8. Getting Old Isn’t for the Weak
8
Getting Old Isn’t for the Weak
CARLY
To-do list—November 4
?? Update website with discount offer (don’t make it look too desperate)
?? Pick up wine and charcuterie for girls’ night
Do not be tempted to restyle my friends, who are beautiful as they are despite Savannah’s tragic dye job
A real grin stretched my cheeks as I took in my three best friends lounging on my living room furniture. Although we were still getting to know each other, these women made me laugh every time we got together. I hadn’t had friends like them in years, maybe ever.
The women in Brad’s sphere had come to my parties, but they weren’t my friends. Brad had gotten them in the divorce, just like my Peloton and the Jonathan Adler sofa.
Before my marriage to Brad, I’d had some fun times with my modeling and pageant colleagues, but it was nothing like this. For one, those girls didn’t stuff their faces with cheese.
“Oh. My. God,” Lucie moaned. “This is fantastic. What is it?”
“Sarró de Cabra,” I said, rolling my Rs. “I had it in Barcelona once, and I’ve finally found a cheesemonger who’ll get it for me.” I cut a small hunk and lifted it to my lips. It carried me back to Mediterranean sunshine on my shoulders, cobblestones beneath my feet, and the scent of spices in the open-air market. The cheese wasn’t cheap, but my friends were worth the splurge.
“Try some, Savannah.” Lucie held out a slice of baguette slathered with soft nevat.
“I shouldn’t.” Savannah sat on her hands. “I need to lose fif—twenty pounds.”
Lucie appraised her frankly, scanning from her round face to her curvy calves. “You do not. You’re gorgeous. Isn’t she, Carly?”
“Gorgeous,” I echoed.
“And Carly should know. She’s our style expert,” Lucie said. “Right, Tessa?”
Tessa repositioned her glasses into her wavy red hair before she grabbed a slice of jamón serrano. I noticed she avoided the dairy end of the charcuterie board. “Eat the cheese,” she said.
Savannah took the bread and cheese from Lucie. She bit into it tentatively, then her eyes rolled back. “Heaven.” She finished the snack in two more bites.
“Who told you to lose weight?” Lucie asked.
“No one. Me.” Her cheeks flamed, and Savannah stared down at her leggings. “Jason did. On Halloween, he caught me eating a mini Hershey bar and asked me if I was going to hand out candy or eat it all.”
I ground my molars. Brad had given me the same type of passive-aggressive criticism when we’d been married. But it wasn’t my place to judge her marriage.
Lucie, apparently, didn’t feel the same way. “What a douche! How long have you been married?”
“Thirty years.”
“Shit, girl.” Lucie tossed her curtain of mahogany hair. “How long has he been negging you?”
“Negging me? He’s not negging… Oh. I guess he is. A little.”
Lucie shook her head. “Tessa, what do you think?”
“One hundred percent negging. But I don’t think Savannah wants us to criticize her marriage tonight.”
“It’s okay,” Savannah said. “I know the seminar was garbage, but talking with you all has made me question things.”
“Really?” I leaned forward. “What things?”
She was right about the seminar in Monterey being garbage. When the speaker told us we needed to treat our men like gods so they’d worship us as goddesses, we had walked out and complained about it in the bar afterward. We’d bonded. We even had a name for ourselves: the Goddess Gang.
These women had encouraged me to say yes to Andrew Jones’s bold proposal, and still, only they knew my secret.
Savannah reached for a handful of smoked almonds. “My marriage, for one. My career, for another. I stopped working when my oldest was born, but my kids are grown. My blog is fun, but now that I’m an empty-nester, I think I need to, y’know, talk to people. Maybe I should go back to work as an administrative assistant. I used to be good at making copies, setting up conference rooms, answering phones…”
“Yeah. No one does that anymore,” Tessa said. “But if you added a video component to your cooking blog, you could monetize it.”
“Wait. What do you know about my blog?”
“I looked you up after Monterey. It’s good. And it’d be even better if you added video. You could put it on YouTube and ClickClackGo.”
Savannah snorted. “ClickClackGo is for my kids, not me. And the ads earn me a little, but it’s barely enough to cover the costs of ingredients.”
“You’d be surprised,” Tessa said. “I could help you draw up a business plan. And I—I could find someone to give you seed money for the equipment.”
Savannah waved her hand at her white leggings and pale-blue tunic that matched her eyes. “No one wants to see this. They want to watch young, hot chefs like Padma Lakshmi and Kelsey Barnard Clark. Not people like me.”
“You’re funny and engaging and kind. I’d watch you,” I said, “even though I don’t cook.”
Savannah ducked her head. “No, I don’t think so. Not like…not like this.” She smoothed a hand over her generous hip. “I’m not beautiful and stylish like you.”
