The Last Time I Saw You (11 page)

The phone rings and Dorothy actually jumps, then laughs at herself. She’s so nervous! Or
excited
, or something! It’s Linda and Judy calling from their room. They want to know if Dorothy has eaten her box lunch yet, it actually looks pretty good. They suggest coming up to Dorothy’s room and they’ll all have lunch together. And then she has to come with them to look at the ballroom—it’s decorated so cute, in their high school colors, all burgundy and white! There are Kleenex carnations at every table, felt pennants. On the wall there are blowups of photos that had been in the senior yearbook. There’s a cheerleader outfit and a football uniform hung up there, too; and there are posters made to look like the ones that used to hang in the halls when people ran for things.

“Never mind all that,” Dorothy says. Those damn cheerleaders; would their glory
never
fade? They’d be in a
nursing
home and everyone would still be fawning over them because they were
cheerleaders
. “We’re due at the spa in less than half an hour.”

“It’s right here at the hotel,” Linda says. “We’ll have plenty of time. Relax!”

But Dorothy says, “We can’t be late. Why don’t you guys eat and then come and get me and we’ll all go over together. I’ll see the ballroom tonight. I’d rather see it tonight anyway, it will be more romantic.”

Judy says, “It’s hardly romantic! There are plastic
horses
on every table, for the Mustangs. And the crepe paper is twisted and hung up all swoopy, you’ve got to see it.”

“We don’t have time,” Dorothy says. And since she remains the boss of their little group, the women agree, and Dorothy finishes making ready her room. She puts her pajamas in the bureau drawer, sprays her pillowcases lightly with Chanel, removes the dust from the window ledge. Those maids. All they do is watch soap operas and begrudge you extra bottles of lotion.

When her friends come, Dorothy knows they’ll comment on all the flowers in her room, and she isn’t sure she should tell them she sent them to herself. Then she decides she will admit to it; she might as well get back into the habit of telling them everything, because if she gets her way, she’ll have plenty more to tell them. Not for nothing did she opt out of staying with them, and get a single. It had been fun to think about making out in Pete’s car, and they still might, some, but for the grand finale, no. A bed, please, they probably both have joint issues.

She pulls the blackout curtain, then lies on the bed to practice her Kegels. No one can tell when you’re doing that, they say you can even do it when you’re sitting at your desk, but still. She lies in the exact center of the bed, closes her eyes, and squeezes, releases, squeezes, releases. Dorothy could never do this sitting at her desk. For heaven’s sake! It gets you hot! If she gets to be intimate with Pete, she’s got to remember not to get on top no matter what. All the loose skin on her face will fall forward like ice cream sliding off a plate. And besides, when she lies flat her belly looks… containable.

After a few minutes, Dorothy hears a knock at the door. She gets off the bed and opens the curtains, then opens the door, and there they are, Linda and Judy, squealing
Hi!
and
Oh, my God!
and
Can you believe it?
They are wearing bright orange feather boas, and after they come into Dorothy’s room they offer one to her. Which she takes and wraps gaily around her neck, then immediately removes and lays on the table. No boas. Next they’ll be suggesting red hats. No.

“Who are all the
flowers
from?” Judy asks, and Dorothy admits that she sent them to herself. Judy and Linda have a good laugh about that, though Dorothy doesn’t know why—she doesn’t think it’s so astounding that a woman would send flowers to herself, she thinks it shows a kind of spunk.

Linda sits on the edge of the bed and says, “Guess who
we
just saw?”

Dorothy presses her lips together and tries to contain her emotions. “Pete Decker?”

“Yes!”
Judy and Linda squeal, together. “He was going into his room and no one was with him! He’s three doors down from us!”

“Oh, my God,” Dorothy says. “Is he still handsome?”

“He is
so
handsome!” Linda says, and she shakes her hands like she just burned them. Linda is still cute, Dorothy realizes, blond, petite, her big blue eyes still huge in her face and no lines around them, thank you Mr. Botox. Judy’s not bad-looking, either, tall and slender, with front teeth crossed in an endearing way, brunette hair still long and thick, and those great boobs that are now and always were 100 percent natural. Dorothy hopes her friends have no interest in Pete.

“He was wearing doctor pants,” Linda says. “Did he become a doctor?”

“No,” Dorothy says. “He’s a stockbroker.” Facebook.

“Well, he’s wearing scrubs.”

“It’s probably some cool fad or something,” Judy says. “He was always starting fads; whatever Pete did, a whole bunch of other guys did.”

“I’m going to hit on him,” Dorothy says.

Linda rolls her eyes. “We
know
.”

“So don’t either of you.”

