‘Doug, I really ought to mention that I’m married now, so this little flirtation we have going is no longer appropriate,’ I said, feeling quite satisfied that I’d taken part ownership of a game that had been his. It was the old responsible Sarah coming back to life. As I hung the Olympic medal of moral superiority around my own neck, I realized it had been a while since Doug spoke. ‘Are you still there?’
‘I’m here,’ he said.
‘What’s wrong?’ I asked. But I knew. Poor Doug was devastated that I was married now. It hit him in a place he hadn’t known existed. I was the cause of this womanizing louse realizing that he had a deep chamber within his heart reserved for true love.
‘Nothing’s wrong,’ he said. ‘I just thought you knew.’
‘Knew what?’
‘I’m married too.’
‘Since when?!’ I shouted loud enough that Reilly heard. Now fully dressed, he gestured to see if I needed his help.
‘Since ninety-four,’ Doug said. ‘I guess you don’t want me to go out with your friend anymore,’ he said, though his statement had a twinge of a question mark.
‘No! I certainly do not, you, you, you adulterer!’
‘Okay, then, never mind with the picture,’ he said.
‘Never mind with the picture?! Is that all you have to say for yourself?’
‘Merry Christmas?’
I slammed down the phone and returned into my warm home. ‘What’s wrong?!’ Reilly asked, surprised to see me stampede around the house, especially at this hour. ‘Bad interview?’
‘Very bad interview,’ I said.
Reilly shrugged. ‘I assume we’re doing carryout again tonight?’ I was struck by the guilty realization that I hadn’t prepared a meal for my husband or child in nearly a month. Who had the energy to cook every day? Okay, no one was asking me to cook every day. Just recently I wasn’t able to do much of anything any day.
‘Meaning what?’ I shot defensively.
‘Meaning I’ve got a coupon for the new Chinese place on the corner and was wondering if you wanted to give ’em a try,’ Reilly returned.
I cried the tears of decompression, which can easily be mistaken for tears of joy. I wrapped my arms around my new husband’s neck and sobbed into his sweater. ‘Do I tell you enough how wonderful you are?’
‘Sarah, what’s the matter?’ Reilly lifted my chin and looked into my eyes. ‘You’re not yourself these days. I’ve never seen you get so choked up about Chinese food.’
‘It’s not the food, Reilly. It’s how sweet you are. I guess I didn’t realize how much I missed being loved this way. I guess I’m realizing that I never was loved this way before you.’
‘And that makes you cry?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ I sniffled. ‘I know I don’t make much sense these days. Believe me, crying over being loved is the least of my craziness this holiday season.’
‘Do you want to see someone?’ Reilly asked.
‘I most certainly do not!’ I shot before I realized he was talking about a therapist and not another man.
‘Let’s not dismiss it out of hand, Sarah. Maybe you’re having the holiday blues, but if by the New Year you’re still not feeling well, we need to talk about counseling for you.’ I nodded in agreement. ‘I’ll pick up some Chinese on the way home, and I promised Hunter we’d watch Freaky Friday tonight. Y’in?’
‘Freaky Friday? Isn’t that a girl movie?’
‘You said All Santa’s Deer was too macho. I thought you’d be happy to see him get into a chick flick.’
I smiled and agreed. ‘I’m lucky to be your wife. Hunter’s hockey bag is packed by the door. I get him at three, right?’ Reilly nodded his head. ‘Six for dinner, seven for the movie?’
‘Ten for –’ Reilly raised his eyebrows suggestively.
‘Pencil me in,’ I said.
‘Pencil? You expecting a better offer?’
‘Reilly, there is no better offer,’ I said, plopping myself onto the bed and weeping again.
‘What’s wrong now?!’ Reilly said, putting his arm around me.
‘I don’t know. You get going. Hunter’s not dressed yet, nor has he eaten,’ I admitted. ‘His bag is packed, though!’
‘Sarah, I hate to ask this, but is Hunter’s bag packed with the same gear that was in it from yesterday’s camp?’
‘Yes. He doesn’t need new skates today, does he?’
‘Honey, he needs new socks and shirt. His mouthpiece needs to be cleaned. Forget it; I’ll take care of it myself,’ Reilly said, in a tone that suggested it may be he who would cancel our ten o’clock appointment.
