Hit & Mrs. (3 page)

“But you don't like to fly.”

“Don't worry,” Bette said. “We can dope Gemma up the wazoo. I have a cocktail of tranquillizers at my disposal; necessary ammunition for living with my folks. ”

The friends eyed each other hopefully again. Finally Augusta said, “There's still the money issue, though. Even if Bette and Gemma could raise the money for airfare and their share of a hotel room, that would still leave them with nothing left to go anywhere. We don't want to wander aimlessly around New York City with no money. And anyway, the tickets for
Mamma Mia
alone would cost a fortune.”

Four glum faces returned.

“Well, it was nice while it lasted,” Bette sighed.

Linda snapped her fingers. “I've got it. Just a sec, I'll be right back.” She tore out of the room. The other three held hands in a mini vigil of hope. Linda roared back into the room with her hand behind her back, then whipped it out in front of her and held up a Platinum Visa Card.

“Dr. Viagra forgot to take this with him.”

Nobody moved.

Linda kissed the card. “Let's call this a Fuck-You-Charlie, Going-Away Present. What do you say?”

“New York City, here we come!”

The Book Bags did a conga line all around Linda's very expensive house.

CHAPTER TWO

Gemma's bomb exploded at the supper table. Might as well freak everyone out at the same time.

She let them get well into their meal. A family with full stomachs was easier to deal with, so she waited for the chance to slip her news into normal conversation. But that moment never arrived. Everyone's tongue flapped a mile a minute and no one listened to a thing anyone else said. Finally she couldn't stand it.

“I'm going to New York.”

Her husband, mother-in-law, and five kids dropped their utensils on their plates and then sat in stunned silence for a good ten seconds. You'd think she told them the Pope was at the door.

“What?” Angelo croaked.

“I'm going to New York, whether you guys like it or not.”

Angelo's mother bit her knuckle, then spat, “
Putana.

”

Gemma glared at her. “I'm a slut? Is that what you said? I don't have to take…”

Angelo interrupted her. “What's in New York? Another man?”

Gemma got up from the table. “As a matter of fact, there is. I met Donald Trump at the grocery store a couple of days ago. He wants me to run away with him. Didn't I tell you?”

Angelo's mother proceeded to wring her hands and howl.

“Don't go, Mama,” said her youngest. “I'll miss you.”

Gemma reached over and cupped her daughter Anna's heart-shaped face in her hand. “I'm not going forever, only a couple of days. Mama will come back and bring you a present.”

Anna looked relieved. “Really?”

Gemma nodded.

“You can't go,” her husband said.

“I can't? Watch me.”

She turned away and went to the sink. Angelo got up and followed her. “How you get the money? I'm not giving you money. You want to take food from the mouths of your children?”

Gemma spun around and faced him. “Is this the eighteenth century? I need your permission to go somewhere for a weekend?”

“You do if you take the money from this family. I work too hard for my paycheque to go and give you a good time in New York.”

The old woman screeched from the table. “
Porca putana!
”

“Do you hear the way your mother talks to me? Do I deserve this kind of treatment?”

Angelo turned to his mother and pleaded. “Mama…”

His mother continued to give Gemma the evil eye, but at least she closed her mouth.

Gemma proceeded to wash the dishes in the sink, to give her hands something to do. She wasn't nearly as confident as she looked. “Well, you'll have no worries on that score. It's Linda's treat. I don't have to pay for a thing.”

That took the wind out of his sails, but not for long.

“You still can't go.”

“Angelo, I'm going. The kids will be fine and your wonderful mama can cook for you while I'm away. You won't change my mind.” She looked back at her mother-in-law. “You'll have your baby boy all to yourself for four days. That should make you happy.”

The old crone in black muttered under her breath. Gemma had no doubt it was a curse.

Seinfeld
was over. Izzy turned off the television. Ida released her parking brake and started to roll away to bed.

“I'm going to New York.” It was Bette's lucky day. Both her parents looked like they were going to have a heart attack. “You can't stop me. I'm going and that's that.”

