Brownie Points (28 page)

Individual dramas in Utopia were like jelly beans in a glass jar. There were so many bright candies to chew on that it was impossible to count them all. In just two weeks, everyone had digested Marni’s prostitution ring and Logan’s lawsuit, and was hungry for something new. I just hoped for saner times in the place that billed itself as a serene oasis from city life.

I had taken up biking, spending my days at Kate’s studio, where she encouraged me to paint and I urged her to dimensionalize her work. As I rode my bicycle to her place, I slowed to enjoy the sun warming my skin and the scent of jasmine filling the air with the promise of summer. An older woman gave a short honk and shouted from her car window, “How’s the scout?”

No one seemed particularly bitter about the media shit storm Logan’s lawsuit brought to town. In fact, some people were downright pleased about it. A reporter from
The Clarion
wrote an editorial on the economic impact of Logan’s day in court. He gushed that between the revenue for hotels, restaurants and retail shops, the whole thing netted the city more than last year’s entire holiday season. “That doesn’t take into account the boon to the economy the Los Corderos Rosas Spa and Resort will bring when it opens its doors in next year,” read the piece.

I hadn’t seen Val since that fateful day when Marni crashed into the gates of Utopia. I knew that she would have a few choice words for me once our paths crossed. After all, here was a woman who’d waged war with another mom over a school election three years earlier. Part of me dreaded the confrontation with Val; another part just wanted to get it over with.

My doorbell rang a few days later. “Can I come in?” Val asked, glancing at the barricade I’d created with my arm.

“Oh,” I stammered self-consciously. “Sure, I guess so. Come in.”

“Thanks,” she said with humility in her voice I hadn’t heard before. The silence between us seemed to amplify the tapping of our shoes as we walked in to the kitchen. I found it remarkable that in the face of everything she’d gone through, she looked so pulled together. She wore a linen skirt with optimistic swirls of pink, and a matching top. If I were in her situation, I’d be lucky to swing a ponytail and a coat of ChapStick. Val still took the time to blow out her hair, paint her nails and curl her lashes. I wasn’t sure if this was something to be admired or pitied.

“Listen, Lisa, I owe you an apology. Several, actually.”

She sat at my kitchen counter, sipping a glass of water. “I’ve been a real bitch to you.” I didn’t protest. “I’m sure you know about everything that went on between Blake and Marni. The call girls and all that. And Olivia. I don’t know which one is worse, but anyway, I’ve had a lot of time these past few weeks to think about my relationships with people, and what I want for my kids, what’s important, and, I don’t know, I wanted to say I’m sorry, that’s all.”

It seemed false for me to say that it was okay. It wasn’t. I accepted her apology, but I wasn’t ready to throw my arms around her and join the CC&Rs Enforcement Committee either. Thankfully, I had two topics I could switch to quite easily: Kendrick and Bianca.

Val laughed at the irony of her situation. “I suppose you know that Kendrick’s gay.” I nodded, not wanting to tell her that he revealed this to us before he did to his own mother. “How’s that for poetic justice?”

“He’s not doing this to spite you.”

“Lisa, I spent hours at the medical library trying to figure out how this happened, and you know what I came up with?”

She seemed human, beaten and healing.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing,” she said with a shrug. “He’s just gay.” She sniffed as her eyes became teary. “He’s here, he’s queer and I have to get used to it. Or so I’m told.” As I opened my mouth to speak, Val continued. “You’ll be pleased to know that while I was there, I tried to figure out why Bianca cuts herself. Turns out there
is
an explanation for that.”

Thank God.

“And treatment,” I offered.

“Oh, I know. Her therapist is right next to Maya’s karate studio. I’ve been dodging you guys for weeks now.” Her eyes filled with tears that spilled onto her cheeks as her voice cracked. “I didn’t want you to judge me. I was afraid that if you knew you were right, you’d feel superior to me.” She wiped her nose with the tissue I’d handed her. “Then I realized I had you confused with me. You’ve never been like that with anyone. It’s me who’s always tearing people down, posing as the moral gatekeeper of Utopia. How everyone must be laughing now.”

