Four of a Kind (27 page)

Alicia glanced at Tim. His body was there, swaying subtly with the motion of the train. But he was miles away.

“Tell me again,” said Alicia later that night, after Joe went to bed. “You and Joe went to Battery Park with Anita and Austin right after school.” They sat in the living room, on opposite ends of their lumpy, knotty, ancient couch.

“Everything was fine on the way there,” said Tim.

“You got to the apartment, and … then what?”

“Anita and I had coffee in the kitchen. The boys went off to play Wii boxing.”

“And?”

“When it was time to go, we left,” said Tim. “I had no idea Joe had a bad time until he started crying in the elevator.”

“I realize Anita’s apartment is pretty big, but you must have heard something.”

“It sounded like they were having fun.”

“What are fun sounds?”

“You know.”

“Honestly, I don’t.”

Tim sighed. “You’re being insufferable right now.”

“Joe is in pain,” she said flatly.

“He’s sensitive,” said Tim.

Alicia frowned. “I want you to call Anita right now, and tell her to talk to Austin about what happened.”

“I can’t do that!”

“Then I will.”

Tim shrugged (a gesture he was making too often lately; the physical equivalent of “whatever”). It incensed her. Didn’t he want to get to the bottom of this? What had that little beast done to Joe to upset him so much?

She got up and rooted around in the kitchen for the Brownstone directory. She picked up the phone, and dialed the number for Anita Turnbull.

The phone pressed to her cheek, Alicia watched Tim’s face go
from ruddy to pink to pale to chalk white. He said, “You want to make a fool of yourself? Go ahead.”

No answer. Voicemail. She hung up. “We are going to get to the bottom of this,” Alicia announced. As far as her marriage was concerned, Alicia felt like she’d already reached the bottom.

She dialed another number. “Carla?” asked Alicia. “We’re ready for the name of that pediatric psychiatrist.”

A few nights later, the players met at Robin’s house. Zeke, Manny, and Amy came with their moms. Alicia didn’t dare bring Joe with her this time. Why throw the guppy in with the sharks?

She had taken Joe to see the shrink. He was tested. According to the doctor, Alicia’s son fell somewhere on the obsessive-compulsive disorder spectrum, with a touch of anxiety disorder, too. Despite the bad news, Alicia was grateful to have it. OCD-lite didn’t seem
that
horrible. And now they knew what they were dealing with, and could proceed with treatment. Dr. Zorn explained their options. Tim was against medication, toeing the “he’ll grow out of it” line. Alicia, who remembered her own anxieties and phobias—albeit, not as severe as Joe’s—was in favor of giving the kid some relief.

“Close the window, Robin,” complained Carla. “It’s thirty degrees outside.”

“One more drag,” said the redhead.

“I don’t want Amy to know you smoke,” said Bess. Her daughter Amy was babysitting the fourth-grade kids while the women played. Borden was with their three boys at a Knicks game.

“She already knows,” said Robin. She took a long drag of her cigarette, stubbed it out on the sill, and then closed her kitchen window. The three other women were shivering around the table. “I’m ready for spring. Beyond ready. Is this the longest March in the history of the world
or what
?”

Bess shuffled the cards and started dealing. “You know how it works,” she said. “It’s forty one day, and seventy the next. Throw in an April freeze, and by May, we’re ready to plant.”

Carla peeked at her cards. “Raise five,” she said crisply, tossing more chips into the pot.

Alicia didn’t like what she saw in her pocket. Rags, a five, and a seven. “Fold.”

“I know Anita Turnbull pretty well,” said Bess, calling the bet. “She’s a flirt. I’ve had to peel her off Borden a few times at parties. But I don’t think she’d jeopardize her marriage by having an affair. Her husband, John, is a nice man.”

“Not to mention Midas rich,” said Robin.

“That, too,” agreed Bess.

Alicia understood the implication. Anita wouldn’t risk upturning her gilded apple cart by having a fling with a penniless, if charming and sharp-dressed, man like Tim.

“I confronted the kid,” said Alicia. “Austin. I waited at drop-off until Anita left, and told Joe to go return his library books by himself. Then I walked over to Austin in the playground and demanded to know what he did to my son.”

Robin laughed and threw her chips into the pot. “Did he piss himself?”

“He ignored me!” said Alicia. “I had to corner him by the swing set before he even looked at me.”

“What’d he say?” asked Carla.

“I got a straight answer, I think,” said Alicia. “Nothing too dramatic. They played Wii boxing. Austin beat Joe. Then they played Wii tennis. Beat him again. And again in three other Wii games. It could be a straightforward case of Austin being a competitive, gloating shitbag, and Joe feeling beaten down by losing.”

“That would have been enough to make me cry,” said Robin.

Bess dealt the flop.

Carla checked and said, “You realize you might’ve made life even harder for Joe by confronting Austin.”

“I spoke to the teacher and asked her to keep a close eye on the two of them,” said Alicia. “Nothing to report. Yet.”

Robin said, “Now that you’ve warmed up by confronting a spoiled ten-year-old, are you ready to confront Tim?”

“A spoiled forty-year-old?” asked Alicia. She didn’t add that she had no right to call out Tim for a dalliance with Anita, or even heavy flirting, when she was in the midst of a full-blown, hot and heavy affair with her co-worker.

None of the committee members knew or suspected. It was way too soon to discuss it openly. But she’d been thinking about it constantly since it happened a few days ago. Wild emotions seesawed back and forth between elation and guilt, gratitude and regret. Although the idea that Tim had touched another woman infuriated Alicia, the reality of it would instantly erase any negative feelings about her affair with Finn. Alicia half-hoped her husband was cheating.

