, too.” Amanda smiles from my doorway.
“Um, hi,” I say, trying to wipe the irritation off my face. Great. Now she probably thinks I find her revisions annoying; I am on thin ice as it is.
“You did a great job on those drafts. You really don’t need to change much on there. I just want a bit more meat to back up our claims. It shouldn’t be hard; we have access to industry studies. Nice job and welcome back.” She hands me a cup of tea. Amanda and I are the only ones here who don’t drink coffee. We informally take turns getting tea for each other, depending on which one of us gets in first. “So, what were you really working on so furiously yesterday?”
“What?” I ask, hoping to appear innocent.
“There’s no way those drafts took you all afternoon. You’re faster than that. And you only logged about ninety minutes of billable time for Baxter yesterday. What else were you working on?” she presses. She’s doing her ice-princess glare thing again; I feel as if her eyes are boring holes in my forehead. Does she think I’m screwing around now, too? I can’t help but feel the paranoia creep in; I’m riding the thirty-day warning, and she’s supposed to know everything I’m working on until the thirty days are up, when I will once again be deemed worthy to work here.
I search my mind for a suitable answer that won’t get me fired. She braces her hands on her hips, an impatient posture. Screw it, sooner or later I am going to have to explain my behavior somehow. “Remember how last week I had some personal stuff going on? Yesterday I came to the conclusion on how to solve my problem. If it doesn’t work out as I planned, then you will know everything on Friday, as my life as I know it will be over. If it does work out, then you’ll never hear a word about it, and it won’t be a problem anymore.”
“I need you to stay focused, Brenda. You have a lot riding on the next thirty days here. I need to know right now if this personal problem is going to be an issue. If it is, I will find someone else to work on Baxter. Joy’s been chomping at the bit for more responsibility. She wants more than anything to prove herself and get the chance to sit in your chair.”
“It won’t be a problem. Really.” I smile back at her. I hope it comes off as a confident, can-do attitude. She turns on her heel and strides back to her office, chin up, chest out, Nordic princess warrior ready for battle.
I get to work on revising the drafts when Joy rings my extension from the reception area. “Brenda, you have a visitor.” Odd, I’m not expecting anyone. I check my calendar on Outlook just to be sure. Nope, my calendar is wide open for the morning.
“Who is it?”
“Your mother-in-law.”
Oh, shit. What the hell is she doing here? I’m going to strangle her with her stupid triple-strand Mikimoto pearls. And if she’s still alive, I’m going to make her watch as I feed them to her stupid teacup Chihuahua. I take a deep breath and stand up from my desk. I need to conjure the confidence from my confrontation with Erik last night and tell this joker where to go. Past victories. Game face.
I see her standing in the waiting room, appearing afraid to contract a disease if she touches anything. Which is ridiculous, because Amanda is a neat freak who has hired what appear to be a surgical team to clean this office twice each week.
“Hello, Portia,” I say without any expression in my voice. “How about we sit down in here?” I gesture to the conference room. I don’t know why she’s here, and I want her to know she’s not welcome. It’s one thing to show up unannounced at my house; it’s entirely another to show up like this at my workplace. She knows what she’s doing and figures I’ll do anything to make her leave, to avoid a scene. I see Joy trying not to look like she’s spying, but she totally is.
Portia assesses the conference room and then selects a chair. Is she seriously looking for the most advantageous chair in the room? Before I can ask her why she’s here, she sets a leather folio in front of me.
“Brenda, given the current situation, I have a proposal for you.” She nods at the folio, encouraging me to open it. I don’t comply and shove it back toward her just a few inches. “I’ve taken the liberty of drawing up an agreement between the two of us.” She pauses. “We both know that Timothy is unhappy in his marriage to you. I want us to agree to make it easy for him to move on. And, of course, you stand to benefit as well.”
“Portia, what the hell are you talking about?”
“If you cared to look,” she says, pushing the folio back toward me, “you’ll see that you will be provided with a generous stipend. Enough for you to afford a new home and a few extras. Agree to divorce Tim, and you will be well-provided for, darling.”
“Are you kidding me with this? Portia, you have got some nerve, coming to my workplace and pulling this.” Okay, it is seriously time to smack this bitch down for good. I have had enough of her crap. “Since the day I met you, you have gone out of your way to make me feel inferior. I tolerated it, figuring that maybe you’d come around after Tim and I got married. But you only got worse. Do you have any idea how awful you’ve been to me?” I pause for her to answer; she returns a steely gaze.