As my taxi was stopped at a red light, I watched a blind woman cross Twenty-third Street with her dog. The day was as gray and icy as New York could get. Not the picturesque city Christmas featured in postcards, the ones where the Flatiron Building looks like a generously iced slice of cake sitting on a plate dotted with electric gumdrops. As they fought the cold, most people held an expression of steely determination. The happiest person who crossed in front of my taxi was the blind woman, who, when reaching the sidewalk, grabbed a treat and held it out for her dog. She patted his head, laughed, and continued their walk.
Where was she going? Why was she out walking and not in a warm taxi like me? And how could she stay happy in the face of blindness? I felt like such a failure of a human being that I was reduced to tears over trivialities like Doug Phillips and Chinese food when people had real problems to deal with this holiday season.
‘Ma’am?’ the taxi driver asked. ‘You okay back there?’
‘Excuse me?’ I asked, realizing that I was crying again. ‘Oh, thank you. I’m okay,’ I said recomposing myself. ‘I always get a little sad around the holidays.’
‘You and my wife,’ the driver said.
Oh, then you certainly mustn’t drive yourself and your mistress to your death and leave your wife behind with an infant or she may find this time of year especially difficult in the future.
‘You know us women,’ I said instead. I despised myself for not being more like the blind woman who was enjoying the present instead of dwelling on whatever hardships were behind her. I had Reilly now. My son had never been happier. My family was finally complete. It seemed that if ever there was a time to be celebrant, it was now.
I paid the driver and gave him an extra ten dollars.
‘Sorry it was a bumpy ride,’ he said, thanking me for the tip.
‘No it wasn’t. Your driving was perfect.’
‘You sure are sweet, lady. Most people woulda been bitchin’ nonstop about those last three potholes.’
I grabbed my purse, my umbrella and checked again to be sure I put my wallet back in my purse. ‘There were no potholes. Everything was as smooth as silk. Thanks again.’
I walked into the restaurant to find Gwen seated and chatting with our waiter. She placed her hand on his conspiratorially and the two laughed. She saw me and popped like toast, waving her hand and smiling. ‘Sarah, this is David; he’ll be our server today,’ Gwen said giddily. ‘He’s pre-med and Jewish.’
‘She only loves me for my résumé,’ David said. ‘Can I get you something to drink? Catch up with Gwenny?’
‘I don’t drink,’ I said flatly.
‘Since when? We drank sherry yesterday,’ Gwen reminded me.
‘I’ll give you two a moment to decide,’ David said, excusing himself.
‘Don’t you think he’s a little young for you?’ I said, trying not to sound annoyed. I can’t imagine why her flirtation with the twenty-year-old waiter would irritate me, but it did.
‘Quite a bit too young for me, thank you for rubbing it in,’ Gwen said, laughing. ‘But my niece Jessica is transferring to NYU in three weeks, and I think David would be perfect for her.’
‘Why, because he’s Jewish?’
‘No, because he’s a scuba enthusiast, loves cooking, is into jazz, and is a complete cutie pie.’
‘Oh,’ I said. She showed me.
r /> Every night, I go to sleep early thinking that when I wake up, my spirits will naturally lift. I convince myself that I’m overtired, though honestly I’ve been doing less than ever before. And sleeping more.
‘Why do you look like that?’ Gwen asked. ‘Are you ill?’
‘Like what?’
Gwen looked shocked by the question. ‘Like that. No makeup, messy hair. Your outfit looks like you threw it together while trying to escape a fire.’
‘I’m busy with the holidays. I don’t have time for primping,’ I said. ‘Look, there’s Sophie.’
Gwen turned to wave Sophie over to our table and quickly shot, ‘Since when is showering primping?’
‘Hey, girls,’ Sophie said, leaning in to kiss Gwen, then me. Decidedly warmer than yesterday, she asked if I had a cold. ‘Your eyes are all bloodshot. Were you crying?’
‘It’s a Goddamned Wonderful Life,’ Gwen explained. ‘Gets her every time. I tell her not to watch that sap, but she can’t help herself.’
‘Aw, that’s sweet.’ Sophie tilted her head and sat. ‘Jen can’t make it today, but she gave me her list of names and said to remind you that we’re putting our trust in you two. I told her that I know you’re doing this with Prudence’s best interests at heart, and that I already made a bunch of threats that we don’t need to rehash, right?’
