Going For Broke (22 page)

             
She got on her bike and started riding down the sidewalk, which was a bit of a challenge, not only due to her high heels, but also to the various skateboarding kids and stroller-wielding mothers that blocked her pathway.  She had tried to ride on the road the first week she arrived in town, but was almost taken out by a teenager in a topless Jeep who nearly ran her into a light post, of course it was some white suburban kid blasting rap music so loud he never even heard her swear at him. 

             
Lost in thought, she barely noticed the woman with two young girls walking toward her.  She did, however, hear one of the young girls yell at her.

             
“Mommy!”

             
She turned around to see Posey holding the hand of a little girl, who in turn was holding the hand of someone who must have been a mother because even the help in this town didn’t dress in blue jeans and a ‘Ripon College’ sweatshirt.  Just as she turned to look at Posey, she ran straight into a jogging stroller that was casually parked smack dab in the middle of the sidewalk. 

             
Sprawled on the sidewalk, the woman and the two girls ran to her.  While she wasn’t badly hurt, her pride was more than a little bruised.  How embarrassing, not only to wipe out in front of an audience, but to find your own child apparently absorbed into another family.  When had that happened?

             
“Are you okay?” the woman asked as she helped Victoria up.

             
“Mommy!” Posey tried to pick up the bike, but it was too big for her.  The woman effortlessly grabbed the bike with one hand, not letting go of Victoria with the other.  Man, she may not be dressed well, but she had a hell of a grip on her.

             
“I’m fine - thank you,” she said to the woman.  “Posey, what are you doing uptown?”

             
“Claire asked me to go to the library with her.  Bud said it was okay,” Posey explained, terrified that her mother would be angry with her. 

             
“Bud?  Where was your grandmother?”

             
The girl’s mother jumped into the conversation and extended her hand.  “I”m so sorry.  I’m Kathy Berner, Claire’s mom.  What a terrible way to meet!” she laughed.  “We called and talked to, is it your father?  He said it would be fine.”

             
Victoria steadied herself and stifled her anger and embarrassment.  She felt ambushed, both by the bike accident as well as this chirpy mom. 

             
“The girls have been dying to get together, and I always thought we’d run into you someday, but just not like this.  We’re headed for a coffee - care to join us?”

             
“Coffee?” She was a sophisticated New Yorker, but coffee for the under-six set seemed a bit over the edge.

             
“They love the Frappacinos.  They’re like milkshakes.  No caffeine, I promise.”  Kathy Berner had an openness that was hard not to like, despite her collegiate wardrobe.   Victoria found herself being dragged into the local Starbucks and sitting at a table for four.  Was this the modern-day mother/daughter tea party, she wondered. 

             
The girls quickly lost interest in the adult conversation,  although Victoria was surprised to find that she was having a great time.  She missed having a friendly face to chat with.   Her only interactions lately were with her mother and Bud, or the omnipresent Mike.   Kathy was cheerful and chatty, and most importantly, wasn’t too curious about Victoria.  After a couple of polite inquisitions as to Victoria and Posey’s background, she seemed to pick up on the vibe that Victoria didn’t want to dwell on her past.  She easily filled the conversation with tales of other first grade mothers, general Tenaqua gossip, a couple of book reviews, and a bit of background on herself.

             
Kathy and her husband Rob moved to Tenaqua from Minneapolis three years ago.  They had a another daughter in third grade, and lived just a few blocks from Barbara’s house.  Kathy used to be a brand manager for Pillsbury, but stopped working when they moved south.  She wanted to get back to work now that Claire was in school full time, but the time never seemed right.  But, she confided, they could use the money.

             
Victoria was surprised to find someone in this tony town who confessed to needing any money at all.  She sat, savoring the latte that Kathy insisted on buying, and surveyed her new friend.  Kathy was tall - she had to be just under six feet.  She had a short brown bob, and the flattest chest Victoria had ever seen outside of grammar school.  Even in New York, where plastic surgery was not talked about but required, a woman like Kathy would have been augmented years ago.  She looked sporty, but not horsey, in that Kiki Montgomery type of way.  It was clear that she was super-smart.  It wasn’t often that Victoria came across someone who could reference Eudora Welty and Wilma Rudolph in the same sentence.  Without trying.  She was a new type of friend for Victoria.  Perhaps now was the time for new friends. 

             
The tea party ended too soon, and the foursome stood outside the coffee shop.

             
“Let us give you a ride home,” Kathy insisted.  “Are you okay to ride?”

             
Oh, here comes the giant SUV, thought Victoria.  Instead, Kathy headed to a black Volvo wagon.  “We can stuff it in the back.   I may have a bungee cord in there somewhere.”  Victoria peeked in the back of the car which looked like it had just returned from a weekend at Woodstock.  Papers, books, water bottles and stray socks were strewn across the back.  She gave a little shudder.