“It’s one thing to show up at my house, unannounced, but to come here and do this while I’m at work? You are a conniving bitch, Portia. Don’t you understand that I love Tim? I thought you’d have gotten the hint when you tried to pay me off before the wedding—your money doesn’t matter to me. If you’d bothered to get to know me at all, then you would have learned that I am not a gold digger. You would have learned that I am a good person who is in love with your son and wants more than anything for him to be happy.” I pause to collect myself. “Tell me. Why do you think so little of me?” I pause to allow her to answer. She doesn’t.
“See? You can’t think of one thing, can you? I have kissed your ass since the first time we met. And you can’t see who I really am. Your mind was made up about me a long time ago. But, darling...” I put a sarcastic twist on “darling.” “...you have gotten the wrong idea about me. And at this point, I don’t give a shit if you ever change your mind about me. But get a fucking life, Portia. And stop interfering with Tim’s. Because some day, you’ll go too far with him, and you’ll lose him, too.”
“Well, I never—, “she begins, her face beet-red.
“And that’s the problem, Portia,” I interrupt. “You throw your weight around, and nobody dares put you in your place. Well, not anymore.” I stand up and walk to the door. “We are done here. I would appreciate it if you would show yourself out.”
Her mouth is hanging open. I turn my back on her and throw the door open. I don’t want her to catch me looking, so I straighten my shoulders and walk out the door, trying to mimic Amanda’s bad-ass Viking warrior walk. I carefully step over the area rug in front of Joy’s desk; nothing messes up the warrior walk like tripping on the rug.
When Joy sees me come out, she tips her head down, obviously pretending to be working instead of snooping. I know that the conference room isn’t completely soundproof, and Joy’s a pretty notorious busybody. She probably heard everything, but I don’t bother to look her way. I stride past her desk and fight the urge to run out of the office. I feel like a huge weight has been lifted off of my shoulders. I finally got the courage to tell Portia what I really think. This feels even better than I imagined—until I realize that she’s going to call Tim and freak out on him.
I get back to my desk, grab my cell phone, and head to the stairwell. I climb the stairs two at a time and then open the door to the roof, where I am sure that I can be alone. I dial Tim’s cell. He picks up after three rings. My heart starts to beat a little faster. What if he’s asked his mother to do this for him? What if the stipend was his idea, so that he’d know I would be taken care of? What if he really does want to divorce me? I’d like to think that he would have discussed it with me first, before siccing his mother on me.
When he says “Hello,” I realize that I have no clue what to say. Maybe the direct approach will be best.
“Tim, you’ll never guess who came to visit me at work today.”
“Mick Jagger?” he asks. “Did you send him a letter, too?” Good, he’s in a good mood today. Maybe he didn’t get his mom to do this after all.
“Your mother.”
“Why? Is it about redoing the house? I’ll tell her not to bug you about it at work.” Shit. I guess I just blew my chance to get Antonio Diego on board for Baxter. Oh, well, I’ll have to come up with something else now. There’s no way I can say to her, “I know I just called you a conniving bitch, but can you give me his number?”
“Not exactly. Tim, she’s really gone too far this time. She showed up here with some legal agreement. Apparently, she’s going to pay me off if I leave you.”
“What?”
“I don’t know the specifics—I didn’t look at the papers. But Tim, she’s gone too far. She showed up at my office and pulled this shit.”
“Are you serious?” I can hear a door close in the background, and I know that he went into his office for some privacy. “Bren, that’s terrible. I am so sorry. You’re right. She totally crossed the line.” He pauses. “So, what did you do?”
“Well, she’s probably going to call you and freak out. I have had it with her, Tim. She has treated me like shit ever since I met you. I, um...” I stutter, bracing myself for his reaction. “I kind of told her off—and called her a bitch.”
“You did what?”
“Tim, I am done with her. What she did today was inexcusable.”
“Bren, just calm down, okay?” Don’t even tell me he’s taking her side.
“Did you ask her to do this?”
“Oh, God. No, Brenda,” he says. “Do you honestly think I’d ask her to do that without even discussing it first?”
“Well, no. I would hope not.” I feel my eyes fill with tears. “Tim, you have got to do something about your mother. You won’t stand up to her, and as a result, she walks all over me. Don’t you see that your relationship with her is pretty fucked up? Do you have any idea how embarrassing it is to have her show up at work? I am on a thirty-day warning as it is.”
“I know, Bren. I’m sorry. I thought I could talk to her about the problems we’ve been having and that she’d actually, you know, be supportive.” I’m surprised he didn’t pick up on me riding the thirty days thing. I’m glad he’s focusing on our marriage and not that. Normally, he’d freak out about the possibility of my losing my job, and what that would do to our retirement portfolio.