“Beautiful?” I snorted. “My husband traded me for a newer model. Stylish is easy. All you need is a little update.”
“Your ex is an idiot. But could you give me an update?” Savannah’s eyes went round. “I thought I’d need a complete overhaul.”
My fingertips tingled with possibility. Savannah might be a caterpillar with her helmet hair and cocoon-like outfits, but a few changes and an infusion of confidence would turn her into a curvy, blue-eyed butterfly.
“Are you sure you want my advice?” I asked. “Not everyone wants a critique of their look.” We hadn’t been friends that long, and I couldn’t afford to screw up my new friendships.
She jutted out her chin. “People pay you to tell them what to change. I can take it. Like those people on Queer Eye.”
“You go, girl.” Lucie lifted her glass of wine. “You got this.”
I narrowed my eyes at Savannah. “How long has your hair been that color?”
“All my life. When my grays started coming in, I started dying it. But I’m naturally blond.” She clutched at the ends of her long bob. “Why?”
Because you look like you’re wearing a Green Bay Packers helmet. “The single color looks a little flat. I think some highlights would frame your face better. Or you could see what the gray looks like. Gray is trendy now.”
“Gray?” Her blue eyes widened like I’d told her to shave her head. “But I’ll look old.”
I winced. Maybe I should’ve started with her clothes. “Okay, then try the highlights. You might like them.”
“Gray.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’ll think about the highlights.”
Tessa topped off Savannah’s wine, then settled deeper into the cushion. “Do me next.”
“Wait, you want feedback on your style too?” Could our friendship survive this?
“Give it to me,” she insisted. “You’re a pro.”
“Fine,” I said. “You’re easy. Do you own any clothes that aren’t black?”
“Nope. Black is the best. I could spill this entire glass of wine on myself and no one would be the wiser.”
“Please don’t,” I said. Her black sweater and black jeans might be able to take it, but my wheat-colored sofa couldn’t. “With your red hair, you’d look gorgeous in emerald green.”
She curled her lip. “I’d look like a fucking leprechaun.”
I shook my head. “You could try a cobalt or a deep purple. Those colors would warm up your skin.”
“I thought you were going to tell me to wear makeup or some shit, not threaten my emo existence. You’ll take my black pants off my cold, dead body.”
“Your skin is beautiful, and you don’t need makeup if you don’t want it,” I said.
“Especially with your eyes,” Savannah said. “They’re the coolest. Like jade.”
“Thank you,” Tessa said, fiddling with her glasses.
“Okay, my turn,” Lucie said. “You going to tell me to stop wearing black?”
I bit my lip. I was oh for two so far, and I didn’t think this would go any better. “No, your black is fine. Between your skin tone and dark hair, it works. I’d suggest you update your makeup, though.”
“My makeup?” She widened her eyes. “It looks like everyone’s.”
“It looks like everyone’s did in the nineties. Today, people tend to go with a fuller brow and softer eye.”
Tessa nodded. “It’s true. I wore makeup like that in the nineties. You look like my yearbook picture.”
“Huh.” Lucie lifted her phone and looked at her image in the camera. “A softer eye. And more eyebrows?”
“You could pencil them in while your natural brows grow in.” If they’d grow in after decades of overplucking. “I could do your makeup for you someday.”
“Could you do my makeup like yours at that gala? When Loverboy couldn’t keep his eyes off you?”
“Loverboy.” I let out my breath. Our friendship had survived my style advice. “Are you sure you’re thirty-nine and not eighty-nine?”
“Deflect much? He looked at her like Ben Affleck looks at JLo,” she informed Tessa and Savannah.
“He did?” Tessa asked. “Why the fuck didn’t you stay and talk to him that day I drove you to his mother’s place?”
“What?” Lucie and Savannah said at the same time.
“She ran out the back door like a bank robber. Made me her getaway driver. All because he was there.”
My cheeks burned. “I couldn’t face him.”
Lucie’s eyes looked preternaturally wide with her heavy eyeliner. “You totally should have stayed and tested rule number three.”
“Which one was rule number three?” Savannah asked. “The one where they don’t talk about the age difference?”
“No, that was rule number one,” Tessa said. “Three was only for one night. I think Lucie means rule two, not telling anyone.”
“Especially his mother,” I said. “I didn’t trust us not to give it away. You saw what happened at the gala when we danced. I was not okay.”
“You think his mother would have an issue if you dated?” Tessa asked.
My laugh bordered on hysterical. “An issue? I’m a dozen years older than him. Of course she’d have an issue. I’m her peer. Or her rival. She made my client cancel. I’m sure of it.”
“Why does his mother have it in for you?” Savannah asked. “I thought you were friends.”
“Sort of,” I said. “We used to be on charity committees together. But she was friends with Brad’s first wife. Plus, I can be a little competitive.” My mom had taught me when I was six that as nice as most of the other pageant girls were, they were my adversaries. Winning had always been the priority over making friends.
