Chapter Eleven #2
When Milly reached the gate and Lloyd already had his hand on the car door, he finally stopped to look at her. “I told you about this last night, Milly. I have to get back.”
“But it’s only Sunday. Sylvia’s having her party this afternoon. It’s for all the neighbors before all these college kids arrive for spring break. If you’re not there, people will talk. Can’t you head back after?”
An elderly couple walked down the back alley behind Milly’s house with an equally old dog following along behind them. Milly softened her expression—which she was sure was one of desperation. “Good afternoon,” she said.
“Hello, dear,” the gentleman said, and kept on going at a snail’s pace.
When they finally passed, Milly turned back to Lloyd. “Why did you park back here, anyway?”
“For privacy,” he said, through gritted teeth. “You said you don’t want the neighbors to talk if they don’t see my car out front. If I park back here no one will notice if I’m coming or going.”
“Well, you’re not going to be able to park here this upcoming week.”
“Why?”
“I’ve rented the cottage out.”
“What?” he said. “To who?”
“Some college kids are staying here for Bal Week.”
“What the hell is Bal Week?” Lloyd asked.
“I told you already. It starts tomorrow. Students come down here on vacation, and everyone rents out a room or their house or their guest cottage. I was going to tell you about renting it, but I’ve hardly had a chance.”
“You can’t just go renting out our house to strangers without even discussing it with me first.”
“How am I supposed to discuss anything with you if you’re never here?
” she said. Then she shook her head. This was not her plan.
She had told herself she was going to make Lloyd’s visits pleasant and enjoyable, no matter how infrequent, so he would be reminded of what he was missing when he was away.
And she certainly didn’t mean to air her grievances within earshot of her neighbors.
“I’m sorry,” she said, placing her hand on his arm, a gesture that now, after nine years of marriage, felt strange and unfamiliar.
“I should have spoken to you about it first, but it will cover some of the club fees.”
“Yes, the club, that’s another thing you should have spoken to me about.
” He shook his head and closed his eyes as if trying to contain his exasperation with her.
It hurt. It burned to see him so annoyed with her mere existence.
Was she that intolerable? Was she that hard to be around?
How had this happened to them? They used to enjoy each other’s company; they used to be companions, friends, but now even that seemed to have faded away.
“I just wish you could stay a few more hours for the party,” Milly sighed, then added, “and for the kids.”
“The kids are fine; they seem happy.”
They were only happy, Milly thought, because they didn’t know what was really going on. They didn’t know that their father was likely carrying on with some gorgeous young actress up in Hollywood.
“Look, Milly.” He softened a little. “I’m sorry about all of this.
You’re doing a good job. You’re a great mother.
Beverly’s having one of her Sunday socials, and she’s insisting I be there.
I’m sorry.” Then he got in the car. “So, I’ll see you the following weekend then, if you’ve got our house rented out. ”
“Not our house, just the guest cottage!” Milly cried as he started the engine.
“It’s the same thing,” he shrugged. “I’ve left you money on my desk, should you need extra,” he said before driving off.
Milly stood for a second, watching the dust rise up behind his car. “But it’s Easter,” she said in a whisper as she realized her plan had backfired yet again. “Next weekend is Easter.”
“Good Lord,” Milly said as she turned the corner of her street onto South Bay Front and saw all the people gathered on Sylvia’s front yard.
“What, Mommy?” Debbie asked, looking up at her.
“It’s so elaborate. I thought Sylvia said she was only inviting a few families.”
The barbecue was set up surrounded by picnic tables dressed with Sylvia’s favorite red-and-white-checkered tablecloths.
There was an entire children’s section where kids were playing on the sand, while the adults kept an eye on them from the expansive front yard.
The Johnsons’ small rowboat was moored at the water’s edge.
A swimming platform had a slide into the water, and the young lifeguard from the club was standing by.
Plastic buckets filled with pretzels, cheese puffs, and chips had mini shovels to be used as scoops, and a tray of watermelon triangles on Popsicle sticks were all arranged beautifully on a snack table, ready to be devoured.
“Suzanna’s here!” Debbie screamed with delight as she saw her friend from school and tried to pull away.
“Wait,” Milly said. “First we say hello to the hosts and we thank them for inviting us, and then you may play with your friend, but only if you take Jack with you.”
