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A Serialized Novel
"Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's house..."
Exodus 20:17
By Rachel Wildavsky
CHAPTER 4
Meanwhile, Dan and Inge were struggling with a familiar and distressing problem. It was Back-to-School Night and they had no babysitter.
Between chorus and homework and debate club and SAT prep, every teenager they could think of calling was already booked with something. Unfortunately, this was all too typical. Dan and Inge had learned long ago that teenagers were far busier than they were, and hopelessly unavailable. Other parents could sometimes be asked to watch their children-and Dan was in favor of this tonight-but with school the next day, Inge hated to impose. That left only Andrea's cleaning lady, but she was a grown woman with a family of her own and wouldn't even get in her car for less than $50.
At their age and station in life, the Gordons thought they should have arrived at the point where a $50 necessity didn't faze them. But, ridiculous as it seemed, they had not. There were plenty of months when they did care about $50, and this particular month just happened to be one of them. They resented being in this position, and the result was that they were now squabbling.
"It's reasonable, you know," said Inge, defending the cleaning lady. "I wouldn't work nights for less than $50. Why should she?"
"I never said it was unreasonable. I just wonder what everyone else does, that's all."
"I can tell you that. They have nannies who work for them during the day, and the nannies stay late. But I'm our nanny."
"Did you call Meghan?"
This, Inge resented. Meghan was a junior who lived across the street, and the idea that Inge wouldn't have tried this obvious solution was simply insulting.
"Of course I did," she snapped. "She works at a soup kitchen on Tuesdays."
"Tell her we're needier," said Dan.
Dan was especially irritable because their failure to find a sitter meant that he would have to stay home. Though Dan understood and enjoyed his children, he lacked his wife's knack for getting them through what had to be done on a typical weeknight. Already a discouraging disorder was rising around him like a sea, and Inge hadn't even finished dressing.
Inge wasn't happy either. She had tried on several sweaters so far and could not find anything that pleased her. Fishing in her drawer for something better, she reflected that she didn't want to go to Back-to-School Night by herself. She used to love this event, in the days when school was new, but lately she had grown to hate it: the parental pep rally in the gym before they dispersed to their children's classrooms; the self-congratulatory speeches about the educational program that they had, after all, already paid for; the pedagogical jargon that laced the teachers' presentations about the ordinary material they'd be covering in the coming year. But, most of all, she hated the gossipy chatter among the parents before things got rolling. It was like a cocktail party, and one that served only to remind her how different she and Dan were from the other, far wealthier guests. There would certainly be no one else in that gymnasium who could fathom balking at $50 for a sitter.
Inge peeled off a black turtleneck that added at least 15 years to her ever-more-middle-aged neck. Doing so, she reflected on the structural source of their problem at Caro. Because the school selected students for their brains instead of their bank accounts, it united families of very disparate means. Then it expected everyone to behave as if they had arrived on a planet where nobody really cared about money, when everybody always had and clearly always would.
She tugged a soft, blue tunic from a hanger. It had a splash of tomato sauce on the front, and she tossed it into the hamper with disgust. As she ran her eyes over her emptying closet, her thoughts returned angrily to Dan. Dan! His preoccupations were different from hers, but they were no less troublesome. Wasn't it his fault that they couldn't afford a sitter? Every time she talked about money, he began ranting about "quality"-quality of life, or work, or something. She reflected resentfully on the quality of the evening they were now having. Dan was anti-money, but he was still defined by it. Money wasn't a lifestyle choice that could be opted out of. It was a fact and you couldn't get away from it by not having it.
Nothing she put on looked right. Sighing, Inge reached for what she wore all the time: a beige pullover that, however uninteresting, did flatter her. Here was another fact: It was better to wear the same thing every day and look good in it than to introduce variety and look just awful.
She began to calm down. It was time to go. Fortunately, homework was always light on Back-to-School Night. Hoping to ease Dan's task, and in a bid to restore peace, on her way out the door she liberalized the usual television policy. On the resulting wave of good feeling, she kissed everyone goodbye and stepped out into the night.
The evening was dark and the air was crisp. It had been too warm in the house, that was all.
Inge's car was parked at the curb. As she slammed the door and started the motor, she began to redirect her thoughts toward the people she would soon be seeing. Everyone would be there. Win would be there.
Inge was not in the mood for Win, not with what she now knew about Jason and Gwen. But at least Win didn't know. That was one drama they would not have to face tonight.
Win, as it happened, was the first person Inge saw when she passed through Caro's broad front doors with a crowd of Back-to-School parents. Her tall friend was positioned conspicuously just inside the entrance, dressed to kill. And she was deep in conversation with Stacy.
Inge laid a hand on Win's arm as she passed, thinking to offer a friendly squeeze and move on. But Win turned at the touch and locked onto Inge's eyes with an unblinking gaze. Inge stopped.
"Hold on," Win demanded, without preamble. "I need to tell you something you won't believe. I'm just telling Stacy. You'll never guess who Jason's been seeing."
Inge's heart sank.
"I can't believe it," offered Stacy.
"Gwen. Kindergarten Gwen. Can you believe that?"
"No. Are you sure?" asked Inge, hating herself for asking. Pretending she hadn't known was no better than lying.