“Tim, I’m sorry, but what were you thinking? She’s hated me from the moment she met me. Of course she’s going to try to get you to divorce me. I mean, what did you expect? Maybe she has dates lined up for you as well. She has got to be stopped.”
“I never thought she’d go that far. It’s one thing to try to keep you in the kitchen at a fundraiser. It’s entirely another to try to pay you off.”
“Twice, Tim. She’s now tried to pay me off twice.”
“Yes, I know.” He pauses, and I can tell he’s trying to wrap his head around what his mother has done. “I am so sorry, Brenda. She crossed the line, and I am going to call her right now and tell her that what she’s done is unacceptable.”
“Thank you, Tim.” I tip my face up to the sun, elated. For the first time, he’s going to stand up to his mother for me. Until now, he’s taken the “Just let it go” approach, because he doesn’t want to confront her, either. There was a time when I tried to be friendly with her, hoping that she would get to know me and see that I really am the daughter-in-law she’s always imagined. And she’s always made me feel as if I’ve fallen short somehow. Those days are over; and it’s liberating to feel that her approval doesn’t matter anymore. I am so over her. Done.
We don’t really say anything else on the call; I don’t tell him about my confrontation with Erik, because I don’t yet know whether they’re actually leaving. I also don’t want to tell him about how the governor’s daughter is a hooker. He doesn’t even know that we had hookers in the house. At this point, it’ll just make him believe, again, that if I hadn’t been forced to tell him something, I wouldn’t have told him. Someday, a long time from now, I’ll tell him about it. We say our goodbyes, and of course I’m hoping he’ll say he loves me, but he doesn’t. My heart breaks just a little bit more.
I look out over the other rooftops; it’s such a beautiful day, I just want to hang out on the roof for the rest of the morning. But I need to get back downstairs. I’m sure Amanda’s looking for me. I sneak back into my cubicle and spend the rest of the day puttering around on Baxter stuff, then leave the office at six.
I try to call Tim on his cell, but it goes to voice mail. I want to see how things went with his mother, and I also just want to hear his voice again. Living without him is getting pretty unbearable. I tell his voice mail that I miss him and ask him to have dinner with me tomorrow night, hoping that I’ll have good news for him.
When I walk in the back door of the house, Erik and Toni are at the kitchen table. Erik smiles when I walk in, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. It’s never a good thing when Erik smiles.
Erik stares at me with his eyebrows raised and his smile still in place. Behind him, I notice that my media schedule has been wiped clean from the whiteboard and replaced with the shower schedule. Apparently, Ben is now showering in Tim’s time slot. Sunrise yoga wins. Okay, this is over, and it’s over now. I straighten up my shoulders and my cheek stops twitching. He hands me a stack of 8x10 photos.
“What are these?” I ask as I shuffle through them. They are pictures of our house, complete with the crowd of fans. Also, pictures of the day Tim and I came home and found the fan brigade. Pictures of me kissing Keith. Oh, shit. There was that guy in the fan crowd with the camera with the giant zoom lens. He’s not a fan; he’s been developing the band’s insurance policy.
“I didn’t want to have to do this, Brenda,” Erik sneers. “But you’ve left me with no choice.” He pauses for dramatic effect; my cheek starts twitching again. “I’ve taken an interest in the local state Senate campaign. What was the name of your husband’s competitor? Mitch Goldstein? It would seem that Mr. Goldstein’s campaign could stand for a boost, don’t you think?”
Oh, shit, again. Tim will absolutely kill me if Hydra jeopardized his campaign. Erik stands there with his arms across his chest; it would seem he’s employing my negotiation tactic—silence until I can’t stand it anymore, so I say something like, “Oh, never mind, you can stay.”
“Are we agreed that the band stays, then?” Wow, that’s kind of presumptuous.
There is no way they can stay here anymore. But there’s also no way that I will allow Tim to lose the election because of Hydra. What the hell do I do now? Toni is watching me expectantly; I wonder what she really thinks about Erik’s latest move. I wish I had someone I could confer with right now. How do I make this decision on my own?
To take a page from Annie’s book, I need to strip away all the extraneous stuff and get down to the bare facts. If they stay, there’s no Tim. If they leave, then there’s no state Senate for Tim, either. And then who knows if he’ll be willing to even be with me after I’ve just wrecked his chance of holding office. So, any way I slice it, there’s a chance of me and Tim not staying together. It’s just a matter of which choice is the sure thing that Tim will leave me. Okay, chin up and put my game face on. It’s time to take down Erik. If I can leave Portia with her mouth hanging open, then surely I can at least try to smack Erik Murtaugh down. Time to bring it again.
