Chapter 19
Two weeks before the reunion
You know you’re going to have to quit book club soon. Probably, you shouldn’t have come tonight, but it’s been a while since you left the house. A longer time since you had adult company other than your husband. You can’t hide forever.
So you say yes when someone offers to pick you up, and here you are, in an ugly (to you) modern house presided over by Aaliyah, who is always showing off.
Yes, she once worked at Cosmopolitan magazine.
Yes, she knows this author and that author and has great clothes and jewelry.
Yes, she still has an apartment in the city and yes, James Patterson is a close personal friend and yes, Aaliyah also wrote a book, even though it was shit and you were astounded it got published, but hey, she worked at Cosmo, has she mentioned this in the past five minutes?
Once, you and your husband went to a party at her house when you’d been to book club enough to know how fake Aaliyah was.
You told him you were going to take a drink every time Aaliyah mentioned a celebrity and “good friend” in the same sentence.
Your husband thought you were funny and subversive, not kissing Aaliyah’s perfect ass like everyone else.
He had to pour you into the car, laughing.
You’re pretty sure the two of you had some banging sex that night.
That was a long time ago. Even so, it’s nice to remember a time you and your husband had fun. It’s nice to remember anything happy.
Tonight, Aaliyah is dressed in her signature uber-cool shades of white—a boatneck sweater in some fascinating knit, four gold necklaces, ivory jeans, and sandals that show off her toe ring and neon-blue pedicure.
The same shade of neon-blue liner is drawn around her huge eyes, the color vivid against her dark skin.
She looks like that model who married David Bowie.
“Heroes.” Best song ever? Your dad loved Bowie, so you love Bowie.
Anyway. What are you thinking about? Oh. Yes. Aaliyah. Book club.
There’s a big spread of sophisticated food, because Aaliyah likes to outshine the rest of you. Smoked trout and goat cheese and figs and that Italian ham. Honestly. Who is she trying to impress?
“Does she think James Patterson is going to show up?” you murmur to Sue, who gives you an odd look.
You thought the James Patterson line was a good joke, but maybe it wasn’t.
You wonder why Sue never dresses up. She’s wearing her son’s college sweatshirt and baggy jeans.
Meanwhile, the other one . . . Carla? Carol?
Charlotte? . . . Corinne, that’s it, has just dyed her hair a flat, awful shade of black that makes her look older than just going gray.
You touch your own hair. Sometimes you forget whether you put it up or not.
Today you did. Hopefully, it looks nice and not sloppy.
Terri . . . nope, that’s not her name, and yet she’s your closest friend here.
It’s sort of her name . . . Anyway, she catches your eye and smiles—why?
Toni. Her name is Toni, and you should’ve known that.
There’s the usual chatter and gossip, humblebragging from Aaliyah about vacations and purchases.
Sue has been promoted. Corinne’s daughter is engaged, and she’s bragging about how fabulous the wedding will be.
You have a new purse, a cheery little thing you got on deep discount, which made you feel triumphant, but no one has noticed, and to bring it up yourself would be crass.
But come on. Someone should’ve complimented it.
Maybe they’re jealous. Not-Terri is laughing, though you don’t know why.
At you? Is she laughing at you? Toni. Her name is Toni.
The book was Aaliyah’s choice, as she’s hosting this month.
You can’t remember the title, or the name of the main character, but you did read it.
Aaliyah talks about the sense of atmosphere, the use of snow as metaphor, how she’d love to stay in the lonely beach cottage, serial killer notwithstanding.
“I never guessed who the killer was,” Corinne says. You roll your eyes. You guessed halfway, and your brain is rotting. Corinne is not the sharpest fork in the box.
“I thought it was pretty good,” Not-Terri says.
You have to stop thinking of her as Not-Terri.
It’s Toni. “I loved the premise. Definitely felt like the setting was beautifully described. The detective was so funny.” She is relentlessly positive, but on the car ride over, she groaned about having to finish it.
“You told me you hated it,” you say. “You said you always hate the books Aaliyah picks.”
Not-Terri-Toni flushes. “I—I don’t always hate them,” she says. “I mean, yes, they tend to be a little dark. But that’s the point of a book club, right? To read things you might not otherwise.” She gives you a look. She’s irritated with you for being honest. Whatever.
“I thought it was overhyped and boring,” you say.
“The main character was so annoying, always wondering if she was imagining things. ‘Are those fingers? Why would my boyfriend have fingers in his freezer? But he’s a pathologist? Don’t all pathologists keep fingers in their freezers?
Maybe they’re tiny hot dogs.’ And somehow we’re supposed to think she was smart.
I have no idea why the book was so popular. ”
Everyone grows quiet. You eye the artichoke-and-crab dip, wishing you could be alone with it. Take it to a closet and eat it all. Last night, you ate an entire jar of Nutella and felt sick afterward, but when you were spooning it in, it was so, so good.
“What?” you demand, aware that no one has said anything since you spoke.
Aaliyah glances at the others. “Nothing, Audrey. It’s just that you already said that. Pretty much word for word, about five minutes ago.”
“Said what?”
“Your opinion on the book.”
Your stomach feels cold all of a sudden. You’ve goofed. You feel outed and vulnerable.
“Well, I guess I feel shortly about it,” you say, faking a laugh.
“Shortly?” Corinne asks.
“Yeah,” you say, hearing the defiant note in your voice. “I mean strongly. I felt strongly. Jesus, give me a break. I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in about a month.”
“I’ve been forgetting words, too, lately,” says Sue. “My doctor says it’s common with menopause.”
But you’re not in menopause. Sue is close to fifty. You still get your damn period every month. Ostensibly, you could still have a baby.
“Or you go into a room and wonder why,” Toni says. “And I feel homicidal sometimes, especially with the parents of my students.” Toni is trying to smooth things over, and it annoys you for some reason.
“What did you guys think about the hot neighbor?” Corinne asks, turning the subject back to the book, but you still feel hot with shame for your mistake. Now they’ll talk about you. You’re sure of it.
This theory is proven true when you bring some glasses into the butler’s pantry, where the dishwasher is, and you hear Sue and Aaliyah talking in the dining room.
“What’s up with Audrey?” Aaliyah says. “She’s gotten so defensive.”
“Well, I wouldn’t go that far. But yeah, she used to be a lot more cheerful,” Sue says. “Something’s going on, that’s for sure.”
“She’s been so bitchy all night,” Aaliyah says.
“Well,” Sue says, “you never know what someone else is going through.”
Bite me, Aaliyah. You think you’re so perfect. And, Sue, can’t you be more original?
You’re done with book club. You tiptoe down the hall, grab your jacket and leave.
You’ll walk home. Screw them. Toni texts you a few minutes later—You okay?
Did you leave?—but you don’t answer. Let her worry about you.
Let them all have a hard think about the mean, gossipy people they are.
You never liked them anyway. Except Toni.
And Sue. But honestly, if you never saw them again, that would be fine with you.
Truth is, you actually might not ever see them again.
Because you’re dying. For a few minutes, you almost forgot.