Debbie groaned.
“Or you can stay by my side the whole evening.”
“Fine,” Debbie said.
“I want to stay with you, Mommy,” Jack said.
“Mommy has to talk to the grown-ups,” Milly said, dreading the very idea of it.
As they walked through the party, all Milly could see was couple after couple after couple.
She felt naked without Lloyd by her side, as if she had a spotlight on her as she entered the party single with a child attached to each hand.
She stayed on the periphery, hoping not to draw attention to herself, glancing around only to locate Sylvia.
She heard her laugh first, then saw her and Walter holding court with four other couples near the outdoor bar.
My God, she thought, they really did have it all.
Sylvia looked so at ease and fabulous in a full navy skirt with a white-and-blue-striped boatneck top that just grazed her shoulders—dressy enough for the hostess, casual enough for a backyard gathering.
Maybe she should take Debbie and Jack to find the other children first, Milly thought, but then she’d have to reenter the adult side of the party completely alone, and that would be more glaring. She paused for a second thinking that this was a mistake; maybe she shouldn’t have come at all.
“Mommy,” Debbie said loudly. “I want to see Suzanna!”
Sylvia looked up and waved them over.
“Milly, darling, where’s Lloyd?”
Of course, it was the very first thing she asked.
“He had to work,” she said.
“Work? On a Sunday?” Sylvia said.
“He must be a pretty important guy if they drag him in on a Sunday,” Walter said.
“He is,” was all Milly could think to say. Then she quickly added. “He was so disappointed, though; he really wanted to come.”
Sylvia looked confused and kept her eyes on Milly as if about to question her further, but Milly turned away and smiled at a few women gathered nearby whom she’d met at the club. Debbie pulled at her mother’s sleeve, and Milly nudged her toward Sylvia.
“Thank you for having us, Mrs. Johnson,” Debbie said, then she actually curtsied as if she were meeting royalty, not a neighbor throwing a backyard barbecue.
Jack followed suit. “Thank you,” he said, then he also curtsied, further convincing Milly that he needed his father around.
“They’re adorable,” Sylvia said. “Just the cutest little things. My Judith is around here somewhere.” Sylvia looked down toward the beach where some of the children were.
“Or she might still be in her room getting ready, but I’m sure she’ll watch your two and give you a break.
You deserve it. You’re doing all the hard work bringing these two without Lloyd to help. ”
“Oh, that’s sweet. I’m sure they’d love that,” Milly said.
When the kids ran off hand in hand, Milly stood there feeling idle.
No children to fuss over, no husband to hang on to, just her, exposed, likely the only guest alone at the party.
She saw people walking past her with tropical-looking cocktails and pink umbrellas poked into floating pineapple.
One of those would give her something to do with her hands, and the alcohol might help her relax.
“I’ll take one, thank you.” She lifted a pink fruity drink off a passing tray and walked by a buffet table filled with platters of deviled eggs, shrimp cocktail, finger sandwiches, toothpicks with cubes of cheese and cucumber sticking out of a half melon.
There was a fondue table and a couple of different Jell-O salads that looked too perfect to cut into.
White paper lanterns were strung from the trees, and the whole thing was quite lovely—if only she didn’t feel so out of place.
There must have been at least fifty guests, some she recognized and some she didn’t.
As she cut her way through the crowds, a woman tapped her on the shoulder.
“Oh, hi, Milly,” she said. “I’m Maureen. We met at the club.”
“Of course. Nice to see you, Maureen.”
“And this is my husband Jack.”
“Great name,” Milly said. “I have a Jack.”
“I thought you had a Lloyd.”
“I do. Jack is my son.” She pointed to Jack’s little blond head of hair poking out from behind a deck chair, where he was digging a hole in the sand. “My husband is Lloyd.”
Maureen and her husband seemed to wait for her to say more, to point him out. “He’s not here, unfortunately.”
“Oh, too bad. Is he sick?”
“Yes,” Milly said, thinking that would just be easier—he was just sick, poor guy—but then she remembered she’d just told Sylvia and Walter that he was working. “I mean no,” she quickly corrected. “No, not sick, perfectly healthy, just had to work.”