If that wasn’t a sign that the marriage was over, what was?

Robin said, “It’s against my personal philosophy to defend a man, but you’ve got to look at it from Tim’s perspective. Playdates are horrible! Having to make small talk with mothers, pretending to like the other kid. You can’t fault Tim for ignoring the boys and getting an ego boost with Anita.”

“If that’s all she boosted,” said Bess, grinning goofily.

“Listen to you, Pollyanna, with the sexy entendre!” said Robin. “I’m a good influence.”

Carla shook her head disapprovingly. “Let’s see some cards, Pollyanna.”

Bess dealt the turn, a black jack. Carla tossed ten bucks into the pot. Robin folded. Bess scrutinized her cards, looked closely at the four on the table. The tone got serious for a second.

“Call,” said Bess.

“Good,” said Carla.

Alicia watched, and admired how intense the Black Queen and White Diamond were about the game. They were better players than she and Robin. “Have I told you how impressive you guys were at Casino Night?” she asked. “Beating all those finance pricks at their own game.”

Carla deadpanned, “I’ve got skills.”

Robin added, “And you’ve got a new BFF.”

“What?”

“Renee Hobart?” said Robin. “Don’t think we didn’t notice. You’re mighty chummy. Unless I’m mistaken, I saw you two leave school the other morning, and—wait for it—go to
Starbucks
together. The place you’ve likened to the fourth circle of Hell whenever I suggest going there. Or maybe you’re a Starbucks hater only with me.”

“Are you stalking me?” asked Carla.

Bess dealt the river. “Oh, that’s lovely,” she said, reacting to the ten of spades. “All in.”

“Fold,” said Carla, “even though I’m pretty sure you’re bluffing.”

Bess raked in the pot. “Pretty sure, but not a hundred percent.”

“Nothing in life is a hundred percent,” said Robin.

“May I please see your cards?” asked Carla, superpolite.

Bess said, “Of course,” and pretended to turn over her pocket cards, only to tuck them into the deck at the last second. “Oops. Sorry, Carla. They slipped.”

Alicia smiled at the easy camaraderie. But she disagreed with Robin’s comment. Finn was a hundred percent: all man, all sex, all heat, every chance they got. Instead of his usual lap of blog reading at breakfast, Finn devoted that time to her. Laying her down behind their desks, licking her until she was a puddle of satisfaction on the carpet. He’d asked her to wear skirts every day, no underwear. Once she got to the office, her first stop was the ladies room to take off her panties. Even in this last blast of winter chill, she was overheated like a broken furnace. They’d never been known to lock their office door
in the mornings, and the change in behavior was surely noticed by the rest of the staff. Chaundry would object, except he was granting them a reprieve. They’d won the Punch Gym account. The contract would keep the agency afloat for another six months, and would probably take Bartlebee to a higher level.

At thirty-six, Alicia had finally discovered true passion, and confidence at work, in the same week. Her office hours were full of kudos and climaxes. Home life? Gray as old mud. She and Tim had been tiptoeing around each other, barely talking, except about Joe.

Robin’s turn to shuffle the cards and deal. “I want to know what Renee Hobart has that we don’t,” she said. “What’s the attraction, Carla? It’s because she’s churchy and black.”

“Robin!” said Bess.

Carla laughed hard. Alicia marveled, as usual, at what Robin could get away with.

“Come now, Robin,” said Carla. “Don’t you ever feel the need for some like-minded company? Don’t you have any lushy Jewish friends?”

“Carla!” said Bess.

“No, she’s right. I do long for lushy Jewish friends,” said Robin, grinning widely. “The problem is, so few of us drink. And look at you, Black Queen, calling me on my shit. I’m a good influence on you, too. Admit it!”

“Being friends with you is what drove me to Renee,” said Carla.

That was a brutally honest admission
, thought Alicia, not sure how Robin, or any of them, should take it. During the few beats of silence, Alicia checked her hole cards, liking her pair of eights, and throwing a few chips into the pot.

Robin asked, “Diversity is too much of a strain for you?”

“I get what you mean, Carla,” said Bess, calling. “You need balance.”

“She needs a mirror,” said Robin. “Someone you can look at as a reflection of yourself. Too many women use their kids that way. It’s
healthier to make a friend. And Renee is a great choice, Carla. She’s a cool, confident woman. I’m still jealous, though. I demand a coffee date.”

“In public?” asked Carla, raising (as usual).

“At
Starbucks
, you bitch. How about
with
Renee?” asked Robin, eyebrows up, folding her hand.

“Boundaries,” warned Carla.

Suddenly, Amy appeared in the kitchen doorway; Alicia couldn’t help noticing how she’d changed. She’d gained about twenty pounds. Her clothes were grungier, clearly on purpose. Her hair was dirty, and obscuring most of her face. At the beginning of the school year, Amy was teetering on the edge of coltish loveliness. Seven months later, she’d fallen, hard, on the wrong side of the wall that divided pretty and plain, seemingly on purpose.

Bess looked up, smiling sweetly at her seething daughter. “Need something?” asked Bess.

“I’m going to take off now,” said Amy, barely audible.

“What was that, honey?” asked Bess.

Amy sighed dramatically, as if repeating herself was beyond human endurance. “It’s ten o’clock. Time to go.”

Bess said, “We’re not quite finished, honey.”

Amy threw her hands up and dropped them to slap against her sides, “Stay all night. Has nothing to do with me. I’m just sitting in there watching TV with the kids. They’re almost asleep.”

Carla said, “That’s my cue.”

Robin said, “Sit down, Carla. You’ve got all the chips.”

Bess said, “If you can wait ten minutes, Amy, we’ll walk home together.”