“Val, no one’s laughing at you,” I lied. Everyone had lunched on her misfortune. “I’m certainly not perfect. I came to Utopia having judged all of you before I’d even met you. No wonder you couldn’t stand me, the big city artist who was too cool to be bothered with anyone except a woman who turned out to be the San Mateo Madam.” Realizing that was probably not a good reference, I slapped my own mouth repentantly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up Marni.”

“Please, you’re the only one who will. No one else mentions her, as if I might forget that my husband, my ex-husband, is spending the next eighteen months in federal prison.” She wiped her nose again. “Turns out he defrauded insurance companies too. The investigator said the scam was so lame that it was worse than something Wile E. Coyote would’ve come up with.”

I placed my hand on hers in forgiveness that I felt for the first time.

“Lisa, I deserve everything that’s happening to me.”

“Val, having a gay child is not a punishment,” I said.

“I know that,” she said, regaining her composure. Then she burst into laughter and said, “Having a husband who liked to be beaten and pissed on sure makes a statement about me though, doesn’t it?”

“Not necessarily,” I said. “Clearly Beast has some issues.”

“Who?” Val asked.

Shit.
“I mean Blake.”

“Did you just call him … Beast?” Val asked. I grimaced and nodded.

“Well, I think that’s a very fitting little nickname.”

“Val, when did you …” I trailed off, not quite sure how to broach the subject.

“When did I become such a bitch?” she asked. I shrugged as if to say I didn’t know
.
“I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately. In fact, I see Bianca’s therapist on my own, and she asked me when was the last time I remember being truly happy.”

“When was it?”

“At Bianca’s tenth birthday party. Right after we moved to Utopia. We were one of the first families to move in, and I remember thinking that I could really have an impact on what became of this community. I threw this amazing princess party. Really, Lisa, it was outrageous. We had Snow White, Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, Belle, Diana, even Fiona. Every princess who ever mattered was there. I was elated at how the party turned out. The kids had such a good time; parents seemed impressed. It was perfect.” She struggled to finish. “As soon as I realized it was perfect, all my happiness sank with an undeniable feeling that I was throwing myself solely into my children because I had given up on ever accomplishing something myself.”

“Val, raising four kids is an accomplishment,” I reminded her.

She nodded a concession and wiped a tear from her eye. “Micromanaging their overscheduled, hypercompetitive lives isn’t, though. It’s just an admission that my only possibility for success is through them. I’ve been using these kids as my own personal do-over.”

“All this in a month of therapy?” I said.

“I’ve always been an overachiever,” she sniffed. “Sometimes I sneak in a double session. And I joined a therapy group in Los Lobos.”

“Impressive.”

“I’m also in a twelve-step group.”

“They have a twelve-step group for bitches?” I asked.

She smiled. “It’s for spouses of convicted felons.”

“Ala-Con? So is this, like, step four or something?” I asked.

“Sort of. I’m supposed to apologize to all of the people I’ve hurt.”

Wow, she must be very busy.

“As you can imagine, I’m pretty busy these days,” Val said with self-deprecation.

“Don’t say that.”

“Like you didn’t already think it,” Val busted me. “The next step is figuring out what I am passionate about. I’m going to sign up for a few classes at Shasta Valley College and see what sparks my interest. I’ve always loved art.”

“You have?”

“Yeah,” she admitted.

Val stood to leave and thanked me for being there when her kids needed a friend. “I owe you big time.”

“Consider us even,” I said and meant it.

“No, I owe you and I’m going to make good on that debt, Lisa. Tell me what I can do to begin to make it up to you.”

I thought about it for a moment. “You know Michelle signed me up as the Cookie Mom, right?” Val nodded to confirm. “Who knew that was such a huge job?! Anyway, I am desperate for some help from someone with great organizational skills.”