             
“No, I’m fine,” Victoria said.  Driving through Tenaqua with her bike hanging out the back of someone’s car was just too much for her.   It was bad enough that she had to ride the damn thing.   “If you can get Posey back home, I’d really appreciate it.”

             
“No problem,” Kathy said as she tossed a stray shoe into the far back of the car.  “What are friends for?”

CHAPTER 14

             
After she got the kids in bed, Victoria retreated to her mother’s tiny bathroom. She sat on the edge of the bathtub, and tried to breathe.  For the first time in her adult life, she was overwhelmed.  Essentially she was new to parenting, hadn’t had a job for fifteen years and the stress of having very limited funds was starting to wear on her.  Not to mention that her husband was MIA.  And she was constantly followed by a dogged FBI agent.

             
She stood up, determined not to think about Mike.  She felt like an awkward twelve year old when she was around him.  Where did that come from?  It was easier just to put him out of her mind.  She had more than enough to keep it busy.

             
She looked in the mirror and became even more deflated.  The fluorescent bulb over her the shell pink sink didn’t do her any favors.  She ran her fingers through her dingy hair and realized she couldn’t blame everything on the lighting.  She had another appointment with Mercedes the following day and just couldn’t take one more day of looking like someone who had never seen the inside of a Hair Cuttery, let alone Frederick Fekkai.  Her hair was much too long and much too brown.  She had successfully chewed her nails into nubs.  She barely could wash her face with soap and water before bed, that was the extent of her beauty routine of late. 

             
She had gone to the Walgreens earlier in the day to pick up the ingredients for what would be her at-home spa day.  She didn’t want to go to Soloman-Cooper, afraid that Conney would do a verbal inventory of everything she was buying.
             
She pulled her ammunition out of the bag.  A box of hair dye.  She had never died her hair at home, but if it was good enough for Sarah Jessica Parker, it was good enough for her.  Nail polish, an Emory board, mud for a facial and a box of wax strips for her brows and bikini line.  (Not that anyone had been within miles of her bikini line, but she was beginning to feel like Sasquatch.)  And a pair of scissors.  That would be the true test.

             
Where to start?  At the spa, she always ended with the mani/pedi, so she would leave that for last.  Might as well tackle the big one.  She opened the box of hair dye and opened the instructions.  They were as big as a cross-country road map, and had plastic gloves glued to the page.  There were instructions in English, Spanish and French, so at least she felt very European.  With the focus of a nuclear physicist she mixed the chemicals, nearly knocking the bottle off the tiny countertop.  She took a deep breath and started to pour the mixture on her head.  She had always been a highlights-only girl, but had seen millions of women at the salon getting full color.  By the time she finished, she was feeling darned competent. 

             
She hopped in the shower to rinse off the dye.  The color washed down the drain, and Victoria had a moment of panic.  Her hair was a rich chestnut brown, but the color going down the drain had a definite red tone to it.

             
After she toweled off, she looked into the mirror.  Sure enough, she could tell even with a soaking wet head that she was red.  Lucille Fucking Ball red.  She grabbed the box out of the garbage to look at the name.  “Auburn Nights” it read.  Auburn was the same as a rich chestnut, wasn’t it?  She looked up.  Fuck no.

             
She hopped back into the shower and poured half a bottle of shampoo onto her head, working a a lather with a vengeance.  She got out again and looked hopefully in the mirror.  Nope, still red.  Fuck fuck fuck!

             
She grabbed the rest of her spa essentials and chucked them back into the plastic bag.  If she screwed her hair up this bad, imagine what she would do to her bikini line. 

             
She figured at the very least she could give herself a unbelievable blow dry.  She may have shocking red hair, but she’d have shiny shocking red hair.  She worked up a sweat getting that hair to shine.

             
As she walked out of the bathroom, wearing her robe and new hair color, she ran into Bud.  He just smiled and said good night.  No mention of the Flaming ‘do.  Obviously he was close to blind.  Or really, really kind.

             
She crept into the bedroom where Posey was sleeping.  She stopped to give her sleeping daughter a kiss before she crawled into bed.  Posey woke up for a moment.

             
“I love you Mommy,” she said in her sleepy voice.

             
“I love you too, angel,” Victoria said, tucking the blanket around her.

             
“Mommy?” Posey said. 

             
“Yes, honey,” Victoria wanted to get her back to sleep.
             

             
Posey reached out a hand and stroked Victoria’s hair.  “Your hair is pretty,” she said as she drifted back to sleep.

             
             
             
             
             
             
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After successfully dodging the reflection of the toaster, the glass on Barbara’s kitchen cabinets and her butter knife, Victoria sat down with a cup of coffee and dry toast.  Her mother walked into the kitchen and caught her breath.