The Smart One and the Pretty One (5 page)
“I’m her sister.” Lauren held out her hand. “Lauren.”
“Brian Braverman.” He shook it warmly. “It’s remarkable how much you two look alike.”
“Really?” Ava said, dubiously studying Lauren.
“You could be twins.” He turned back to Lauren. “How long are you in town for?”
“I’m not sure yet. A while.”
“Wonderful.” He rubbed his hands together. “How lovely for you both. Nothing like family. Well, forgive me for interrupting—”
“Lauren was just leaving,” Ava said. “I’m all yours.”
“Oh, don’t make your sister leave on my account. I just wanted to ask you for a favor. I’ve got to leave early today for a meeting with the rabbi—it was the only time we could get—and I was wondering if you could take over a client meeting for me at five.”
“Shouldn’t be a problem,” Ava said. “Let me just check to make sure I’m not forgetting anything.” She went over to her computer and hit some keys as she peered at the screen.
“My daughter’s getting bat mitzvahed next week,” Brian explained to Lauren. “You wouldn’t believe how much work it entails. The decisions, the meetings, the writing of speeches, the weekend tutoring. The bills.” He gave a theatrical sigh. “Especially the bills. But it’ll all be over soon.”
“It’s going to be great,” Ava said from over by the desk.
“I hope so. Oh, and you should come too.” He touched Lauren’s arm. “It’ll give you a chance to get to know some of the people your sister works with every day. You weren’t bringing anyone else, were you, Ava?” Ava shook her head. “Well, there you go. Now you have a plus one.”
Lauren said, “Are you sure it’s okay?”
“Absolutely. The more the merrier. Ava, I insist you bring your sister.”
“Fine with me,” Ava said.
“Really?” Lauren said.
“Yeah. Brian’s right—it’ll give you a chance to meet people.”
“It’ll be a great party,” Brian said. “Fun for all ages. I’ve tried to leave all the details to my wife, who’s much better at these things than I am, but I can tell you that I heard a rumor about an ice cream sundae bar.”
“Well then, count me in,” Lauren said. She added, “Best part is this gives me a chance to buy a whole new outfit. I’ve had my eye on the most amazing dress—”
Ava’s brows flew together in a frown. “Lauren—”
“I’m kidding,” Lauren said. “I’m kidding.” She took her leave of them both and left the office pleased with herself.
I
don’t know why they called it a lumpectomy,” Nancy said. “There wasn’t actually a lump. A clump, maybe. But not a lump.”
“A clumpectomy?” Ava said uncertainly. The three Nickerson women were camped out in Nancy’s bedroom, watching the Audrey Hepburn movie
Funny Face
on TV. Lauren had gone with her parents to the hospital for Nancy’s procedure, and Ava had joined them at home as soon as she got off work. Once he realized he was outnumbered three to one and that the evening’s entertainment was an exceptionally girly movie, their father had fled to the relative safety and quiet of the downstairs.
“I keep telling her she should be taking advantage of the situation to get implants,” Lauren said to Ava. Lauren was sitting on the terry-cloth armchair in the corner of the bedroom. A few years earlier, a decorator had convinced Nancy that white terry cloth would give the room “an adorable boudoir feel.” Within three months, the chair looked like it was covered in an old, worn towel. But the upholstery had been expensive, so Nancy had just kept it that way.
“It’s a little hard to justify new breasts when there’s barely a dent taken out of one of the old ones,” Nancy said.
“Aw, come on,” Lauren said. “Can you imagine how excited Dad would be if you just showed up one day with a pair of 34 double-Ds?”
“With his blood pressure, the shock could kill him. I’ll make a deal with you, Lulu—if I actually have to get a mastectomy at any point, I will get the loveliest, most voluptuous implants you’ve ever seen. But until and unless that moment arrives, may I please enjoy my old friends here?”
“All right,” Lauren said. “But can I get implants if you’re not going to?”
“I don’t think they qualify as ‘necessities,’” Ava said. She was lying on the bed next to her mother, her feet hanging awkwardly off the side since she hadn’t bothered to take her shoes off.
