Chapter 9 Natalie
Natalie
Natalie took the tray of homemade desserts from Beth’s hands. The pastries were beautiful. They looked like they belonged
on the cover of Good Housekeeping.
“I made extra for the kids,” Beth said. “I know how much they love chocolate.”
“Jill needs to learn to love it a little less,” Natalie murmured. She put the tray down on the coffee table and handed Beth
a Tom Collins.
Elaine was perched on the sofa, her legs crossed at the ankles, a martini glass in her right hand. She used her free hand
to pat the sofa cushion next to her. “Saved you a seat.”
Beth sat down and took a sip of her drink. Smiling at Natalie, she said, “Oh, my God! Is this straight gin?”
“Lemme fix it for you.” Natalie leaned over the coffee table and dropped a lemon wheel into Beth’s glass.
Beth laughed. “All better.” She sank into the sofa cushions with a sigh and turned to Elaine. “Where are your men tonight?”
Elaine pointed at the spiral staircase leading to the Scotts’ basement. “Charles is downstairs, and Benjamin’s having dinner with friends from the temple.” She looked at Natalie. “What’s Jimmy up to?”
Natalie tried to give a breezy reply, but a sour note snuck into her voice “He’s still in the city. He’s taking clients to
dinner and a play. They’re going to Medea, which burns me up because I’ve been dying to see that one.”
“He’s so lucky. What did he take his clients to last time?” asked Beth.
“Joseph and the Technicolor Dreamcoat,” Natalie said.
“Starring Bill Hutton.” Beth wriggled her brows. “He can invade my dreams anytime.”
Natalie returned to the bar cart and filled a shot glass with vodka. “The man of my dreams would be wearing coveralls and
painting every inch of the McCreedy place before the open house. Last night, I dreamed I made the kids paint. Even Justin.
It was your run-of-the-mill child labor dream.”
The women laughed.
“Once, I had a dream that Charles was in the kitchen, making me breakfast,” said Elaine. “I knew it was supposed to be a surprise,
so I stayed in bed. When I woke up, I expected to find a big mess in the kitchen. I was relieved when everything was neat
and tidy, but also a bit sad. Charlie’s too old to do something like that now. How did the time go by so fast?”
The conversation moved on to disastrous breakfast-in-bed experiences and Mother’s Day mishaps.
Natalie made a fresh round of drinks while telling a story about the time J.J. overturned an entire tray of food onto her
bed. Her comforter had been drenched in oatmeal, bacon, orange juice, and coffee. J.J. had burst into tears and fled, leaving
Jimmy to clean up the mess.
“And you can imagine how useless that was,” she said. “The man looks at the dials on the washing machine like they’re the control panel of a Russian rocket.”
She and Elaine chortled with mirth. Beth didn’t join in.
Natalie knew how much Beth wanted a baby, which was why she tried not to mention her children too often in front of her. But
it was hard to avoid. Most of her time and energy was devoted to her three kids. Even with her new job, the things she needed
to do for them were always on her mind. The calendar in the kitchen was filled with their swim meets and sailing regattas.
J.J. had a dentist appointment this month, and Justin had his annual checkup with the pediatrician. And she was always thinking
about their meals and snacks, planning menus, and making shopping lists.
Just change the subject, she chided herself.
Turning her attention to the dessert platter, she said, “I’ve been starving myself all day because I knew you’d be bringing
goodies tonight.”
Elaine pointed at a row of cake triangles made of layered wafers drizzled with chocolate. Chocolate buttercream peeked out
between the layers. “Remind me what these delicious morsels are called.”
“Andrut,” said Beth. “It’s a traditional Polish dessert. Last time, I made them with plum butter. This time, I went with chocolate
and almond. It’s French buttercream. Very light and silky.”
“Hmmm.” Natalie leaned closer to the platter. “Keep talking, baby.”
Grinning, Beth pointed at the next row of treats. “You’ve had the karpatka before, too. It’s a sandwich cake with creamy filling. And these are kolaczki cookies with three different fillings. Apricot, raspberry, and poppy seed.”
“They’re so professional looking,” Elaine said. “You really should sell your desserts. Have you talked to Don about your home business idea? I think you’d make a killing.”
“Me, too,” said Natalie. “Birthday cakes, desserts for dinner parties—I’ve never met anyone who can bake like you do.”
Seeing the defeated look in Beth’s eyes, she reached over and squeezed her arm. “Hey. What’s wrong?”
“Don and I aren’t talking about my home business idea because we’re not talking,” Beth mumbled. “I feel like I’m living with
a stranger.”
Elaine cocked her head. “What do you mean?”
