Marriage Matters (6 page)

Seven

T
hanks to June’s horrid neighbor, she spent three perfectly good gardening days indoors. This was all thanks to the glare from the copper roof of the gazebo, which Charley Montgomery hadn’t bothered to tear down. June spent the time at her bedroom window, watching him like a sniper.

When Wednesday night rolled around, she had no choice but to step away from the window and make herself presentable for her weekly mahjong group. Her goal was to put together a look so outlandish that no one would notice her eyes were red and puffy from crying. That way, she could keep the ladies of the Chicago Mahjong Club out of her personal business.

The Chicago Mahjong Club was started during Prohibition, in an effort to provide the ladies of society another opportunity to live above the law. June’s mother-in-law had been an original member. June was grateful for the group, as its members had become her very best friends. But because they were best friends, June knew better than to share her distress over Charley Montgomery. If she did, the topic could become a point of focus for months.

So, that night, June strutted into her mahjong group wearing a vintage Chanel dress, at least ten strands of pearls and a pair of black lace gloves. The three-inch heel on her knee-high crocodile boots gave her a commanding presence, which she worked to her advantage as she walked.

“Hello, June.” The collective murmur was impressed. “Looking good.”

June blew a benevolent round of air kisses, then beelined to her typical table. Sliding into her seat, she eyed her best friend, Bernice Bernard. The old dear was as regal as always, with her perfectly dyed jet-black hair and bright red lipstick. Unfortunately, Bernice was watching June with concern.

“Why, you’ve been crying,” she barked.

“Bernice,” June scolded. “You certainly do not have to announce it.”

It was a pointless statement, as Bernice announced everything. She’d always been the loudest talker in the room. Everyone said the best way to get a good dish of Chicago gossip was to stand within twenty yards of Bernice.

“I don’t
need
to announce it.” Bernice tucked a strand of her perfect pageboy behind one ear and examined June. “Anyone can see that, behind that black netting, your eyes are bright red.”

“I’m sure my eyes look just fine.” As though to prove the point, June pulled her compact out of her purse and flipped it open. The rims of her eyes were lined in pink, and the tiny bags under her eyes were shining. “Well.” June snapped her compact shut. “Perhaps my eyes are not red from crying. Perhaps they are red because I’ve been smoking marijuana.”

Bernice’s brown eyes lit up. “Really? That might be a nice way to pass the time.”

“Hello, darlings. How are we this evening?” Rose Weston swooped over in a crunch of taffeta, passing air kisses like an infectious disease. Rose had worn taffeta in some form or another ever since June had known her. Today, the selection was an emerald green shirt with a ruffle along the bustline.

“Why, June.” Rose’s catlike eyes gazed at her in surprise. “Have you been smoking marijuana?”

June was starting to get annoyed. “No. But apparently, Bernice would like to.”

“Bernice, you should,” Rose cried. “Perhaps it would help you to loosen up.”

“Loosen up?” Bernice glared. “The last time
I
looked in the mirror, I was perfectly capable of moving my forehead and blinking my eyes. You’re the one who needs to loosen up.”

Rose was a victim of Botox, so much so that it was sometimes difficult to read her expression. June liked to joke that Rose should quit mahjong and take up poker instead. She’d be quite good.

“Honey . . .” Rose patted Bernice on the shoulder. “Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it. And judging by those crow’s-feet, you really should.”

“I will be getting some aperitifs.” Bernice stood up from the table and stalked away. Her full hips swayed with every step.

The tension between Rose and Bernice had started fifty years ago, when they had gone head-to-head for a man. Rose tried every dirty trick in the book, even going so far as to tell him that Bernice was carrying another man’s child. It was a particularly low blow at the time and typically very effective. In the end, Rose had lost interest in the man and Bernice married him. But the battle between the two had never stopped.

Rose took a seat at their table. “Darling,
do
tell me before Bernice gets back. Why on earth have you been crying?”

Even though June knew better than to confide in her taffeta-clad friend, crying often took a toll on good judgment. “I’ve been having trouble with my neighbor,” June blurted out.

“Oh, dear,” Rose said, delighted. Tapping the tips of her manicure, her nails made a sound that could easily be mistaken for a torture technique. “What sort of trouble and how can I help?”

June considered. Turning rabbits loose in Charley’s garden was one thing. Adding Rose to the equation would be like injecting them with rabies.

“Don’t worry about me.” June sat up straight. “I have the situation with him under control.”

“Aha.” Rose gave a slow smile. “This mysterious neighbor is a
he
.” At the pronoun, at least three women glanced their way. “Now . . .” She fluffed her dyed red hair. “This wouldn’t happen to be the delicious man who was sitting outside during our Garden Club, was it?”

June forced her expression to remain blank. “Hmm. I don’t quite remember.”

“Don’t remember what?” Bernice returned to the table with a plate full of spongy macaroons. She pulled out her chair, deliberately whacking it against Rose’s leg. “Sorry,” she sang, moving to sit.

