The Dirty Book Club(14)

Beyond the wood railing, children squealed with joy as the breaking white water chased them up the beach. The briny smell of the Pacific Ocean seasoned the breeze. A hummingbird zipped by. M.J., suddenly exhausted, laid back, and remembered a time when she was inspired by things like that.



* * *



“AH-HA!” SOMEONE CALLED.

M.J. woke with a jolt to find a chic older woman glaring at her from the deck next door; a deck that suddenly seemed uncomfortably close to her own, now that it was occupied. Wide-legged linen pants and an ivory blouse billowed around the woman’s narrow frame. An old-fashioned key lay flat against her clavicle. Big and tarnished, it was probably a gift from a grandchild—something only a relative could love.

“Gotcha!” she said, with a mosquito-killing kind of clap.

M.J. sat up and shielded her eyes from the late-afternoon glare.

“I’m sorry. Have we met?”

“No, but I see you’ve acquainted yourself with my patio furniture.”

“Your what?”

The woman pointed a manicured finger at the chaise longue.

“Oh my God!” M.J. jumped to stand as if the yellow-and-white-striped cushions had sprouted fangs. “I’m so sorry. Dan took them, I mean, he borrowed them. He should have asked first, I know, but you were out of town so he figured—”

“And Dan lives . . .” She indicated the cottage.

“Just moved in.”

“And you?”

“New York.” M.J. shook her head, “I mean, here, I guess I live here now. With Dan.”

“And he is your . . .”

“Boyfriend.”

“So you just threw your boyfriend under the bus?”

M.J.’s cheeks burned. “I think so.”

“Smart.” The stranger winked, then offered her hand. “I’m Gloria Golden.”

“M.J. Stark.”

A warm, spicy blend of amber and powder perfumed the air as they shook. It smelled like a hug.

“Are you wearing Coco Chanel?”

Gloria flashed a row of white teeth as well preserved as the rest of her. “You too?”

“My mom did. But only on special occasions.”

“Honey, every day we’re alive is a special occasion,” she said as her gaze drifted to M.J.’s pile of discarded magazines.

“I had a little downtime.”

“That’s what friends, martinis, and stalking your adult children on Facebook are for, right?” Gloria exhumed a dented pack of American Spirits from a potted plant, struck her lighter, and shakily connected its flame to her cigarette.

“You smoke?”

“No.” Gloria inhaled. “They’re my husband’s. His cardiologist says his arteries need Liquid Drano, so he pretended to quit and I pretend I don’t know about his hiding spot.” She exhaled. “Every now and then I indulge.”

“What if he sees you?”

“I told him I was hosting a town hall meeting tonight and he couldn’t get out of here fast enough. It’s what I say when I need a little alone time with my girls.” Her eyes narrowed as if straining to find a fading memory. “It’s a funny thing . . . Back when Leo worked, I was desperate to have him home. And now that he’s retired I want him out.” She laughed to herself. “Isn’t that the way?”

“How many daughters do you have?”

“No daughters. Four boys. David, my baby, is almost thirty-seven.”

“Oh. When you said girls I thought you meant—”

“I was talking about my friends. When you’ve known someone since high school they seem young forever.”

A car pulled into her driveway. Then three doors slammed.

“Speak of the angels.” Gloria snubbed out her cigarette on the rosy cheek of a ceramic garden gnome. “A gift from my daughter-in-law, Kelsey. A real bitch, that one. Anyway, it was nice meeting you, M.J.”

“You too,” she said, meaning it. “Oh, and Dan will return the chair as soon as he gets back from the Realtor’s. He’s trying to open a medical practice here and—”

“Please, it can wait until tomorrow. And if he works weekends and can’t do it for a few days, so be it. My Leo worked so many Saturdays I started telling people he was a rabbi. You’ll bring it when you bring it.”

As Gloria left to greet her girls, M.J. tried to imagine growing old with the friends who knew her when she was young. To share a lifetime of memories, inside jokes, and milestones. To know who will be pulling into her driveway when she is Gloria’s age. All she saw was darkness.

M.J. gathered her things and went inside. “Mom, Dad, April?” she said, eyes closed, hands together in prayer in front of the open fridge. “I’m looking for a sign here. It doesn’t have to be big. Just a little something to show me the way, because things are pretty fucked right now and—”

The doorbell rang. She hurried to answer.

“May-June Stark?” said the FedEx deliveryman as if serving a summons and not a package.

Heart pounding, she nodded.

“This is for you.”

“Thanks, Curtis,” she said, while signing his electronic signature pad. “Oh, and call me M.J.”

“Only if you call me Neil.”