The Lobotomist's Wife(49)

Lucy had known Margaret since they were ten—she was as close to her as a sister. Still, Margaret was humiliated. When did the head cheerleader, who had climbed to the top of the three-tier tower of bodies, become the mess of a housewife who had to be cleaned up by her best friend?

“Okay, honey, okay. Let’s just go back into the dressing room.” Lucy gave her a nudge inside the safety of the closed cubby as she unzipped the dress and delicately placed it back on the hanger. Then she turned to her friend, who was sobbing now, and took her in her arms. “How can I help, Mags? How can I help?” she whispered into her hair.

Margaret just shook her head no. There was nothing anyone could do.

“You know, Maggie,” Carolyn said from outside the door. “I read an article in Better Homes and Gardens about the ‘baby blues.’ It said you need to get out on your own. Have a few hours a day away from the baby. That’s why we thought this shopping trip would help.”

It seemed like there wasn’t anything in the world that made her feel better. Her life was now a series of battles to fight off the darkest moments and try to put on a good face. “I know you are trying. And I appreciate it,” she said in between sobs. “But . . .”

“This was probably too much in one day. William is only six months old. Let’s go home. Maggie, I am sure you have something in your closet already that will look just as stunning on you!”

Margaret nodded appreciatively as she tried to wipe away the unrelenting tears.

“Oooh, yes! And I can do your makeup to complement your outfit. I have loads of samples you can take for free! C’mon, let’s go before that bossy saleslady comes back!”

Margaret gathered herself and, feeling both defeated and grateful, left the store with her friends to return back to the safe, suffocating world of her home.





Chapter Twenty-Seven


The Copacabana was even more extravagant than Margaret had imagined, and she felt awestruck as she and Frank entered. No wonder this place was almost impossible to get into.

As they arrived at their table, she could hardly focus her eyes, dazed by the phantasmagoria of Brazil all around her. The horns and the drums of the lively Latin band, the Copa girls twirling on stage in sparkling headpieces, the enormous fake palm trees—ten feet at least—creating the feeling of a party in a tropical paradise.

Frank gave Margaret an adoring once-over. “Pretty incredible.” He beamed.

“Yes, it is.” Margaret was so overwhelmed and grateful that he had brought her here that she felt almost unable to speak.

“I was talking about you. I feel like I’m here with Rita Hayworth.” Frank smiled at her with a grin that had been melting her heart since they were fourteen years old. “You look spectacular tonight.” He gave her a loving peck on the cheek and then pulled out her chair. They hadn’t been out like this in so long that Margaret had forgotten she could actually be in the world as a woman, not just a cook, laundress, and mother of his three children.

“How about two Pi?a Colada Copacabanas?” Frank raised his eyebrows to confirm with her and then turned to the waiter. They were seeing Harry Belafonte. Carolyn had told her that this was his “return debut,” after having been banned in 1944 for being African American. Margaret vaguely remembered reading something in one of the gossip rags about this but had been too busy with her studies to pay much attention. Anyway, this night probably cost Frank a week’s wages, and the headliner made it even more special. She needed to appreciate every single moment.

When their drinks arrived, Frank lifted his daiquiri glass. “Nothing like a paper umbrella to make an evening feel really special.” He smiled and put his hand on Margaret’s knee as she giggled, nuzzling into him. She loved the strength of his chest. And his spicy-sweet smell, so comforting and familiar; for a moment, she was that brazen young girl again who asked him to the homecoming dance. Back then she had picked him. She knew he would be too timid to ask her on a date, even though she could feel him looking at her differently. She wanted to be more than just the friend down the street who used to beat him in sprints. And she was pretty sure he wanted that too. She had been right.

So why, now, did she feel like she had to hide herself from him? Why did she have to pretend everything was okay when it wasn’t?

The waiter arrived with spareribs, egg rolls, pork chop suey, and even Cantonese lobster—Chinese food in a Latin-themed club! How perfectly exotic.

Everything was delicious, and the two of them ate as if they hadn’t had a meal in weeks. Margaret would normally have worried that her dress would burst, but right now she didn’t care. She didn’t know if it was the loud music, or the rum, or just being out alone as husband and wife but, for a moment, she felt like her old self: happy, carefree, brave. She threw down her napkin and turned to Frank. “Should we dance?”

“Absolutely.” He stood, holding out his hand to her, and then they made their way to the dance floor. The music was fast and the Latin rhythms unfamiliar to them both. Margaret tried to mimic the hip swings of the dancers onstage and failed miserably, which left Frank nearly doubled over in laughter. And then the music slowed. Finally, they could actually hear each other speak, and Frank held Margaret close.

“I think you know this already, but I thank my lucky stars every day that I got to have you as my own.”