The Hot Flash Club Strikes Again (33 page)

“Perhaps you should try acupuncture, too. And a beginner’s yoga class.”

“If I sign up for all these things, I won’t be able to travel this summer,” Faraday pointed out.

“No,” Marilyn responded reasonably, “but if you don’t do something, you might never be able to go on a good hiking trip again.”

“But I thought you really wanted to go to Scotland this summer.”

“I do.” Marilyn munched her canapé thoroughly, using the time to gather her thoughts. The truth was, she’d prefer to go to Scotland by herself, or with Faye, if Faye could get over her fear of flying, rather than with Faraday. Indecision tormented Marilyn these days. She knew, because her friends told her so a thousand times a day, how rare a straight, decent, pleasant, intelligent man was. She knew she was fifty-three years old, divorced, never a sex goddess at her best, and obsessed with prehistoric biology, hardly a tantalizing, man-tempting topic. Did she want to be alone in her old age, shuffling around in a retirement home with a bunch of cackling old crones when she had the opportunity to be with this kind, good man who actually shared her interests?

“Perhaps,” Faraday was saying, “if I had therapy, I could get my leg in shape by September. Scotland’s beautiful in the fall.”

“Um,” Marilyn responded, not wanting to be tied down. The thing was, she had
settled
when she married Theodore, linking her entire life to his because he was the only one who showed any interest in her. Now that she was divorced and had learned how much fun sex could be, she certainly wasn’t ready to strike it out of her life forever, and with Faraday, sex was so brief as to be nonexistent. But she wanted to be kind to Faraday. What should she do?

——————————

Across the room, Faye was taking photos of her art student Julia, her husband, and her stepdaughter, posed in front of the photos of Belinda in ballerina guise.

“I’d like my photo taken alone with Belinda,” honked a woman as bossy as a goose, with about as much charm.

“Certainly, Agnes,” Julia said.

Faye gave Julia back her camera, then strolled away to look at the other art.

A handsome older man scrutinized an oil painting of a budding cherry tree.

Faye asked, “What do you think?”

The man looked at Faye. His smile was rather wonderful, showing off a handsome set of white teeth and lighting up his dark eyes. “I think it’s quite good. So good that if it were for sale, I’d buy it.”

Faye laughed from sheer pleasure. “You have no idea how pleased I am to hear you say that. That’s one of mine.”

“You painted that?” He looked at her more closely.

This allowed her to study him in return. He wore a white shirt, navy blazer, and striped red tie. She liked it that he wore a tie; men so seldom did these days. “I did,” she told him proudly. “But I must confess, I’ve painted all my life and exhibited in Boston galleries. I’m
teaching
this course, so perhaps I shouldn’t have put this painting up . . .” Her voice trailed off as she tried to edit her very personal thoughts. Although . . . this man might understand. He might even be glad to hear what she had to say. “But I wanted to show it off because it’s the first decent thing I’ve painted since my husband died.”

The man nodded. “I’m glad you did. It’s very fine.” His voice was deep and smooth, like brown velvet. “And now that I know the story behind it, I like it even more, the way most of the painting is the dark, rough texture of the bark and twigs, with only the palest blush of pink showing. Optimism after despair.”

A sensual shiver raced up Faye’s spine. She loved the way this man talked!

“Yes, that’s what I meant
exactly.
” She held out her hand. “I’m Faye Vandermeer.”

He took her hand. “Aubrey Sperry.” An electric charge jumped between them, so powerful Faye was surprised not to see sparks.

He didn’t take his hand away, nor did she. They stood there smiling at each other like a pair of teenagers.

After a moment Faye pulled herself together. “You don’t have a drink.”

Aubrey nodded at her glass. “Is the wine any good?”

“Yes. Not expensive, but pleasant.” A hot flash ran through her. “It’s a little warm in here, isn’t it?”

“It is, indeed. This place has beautiful grounds. Why don’t we go out for a stroll?”

“Good idea. Let’s get you a glass of wine on the way.”

As they made their way through the crowd, Aubrey freed Faye’s hand. But he put his hand on her elbow, and he kept it there.