“He comes home late, gobbles down whatever gorgeous meal I’ve spent hours cooking for him, and then goes to the den to watch
TV. When I ask about his day, he gives me one- or two-word answers. And he’s not touching me at all.” Beth lowered her voice. “In bed, he pretends to be asleep.”
An affair, Natalie thought.
She wasn’t surprised. Don flirted with every woman between the ages of sixteen and sixty. He saw himself as a Casanova, and
while Natalie enjoyed his gregarious nature, she didn’t find him attractive. He was too loud and way too hairy for her taste.
“Did you two have a fight?” she asked Beth.
“That’s the crazy thing. Everything was hunky-dory between us one day and totally weird the next. He’s not mean. We’re not
arguing. It feels like he’s not really there.” Beth tapped her temple. “When he’s watching TV or brushing his teeth, he looks
totally spaced out. When I say his name, it’s like I’m waking him up. Like he didn’t even realize I was in the room.”
Elaine studied Beth over the rim of her glass. “How long has this been going on?”
“About a week. Ever since he sold a car to Mrs. Smith.”
Natalie stared at Beth. Then she glanced at Elaine. Judging by the look of shock on her face, this was news to her, too.
“A car?” Natalie couldn’t wrap her head around it. “Does she even drive?”
Elaine pointed toward Mrs. Smith’s house. “I’ve never seen the woman. She could walk right past me and I wouldn’t know who
she was.”
“She’d have to come outside to walk past you,” Beth said snidely. “And if she doesn’t come outside, why does she need a car?”
“What did Don say about it?” Natalie wanted to know.
“Just that she called the dealership and asked for him by name. Said she saw the Porsche in his newspaper ad and wanted it.”
Beth pushed one of the pastries on the platter back in line. “She told him she’d pay the sticker price. In cash. All Don had to do was collect the check from her house.”
Elaine narrowed her eyes. “She’s ignored all of us for years. Why reach out to Don now?”
“I don’t know,” murmured Beth.
Tapping her nail against the glass top of the coffee table, Elaine declared, “I wrote her a letter yesterday.”
Now it was Beth’s turn to be surprised. “Why?”
As Elaine launched into her story of woe about the fireworks for Charles’s party, Natalie wanted to shout, Why does every conversation end up being about your son’s goddamn bar mitzvah?
Clearly, Beth didn’t feel the same way. She was hanging on Elaine’s every word.
“Did she write you back?” Beth asked when Elaine was done.
“Not yet. I called her several times this afternoon, but the phone just rang and rang. She never answered and we all know
she was there.” She speared Beth with a sharp glance. “Or is she driving around town in her new Porsche?”
“It hasn’t been delivered yet. It’s paid for, but she hasn’t told Don when she wants him to drive it to her house.” Beth passed her hands over her face. “I wish she’d leave him alone. I don’t want a trip to Jamaica if it means he has to go back there.”
Natalie took Beth’s empty glass out of her hands and carried it to the bar cart. “Mrs. Smith is a thorn in all of our sides.
I’ll never sell the McCreedy house if potential buyers are afraid to move in behind her. Jill just clipped the vines in their
backyard, and they’re coming from Mrs. Smith’s property. Every year, her vines encroach into other people’s yards.” Natalie
stabbed at the air with the ice tongs. “If this goes on much longer, she’ll bring down all of our property values.”
“Those vines have already breached the yacht club property,” Elaine said. Her blue eyes were feverish with anxiety. “I want
to put the party tent on the side lawn because it’s nice and flat, so I asked President Peter if we could cut the vegetation
back to the property line, and he said I’d have to get Mrs. Smith’s permission because the yacht club leases the land from her. As if asking permission for
the fireworks isn’t bad enough. I mean, does the woman own the sky?”
Natalie grinned at her friend. She liked it when Elaine got tipsy. With every cocktail, she was less poised. Less perfect.
She snorted when she laughed. She raised her voice. Occasionally, she’d even chew ice, grinding it between her molars like
a cow masticating hay.
“If Mrs. Smith can buy a new Porsche, she can afford to do something with her yard,” Natalie said. “I have the open house
on Sunday, but I’m going to church first. I plan to sit with Les Holton, who’s on the town board. I’m going to ask him what
can be done about the oriental bittersweet vines. They’re contained to our neighborhood right now, but if we don’t get rid
of them once and for all, they’ll spread.”
“Les can only do so much.” Beth reached into her bag and withdrew a clipboard. “I thought we could start a petition. Get the rest of the neighbors to agree that she needs to clean things up. That she’s driving down property values and allowing the spread of invasive vines.”
Elaine pointed at the clipboard. “Then what?”
“We show it to Cliff Hodges. Les is great, but he’s only a board member. Cliff is the town supervisor.”