Gwen and I nodded. David returned to our table and Sophie and Gwen ordered wine. ‘Let’s share a bottle,’ Sophie suggested.
‘Sarah doesn’t drink anymore,’ Gwen said.
‘Are you an alcoholic?’ she asked. I raised my hand to my chest in shock.
‘Do I look like an alcoholic?’ I said, realizing I should have taken the time to shower and put on a decent outfit.
‘Sarah, don’t take offense. I didn’t want to be the one to toss you off the wagon if you’re a recovering alcoholic. Let’s order a bottle,’ Sophie persisted.
‘Do I strike you as an alcoholic?!’ I asked again.
‘I don’t know. You could be. Are we going to go white or red?’ Sophie looked up from her wine list.
‘Let’s get champagne!’ Gwen suggested. ‘I think I may have found my niece’s future husband in our server, David.’
‘The one with the cute butt?’ Sophie asked. Gwen concurred.
‘Excuse me!’ I interrupted. ‘I would like to know why Sophie thinks I’m an alcoholic. I have never had a problem moderating anything in my entire life.’
‘Is she always like this?’ Sophie asked Gwen.
‘Like what?’ I demanded. Tears filled my eyes again and I would not have a holiday classic or blind woman to pin it on this time. Breathe deeply, I instructed myself. Recite the Greek alphabet, then count from ninety-nine to one by threes.
‘Sarah, are you okay?’ Gwen asked. ‘You look like you’re going to pop your cork.’
I slammed my hands on the table, a gesture so new to me I believe my palms were shocked. ‘First, you say I look sick,’ I pointed to Sophie. ‘Then you say I look depressed. Then you say I look like an alcoholic. I never knew how superficial people could be. I opt for a more natural look one day, and suddenly I’m ready for the Betty Ford Clinic!’
Gwen and Sophie eyeballed each other carefully. Gwen was the first to speak up. ‘Honey, no one said you’re depressed. Are you?’
‘Of course not!’ I said. ‘Things have never been better. I have a new husband, a beautiful, healthy son, a thriving career. What would I have to be depressed about other than being told I look like a wreck and a drunk?!’
Sophie chimed in, ‘Hey, my father is a recovering alcoholic. He’s more buttoned up than you, Sarah. Well, than how you usually are. And my ex-husband is a total drunk and he looks pretty together most of the time. All I meant was that if you were on the wagon, more power to you, that’s all.’ Sophie placed her hand on mine. ‘Order whatever you want.’
On cue, David arrived. ‘A bottle of Cristal,’ I said. After he left, I leaned in to ask Sophie if her ex was really an alcoholic.
‘You don’t have to whisper, Sarah,’ Sophie said, smiling. ‘He can’t hear you in San Diego.’
It amazed me how open people were about their lives. I’d known Sophie for less than three hours and she told me more about her life than I’d told my closest friends. No one knows Rudy was an alcoholic. Well, they don’t know it from my telling them. My own parents don’t know that Rudy had a passenger in his car the night he crashed. I was like a treasure chest at the bottom of the sea locked and wrapped with chains. Sophie was like a wishing well with secrets tossed about as carelessly as pennies.
That’s one of the reasons I only attended two Al-Anon meetings. I hated how everyone would tell every personal detail of their lives as if there were no boundaries to their privacy. I detested how everyone would say, ‘Hi, Sarah!’ in unison after I introduced myself. And I loathed how people said, ‘Thank you for sharing,’ when someone finished speaking. It was like being licked by strangers.
I was compelled to hear more about Sophie’s husband. Specifically, how she came to leave him. ‘Sophie, please tell me if I’m being too personal, but did you leave San Diego to get away from your ex?’ I asked.
‘That’s personal?’ Sophie said laughing. ‘Yep, I told Bob that he had until July Fourth to get sober or I was leaving. I thought that was a good date to declare his independence from alcohol or my independence from him.’ Gwen and I nodded. This woman was like a superheroine. Like, Super Ass-Kicking Girl with fire that shot from her boots so when she kicked your ass, it burned too.