“On a Sunday?” Maureen’s husband said, and Milly almost rolled her eyes. Yes, she thought, on a goddamned Sunday. Why does anyone care? Don’t they have enough going on in their own lives to worry about where Lloyd is?
“It’s called a weekend for a reason,” Jack went on. Maureen nodded in agreement, and Milly wanted to punch him in the face.
“He works in television,” Milly said. “He has clients in town, big names.”
Maureen’s eyes widened. “Television!” she exclaimed, clasping her hands together. “How exciting! What does he do? Hey girls,” she called out to several ladies grouped next to them, “Milly’s husband works in television.”
All heads turned toward her, and Milly had the feeling that she’d gone too far, explained too much, too soon. Drawing attention to herself was exactly what she was trying to avoid. She’d have to work on her delivery, drop snippets of information more slowly.
“Does he work on any shows we might know?” a short, full-figured woman gushed.
Milly racked her brain. All she could think of was that soap opera that consumed him and that horrible, beautiful, Beverly Douglas, but she didn’t want to mention her or the show.
She tried to think of another single show that the station produced, but she was coming up blank under pressure.
What kind of wife knew nothing about her husband’s career?
She began to panic, she was going to blow her cover of being a perfectly normal married wife within minutes of seeing these women.
“CBS,” Milly blurted out the minute it came to her.
“He works for CBS Television Networks.” It was something at least.
“Oh my gosh, I love The Light Within on CBS!” Maureen said clasping her hands together. “And Kay Grant’s my favorite. What’s she like in real life? The actress Beverly Douglas, I mean. Surely you’ve met her? She’s so gorgeous.”
The mention of the woman her husband might very well be gallivanting around with made Milly want to vomit. She shook her head. “No, unfortunately not.”
“It all sounds so glamorous,” another woman, Joan, chimed in.
“Yes, it’s quite a production. They film the shows live every day, but there are rumors they might be able to prerecord them soon.” Milly smiled, hoping that this new piece of revolutionary information would be what they’d remember about her, not the fact that her husband was strangely absent.
“Do you ever get to be on set?” Joan continued, still fascinated.
Milly tried to recall. It had been so long since she’d been anywhere near Lloyd’s work, certainly before children.
“I had a walk-on role once,” she said. “As a secretary. I walked across the set and handed someone a stack of papers. It was my big break.” She laughed. “My only break.”
She thought back on the day, how Lloyd proudly displayed her around the studio and introduced her to his colleagues, how he’d accompanied her to the makeup and costume departments and even helped pick out her outfit, how someone had said she could be a model or a movie star, and how she’d known they were only being nice to an executive’s wife but she’d hoped Lloyd had heard them anyway.
“You must tell us what happens with Kay and Doug on the show, Milly, please. Surely your husband spills the beans,” Maureen insisted.
“Sorry, I can’t say.” Milly shrugged; she had no idea. “It’s top secret. But I have to check on my little one; so good to see you all.” She felt a bead of sweat trickle down her temple as she walked away.
A couple pushed a baby carriage along the pathway that encircled the entire island and was the only divider between Sylvia’s property and the beach.
She let them go by before crossing. Being surrounded by all these people at Sylvia’s party made her feel overcome with loneliness, worse than sitting alone in her kitchen.
Here she was reminded of everything she was losing—a companion, a comfort, a crutch—as well as everything she had at stake if people were to find out.
She wouldn’t even be invited to this kind of gathering if they thought her husband only came home to save face on the weekends, and she certainly wouldn’t be invited if they suspected a divorce.
Divorce was contagious; divorce was a threat.
No one would want their children spending time with children of a single mother.
Tears welled in her eyes as she looked over at Jack and thought of him and Debbie getting caught up in her heartache.
Jack was so deeply immersed in carving out a hole in the sand and was now taking a bucket to the water to fill it, only to have most of the water spill out before he got it back to his trench.
She saw Debbie notice his attempts and she expected her to ignore it; she was, after all, deep in conversation with her friend Suzanna, sitting on the edge of the pier, legs swinging in synchrony.
But after a moment, Debbie got up and ran to Jack, taking the bucket from his little hands, filling it, and bringing it back for him.
She did it three more times before returning to her spot on the pier.
Already full of swirling emotions, Milly felt a single tear fall onto her cheek and she quickly wiped it away. She had to get hold of herself.