“You coming over tonight?” she asked, cruising to stop in front of Stephanie’s building.
“Wouldn’t miss it. What are you fixing?”
“I thought I’d fix my pasta salad. Everyone seems to like it.”
“Yum.”
“What about you?”
“Wine, of course.”
“Of course.”
“I caught that note of sarcasm. Can I help it if you, Ann Marie and Ellie are better cooks than I am? No sense in disappointing you guys with my hopeless dishes.” She puckered her lips. “That was one of Brian’s biggest complaints. I was great in bed, wonderful to look at but I couldn’t boil an egg. Go figure.” She shrugged in her patent dismissive fashion, but her tone lacked its usual sass. “His loss.” She popped the car door open. “Thanks, Barb. See you tonight.”
Before Barbara could respond or ask the questions that hovered on the tip of her tongue, Stephanie had darted out of sight and into her building. For a moment she sat there wondering just what kind of night Stephanie had really had. She turned on the radio and slowly drove off.
She often wished she was more like Stephanie; carefree, secure in her sexuality and not caring much what others thought of her and her choices. Unfortunately she was the polar opposite, hence her dilemma about Michael. And maybe it was just as well.
Barbara arrived with only fifteen minutes to spare before she had to clock in. She went directly to the staff lounge hoping against hope that a fresh pot of coffee would be there to welcome her.
No such luck.
Mildly annoyed, she fished around in the cabinet and took out a can of coffee, determined to get one cup down before what she knew would be a long day ahead.
Just as she poured four scoops of coffee into the coffeemaker, her cell phone rang and not the alarm this time. She glanced down at the tiny, sleek gadget on her hip and saw Elizabeth’s number on the illuminated face. She smiled, snatched it up and pressed the green telephone icon.
“Ellie, hi, what’s up?”
“I’m gonna kill him!” came the ear-piercing voice, followed by the most heart-wrenching sobs Barbara had ever heard.
Barbara jerked back from the phone in alarm. She frowned, lowered her head and her voice. “Ellie, calm down and tell me what’s wrong.” Elizabeth Lewis was one of the most stable, sensible women that Barbara knew. She was never ruffled or derailed by unforeseen events. Ellie was the one who held Barbara’s hand and her head when her husband, Marvin, died. It was Ellie who was the calm during and after the storm, the only one of the quartet who Barbara felt comfortable telling her deepest secrets to…well, except the Michael thing. So, to hear Ellie come unglued truly meant that the stars were misaligned.
“I know you don’t mean that, and who are you talking about? It can’t be Matt. I—”
“Don’t you dare mention that bastard’s name!”
So it was Matt. “Okay,” she said gingerly. “Why don’t you tell me what happened. I’m sure—”
“After twenty-five years, twenty-five fucking years of my life I give to him and he does this to me!”
Her voice had reached operatic octaves and Barbara still had no clue as to what the “nameless bastard” had done. A door slammed in the background, followed by the sound of shattering glass. This was serious.
“Ellie, I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s going on.”
Elizabeth sniffed hard. “I…I have to get ready for my appointment. I’m sorry for calling you like a crazy person,” she said, smoothly sliding back into her calm, in-control self. “I’ll see you tonight.”
The call disconnected, leaving Barbara standing there more confused than when she first heard Ellie’s tirade. She slid the phone back into the case on her hip.
“Barb…”
She turned toward the door. It was her assistant, Sheila.
“Your first patient is here.”
“Thanks. I’ll be right there.” She looked at the percolating coffee, down at her cell phone and then the door. “And it’s only eight o’clock,” she muttered, walking out.
Fortunately, the rest of her day had been pure routine, Barbara mused as she did a final check of her two-bedroom apartment. The food was on the warming tray in the living room, the salad was freshly tossed and sitting in the fridge. Stephanie was bringing the wine, Ellie was always good for dessert and Ann Marie was the Caribbean-cuisine queen. She was sure to add some island flavor to their evening. Their favorite jazz station played softly in the background and a brand-new deck of playing cards sat ceremoniously in the center of the table.
She placed her hands on her hips—satisfied. They should be arriving shortly, she thought. Ann Marie was usually the first to arrive. She had a real thing about being early and was always willing to lend a hand with any last-minute doings.
As if she’d conjured her up, Ann Marie rang the doorbell.
“It’s raining cats and dogs and daughters,” she said, shaking out her umbrella and dumping it in the wastebasket that Barbara used for such occasions.
She helped Ann Marie out of her trench coat. “And daughters?”
Ann Marie turned toward Barbara, and her younger-than-her-years face pinched into a pained expression.
“Raquel turned up on me doorstep last night, complete with suitcases and a long story about leaving ’er ’usband.”
“What?”
“You ’eard me,” she said, sounding more annoyed than concerned about her daughter’s current state of marital un-bliss, her Jamaican accent in full force. She marched off into the living room. “I need a drink.”
“Help yourself.” She followed Ann Marie inside, noting the three-inch heels. Ann Marie was the only woman she knew who wore high heels to the supermarket. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that in bare feet, Ann Marie was no more than five feet tall.
Ann Marie pulled a bottle of Courvoisier right out of her Gucci bag, took the top off like a pro and poured herself a healthy glass before Barbara could blink. She marched off to the couch and plopped down, then looked up at Barbara.
“Can you believe it? She’s moving back in with me for heaven’s sake. What me gon’ do?”
“What are you going to do? What about Raquel?”
She sucked her teeth and waved her hand. “Raquel will be fine at some point. The question is, will I?” She took a long swallow of her drink that made Barbara wince, then began rambling in that rapid-fire way of hers, with her accent so thick you needed a translator to interpret.
Barbara held up her hands. “Hold it, hold it. I’m really not understanding a word you’re saying, Ann Marie.”
Ann