Rose was quick. Her designer pumps shot out and shifted that seat like something out of musical chairs. Bernice had to grab the table to keep from tumbling to the ground.

June chuckled. Watching their war play out never ceased to be entertaining. However, there were days that she suspected the two women wished they could get past it all and just be friends.

“Rose is speaking of my horrid neighbor. And he certainly is
not
handsome—”

“Scrumptious,” Rose insisted, reaching for one of Bernice’s macaroons. Her red lipstick smeared across the cookie before she set it back onto the plate. “Bernice, darling, this neighbor was on display throughout the entirety of our Garden Club party.”

A flash of recognition crossed Bernice’s face. “June, you’ve been crying over sweet, little old Charley?”

June scoffed. Where were her friends finding these ridiculous adjectives for this man? Charley Montgomery was not sweet. He wasn’t little, either. The man was tall, with strong arms. If he was ever inside June’s parlor, she imagined he would be knocking into her antique trinkets left and right. Not that there ever would be a reason for him to be inside her parlor, but still. It was something to consider.

“Rose, this poor man lost his wife just over two years ago.” Bernice took a sip of her tea and smiled. “June has been flouncing around her garden, tormenting him ever since.”

“I do not flounce,” June cried.

“Of course you do,” Bernice and Rose chorused. They eyed each other with irritation.

“I vote that you stop torturing the poor man.” Bernice’s voice boomed across the wood-paneled study. “Invite him over for tea.”

“I will not be inviting him anywhere.” June took off her hat and tugged at her black lace gloves. “The only thing that gives me any hope of surviving the situation is that it will be winter soon. We will be unable to garden and I will not see him until spring.”

“Well, based on what I saw of him . . .” Rose licked her lips and reached for the painted macaroon. “That would be your loss.” She chewed for a moment. “Which house does he live in again? The one on the right or the left, if I’m facing your home?”

“The left.” June narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

“Sorry I’m late.” Dorothy Chambers rushed up and slid into her chair. Slipping on her glasses, she said, “What did I miss?”

“We’re talking about June’s neighbor.” Bernice shook her head. “He’s very lonely.”

Dorothy adjusted her silver-framed glasses and peered at June. “Widow?”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” June wished she’d done a better job of keeping this conversation at bay. “What is wrong with you people?”

“Nothing is wrong with us,” Rose said. “If your neighbor is a lonely widow, with only gardening as a companion, it’s our duty as women of society to bring him a casserole. Or two.”

June felt as though Rose had slapped her in the face. “I beg your pardon?”

“Rose,” Bernice hissed. “Don’t you dare.”

Rose patted her red hair like a film star. “June doesn’t like the man. What would it hurt?”

“Considering she doesn’t like him, we should stay away from him altogether.” Bernice folded her hands. “Right, June?”

Even though the very thought of Charley made her want to grab the mahjong tiles and throw them across the room, June certainly did not want Rose to make friends with him. The thought did not sit well with her. Not at all.

A bell rang at the front of the room, as though at the start of a boxing match. Rue Gable, with her perfectly coiffed hair and St. John’s pantsuit, held up an envelope full of money. “I think it’s time to get started, ladies,” she said. “Tonight, we are playing for quite a prize.”

“We certainly are,” Bernice mumbled.

“Good luck,” Rose said sweetly, then dealt out the tiles.

Eight

“C
hloe,” Ben called, followed by some insistent knocking. “Chloe, answer the door!”

“Go away.” Chloe pushed her face down deeper into the starch of the bed pillows.

Chloe had been in bed for two days, with only the warm purr of Whiskers keeping her company. The scene with Dr. Gable repeated itself in her head, over and over. She felt like a total idiot for telling him off. Yes, maybe he’d deserved it with his smug little smirk and ridiculous ascot. Still, that didn’t make it right. How could she ever be a good therapist if she couldn’t control her own behavior?

“Chloe, I’m going to use my key,” Ben threatened.

Chloe let out a grunt and sat up. She walked to the door wearing only a T-shirt and underwear. Flipping the lock, she stumbled straight back to bed.

“What on earth is wrong with you?” Ben followed her.

Chloe drew the comforter up to her chin and stared at the ceiling, not speaking. “Hey.” Ben reached under the blanket and pinched her leg. “What’s wrong? You haven’t answered your phone in two days.”

“I’ve been busy.” She pressed her fists into her eyes. “Ruining my life.”

“That doesn’t sound good.” His voice was unnaturally gentle. “Tell me what happened.”

Chloe groaned. Whenever she was in particularly bad shape, Ben used this weird, overly caring tone. She had dubbed it the Voice of Compassion and vowed she would never,
ever
use it in art therapy sessions. It reminded her of the moments in her life where she was completely and utterly pathetic.