“Tell that to every actress on TV. No boobs, no job. Hence the term ‘boob job.’” Lauren stood up. She was wearing long sweatpants that were slung low on her hips, fit her snugly in the thighs, and widened toward her ankles. She looked very stylish and chic even though she was theoretically dressed down. Ava wondered how much the sweats had cost Lauren—probably a lot more than the skirt
she
was wearing, which was a plain dark blue and not particularly stylish or chic or even flattering. It had, however, been available online. And it was machine washable and, through some miracle of modern science, never wrinkled. “Mom, you want anything?” Lauren asked. “A glass of water? Something to eat?”
“I’m fine,” Nancy said with an aimless wave of her hand. “Enjoying being lazy and watching TV. I almost never do that.”
“You eat dinner yet, A?” Lauren asked.
“No, and I’m starving.”
“Me too. Want to grab something to eat?”
“We could just order in,” Ava said, looking to her mother for her opinion. But Nancy’s eyes were closed.
“I need to get out,” Lauren said. “I’ve been either here or at the hospital all day.”
“Why don’t you go pick something up for us? I came to see Mom.”
“Don’t stay for me,” Nancy said, her eyes flickering open. “I took a Tylenol with codeine right before you came, and in all honesty it’s a struggle to stay awake.”
Ava sat up. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Nancy smiled apologetically. “It seemed rude when you only just got here.”
“That’s stupid, Mom.” Ava jumped to her feet and tugged the white cardigan sweater she was wearing into place. “If you need to sleep, you should sleep. Lauren and I will go grab some dinner and come back.”
“Just give me a sec to change into real pants.” Lauren headed toward the door.
“That will be your fifth wardrobe change of the day,” Nancy said sleepily. “Or is it the sixth? I may have lost count somewhere.”
Lauren turned back. “It’s important to dress appropriately for each activity.” Using her fingers, she ticked off items as she listed them. “You have your exercise clothes, your hanging-around-the-house clothes, your going-to-the-hospital clothes, your going-out-to-dinner clothes—”
“I get up in the morning and get dressed,” Ava said. “That’s it.”
“You sure you want to give me style tips?” Lauren said with a meaningful glance at Ava’s current outfit.
“Oh, shut up and get dressed,” Ava said.
Nancy was asleep and snoring by the time Lauren came back, fully dressed, shod, and ready to leave.
“So where are we going?” Ava asked once they were in her car. Lauren had begged for a turn behind the steering wheel— “I never get to drive; it’s just a chore for you and it’s fun for me”—and Ava had reluctantly agreed to let her, not really having any reason to say no except for the fact it was
her
car and it felt weird being in the passenger seat.
“There’s this new restaurant in West Hollywood,” Lauren said as they turned onto Sunset Boulevard. “It’s supposed to be great.”
“Why go that far? There are plenty of good restaurants in Brentwood.”
“I want to try this one. It sounds really good. And we’re in no rush.”
“But Mom—”
“Will be asleep until tomorrow.”
“It’s a waste of gas and time.”
“You have a Prius,” Lauren said. “And we can talk on the way there and back. Sister-bonding is not a waste of time.”
Short of wrestling Lauren for control of the car, there wasn’t really a lot Ava could do but accept the destination. “It better be good,” she said.
“It’ll be better than that disgusting sushi I had to eat at your office,” Lauren said.
“What was wrong with the sushi?”
“The side order of humiliation that came with it.”
“Oh, I had to pay extra for that,” Ava said.
The restaurant was exactly what Ava
hadn’t
wanted: a crowded and unevenly lit monument to excessive minimalism, filled with aging hipsters and young actresses out with much older men whose eyes were glued to their BlackBerries.
“We’ll never get in without a reservation,” she said hopefully as they left their car with the valet and entered.
“We’ll get in,” Lauren said, walking ahead of her. She murmured something to the host that Ava, a few feet behind her now, couldn’t hear, and the host, a slim, handsome man with a shaved head, nodded and said, “Right this way. They’re waiting for you.”
“Who’s waiting for us?” Ava said as they followed him.
“Them.” Lauren pointed to the table where the host was already indicating two empty places.
Two unfamiliar women and two unfamiliar men looked up at them. One of the men stood up, and Lauren held her hand out to him. “Hi!” she said. “I’m Lauren.”
“Of course you are!” he said, and to Ava’s surprise—given the fact he had needed her to identify herself—he pulled Lauren to him and gave her a quick but enthusiastic hug. He was a tall guy with sandy-colored hair and he wore a charcoal-gray suit with a dress shirt and tie. “And you’re Ava, right?” he said, turning to her. She nodded and was immediately swept into a similar embrace. “Wow,” he said, releasing her and stepping back. “Look at you two. How long has it been? Fifteen years? Twenty? You were like this tall—” He put his hand parallel to the floor, about three feet off the ground.
