3
“You’re late,” my mother said by way of greeting when I arrived to pick up the kids. They were sitting on the stairs, shoes on, as she adjusted her pillbox hat in the mirror by the front door. Hers didn’t have a dent in the top as she didn’t believe fashion happened by accident, no matter what Jackie Kennedy did.
I glanced at the clock on the mantel inside the living room. Three minutes past twelve. She and Larry could start a little “Bev was late one time” club.
“But if I’m going by the time you initially told me, I’m fifty-seven minutes early,” I said.
“What was that, dear?”
“Nothing, Mama.”
She swept by me, then stopped, turned around, and came back to cup my face in her gloved hand. “What’s the matter?”
I ducked my head. “Nothing’s the matter.”
Her eyes narrowed. “A mother always knows.”
A car horn beeped from the driveway. “That’ll be Louise. Go with your mother, darlings,” she said to Robbie and Debbie. “Grandma will see you tomorrow morning.”
She blew them kisses as she left. Once she was out the door, both kids ran to me, embracing me with shockingly unsticky fingers. I didn’t remember my mother being such a stickler for cleanliness when my brother and I were young. Then again, we’d had a nanny. Being a congressman’s wife was a full-time job. Or so she said. There were a lot of bridge games, luncheons, and hair and nail appointments back then too.
“Come on. Did Grandma feed you lunch?” They both shook their heads. “Then let’s do that before Debbie’s nap.” I held out my hands, and they each took one.
I half expected Larry to show up at dinner and pretend nothing was wrong. If so, I would have to wait until the kids were in bed to unceremoniously show him the door. But he didn’t.
Instead, he arrived at eight. I always unlocked the door for him whenever he was expected home, but I didn’t this time. I heard him try the door handle, then a few seconds later, the sound of his key in the lock.
I briefly wished I’d had the foresight to call a locksmith. I imagined his surprise at finding his suitcases on the front step, his key useless, as I peeked at him through the living room curtains, laughing at his impotent anger.
Then again, if anything about Larry had been impotent, well—he would have likely not had to use the key at all.
That thought sobered me, and as the door opened, I set my jaw.
He saw the suitcases before he even looked up at me. “Bev, please—”
“Please, what?”
He stopped for a second. “I made a mistake.”
My hands went to my hips. “A mistake is wearing a brown belt with black shoes. I don’t think for a moment that you were confused about what your secretary’s job duties entailed.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Do I? Because of all the mistakes I’ve ever made, I was never confused about whom I was supposed to be sleeping with until this morning.”
He stared at me. The perfect wife would have been willing to overlook an indiscretion or two. But I was done being perfect.
“I’m sorry,” he said finally.
I waited for the “but” that always followed, but none did. And for a few seconds, I wavered. Then I remembered the wedding picture. The watch. The look on Louis’s face. And his comment about the time since Debbie was born.
“I don’t think that’s enough.”
“Bev—”
“Just go,” I said. “I packed everything you’ll need. Call first if you intend to stop by for anything else. I don’t want you confusing the children.”
“What are you going to tell them?”
“That Daddy had to go away for a while.”
His shoulders sank as he realized I was serious. “You have to let me see them.” The tone was somewhere in between a command and a question, but I nodded. Resigned, he grabbed the handles of the suitcases. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
After he had gone, I poured a glass of sherry and filled the bathtub. I didn’t have to watch Bonanza for once. I could pamper myself, go to bed, and wake up whenever I felt like it.
Which turned out to be 4:59 a.m. Apparently my internal clock hadn’t gotten the memo that Larry didn’t run my schedule anymore. Which wasn’t surprising. It took me a moment upon waking to realize I was alone in the bed.
I tried to go back to sleep, but it was no use. So I showered and sat in the kitchen, drinking coffee and reading an unstained newspaper, until I heard the kids calling for me.
When my mother walked in, without knocking, at half past ten, the kids were helping me redecorate my bedroom. By which I mean they were jumping on the bed while I removed the curtains. The bedspread and pictures were already in a pile by the bathroom door, and I had peeled a strip of wallpaper halfway off.
“Spring cleaning?” my mother asked, an eyebrow raised.
“Just a little redecorating,” I said.
“It needs it,” she said coolly. “Hunting lodge chic has never been in style.” She looked to the children. “Let me see your hands.” They held them out for inspection, and she ordered them into the bathroom to wash before she would hug them.
When she returned, she touched the hanging piece of wallpaper. “Shouldn’t you pay a professional for that part?”
I shrugged. “I thought it would come up easier than it did.”
“What colors are you thinking?”
I took a few steps toward the center of the room and looked around. “Pink maybe.”
She angled her head, trying to picture it. “Larry will hate that. Maybe yellow. Or teal accents if you really want to add some color.”
Pink everything, then, I thought.
Then she looked me over. “Is that what you’re wearing to your hair appointment?”
I was in dungarees and a blouse, my hair tied up in a kerchief. “Hair appointment,” I echoed. I looked at my wrist, which was bare, then to the clock on my nightstand. I had packed Larry’s in his suitcase. “I forgot.”
“Whatever is the matter with you right now?”
“I’ll just be a few minutes late,” I said, dashing to the closet, pulling my shirt over my head, and then reaching for a dress that didn’t require a girdle. “Can you stay a couple hours?”
