At aerobics Friday, hunky Ari strutted between everyone’s step platforms, shaking his hips to Wang Chung. Maybe Erica was imagining things, but it seemed like her belly felt tauter underneath the spangled lavender leotard, and she could swear her clothing fit more loosely, the thong no longer digging into her butt crack. She lifted five-pound weights in bicep curls while simultaneously performing a V-step. She even found herself singing along to “Dance Hall Days” as Ari circled by and tapped her on the rear. “Looking good,” he said in a move that unfortunately reminded her of Ron.
“He thinks you’re cute,” Justine said afterward, reapplying her mascara. She was wearing a pink lace underwear and camisole set.
“Don’t you think he looks like Michael Bolton?” Erica fiddled with her gym bag, looking for the new patterned leggings she’d bought, but Justine was already pulling on her six-inch heels, paying not a mote of attention to anything Erica was saying.
“You’ll have to excuse me—I’m running like crazy today. I have to go to the dry cleaners, pick up cat food, and then go to the doctor. I may have an infection at the site of my tubal ligation. I’ve been having cramping and bleeding. If I have time, I really should talk to you. Someone told me you were a nurse.”
“I used to be.” Erica patted her thighs, which still rubbed together uncomfortably when she walked, fashionable patterned leggings or no.
“You’ve got bags under your eyes.” Justine brushed her scalpel-like nails across Erica’s cheek. “You should call Housemates and get yourself some help.”
“My mother gave me the number.”
“Well, call them for God’s sake.” Justine clattered out of the locker room, and as she did so, Lisa sidled up from the other side of the locker room.
“Sorry, but I can’t stand that woman,” Lisa said. “Do you think her boobs are fake?”
“Probably. Do you think Ari looks like Michael Bolton?”
“There’s a resemblance, now that you mention it. Do you have time this afternoon to go order the boys’ camp labels?”
Camp labels. She’d forgotten about ordering them, as well as buying something Debbie kept requesting. Her mind felt razor sharp yet pocked with inexplicable holes.
“I can’t make it this afternoon. I have an appointment.”
“Doctor?” Lisa’s eyes clouded over with concern.
“No, no. A friend. Um. Nicole.”
“Who’s Nicole? I thought I knew all your friends. Even the lovely Justine.”
“No, she’s not really a friend. A cousin. My mother’s cousin.”
Lisa shrugged. “Let’s make it next Monday, then, okay? We need to get the labels before we reserve the trunks.”
“Sure,” Erica said.
She was operating on two planes: one here sitting on this locker room bench pulling on her jeans, one existing entirely beyond this constricted world. She could carry on friendly conversations, pick up Sophia from the gym’s childcare, and buy matzoh at Rothman’s—because she remembered that was the thing Debbie kept reminding her about—all the while flashing on Stephan and his little silver locket, and the lights of Staten Island, and the lush way Josh Horton’s fingers raced over the piano keys, like they were unleashing a force far beyond the capability of his hands.
But she didn’t have time to drive all the way over to Rothman’s. Egg matzoh was disgusting anyway. Ron’s taste in matzoh was as bad as his taste in music. She’d pick up regular matzoh at the regular supermarket later. She took Sophia to the pediatricians for her checkup and then fed her milk and cereal before picking up the preschool carpool and depositing the twins at their friend Andy Spicer’s house, before driving across the railroad tracks to Nick’s, across the street from the pet store, two blocks up the street from her parents’. Blood skated through her veins like helium.
Nick lived in a rundown Victorian. A few straggly irises bloomed in the front yard. The screen door had rusty hinges and torn wire, but the wooden door behind it was thick and hand carved, with a stained-glass porthole.
He opened the door, a stocky man heading into premature middle age. His skin had the yellowish tint of an olive-skinned person who didn’t get outside often enough. He smiled at her through thin lips, with the same aura of detached bemusement that characterized his phone manner.
“Oh, well, hello, Rikki,” he said. “Come on in.”
The small entryway opened onto a parlor room, which, despite the ornate fireplace mantel and built-in bookshelves, bore a neglected bachelor air about it: dingy shag carpet, an overly elaborate stereo system with shoulder-high speakers, a television, and a round tiled coffee table with a Styrofoam container on it filled with dried-out chow mein. A stack of magazines rested unsteadily against the arm of the overstuffed couch.
“How did you know my stupid nickname?” Erica hovered uncertainly over the couch. “Nobody but my family calls me Rikki.”
Nick fluffed the sofa pillows in an impotent attempt to straighten up. “Last time I spoke to you, I believe you answered to Rikki? Debbie Shapiro’s your big sister, right? Debbie Lassler these days. Mother of Jared?” He winked.
With that wink, it came back to her. She knew Nick from school. He’d entered Mrs. Twombley’s third-grade class late, having moved from Illinois, and she’d been assigned against her will to show him around. He was one of those kids who sat in the back and didn’t call much attention to themselves. He’d won a multiplication prize on upper elementary math night, she recalled. In high school he’d starred on the wrestling team. He’d even signed her senior yearbook, she was sure.
“I don’t believe I’ve seen you since high school,” she said, though as she uttered that sentence, she realized she had, just the other day at the pet store, buying dog food. His dog, an Irish setter, lounged on the couch, shedding hair.
“You haven’t changed a bit,” said Nick. “You still look like you could beat me up.”
“Right,” Erica said.
“No, I’m not kidding. You’ve got those naturally sexy shoulders, those muscular arms, those long legs. You were on the track team, right? You still do any sports?” His eyes washed over her body.
“Just aerobics class and jogging once in a while,” she said.
“What beautiful eyes on that baby!” Nick exclaimed. “Your first?” He fluffed Sophia’s tufts of black hair.
“No,” Erica said. “My first girl. My fourth child.”
“Wow. You don’t look like a mother of four.” Nick motioned for her to sit down. He didn’t remotely resemble Erica’s notion of a drug dealer.
“Jared and Ashley and some of their buddies come and hang out here after school. I like to set up a friendly space for them, when they don’t feel like going home.” Nick waved his hand around, indicating the couch, the stereo, and the TV.
“Do you know my sister Debbie?” The couch bounced under her rear end.
“Oh, sure,” Nick grinned. “She’s a nice enough lady, on the anxious side. Her husband’s an asshole, though. Sorry.”
“That’s okay. I don’t like him either.” Sophia wriggled madly in Erica’s arms but she hesitated to put her down on the grotty couch. She didn’t want to sit around and make small talk. “So,” she said. “About those CDs.”
“I’ve got them right here,” Nick said. “Same music you’ve listened to before. Want to listen right now, with me?”
The idea appealed to Erica, quite a lot, in fact, despite the smarmy Nick and the smell of decaying Chinese food. But the necessity of putting Sophia down on a carpet where she saw dried cheese fragments and a broken paper clip made her decline. “I’ll just buy them,” she said.
“That’ll be $150,” he said, reaching into the drawer of an antique roll-top desk, sending a pile of pamphlets tumbling to the floor. Erica picked them up, shuffling the pile back into shape. Housemates.
“Don’t tell me this is your business too?” she asked. “Everybody I know is recommending you.”
“Yeah, I’m a multifaceted guy.” Nick stuffed the stack of pamphlets into a cubicle at the back of the desk. “Need a housekeeper?”
“No. Everyone else just thinks I do.” An Elvis Presley clock chimed the noon hour by bellowing out “You Ain’t Nothin’ but a Hound Dawg.” Erica dug in her purse for the cash, balancing Sophia precariously on her hip.
“Thanks for the stuff,” she said.
For good measure she stopped by the pet store and picked up some decorative orchids and a better heat lamp for Sammy before getting back in her car.