——————————

They passed Jennifer, coming around with another tray of canapés. Alice had just sunk onto a sofa, grateful for the opportunity to get off her feet, which ached, in spite of her compromise shoes—low-heeled, wide-toed, instead of the flirty high stilettos she used to adore. Gideon was across the room, reading the poetry taped to the walls. Alan slid through the crowd toward Jennifer, who was working so hard beads of sweat glinted on her face. The two young people bent toward each other, conferring urgently, no doubt about whether the delicious munchies they’d concocted for this evening would suffice for the unexpected crowd. Alice studied her son and his girlfriend. Her handsome black son and his white girlfriend.

Shirley bustled up to Alice, flounced down on the sofa, and grinned. “Successful evening, don’t you think? We’ve already had a ton of new people signing up!”

“It’s great,” Alice responded absentmindedly.

“What’s up with you?” Shirley followed Alice’s eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re sitting here stewing about Alan and Jennifer! Oh,
please.
Alan and Jennifer have been together now for over a year. They’ve built up their catering and bakery business, they’ve dealt with the stress of satisfying clients who wanted Emeril food at McDonald’s prices, and look at them, they’re still madly in love!”

“I just don’t want Alan hurt,” Alice said gloomily. “A black man and a white woman—”

“Hey, they’re grown-ups. They know the score. Maybe you’re the kind of mother who won’t approve of
any
woman your son marries,” Shirley challenged.

Alice rounded on Shirley. “That’s a terrible thing to say!”

Shirley didn’t back off. “Well, think about it. You told me you never liked Alan’s ex-wife, what was her name, Genevieve Lee?”

“Genevieve Ann. She was a scrawny, arrogant, pretentious little phony.
But,
” Alice hastened to add, “I never once told Alan I thought that.”

Shirley snorted. “Yeah, I imagine you were a masterpiece of deceit.”

Alice looked away guiltily.

“Okay,” Shirley reminded her, “and then they get divorced and Alan shows up as despondent as a stray dog lost in the rain, and you were so worried about him! Remember? And when did he start perking up?
When he met Jennifer.
And he’s been stable, happy, healthy, he’s been really good ever since he hooked up with her.”

Alice pressed her lips together.

“You know, Alice, I think you’re forgetting the number one rule of the Hot Flash Club.
Don’t let fear rule your life!
” With an emphatic nod of her chin, Shirley rose to her feet in one lithe movement. “I’d better get back to work.”

“Good.” Alice folded her arms defensively over her chest. Sometimes Shirley made her so damned mad.

But she couldn’t deny it; Shirley had a point. Alice’s son
was
happy with Jennifer.

Gideon came over. “Can I get you a drink?”

“No, thanks.” Alice patted the sofa and Gideon sank down next to her. God bless the man, he had a weight problem equal to hers. “The crowd’s beginning to thin out. That greasy little con artist Justin is going to hold the poetry reading at a quarter till eight. That should drive people away in droves.”

Gideon chuckled. “You’re in a charming mood.”

Alice couldn’t help smiling. “Sometimes I feel retirement doesn’t allow me to use the full range of my critical skills.”

“You’re just cross because we missed bridge to come here tonight.”

“You’re right.” Alice was grateful for the charity of his thoughts. She leaned against him, enjoying the warmth of his massive, comforting body. She did want this for her son, this sense of belonging, of being cared for. And he seemed to have it with Jennifer. “Alan and Jennifer are working their asses off. Let’s invite them out to dinner some night this week. Let’s choose a really swanky place, too. Give them a little treat.”

“Woman,” Gideon said, putting his substantial arm around her shoulders, “you are full of surprises.”

Alice nestled against him. “I certainly hope so.”

——————————

In the middle of the room, Shirley clapped her hands loudly. “Excuse me! Excuse me, everyone! I’m delighted to inform you, it’s time for our poetry reading.” She gestured toward the corner where Justin was placing a metal podium. Six of his students awaited, notebooks in hand, while Alan, Jennifer, and Gideon set up folding chairs facing the group.

A small crowd strolled over to the poetry corner, but most people sped out of the room as if Shirley had announced that alligators were loose in the building, a common reaction to poetry readings, and one Shirley had counted on to end the evening. Glancing over, she assured herself that Marilyn and Alice were both on their way to the front door, to say good-bye and hand out brochures. They’d agreed on this beforehand, so that Shirley wouldn’t have to miss Justin’s big event.

Faye and Aubrey ambled into the lounge, flushed from their walk in the fresh spring air, and as they sat down, Aubrey angled his entire body toward Faye, who leaned in his direction. Faye caught Shirley looking at her and threw her a sparkling smile. Three rows behind, Carolyn and Hank noticed and raised questioning eyebrows at each other.