“We’re
not
,” Linda says, but Judy says, “I might.” When Dorothy’s mouth drops, she says, “Just kidding. I do think I might hit on Buddy Dunsmore, though.”

“He’s still married to Nance, and she’s here with him!” Dorothy says, and Judy shrugs and says, “It’s a reunion. That’s what these things are
for
. Although I also just saw Lester Hessenpfeffer. And he is
really
hot. But he’s, you know, Lester
Hessenpfeffer
. Ew.”

They all laugh, and then Dorothy looks at her watch and says it’s time to go to the spa. When she walks down the hallway toward the elevator, she feels oddly outside herself. Here it comes, the reunion is here, it’s all starting to happen! This is the
before
before the
after
.

When they get off the elevator, they start heading toward the spa. But then Judy suddenly stops in her tracks. “Look!” she says, pointing toward the registration table down the hall.

Dorothy gasps. “Is that…?”

“Oh, my God,” Judy says.

“Mary Alice Mayhew,” Linda says. “I can’t believe it. Why would
she
ever want to come back and see any of
us
?”

They watch as Mary Alice chats with Pam, then fills out two name tags.

“She’s bringing someone,” Judy says.

“Where is he?” Dorothy asks.

“I’ll bet it’s not a he. I’ll bet she’s a lesbian,” Linda says. “I’ll bet her partner is unloading the car and that they brought sex toys. A feather and a dildo!”

“Stop that!” Dorothy says, and then they start laughing.

“Damn, I wish she hadn’t come,” Linda says. “I was going to put her name on a tag and pretend to be her!”

Dorothy stops walking. “You still can! In fact, why don’t you change tags with her?”

“Nah,” Linda says. “She wouldn’t do it.”

“She might,” Judy says. “People change.”

“Here’s one thing I’d stake my life on,” Linda says. “Mary Alice Mayhew has not changed. Not one bit. People like that? They don’t change. Even if they change. Put Mary Alice Mayhew in red stilettos and she’s still Mary Alice Mayhew. To us, anyway, because we knew her when.”

They reach the door to the spa, a frosted door with elegant silver script on it, and all the women quiet down. They want to get in the mood.

Dorothy opens the door and gestures to her friends to go ahead of her.
“Après vous,”
she says, in an accent she’s sure their high school French teacher, Mademoiselle Florin, would have appreciated.

“Hello, ladies,” the receptionist says, and Dorothy wants to smack her.
Ladies
, that condescending catchall greeting used for women of a certain age. She wants to say to the receptionist, “You think you’ll never get old, but you will.” Instead, she joins her friends in a weak chorus of
“Hiiiii.”
It is almost like a question, the way they say it. It is almost as though they’re asking for permission for something. As they kind of are, Dorothy thinks. Really, they kind of are.

TWELVE

L
ESTER SITS ON THE SIDE OF HIS HOTEL BED, THINKING, HIS
unpacked suitcase beside him. He checks for messages again, even though his cellphone has not rung. No messages. Samson had developed a massive infection after his abdominal surgery; but his wound has been debrided, he’s been resutured, he’s been given an antibiotic bolus intravenously and now is getting oral doses every four hours. He’s staying in the clinic a couple of days for close observation. He should be fine.

Dumb dog. Rolling in fertilizer when his belly had just begun to heal. Lester imagines him in the cage in the back room, his chin on his favorite stuffed animal, his brown eyes shifting left and right, watching what little activity occurs there. He should be fine. Still, Lester calls his clinic, and when Jeanine answers, he says, “I’m coming back.”

“No!”
There are three loud banging sounds and then Jeanine says, “Did you hear that? That was the sound of my head hitting my desk.”

“That was not your head.”

“It might as well have been.”

“Listen, Jeanine. It’s not important that I be here. It’s important that Samson be monitored very carefully, and I’m—”

“How long have I been working for you?” She sounds angry now; she’s speaking in the cool, clipped tone she uses on the phone with her husband when they’re fighting.

“I’m not saying a thing against you and your complete and utter competence,” Lester says. “It’s just that I’ll be thinking of him the whole time, anyway, so I might as well—”

“Dr. Hessenpfeffer. Lester. You’re
an hour
away!”

“Ninety minutes,” Lester says. “Without traffic.”

“Samson is just fine. He’s afebrile. His heart rate and blood pressure are perfect. His dressing is dry. He’s alert. I had to give him a squeaky toy because he’s
bored
.”

Lester sits still on the bed, stops his knee from bouncing.

“
And:
Miranda said she’d sleep with him tonight.”