“You remember us?” Lauren said, looking pleased.
“Absolutely. You”—pointing at Ava—“were always sitting in corners reading and you”—at Lauren—“were always dancing around in a pink tutu shouting at everyone to look at you.”
“I was cute, wasn’t I?” Lauren said.
“But where’s the tutu? I hardly recognized you without it.”
“Sorry,” she said. “It’s at the cleaners.”
“Excuse me,” Ava said to the guy, “but I’m lost here. Who
are
you?”
Lauren said, “This is Russell Markowitz, Ava. His parents were friends of Mom and Dad’s.”
“Oh, right,” Ava said, recognizing the name but no less confused. If Lauren had arranged a dinner, why hadn’t she told Ava so ahead of time?
Russell ushered them closer to the table. “Let me introduce you to everyone,” he said. “My buddy Cole Masterson and his wife, Rachel . . .”
Cole, a beefy guy with a buzz cut, wearing khakis and a jacket and tie, lumbered to his feet and shook hands with both girls. “Pleasure to meet you,” he said. He looked like he had been a lineman back in high school. Maybe even in college.
His wife had very long, layered hair that was shiny and carefully textured so it looked like it belonged in a fashion magazine photo, and her makeup application had strayed far beyond anything natural into what she no doubt deemed glamorous but Ava felt verged on trashy. She nodded at the two girls politely enough but something about her face gave the impression that she had just smelled something unpleasant. She wore an empire waist top that emphasized her curvy figure and round shoulders.
Russell moved on to the other woman, putting a proprietary hand on her shoulder and informing them that her name was Corinne Sutton.
Corinne was blonder, younger, and thinner than Rachel, but her hair was similarly layered and piece-y. She wore enough skillfully applied makeup to make her big blue eyes look even bigger and bluer and her enviably sharp cheekbones look even sharper and more enviable. She was the kind of blonde men would always notice. She was wearing a spaghetti-strap dress that was cut so low that it was clear that, unlike Ava’s mother, Corinne had been more than happy to take advantage of the surgeon’s ability to bestow what nature had begrudged her. She delivered a tuneless “Welcome” to the girls.
“Come sit,” Russell said, pulling out a chair for Lauren. Cole did the same for Ava, who hesitated, looking from one man to the other.
“We don’t want to intrude,” she said.
“Why do I get the feeling you didn’t tell your sister about this dinner?” Russell asked Lauren.
“I get that feeling too,” Ava said, glaring at Lauren, who shrugged and plumped down in her chair.
“Thought it would be more fun as a surprise,” Lauren said as the men took their seats next to them. Each side of the table now went girl-boy-girl with the two sisters directly across from each other at one end. “I wanted to see if Ava would remember you.”
“Do you?” Russell asked Ava.
“Well, not immediately obviously.” On closer study, his face did feel vaguely familiar to Ava, but she could have passed him on the street without recognition. “I think it’s coming back to me a little, though. You had a big brother, right?” He nodded. Ava suddenly remembered something else. “And you were really into baseball!”
He gave her a funny look. “No. Never. I wasn’t what you might call a sporty kid. Much to my father’s constant and frequently vocalized disappointment.”
“Oh.” She was embarrassed she had gotten it wrong. “Maybe I’m remembering your brother.”
“Maybe. Baseball wasn’t really his game—he was all about basketball back then—but he was definitely the athletic one and I was the scholar. At least according to family legend.” He put his hand on his flat stomach with a proud smile. “Now I’m in better shape than he is.”
“Ava’s the smart one in
our
family,” Lauren said. “Which is probably why our parents did
this
.” She pulled a piece of paper out of her purse and held it up with a dramatic flourish.
“What is that?” Ava said. The others all leaned forward curiously.
“A contract,” Lauren said, looking around the table with evident pleasure at having everyone’s complete attention. “Written by our parents years ago—ours and Russell’s. It says that you and Russell are engaged to be married.”
“Really?” Russell shifted closer to her so he could look at it. “That’s so funny.”
“It’s why I tracked you down,” Lauren said. “I mean, once something’s down in writing like that, it’s legally binding, right?” She winked at him.
Cole laughed. “Sounds like you’re committed, my man.”