David poured our champagne and I began to relax. I was laughing with friends. Tonight I would have Chinese food with my fabulous new husband and our wonderful son. We would watch a goofy movie on a plasma television set in a fully owned brownstone on the upper West Side of the most fabulous city on the planet at the most wonderful time of the year. I once was blind but now I see. ‘Waiter, another bottle please.’
Chapter Four
As Sophie, Gwen, and I finished our lunch we forgot to discuss the plan to find a new man for Prudence. Okay, we were a little drunk. Sophie leaned down to grab her purse. ‘I’ve got it,’ I said, offering to pay. Sophie smiled and pulled a manila folder from her bag, opened it, and passed a sheet of paper each to Gwen and me.
‘An agenda?’ I asked. Sophie confirmed.
Gwen glanced at the items and said, ‘Wow, impressive. “Objective: Find soul mate for Prudence. Deadline: January 1. Budget: Unspecified.” Do we need a budget?’
‘Sarah does,’ Sophie said. ‘Prudence spent close to ten thousand dollars to find you.’
‘You make her sound like a mail-order bride,’ Gwen said. ‘Why do we only have two weeks to find this guy?’
‘I’ve got to be honest with you, Sarah. We’re all going to lose steam for this after two weeks, so let’s just make a strong push over the holidays and be done with it by the New Year. Besides, the holidays are the perfect time to smoke out all the single guys. We should have a Christmas Eve party. Whoever’s alone that night definitely doesn’t have a wife and kids.’
‘No parties,’ I said. ‘Reilly told me about Prudence’s Wife of Reilly party and he said it was humiliating for him.’
‘Eh’ – Sophie waved her hand dismissively – ‘he was caught off guard by it. It was a beautiful party.’
‘It sounded dreadfully tacky,’ I reaffirmed my position on events.
‘What about a New Year’s Eve party?’ Gwen suggested.
‘Oh, that’s good!’ Sophie said.
‘No, it’s not good! Parties are in very poor taste.’
The two glanced at each other. ‘Parties are in bad taste?’ Gwen asked. ‘Because you and I have been to some lovely events together, Sarah.’
‘Charity events, Gwen.’
‘Think of this as a charity event,’ said Sophie.
‘No, no, no! No parties,’ I demanded.
‘Okay,’ they said, in united annoyance.
‘We need to think outside the bo
x, Sarah,’ Gwen insisted.
Sophie rolled her eyes. ‘That expression is so, so cliché it’s actually in the box,’ she said, before asking if I’d considered going online. ‘There’s a new site that I think you’ll like. It’s supposed to be an upscale Manhattan group. Go to singleinthecity.com and check out the men’s profiles. A friend of mine tried it and said the men were terrific. Some real hotties.’
Hotties?
Gwen took out a sheet of paper and suggested we share our list of single men we thought would be a good match for Prudence. ‘I’ll start. I think the first name isn’t going to be a surprise to Sarah because he’s a complete hottie.’
Now Gwen uses the term ‘hottie’ too? The woman is being absorbed into Sophie’s persona like a spill into a Bounty paper towel.
‘He’s charming, he’s successful, and, as I said, extremely handsome,’ Gwen said, as though she expected the introduction to be followed by a drum roll.
In a deadpan wry delivery, Sophie urged Gwen to spit it out. ‘The suspense is killing me. I can barely stand it another moment.’
‘Doug Phillips,’ Gwen blurted, with a smile. I think she may have even blushed.
‘Absolutely not,’ I said.
‘Doug Phillips. The name sounds so familiar. Why do I know him?’ Sophie said.
‘Why not Doug Phillips?’ Gwen said, pouting. ‘No parties, no Doug Phillips. I have to say, Sarah, you’re not much fun these days.’
‘Dark hair, chiseled features?’ Sophie snapped her fingers, remembering. I nodded to confirm that she was thinking of the right guy.
‘I dated him last year! Right after I moved to New York. Kind of slick but good for a few laughs,’ Sophie said, recalling her two dates with Doug.
‘Were you aware that he is married?’ I asked, knowing this was a pivotal moment in our friendship. Rudy cheated on me. Prudence cheated on Reilly. That made me the virtuous one, the one who’d never do such a thing. I couldn’t very well have a friend who knowingly ran around with married men. It’s simply not who I am.