Even more important than winning? The appearance of it. Win or lose, I carried myself like I wore the tiara. In my twenties, that perspective was still stuck in the back of my mind.
The first time I met her, Audrey Jones had wowed me with her elegance and confidence. The party had been at her home, and she’d taken my arm and introduced me around. I’d been so na?ve to have thought she liked me or that things could be different with friends outside the pageant and modeling world.
It wasn’t until after I’d married Brad six months later and thrown my own party that I’d learned how she really felt about me. She took one look at what I’d thought was a unique event on Brad’s yacht and muttered, “How vulgar.” I’d fallen back on Mom’s advice about not making friends, and my competitive nature wouldn’t allow me to take the insult lying down.
“There was a bit of a rivalry,” I said. “We were always trying to one-up each other with our parties.”
In those days, backed by Brad’s money and power, I’d been brave enough to stand up to Audrey, to let disdain curl into my voice as I cut her down with artfully veiled criticisms and threats. Perhaps if I’d been softer, friendlier, she and her cronies wouldn’t have ditched me when Brad did. Now I needed them to keep my business afloat. The last thing I could afford was a full-blown war with Audrey Jones Hayes.
“But wouldn’t she try to like you if she knew you and Andrew were together?” Savannah asked, her blue eyes round and trusting. “I’m always nice to my sons’ girlfriends.”
“If Audrey Jones Hayes finds out I slept with her son, a canceled styling appointment will be the least of my worries. She’ll ruin me. Regardless, we are absolutely not together.”
“That’s too bad,” Savannah said. “You two had outrageous chemistry. Are you sure you couldn’t work it out with him?”
“No.” He was young and good-looking. Women had to be knocking down his door to date him. He’d forget me soon enough.
Fucking Brad had.
“I’m not looking for a man,” I said. “I’ve been there, done that. I have the scars to prove it. I’m laser-focused on my business right now. This is my second chance. My ex always talked about his work as his legacy. And I supported him and his business for years. Now I’m going to build my own legacy. I’ll show him. I’ll show everyone.”
“What does success mean to you, Carly?” Lucie had pulled a notebook and pencil from her pocket. Her pencil hovered over the page.
“I guess…” I drew on the image that comforted me when I woke up in the middle of the night. “My phone ringing all the time with calls from clients.”
“What are you writing, Lucie?” Tessa asked.
Lucie mumbled something about inspiration.
Savannah patted my knee. “I’m sorry about Andrew. He seemed like a nice guy, like he’d make you happy.”
My face heated. He’d made me happy, all right (more than once that night). I couldn’t afford that kind of temptation.
“What’s that?” Lucie looked at my front door, where an envelope had just slid under.
“Must be my upstairs neighbor,” I said. “They’re always mixing up our mail.”
Lucie scurried over to pick it up. She held the corner between her finger and thumb like it was covered in toxins. “Are they serious?”
“What?” Sweat broke out along my hairline. Was it a collections notice? I wasn’t that late with my credit card payment. I was running out of designer handbags to sell.
“Looks like an invitation.” She held the thick envelope out to me. “To your ex’s wedding.”
I took it from her. The heartbreakingly familiar return address on the back flap, the script made out to Ms. Carly Rose and Guest, and the thick ivory paper all told me Lucie had guessed right.
I took a sip of wine, then slipped a finger under the flap and pulled out the contents one by one. The wedding was on Christmas Day in Barcelona. Barcelona? Had he chosen it on purpose to hurt me? I flipped through the papers until I found a slip of thinner, light-blue paper with a handwritten note:
I really hope you can make it, friend!!! XOXO Hayley
She’d signed her name with a looping Y with a heart sketched on the end of the tail.
Ugh. I swallowed the last of my wine then held out my glass. Tessa refilled it.
“So,” Lucie said, “will you go?”
I set down the wine to keep from chugging it. Go? To sit and watch Brad erase my happy memories of Barcelona and replace them with something painful? To be stared at and judged for having nothing to show for the past twenty years of my life?
“No, thank you.” I stuffed a piece of cheese into my mouth and didn’t even taste it.
Tessa narrowed her eyes. “I think you should.”
I held my hand over my mouth to keep the cheese in. “What?”
Lucie said, “Nope. That shitstain doesn’t merit a transatlantic flight.”
Savannah frowned. “I don’t know. Maybe you need it for closure.”
“Closure?” Lucie exclaimed. “I’m pretty sure a whole-ass divorce is all the closure she needs. She’s gone through enough on his behalf. No need to watch him marry someone else.”
I swallowed. “Exactly!”
Tessa said, “Lots of potential clients will be at their wedding. Showing up looking fabulous could build you up in their eyes.”