“Erik.” I pause to clear my throat—I need to focus on keeping my tone calm and even. “Do you really think the band can afford the bad publicity? I mean, how would it look if you sued Keith’s ‘long time’ fan? Can you imagine that trending on Twitter? You guys have lost a lot of ground here in the U.S. How’s planning the U.S. tour going for you, Erik? Filling up any arenas yet? If you sue me, you better believe that the first person I will call is my friend at MTV. And then I’ll move on to VH1, and then I’ll hit People Magazine, then Us Weekly, and before you know it, every single American will read about Hydra’s indiscretions, while they’re waiting in line at the supermarket. Is that really in the band’s best interests?”
Then I match his smile with my own tight I-am-an-asshole smile. I am so over this creep. All the crap that’s happened since the band entered my life has got to stop.
“If Tim loses, he could always run again. His livelihood doesn’t depend on his term as a state senator.” I pause and let it sink in. “The livelihood of all those people,” I point to Tent City, “depends on you right now. If you don’t leave, I expose you. You stand to lose much more than we do. So, am I calling MTV, or are you leaving?”
“Oh, please, like MTV will care that I hired call girls for them.”
“Yeah, but Governor D’Amico will care. And if he cares, then the unions will care. And who do you think sets up the stages in all those arenas, Erik? Little green fairies?”
“The band simply cannot risk the new album. Moving is out of the fucking question.”
“If this gets out, Governor D’Amico will shut you down faster than you can blink. Isn’t that out of the fucking question, as well?” I stand straighter. “So, you’ll be moved out by Thursday night, yes?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Brenda,” Erik protests. “I cannot possibly move all these people out in two days.”
He’s not hearing me; time to up the drama quotient. I grab the cordless phone off the kitchen counter and reach for my work tote bag, “Now, where is that phone number for MTV...” I mutter aloud. “Nope, not in that pocket. Darn it, I know it’s in here....” I pretend to rifle through my bag until I pull out a business card. “Ah yes. Annie Wilkins, MTV. Did I ever tell you that Annie and I go way back? We were roommates in college and we worked together at the campus radio station. She went to MTV, but I went on to work in PR. She’s been able to count on me for a juicy story now and then, and I am sure she’ll love this one. Oh, look at the time—I’ll have to call her at home....” I ramble on.
“Okay, enough already,” Erik groans. “God, Brenda, just fucking stop already. We’re moving. Are you happy?”
“I will not be happy until every single tent is off my back lawn, every single member of the Hydra entourage is out of my house, and those losers are off our front lawn.” I point out the front window, newly replaced after Erik’s tantrum the day before. I open the back door and step out; Vito follows me, wagging his tail. He looks up as is to say, “Yeah, you go girl!” I turn back to Erik. “I am sure you have a lot of work to do right now. Don’t let me keep you.” I look down. “Come on, Vito, let’s go for a walk and give the big rock stars a chance to move out of our house.” He wags his tail harder at the use of his favorite word. I smile at Erik one more time before stepping off the deck and walking into the woods with my dog.
We walk the trail that leads to the pond. There’s a huge tree at the edge of the pond that fell in a windstorm a few summers ago, and it sits exactly the way Tim and I would have placed a bench, at a perfect angle to stare out at the water and watch the sun go down. I try to let the sunset relax me, but the adrenaline is still coursing through me right now. I am also a little nervous: I’ve just left a pissed off Erik in my house. I should have hidden the other candlestick.
But leaving the house was the right idea. He needs to know that I am not afraid and I mean business. If I’d stayed, I would have looked desperate, hanging around waiting for him to tell me that he’ll move the band out. Instead, I’ll hang around out here for about an hour, then I’ll go back, and hopefully, by then, he’ll have a plan for moving out.
To kill time, I throw a stick just beyond the water’s edge. Vito likes to fetch sticks, but he doesn’t like to go into the water beyond where he can touch the bottom with his feet. He stretches his snout toward the stick, hoping to retrieve it without having to walk deeper in the water. He inches his nose out until he can grab it with the tips of his front teeth and then pulls it closer, so he can get a better grip on it. The lengths he’ll go so he doesn’t have to go into the water always cracks me up.
He carries the stick back to me and drops it at my feet then wags his tail as his way of asking me to throw it again. When I don’t throw it again, he jumps up onto the log beside me. I stroke his velvety ears, and we watch as the sun reflects onto the clouds, making them glow pink.