Ida looked at Izzy. “She's lost her mind. Call a doctor. Call Herschel Levy's son…”

“He's a proctologist.”

“And she's a pain in the ass. What do you mean, you're going to New York? What's in New York?”

Bette stood up. “You two aren't, for one thing.”

Ida grabbed her chest. “Do you hear the way she talks to her mother? That I should live so long to hear a grown daughter treat her mother like dirt.” She appealed to the ceiling with her upturned hands. “What did I ever do to deserve such disrespect? Where are my sons? Where are they?” She beat at her breast like an overexcited chimp.

“That's a good question, Ma. Where are they? When was the last time any of them came over to visit?”

“They're busy. They look after their families, just as you should look after us. What do you think they'll say when they find out you've abandoned us?”

Bette walked over to the doorway. “Knowing them, probably ‘Oh shit, who's gonna take care of them now?'”

The astonishment on her parents' faces gave Bette a stab of satisfaction—but a small one, because she knew she had to come back, and the disappointment of that reality was bitter.

Her father took a coughing fit. Her mother tore at her dress. “Do you see this heart?”

Bette sighed.

“It's broken,” Ida sobbed. “Do you hear me? It's broken.”

Her father pointed at her mother. “You broke your mother's heart. What kind of daughter breaks her mother's heart?”

“Cut the crap. I'm only going for four days.”

Her parents looked at each other.

“Did she say four days?” Izzy said. “I think she said four days.”

“You wanna give your mother a stroke? Why didn't you say four days? Why you need to go for four days, anyhow? Who can do anything in New York in four days? Where you get the money to go for…”

Bette had had enough. “What I do in New York is my business. How long I go is my business. How I can afford it, is my business. I'm fifty, Ma. Not fifteen.”

Her father, who was so skinny his shirt collar was three sizes too big for him, fumbled for his cigarettes. “Who's gonna feed us?”

Bette folded her arms across her chest. “You haven't eaten since 1982. Four more days won't matter.”

Ida grabbed her stomach. “I starve to death in four days.”

Izzy answered before Bette had a chance to open her mouth. “We could live off your fat for years.”

“Why, you…” Ida rushed towards Izzy, but Bette quickly grabbed the wheelchair's handles from behind and held on tight. “Let me at him.”

Bette wished she could do that, but this nightly ritual needed to be played out. It was their only source of entertainment.

“Come to bed, Ma.”

Ida reached for Izzy and he ducked out of the way. “You're slowin' down, old woman.”

“I give you slow.” She kicked him.

Izzy hopped around. “She
kicked
me.”

“I thought you were lame, Ma.”

“Every so often, God give me strength.”

Bette closed her eyes. “Amen to that.”

Augusta made homemade pizza and bought the ingredients to make ice cream sundaes for dessert. She planned what she would say when the girls came home from school. She would be firm.

Once they'd smacked the last of the chocolate syrup from their lips, Augusta spoke. “I thought I might go on a trip to New York.”

“Wow,” Summer said. “That will be fun. When do we go?”

“We'll miss school,” Raine grinned. “Cool.”

“I won't go to any museums,” Summer added. “I know you, Mom. You'll make us prance around and look at stupid art. I need to go shopping.”

Augusta cleared her throat. “I'm going. You're not.”

She tried not to panic at the sight of their stricken faces. The two of them looked so much like Tom, with their strawberry-blonde hair and smattering of freckles. She'd never left them alone before. Not since their father died.

“It's only for a long weekend. I'm going with Linda, Bette, and Gemma. A sort of slumber party for our fiftieth birthdays.”

Summer frowned and twirled a dessert spoon in her hand. “You're little too old for slumber parties, aren't you?”

“I don't think it's very nice that you won't take us,” Raine said. “When do we ever get to do anything wicked?”

“You do lots of nice things,” her mother answered.

“Right,” Raine said, “Did we go to Disney World like the rest of the planet? No. You won't take us. Daddy wanted us to go. Don't you remember?”