“Why? Are you doing color? Are you going gray already?”
I blinked heavily and resisted the urge to check my hair in the mirror for premature aging. “No.”
“It’s not your fault, you know. Your grandmother was completely gray by your age.”
I sincerely doubted she had a full head of gray hair by twenty-seven. And my mother claimed her dark brown hair was natural, which, at fifty, I wasn’t inclined to believe was true. But heaven help the person who called my mother a liar.
“No. I wanted to go look at some new furniture and bedding.”
“And wallpaper, I assume.”
“And wallpaper. But they don’t have that at Woodies.”
“I suppose I can stay until three or so.”
I turned around for her to zip me, which she did, then she brushed off my shoulders. “Thank you,” I said, turning to kiss her cheek.
“And I can send Vincent over to do the wallpaper when you pick some.”
“I do appreciate you,” I called, already leaving the room. “Be good for Grandma,” I told Robbie and Debbie.
“They’re always angels,” my mother said.
I shook my head as I left. A new hairdo was exactly what I needed right now.
I walked out of the salon feeling lighter. Larry preferred my hair long, so I had resisted the Jackie Kennedy style that most of my friends wore. But when I sat in the chair, I said it was time for a bob. And I treated myself to a ruby-red lipstick at Woodies before I went to the furniture section.
By the time I arrived home, I had done major damage on our charge card. The new bedroom set would arrive Monday; the new bedspread, sheets, and curtains were in bags on my arms. The new wallpaper would be delivered Tuesday. And my hair and lipstick turned heads in a way mousy Bev Diamond, Larry’s devoted wife, never did.
And if Larry didn’t like any part of it, well, he should have thought of that before assigning his secretary any marital duties.
“Hello?” I called as I walked in. No one responded. I looked at my bare wrist and shook my head. Maybe I should buy myself a new watch. One that I picked out. But that was a job for the next shopping trip. If it was later than three now, Mama might have brought the kids to her house. It wouldn’t be the first time.
The faint sound of the television echoed from the den, so I put the bags down and went in to show off my new look.
The children were glued to the screen and didn’t even glance up, while my mother smoked a cigarette and flipped through a magazine. When she saw me, she looked over to make sure the kids were still occupied, then stood and grabbed my arm, pulling me out into the hall.
“Nancy called,” she said and took another drag of her cigarette.
“Is she okay?” Her tone had me worried. Had something happened to Arnie or one of the kids?
“Perfectly so. Although it would seem she has a houseguest.”
Nancy was my best friend, and her mother-in-law was a nightmare. “I don’t understand why she won’t tell her she can’t pop in with no notice.”
My mother raised an eyebrow. “This houseguest is one you’re quite familiar with. It would seem Larry spent the night there, and Nancy is under the impression that he may be with them some time.” I bit the inside of my cheek but didn’t reply. “Needless to say, I didn’t know any more than she did—although based on the state of your bedroom, I would assume whatever he did, it wasn’t good.”
I leaned around her to make sure the kids were still engrossed in the television. They hadn’t looked up yet.
“It wasn’t,” I said quietly, then took the cigarette from her hand and inhaled deeply. I had quit when I got pregnant with Robbie, and this was my first puff since then. She took the cigarette back, then gestured that she was waiting, moving her hand with the cigarette in a circle. I grabbed the ashtray from the hall table, took the cigarette from her again, and stubbed it out. “You’re going to burn the whole house down the way you wave that thing around.”
“The way things look, it might be better if I did. What happened?”
I sighed. The truth was going to come out eventually. And if I didn’t tell her, she would march herself over to Nancy’s house. “I caught him. With his secretary.” She looked at me blankly. “Doing ... things.”
“Is that all?”
“All!”
“Darling, men have indiscretions. If every woman who caught her husband with his secretary kicked him out, there would be about six marriages left in the world.”
I genuinely debated getting a glass of water and pouring it on her to see if she would melt like the Wicked Witch of the West.
But she was still talking. “Go tell him to come home. Honestly, this might be just what your marriage needed. He’ll be so attentive after this.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Beverly, I love you like a daughter—”
“I am your daughter!”
She waved her hand. “It’s an expression. But I mean this when I say it: think about what you want. Because being a merry divorcée with two young children is going to be a lot harder than you think.”
“And if it was Papa? You’d be just fine staying with him and pretending nothing happened when his whole office knew, and you had just been humiliated?”
Something changed in her face, and for a moment, I wondered if she had done just that. If she was about to tell me that Papa had cheated on her—honestly, I think that would have been a bigger blow than Larry.
And then she surprised me. “No. You’re right.”
It was the first time she had ever said those words to me, and I stood there, my mouth open.
“Close your mouth,” she said, tapping my chin. “You need an expression to match that haircut, and that isn’t it. I’ll go pack some things and be back over in an hour or so.”
“Pack?”
“Of course. You need help. I’m moving in until you get situated.” She paraded into the den and flipped off the television to both children’s protests. “Wonderful news, darlings! Grandma is moving in for a little while. Won’t that be fun?”
Fun wasn’t exactly the word I would use to describe living with my mother.
“Mama, you really don’t—”
“Hush,” she said. “Look how excited the children are.”
They actually looked angry that the television was off, but she flounced out of the house, leaving me with no room to argue.