The mosquitos start to hum near my ears; I swat them away and look at my watch. I can’t believe an hour and a half has gone by already. My mind had just blissfully gone blank, and it’s nice to know that I can let go and not worry. Vito is beside me, licking the mud off his front paws. He’s pretty good about keeping himself occupied while I daydream. I feel like, for the first time in a month, I am in control again. It feels great.
“Let’s go home, Buddy Dog. Want some dinner?” At the mention of his other favorite word, he jumps off the log, and we walk home before the sun finishes setting. We have just enough light to navigate the trail back to the house.
When we walk in the back door, the band and entourage are having a meeting in the kitchen. I can’t help but smile when I see that the whiteboard is filled with a packing and moving schedule. I feel victorious—until every head in the room turns to face me. Some of them scowl at the inconvenience of having to move; some, like Toni, flash a sympathetic smile, instead. It’s nice to know I have a few friends; they’re the ones who will keep the pissed-off ones from trashing my house before they leave.
“Sorry to interrupt,” I mutter. “I’ll just get out of your way.” I walk through the kitchen toward the stairs.
“No,” Erik says, bristling. “You should stay. This concerns you. After all, we’re getting out of your house. You ought to know how we plan on doing that.”
“Honestly, I don’t care how you do it,” I say, walking toward the stairs. “I just want you out by Thursday night.”
“Thursday night?” Ben sputters. “What do you mean, Thursday night?”
“Didn’t Erik tell you?” I put on an innocent tone and step back into the room. “Erik agreed to have you all out of here by Thursday night. Isn’t that right, Erik?”
“Erik, what does she mean?” Keith asks, objecting. “Where are we all going? You’ve just told us that our new house won’t be ready for over a week.”
I can hear the low din of whispers among the crew; I feel the drama brewing. It’s fascinating: Erik’s lying to the band and the crew about where they’re going to stay. Does he think they’re not going to find out? “On second thought, this meeting looks interesting,” I say, smiling. “I think I’ll stay.” I slide myself up onto the last available spot on the counter. Just like on the first night, a bag of Oreos is open. I grab a few and twist one apart so I can lick the white stuff out of the center.
“Yes, I did say that our new house won’t be ready until the week after next,” Erik says. “And yes, I did agree with Brenda that we’d be out on Thursday.” I dip my cookie into a nearby glass of milk and loudly slurp the soggy Oreo. “God, Brenda,” Erik says, “would you please stop doing that?” I smile back at him and bite into another cookie defiantly.
“Then where the hell are we going to sleep between Thursday night and when we move into the new house?” Keith asks.
“Well, it would seem that Westwood, Rhode Island offers few options for accommodations,” Erik says. “There is a Motel 6 along the highway. I’ve rented out the whole thing until our new house is ready.”
“Surely there’s a Marriot or a Westin,” Keith says, incredulous.
“This is preposterous!” Ben says. “We are all working damn hard on this new record. Why do we all have to suffer because of Keith?”
“Suffer?” I ask. I set down the glass of milk. “You’re kidding, right? Staying in a motel is suffering? Wow, you guys really have lost touch with reality. There are people out there who don’t have jobs, and you have the nerve to say you’re suffering? Big fucking deal—you have to sleep in a motel for a week. God, you guys really love being the spoiled rock stars, huh? You think that just because you put out a few albums in the ‘80s that everyone should bow down to you. You guys really are assholes. All of you.” I point my finger at every person sitting in the room then slide off the counter and storm out of the room.
From upstairs, I can hear them continue to argue. Ben and Keith protest loudly while Erik struggles to maintain his composure. I can distinctly hear Erik say, “I am so fucking sick of having to clean up your messes. It’s been nonstop for thirty years, and you guys just won’t fucking grow up.”
“Well, if that’s how you really feel about it then perhaps you ought to step down then!” I hear Keith shout downstairs.
“Do you have any idea what I do for you? Do you? Everything I do in my life is for you. Every fucking thing I do is to stroke your precious egos so you can feel like you can produce good music. You see that crowd of people out there? Paid for. Every last one of them is a paid actor hired to make you feel like rock and roll gods so you can produce a new album.”
“What on earth are you talking about?” Ben asks.
“Trisha doesn’t give a shit about your lyrics, Keith. She’s only there to make you feel like your lyrics matter. But you know what? It’s all shit! This new album sucks, and you’re all going to go down. And I am not going to be there when it happens. I am through with the lot of you.”