Well, yes. That’s what Lester wants, is for someone to sleep with Samson. But he can’t have Miranda in the cage with the dog. Insurance and whatnot. But before he can voice his objections, Jeanine says, “I’ll make up a cot for her right outside his cage. And I’ll make up one for me, too. We’ll
both
be there. He’ll be fine. And I promise you, if the least little thing happens— a whimper!—I’ll call you right away. You need to learn to take some time for yourself.”

“I take time! Every year!”

Jeanine sighs. “You know what I mean. Now, will you promise me that you’ll stay there?”

“All right. Fine. I
promise
. But put him on the phone.”

“Who, Samson?”

“Right.”

“Hold on.”

She puts Lester on hold and then he hears her voice sounding a bit far off, saying, “Okay, you’re on speakerphone, go ahead.”

“Hey, Samson!” Lester says.

“He’s wagging his tail and cocking his head,” Jeanine says. “Aw.”

“You hang in there, buddy, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Now he’s trying to get
up
!” Jeanine says. “Lie down, Samson, Doctor’s not here. Lie down, buddy. Good boy! Stay, okay? Stay there.
Good
boy.” To Lester, she says, “Don’t you say anything else, you’re getting him all excited and he needs to keep still. He’s all right. I just irrigated his incision and it’s clean as can be. You go and enjoy yourself.”

Lester stands to look out the window. There’s a striking blonde crossing the parking lot, pulling her luggage behind her. Candy Sullivan? He squints to see better. Yes, it’s Candy all right. And she’s still… Candy Sullivan.

“Call me if there’s
anything
,” he tells Jeanine.

“I will.”

“Any other news?”

“Nothing. Routine shots today. Oh, and Pia is pregnant again.”

Lester sighs. “They need to spay that dog.”

“Duh. But you know, she throws the cutest puppies. I might even take one this time.”

“Then you’re just encouraging them.”

“I know, but remember the last litter? The runt that looked like he came off the set of
The Little Rascals
? I want one like that. I want to name it Spanky.”

“Go down to the shelter and you’ll find a
bunch
of Spankys.” He looks outside to see what door Candy is headed toward. “All right, I’ll call you later.”

“Dr. Hessenpfeffer?”

“Yes?”

“
I’ll
call
you
if I
need
you. If you call me, I’ll quit. I swear to God, I will flat-out quit.”

“You’ll never quit.”

“I know, but
don’t call me
.”

Candy disappears into the hotel door closest to the registration table. She’ll be there in just a few seconds. No one is with her. He grabs his box lunch and heads for the elevator. He’ll see if she’d like to have lunch and catch up. He supposes he’ll have to tell her who he is. Which is fine.

But by the time he gets to the ground floor and then to the registration table, there is no sign of Candy Sullivan. There’s only Pam Pottsman, sitting at the table and looking at her watch, and some other woman sitting on a chair in a conversational grouping of furniture a little ways down the hall. She must be a classmate; she’s eating her box lunch.

He approaches Pam and asks quietly, “Did Candy Sullivan register?”

Pam laughs, then bellows, “Good grief! She’s
still
the most
popular girl
! Yes, she just went up to her room.”

“Did she take her lunch?” Lester asks, then immediately regrets asking.

“No, she said she wasn’t hungry. Do you want it?”

Actually, he would like it. He’s hungry, and the lunch doesn’t appear to be all that big. “Sure,” he says. “I’ll take it. Thanks.”

Pam reaches into a large bag and pulls out a lunch. There is only one more box left in the bag. Almost everyone has come, then. She hands him the box, then points to the woman eating alone. “You remember Mary Alice Mayhew?”

He remembers the
name
. And then, looking over at the woman, well, of course he remembers Mary Alice. One of the uncool nerds, like him. Kids used to be pretty mean to her. He remembers a time a group of jocks made catcalls after her as she walked down the hall. He’d wanted to defend her—what was the
point
in that kind of cruelty?—but hesitated out of fear of being attacked himself. But then he saw that she didn’t seem in need of being defended: she’d held her head high and walked steadily on, seemingly impervious to their taunting. And there that knot of thick-necked boys stood: utterly ignored, suddenly looking sort of foolish.

Mary Alice still has the same hairdo: mid-neck length, but salt and pepper now. It’s styled more attractively now, not sort of lumpy like it always used to be. She’s gotten to be rather nice looking; she seems to have grown into herself. Her glasses are certainly better. As are his.

He walks over and smiles at her, holds out his hand. “Hey, Mary Alice. I’m Lester Hessenpfeffer. Do you remember me?”