Val smiled, which made her so much prettier than when she growled. “I’m in.”

The following week I went to Val’s house to drop off the cookie order forms so we could sort them and get the correct number of cookies to each Girl Scout. I was already a week late and no one rode my ass harder about it than Logan.

I walked into Val’s surprisingly quirky entryway and followed her toward the kitchen. I sat at the table and reached for the pitcher of lemonade to pour myself a glass. “Cara’s still hanging her flag with the four-leaf-clover,” I said, knowing Val had bigger things to deal with these days. “Are you going to fine her?”

Val smiled sheepishly. “Want to know a secret?”

“Uh … Cara’s running a drug cartel and that’s not really a clover on her flag,” I joked.

Val laughed. “There is no CC&Rs Enforcement Committee.”

“What?!”

“The Committee doesn’t really exist,” she said.

“What do you mean it doesn’t exist? Who am I getting all of those code violation notices from?”

“When we first moved here, I really wanted this community to be something special,” she explained. “I started pointing out to people when their grass was too long, or their curtains were the wrong color, or their dog was too fat. Pretty soon people just assumed I had some sort of official role in enforcing the codes.”

“And you did nothing to correct them,” I said, filling in the rest of the story.

“Not only didn’t I correct them, I went out and made letterhead for this committee and started issuing citations,” Val said, with some awareness of how galling her actions were. “You were the first person who ever ignored my notices. Everyone else just made the changes.”

“What about Ellie and Stacey? Are they in on this?” I asked.

Val burst into laughter. “They don’t even know, Lisa. You’re the only one I’ve ever told. Even Blake thinks my committee is real.”

As my fingers touched the cold handle to refill my drink, something shiny caught my eye. I turned to look and there it was. My silverware clock hung on Val’s wall, the light from outside bouncing a wink at me.

™˜

When I arrived at Kate’s studio, she said she had big news for me. She grabbed my shoulders maternally and smiled with pride. “Remember when I told you that I was doing that exclusive with
Dateline
?”

I nodded my head, laughing. “I can’t believe you agreed to that.”

“I’m showing eight new paintings in July and I haven’t pissed anyone off in a long time,” she told me. “This will be good exposure.” Even if I didn’t necessarily agree with her tactics, I admired her drive.

“Kate, there is such a thing as bad publicity, you know?”

“Lisa, I haven’t gotten to the good part yet.”

“Sorry, go on.”

“That lovely Amy came out with her film crew last week to do the piece,” Kate began. “She asked if I minded if she brought along her boyfriend, who’s a big fan of mine. Naturally, I told her that I’m a fan of anyone who’s a fan of mine.” Her intensity in delivery grew.

“Okay.”

“Guess who her boyfriend is.”

“Jerry Springer?”

“Not even close. Guess again.”

“I don’t know, who?”

“François Dumesnil,” she said, knowing that the name needed no further explanation. I dropped to my bench. “François Dumesnil is dating Amy from
Dateline
? Why? He’s one of the most influential art dealers in the world. What does a sophisticated man like that see in Amy Voight?”

“Dear,” Kate said as if I were a fool. “She has a huge rack. Didn’t you notice them?”

“Wow, okay, so François Dumesnil came out to your studio with Amy, and …” I said, pausing for her to continue.

“And,” she said, “he went crazy for my sculptures.”

“Your
sculptures
?” I asked. “When did you start sculpting?”

She gave me a look of playful impatience. “Oh dear, you really are slow on the uptake today. They were
your
sculptures. He loves them, Lisa. He wants to represent you!” Dumbfounded, I shook my head, begging her to fill in the rest. “You’ve been discovered.”

“
Here
? I’ve been discovered here? In a barn in the middle of nowhere? Oh my God!” I finally shouted, jumping like a child. “You’re serious? François Dumesnil. Oh my God, this is huge, Kate!”