——————————

Out in the foyer, Marilyn and Alice said good-bye to the last departing guest, then leaned in the open doorway, catching their breath. From the lounge came the soft murmur of a woman reading her poetry. From outside came the chirps and peeps of birds settling down for the night.

“What a successful evening!” Marilyn sighed.

A pretty middle-aged woman with silver-red hair and green eyes slipped quietly out of the lounge and hurried toward them. “Excuse me. I wonder if you could help me. I’m Polly Lodge, I take a yoga course here. There’s a restaurant nearby I’d like to go to, but I can’t remember the name. It’s Italian, it’s got fabulous bread . . .”

“Leonardo’s?” Marilyn suggested.

“That’s it! Thanks.” Polly tapped her temple. “Sometimes my brain seems as full of holes as a moth-eaten sweater.”

“I hear you,” Alice said warmly.

“I’ve got the same problem,” Marilyn added.

“Do you?” Polly’s face lit up. “It hasn’t really bothered me, but tonight I’m on my second date with a man I really like, and I
know
he’d like this restaurant. But I fell into one of those circular mental traps. The more I couldn’t think of the name, the more flustrated I got.”

Alice laughed. “Do you mean
frustrated
or
flustered
?”

Polly looked baffled. “Excuse me?”

Marilyn told her, “You said
flustrated.
” Looking at Alice, Marilyn said, “Actually, that’s a pretty good word, we ought to add it to our lexicon.”

Polly’s face fell. “Oh, no. I
am
getting senile.”

Alice took pity on her. “No more than the rest of us. The other day, when I was worried because Gideon wouldn’t go to the dentist, I told him sometimes he made me feel depissed.”

Polly snickered. “Depissed is what I get when I laugh too hard.”

“My mother used to make malapropisms,” Marilyn said musingly. “I remember once, when she was in her eighties, I took her out to lunch, and she ordered a grilled sneeze sandwich.”

“Gross!” Alice moaned. “Oh, Lord, is this what we have to look forward to? Our urethras leak while our brains clog up?”

“That’s better than the other way around,” Polly observed with a grin.

Alice chortled. “You’re right about that.” She cocked her head, looking Polly over. She liked this woman. “How old are you?”

“Sixty-two,” Polly answered truthfully.

“And you’re on your second date with a guy?”

Polly nodded.

“Have you slept with him yet?” Alice asked.

“Alice!” Marilyn said. “Don’t be so pushy.”

“Oh, I don’t mind,” Polly hastened to assure them. “I’ve been
dying
to talk about this with someone my age. No, I haven’t slept with him yet, and I’m downright terrified about it. I’m so afraid he’ll be disgusted by all my sags, stretch marks, and molds.”

“Molds?” Marilyn repeated.

“Did I say
molds
?” Polly slapped her forehead. “I meant
moles.
All these little skin bumps . . .”

Alice grinned. “We know what you mean. We’ve got them, too. You’re seriously
flustrated,
honey.”

Shirley and Faye peeked around the lounge door, then hurried on tiptoe to join the other three.

“Here you both are!” Shirley whispered, looking curiously from Alice to Marilyn to Polly. “What’s going on?”

Marilyn and Alice exchanged glances. Alice nodded.

Marilyn smiled. “I think we’re in the process of initiating a new member of the Hot Flash Club.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

N
ANCY
T
HAYER
is the author of thirteen novels, including
Custody, Between Husbands and Friends, An Act of Love, Belonging, Three Women at the Water’s Edge,
and
Everlasting,
which was a Main Dual selection of the Literary Guild. Her work has been translated into nearly a dozen languages. Her first novel,
Stepping,
was made into a thirteen-part series for BBC Radio, and her ghost novel
Spirit Lost
has been optioned and produced as a movie by United Image Entertainment. In 1981 she was a Fellow at the Breadloaf Writers Conference. She has lived on Nantucket Island year-round for nineteen years with her husband, Charley Walters.

Visit the author’s website at
www.nancythayer.com
.

ALSO BY NANCY THAYER

The Hot Flash Club

An Act of Love

Belonging

Between Husbands and Friends

Bodies and Souls

Custody

Everlasting

Family Secrets

My Dearest Friend

Nell

Spirit Lost

Stepping

Three Women at the Water’s Edge

Morning