Her mouth is full and she smiles apologetically, holds her index finger up, swallows. Then, “Hi, Lester,” she says. “Of course I remember you. The last time I saw you, you were giving the valedictorian speech.
To creating our destinies!
”

Lester nods. “My Sally Field Oscar moment,” he says. “Ah well. All I meant to say—”

“Oh, no,” Mary Alice says. “I loved what you said. The idea that you could create your destiny, that you weren’t imprisoned by some preordained set of circumstances. It was a wonderful speech, Lester.”

They regard each other, each of them doing their own
then
and
now
, Lester supposes. Then Mary Alice says, “I see you have your lunch. Want to join me?”

“Well. Lunch
es
,” Lester says.

“If one’s good, two is better,” Mary Alice says. “And it actually is good.”

He sits in the chair next to her and opens one of the little boxes. There on top, a folded paper napkin, red-and-white-checked. “I love these things,” he says. Then, looking over at Mary Alice. “Box lunches.”

“Me, too,” Mary Alice says. “I always think I know who made them.”

“A grandmotherly type with a drooping apron top who takes her time folding the napkin?” Lester asks and Mary Alice laughs and says, “Exactly!”

Her laugh is clear and genuine, a nice sound.

“The only thing we’re missing is a train ride,” she says.

“Okay, let’s be on a train. Where are we going?”

Mary Alice tilts her head. “Where are we going.… Hmmm. I don’t know! Where do you want to go?”

“Along the Mississippi, I should think.”

“The West Coast being too obvious?”

“Exactly.” Lester bites into his sandwich. One slice of bread is white; one is whole wheat. Something for everyone. And there’s a crosshatched peanut butter cookie and fruit. If the sandwich were wrapped in wax paper instead of plastic wrap, his happiness would be complete. He looks over at Mary Alice and smiles. She has the kind of brown eyes that seem lit by little golden lamps. She has dimples at the corners of her mouth, he’d never noticed that.

“Are you here with someone?” he asks.

“Not really. I’ll be bringing a friend with me tonight. An older gentleman I work with sometimes. He’s taking a nap, and then I’m going to go and pick him up for the dinner and as much of the dance as he can stay awake for.”

“He lives here in Clear Springs?”

“Yes. I do, too.”

Lester talks around a bite of sandwich. “You stayed, then.”

“No, I left. But I came back. I like it here. I like small towns.” She points to the corner of her own mouth, and Lester wipes off a crumb of bread from his.

“I’m not far away,” Lester says. “I live over in Hopkins. I have a veterinary practice there.”

“That figures. You were the one who was so utterly respectful whenever we had to do dissections in science class. Remember how the other guys would fool around with things, how a couple of them took that fetal pig and switched around all the organs? But it always seemed kind of
sacred
to you.”

Lester looks at her. “Yes.”

“You were right.”

Two people walk up to the table and Lester hears Pam say, “Just in time! I was just going to give up on anyone else coming. Now, who are you guys?”

The man points to himself and says, “I’m just a friend.” He puts his arm around the woman. “This is Nora Decker.”

“Nora Hagman Decker,” Nora says.

Pam squeals and leaps up. “Nora! Oh my God, I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you!” She shakes her finger at Fred. “It was you who threw me off.” She comes around the table and hugs Nora, then tells Fred, “Co-captain of the cheerleading squad, did you know that?”

“I did not know that,” Fred says, in a terrible, terrible Johnny Carson imitation, and Nora looks down. “Fred,” she says.

“Well, welcome!” Pam says and hands them a box lunch. “Gosh, you just missed Pete.”

Nora and Fred exchange glances and Pam frowns. “No?” she says. “Uh-oh.”

Lester looks over at Mary Alice, who shrugs.

“
Hmmm
,” Lester says quietly. And then, looking out the window at the beautiful warm day, “You feel like a walk, Mary Alice Mayhew?
Is
it still Mary Alice Mayhew?”

Mary Alice smiles. “It is. And I know a great place to walk, red-winged blackbirds so thick you think you might have to beat them off with a stick. But we’d have to go a ways to get there.”

Lester finishes his cookie, stands. “I’m all yours.”

Mary Alice’s face grows serious. Almost shyly, she says, “I’ll have to walk barefoot. These are not good walking shoes.”

“Barefoot girl and a box lunch. You can’t get much better than that.”

Mary Alice smiles. “I’ll just have to get back in time to get ready for dinner.”

“Me, too,” Lester says. Candy Sullivan is
in
the building. Doing what, he wonders. Maybe napping. He thinks of her lying on her side, her yellow hair spread out against the pillow. He thinks of how beautiful women look when they lie like that, and some sleeping thing inside him opens one eye.