Where'd You Go, Bernadette(38)
“Nobody started it,” I said. “It’s my fault.”
What does Kyle do, but raise his hand and rat himself out. “It was me.” His mother, Audrey, has hated me ever since, and she’s gotten the other moms in on the action.
So why didn’t I switch schools? The other good schools I could have sent Bee to… well, to get to them, I’d have to drive past a Buca di Beppo. I hated my life enough without having to drive past a Buca di Beppo four times a day.
Are you bored yet? God, I am.
In a nutshell: Once when I was a kid, there was an Easter egg hunt at the country club, and I found a golden egg, which entitled me to a baby bunny. My parents weren’t at all amused. But they grimly bought a hutch and we set up the bunny in our apartment on Park Avenue. I named the rabbit Sailor. That summer, I went away to camp, and my parents repaired to Long Island, leaving Sailor in the apartment with instructions for the maid to feed him. We returned at the end of August to find that Gloria had run off two months prior, with the silverware and Mom’s jewelry. I ran to Sailor’s hutch to see if he’d made it through alive. He was backed into the corner, shivering, and in the most wretched condition: he had become so malnourished that his fur had grown horribly long, his body’s attempt to compensate for his slow metabolism and low temperature. His claws were an inch long, and worse, his front teeth had curled over his lower lip so he could hardly open his mouth. Apparently, rabbits need to be chewing on hard things like carrots; otherwise their teeth will grow. Terrified, I opened the cage door to hug little Sailor, but, in a spastic fury, he started scratching my face and neck. I still have the scars. Without anyone attending to him, he had gone feral.
That’s what’s happened to me, in Seattle. Come at me, even in love, and I’ll scratch the hell out of you. ’Tis a piteous fate to have befallen a MacArthur genius, wouldn’t you say? Poof.
But I do love you,
Bernadette
TUESDAY, DECEMBER 14
From Paul Jellinek
Bernadette,
Are you done? You can’t honestly believe any of this nonsense. People like you must create. If you don’t create, Bernadette, you will become a menace to society.
Paul
PART THREE
Menace to Society
TUESDAY, DECEMBER 14
Griffin family Christmas letter
’Twas the week before Christmas
When all through the house
So much mud began flowing,
Our things it did douse.
We moved to the Westin
But did not despair
When we saw that the rooms here
Are beyond compare.
Warren dons a fine bathrobe,
And I in my cap,
Each eve we head poolward
For long winter laps.
At night we love nestling
All snug in our beds
While visions of room service
Dance in our heads.
So whatever you’ve heard
Which has given you fright,
We Griffins are fine.
“Have a swell Christmas night!”
*
From: Soo-Lin Lee-Segal
To: Audrey Griffin
Audrey,
I’ve been a nervous wreck trying to track you down after I heard about the mudslide. But I just now received your fabulous Christmas letter. That’s why you’ve been so quiet. You were busy turning lemons into lemonade!
Who knew the Westin was so luxurious? They must have fixed it up since I was there. If you ever get bored, I insist you move in with us. After the divorce, I converted Barry’s office into a guest room and added a Murphy bed, where you and Warren can sleep, although it’s a smidge tight with my new treadmill. Kyle can bunk with Lincoln and Alexandra. But be warned, we’ll all have to share the one bathroom.
Samantha 2 ships in three months, so of course Elgin Branch decides now is the perfect time to go to Antarctica, the only place on the planet with no Internet. It’s my responsibility to make sure things run smoothly while he’s off-grid. I must admit, though, there’s something thrilling about remaining completely unruffled in the midst of his mercurial demands.
You should’ve seen him this morning. He chewed out some women from marketing. I’m no fan of those marketing gals myself, traipsing around the world staying at five-star hotels. Still, I took Elgin aside afterward.
“I’m sure you had your hands full at home this weekend,” I said. “But you must remember, we’re all working toward the same goal.” Boy, did that silence him. Score one for us, Audrey!
*
WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 15
From: Audrey Griffin
To: Soo-Lin Lee-Segal
Oh, Soo-Lin!
I must confess, the Westin is nothing like I described in my holiday verse. Where do I begin?
All night self-closing doors slam, the plumbing chugs whenever a toilet is flushed, and any time someone takes a shower, it sounds like a teakettle whistling in my ear. Families of foreign tourists save their conversations until they’re standing outside our door. The mini-fridge rattles and hums so much you think it’s about to spring to life. Garbage trucks screech and collect dumpsterfuls of clanging bottles at 1 AM. Then the bars let out, and the streets fill with people yelling at one another in gravelly, drunken voices. All the talk involves cars. “Get in the car.” “I’m not getting in the car.” “Shut up, or you’re not getting in the car.” “Nobody tells me I can’t get into my own car.”