The first time Ben whipped out the Voice of Compassion was in junior high. This was right after he returned from three months of summer camp, totally transformed. Gone was the geeky guy who wore glasses and collected bugs. In his place was a tall, tanned god with a quick smile for the ladies and a smart-ass remark for the guys. The kids who had ignored Ben for years swarmed around him like bees.

Chloe was stung. For the first time in her life, she had to share her best friend. She suffered in silence for a few weeks, until Ben skipped their usual lunch to hang out with the head cheerleader. At that point, Chloe had no choice but to break up with him as a friend. He showed up at her house with Clue and Sorry!, the games they’d played as kids
.

As they sat on her bed, sipping soda and snacking on chips, Ben used the Voice of Compassion to explain that Chloe was his best friend and always would be. “Breaking up with me won’t do you any good,” he said, calmly moving his Sorry!
pawn forward. “I want to hang out with you. Not those stupid girls. With them, I’m just having a little fun.”

Chloe blushed furiously. Part of the reason she was mad at him, she realized, was that she, too, had a crush on this new version of Ben. He was so tall, so tan, so kind. But it was pretty obvious that she could keep her preferred status as best friend or become just another girl for him to have fun with.

“Fine,” she’d said, rolling the dice and sending one of his pieces back home. “Just as long as you understand that to me, you’re the same dork you’ve always been.”

“Good.” He dropped the Voice of Compassion. “That’s exactly how I want it to be.”

At the memory, Chloe smiled.

“Okay, you’re smiling.” Ben nodded. “That’s a good sign. So, what happened?”

Grabbing Whiskers, Chloe pulled the cat to her chest and ran Ben through the story. He laughed at the part where she caught Dr. Gable singing, glowered at her mention of his six-pack and jumped up in anger at the “promising little flame.”

“He said
what
?”
Ben roared. “Where’s the office? I’m going to go have a talk with this guy.”

“Don’t.” Chloe buried her face in Whiskers’ fur. “A fight with Dr. Gable and his stupid little ascot would not be fair. He’d be no match for you and your metrosexual protein shakes.” Although, based on the sight of Dr. Gable with his shirt off, a battle between him and Ben might actually be a good one. “Look, I took care of it in a very mature fashion.” Chloe stroked Whiskers’ paw. “I called him an asshole and slammed his office door. Which is why I have been hiding in my bedroom for two days.”

Ben shook his head. “You did the right thing. You have no reason to hide.”

“Yes, I do.” She puffed out her cheeks, then slowly exhaled. “I just got a message from the department head. He wants to meet with me on Friday. I bet they’re kicking me out of school.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” Ben said. “The good doctor doesn’t even work there. Good thing, or I’d get his ass fired. A promising little flame? What a dick.”

“He knows the professors,” she said. “I’m sure he told them.”

“Good.” He nodded. “Then this meeting is probably to applaud you.”

Ben paced around the room for a minute, tossing her dirty clothes into the hamper, opening the shade on her window and arranging the collection of picture frames on her dresser. There were photographs of Chloe’s parents; Kristine and June; Chloe, Kristine and June; and even one with June and Whiskers.

“Where’s the picture of me?” Ben’s hand hesitated over the photographs. For her birthday, he had given Chloe a framed photo of the two of them riding bikes down by the water.

“In the living room. I didn’t like the way you were looking at me every time I got dressed.”

Ben laughed, taking a seat again on the bed. “Look, I think this is a good thing.”

“How, exactly? This is going to ruin my career.”

“No, it’s not,” he insisted. “It’s a good thing because you finally took a break.”

That was true. This was the first time in a long time that Chloe had laid in bed in . . . Well, who knew how long? Even though she’d spent most of the time moping, she finally felt rested.

“Now, since you appear to still be in bed, we are going to make it an official bed-in.” Ben’s eyes sparkled. “We’re going to order some Thai food, drink some wine and watch reality television. You can mope as much as you want. Then tomorrow, you’ll forget about it and go back to your real life.”

“I don’t know . . . Maybe I should get back to work. Catch up on what I missed.”

Ben shook his head so hard his golden curls bounced. “You’re staying right here. And if you’re good, I’ll draw pictures of my deepest, darkest feelings. You can look at them and analyze me.”

“Really?” She’d been trying to get him to do that for years.

“Really.” Ben gave her a smile that could make a lesser girl melt. “You in?”

Chloe thought for a moment. Really, what would she accomplish if she got up now? It was four o’clock and she’d already missed all of her classes. There weren’t any papers due until the end of the week. Looking at him, she shrugged. “I’m in.”

Before she could change her mind, Ben crawled across the bed, picked up her cell and placed an order for chicken pad Thai and drunken noodles. He turned on the television, leaned against the headboard and crossed his muscular arms behind his head. After a minute, he let out a hearty sigh. “Man,” he said. “I thought I was going to have to call your mother.”

Sitting up on one elbow, Chloe snuggled against her best friend. “To be honest, you wouldn’t have had to call anybody. You had me at reality TV.”