Augusta blinked. “I don't want to fight about this. It's a few days away with my girlfriends. It's not a big deal.”

Summer crossed her arms. “You don't love us; otherwise you'd take us too. It's not fair.”

“Don't be silly.” Augusta knew what would happen next and tried to stay strong.

Raine looked up with tears in her eyes. “I don't want you to go, Mom. What if something happens? We'd be orphans.”

Augusta's stomach did its customary flip. “Nothing will happen, girls. New York isn't far away.”

“Daddy died on the front lawn. That's not far away either,” Summer said. “You can't guarantee nothing will happen.”

“Yeah, Daddy wouldn't want you to leave us alone. He never left us alone.”

Augusta's head throbbed and the muscles in the back of her neck seized. It wasn't worth it. Nothing ever was. She brushed her bangs out of her face and reached over to pick up a plate and take it to the sink.

“Fine. I won't go if that's the way you feel.”

“Go if you want to. Don't let us stop you.” Summer got up and left the kitchen.

“Yeah, don't let us stop you.” Raine followed her sister out of the room.

It passed through Augusta's mind that she was left with the supper dishes again. She should tell them to come downstairs and help, but right now they were the last people she wanted to see.

No. Not true. Now that she wasn't going, that honour would go to Gemma.

Linda picked up the phone and dialled. She let it ring six times. She was about to hang up when an out-of-breath voice said, “Yeah?”

“Hi darling, it's Mom.” She heard heavy breathing. “Hey Mom, what's up?”

Linda sat on the breakfast stool by the island in her kitchen. “Nothing really, did I catch you at a bad time?”

There was a pause. “No…no…I just got in the door, that's all.”

“Oh. Well, I've called to tell you I'm going to New York for a few days with the girls.”

“Hey, that's great. Have a good time.”

Linda got the distinct impression Wes wanted to rush her off the phone and it ticked her off. She wasn't the sort of mother who bugged him every day of the week.

“Thank you, I will. Don't you want to know when I'm leaving?”

Another pause and then Linda was sure she heard whispering. “Hello. Wes? Are you there?”

“Yeah, Mom, I heard you. You're going to New York. I'm glad. You deserve it. Have a great time and call when you get back.”

She heard a female voice giggle and coo. Wes made shushing noises. Fabulous.

“I'll leave my travel information on the fridge door, just in case you…”

“Great. Great. Bye, Mom.”

She heard another groan and then the fumbling of a phone being hung up.

She clicked the phone off and sat with her thoughts in her silent kitchen. Her eyes wandered to the pictures she'd framed of Wes's drawings when he was in elementary school. He begged her to take them down, but she refused.

When had he become a man? She couldn't have been paying attention, or she'd have seen it. To think back was a blur. She hadn't noticed the years of her life falling away like leaves in an autumn gale.

The cat jumped up on her lap and nuzzled against the underside of her chin, his motor on full throttle.

“You won't leave me, will you, Buster?”

Buster did his best to assure her he wouldn't.

She sat for a long time; she had nothing to do. Then she heard the dogs bark next door. That reminded her she hadn't asked her neighbour, Mr. Harris, if he'd look after Buster while she was away. No time like the present. She peeked out her window and there he was, carrying a bag of lime to the small greenhouse near the back of his property. He had a glorious garden. He was a crazy Englishman who wore the most outlandish outfits. Who else would wear a bowtie to trim the hedge?

The neighbours felt sorry for him. His wife had died two years before, and since they had no children, he cut a lonely figure. The women on the street often found themselves at his door with a casserole dish in hand. He'd offer his thanks with such enthusiasm that they'd rush back to their kitchens to replenish his larder with similar treats.

He never went anywhere without his two fat Shar Pei dogs, Winston and Churchill. She watched him bend down to give the wrinkled creatures an affectionate rub.

She put Buster on the floor and went out on the deck.

“Clive.”

He turned around and gave her a big grin and a wave. She hurried over and went through the gate to his yard.

“Good morning, Linda. How are you on this fine spring day?”