“And…” Savannah twisted her lips. “That note from Hayley breaks my heart. I think she needs you there.”
“Hell, no!” Lucie burst out. “She was screwing Brad while Carly was still married to him!”
Tessa shrugged. “You don’t owe Hayley anything. Go for yourself. Or don’t.”
“But, Carly,” Savannah said, “I think you remember how hard it was when you first joined Brad’s world.”
Shit, that hit me right in the chest. I remembered exactly how it felt to be the outsider.
But Tessa and Lucie were right. I didn’t owe Brad or Hayley anything. I needed to focus on myself, on my mental health, on my goals. Letting Brad humiliate me and sully my memories of Spain wouldn’t help with that. Going would only shine a light on my failed marriage. I hoped people might forget I’d ever made the mistake of marrying Brad. Then I could move on and be known for my achievements.
“If you do decide to go,” Lucie said, “wear those spike heels you wore to the gala, and while you’re dancing at the reception, accidentally kick Brad in the nuts.”
Savannah glanced at Lucie’s glass. “How much have you had to drink?”
While Savannah and Lucie argued about whether or not she was sober, I laughed. I couldn’t help it. I laughed until tears prickled at the corners of my eyes, and I had to wipe them away with my sleeve.
Lucie defiantly set down her wineglass. “What’s so funny?”
“We are,” I said. “Thank you. You’ve made me feel better.”
Savannah leaned over and hugged me, and her stiff-sprayed hair poked my cheek. “Anytime. Goddesses forever.”
“I’m not going to the wedding,” I said. “Thanks for helping me figure that out.”
Tessa said, “You can count on us to always be on your side. Let’s do a spa day Saturday. My treat.”
A spa day with my friends didn’t feel like failure at all.
“Hey.” Lucie slapped her hands on her thighs. “Let’s get some real food to soak up some of this wine.”
“You know I don’t cook.” I emptied the wine into my glass and stood to get another bottle from the rack in the kitchen. “We can order something. There’s a good Thai place that delivers.”
“I’m on my period,” Lucie said. “I need salt. Chinese? Or pizza? Do you have any ice cream, preferably chocolate?”
“We can order from Red Rover,” Savannah said. “They’ll bring pizza, Chinese, and ice cream, all packed in those cute thermal bags.”
“No,” Tessa said. “No Red Rover. Ordering directly from the restaurant is better.”
“Why?” Lucie asked. “The restaurant gets our money regardless, and Red Rover will bring me a bottle of Motrin.”
“They—they don’t treat their employees well, okay? We’ll order from the restaurant. I know an ice cream place that delivers too. I’ll buy. And I’ve got prescription-strength ibuprofen in my bag.”
Lucie held out a hand. “Gimme.”
Savannah chuckled. “I don’t miss that.”
“What?” Lucie chased the pill with a gulp of wine. “You’re already in menopause? But that’s for old ladies. You’re only ten years older than me.”
“It’s coming for you too,” Savannah said. “It’s not so bad.”
“I can’t wait,” Tessa said. “I’m going to have a menopause party.”
Savannah snorted. “It’s not so bad, I said. It still sucks. Wait till you get your first hot flash.”
I said, “I’ve had them every once in a while for the past year. The last one had me pouring sweat and then shivering for an hour.”
Savannah shook her head. “Soon you’ll have them every day. Getting old isn’t for the weak.”
I glanced at my mom’s photo on the side table. “I wish my mom was still around to talk about this stuff.” She’d never had a chance to go through menopause.
“Is that her?” Lucie nodded at the photo. “She was gorgeous. She rocked that eyeliner.”
“She died over twenty years ago. She was entitled to that nineties eye,” I said.
“I bet you miss her,” Savannah said.
“Every day. She’d have some good advice for me. She was a Miss Texas, you know. She always had her eye on the prize. I still hear her sometimes, pushing me to be the best.”
“I think we’ve all got a bit of our mothers in us. For some of us, it’s something to overcome.” Savannah’s voice went uncharacteristically low.
“Maybe I could do a piece on it,” Lucie mused. “Would either of you be willing for me to quote you?”
“I don’t know.” Mom used to say there were times for singing a solo and times for being in the chorus. With my business teetering on the precipice, maybe this wasn’t the best time to be out front with a mic.
“Maybe.” Savannah tucked a hank of blond hair behind her ear. “I usually prefer to fade into the background, you know?”
“Think about it,” Lucie said. “Meanwhile, I’ll do some research.” She turned to Tessa. “Dial, woman. I need salt now.”
“Tessa, you’re on ice cream. I’ll take care of the Chinese food.” I picked up my phone, feeling my face stretching into another grin. Even if my business sucked right now, even if I’d made a huge mistake with Andrew, I had friends. And wine. And that made everything all right.