"Totally sure. Philip told me. And it's apparently serious. He's invited her to trick-or-treat with them." Win delivered a forced laugh. "It doesn't get more serious than that. My boys are 12 and 9. There is no more-federal holiday than Halloween." Inge opened her mouth, feeling that some reply was called for. But before she could speak, Stacy jumped in.
"I don't care if they're serious!" said Stacy. "Halloween-that's family time. Do you want me to tell her? 'Cause I will. I'll do stuff like that. When kids are involved I'm like-"
"No, Stacy, I think she's great!" said Win, breaking in.
"You do?" Stacy looked bewildered.
"Yes, she's perfect for Jas. I'm sure he's crazy about her." Win laughed again, braying. "She's the anti-me."
Inge would have to say something. "That's good, Win, that you're so-"
But Win interrupted Inge, too. "She can serenade him on her violin," she said a little unpleasantly, and again she laughed her braying laugh.
"But Halloween!" said Stacy. "That's for parents! With my kids that's like-"
"I'm dying to know when it began," persisted Win, not listening. "It has to be just since school started. Because when she was our teacher, believe me, he never looked twice. And wasn't she still with that other guy just last month? With Soul Patch? You were telling me, Inge!"
"I-"
"So you know it has to have moved really fast!"
All around them chattering clusters of parents were greeting and kissing and exclaiming. Many had not seen each other since the previous spring, and the great foyer at Caro rang with their happy conversation. But now, over their heads, the public address system crackled to life and a firm voice cut in, informing them that it was time to proceed to the gym.
Inge grasped at these words as if at a lifeline. Win had asked her when the relationship had started! What a narrow escape! Dan had been right-even righter than he knew. This affair was going to be worse than awkward. It was going to be a minefield.
"They want us to go in," she said, pointing to the air above their heads with a rueful glance. "I'm going to find a seat. It's packed in there. Win-amazing news!" And with a quickly blown kiss and another squeeze of the arm, she was off.
Inge had every intention of beating a hasty retreat when Back-to-School Night was over. She had a horror of being cornered once again by Win. Although further conversation about Jason and Gwen could not be avoided forever, it would be best if it did not happen tonight, when the origins of the affair were so much on Winifred's mind. While listening with one ear to the teachers' presentations, she planned to slip out five minutes before the evening ended, to be sure of making it to the exit ahead of the crowd.
But it was not to be. An unfortunate choice of a seat in the back of a crowded classroom held Inge prisoner until Michael's teacher had finished talking. The result was that she found herself stuck in the river of parents making their way to the exit.
When she did reach the lobby-just inches from escape-she was held up by Celia, the mother of one of Sarah's classmates. Celia was very upset about a new standardized test that Caro had just adopted, and she wanted to talk. Inge found herself pinned to the wall beside the great front doors through which she longed to pass. She nodded politely as Celia talked, completely unable to extricate herself.
Behind Celia's back, Inge watched the river of parents continue to flow, murmuring, across the open space of the foyer. As she did, a terrifying sight unfolded before her eyes. Over Celia's shoulder, Inge saw Gwen standing by the door, smiling and saying goodnight to the departing parents. Slicing toward Gwen across the crowded lobby was Win. Win's tall, thin body cut through the flowing crowd like a shark through the water.
Good God.
Inge averted her eyes and desperately searched Celia's face for an opportunity to excuse herself. Unfortunately, though, Celia was just reaching the red-hot center of her tale. It seemed that her child had a creative learning style, and the new test did not measure this.
"Have you spoken to the counselor?" Inge asked, shrinking into the door frame. She did her best to listen to Celia's reply, but it was impossible not to watch as Win laid an arm on Gwen's shoulder. It was impossible not to watch as Gwen turned and discovered that the person who had just accosted her was Win. It was impossible not to notice Gwen's quick, instinctive alarm, or to see that alarm shift to confusion as Win folded her into a quick hug.
Resolutely, Inge looked away. The matter was out of her hands.
Celia had indeed spoken to the counselor, who had not understood. Inge murmured sympathetically, and many moments passed. At long last she hazarded another glance over Celia's shoulder. To her relief, she could see that the crowd had thinned and Win had left.
Celia, too, now prepared to depart. "Speaking of Drew," she was saying, "I really should get home to her. I left Steve in charge, and of course that means nothing will get done."
"Got it. Good night!"
But Gwen had spotted her and was waiting.
"Inge, the best thing just happened! Win knows, and she's great about it! She doesn't mind at all! She said she thinks it's fantastic!"
"She did?"
Gwen's happy words tumbled out. "She said so just now! She said I'm going to be perfect for Jason. She said it was a slam dunk for him to call me. She said the most important thing in the world is the boys and she's thrilled because Jason picked someone who's so good for them. She wants us to be a 'team for the boys'-she said that!"
"Fantastic!" "No kidding! Inge, this is so great! I'm so incredibly relieved. I'm crazy about Jason but, you know, he just doesn't talk about Win and it's really had me worried. I was really, really afraid she was going to be a problem!"
"I'm so glad she won't be."
"She won't be a problem at all," continued Gwen, rushing ahead in her relief. "She said Jason's a great guy and she wants him to be happy. It didn't work out for them, but she feels really good about me. And she wants us to be a team. She said that!"
"Amazing." Despite her desire to stay out of it, Inge heard this with interest and more than a little admiration. You had to admit it was impressive. For Win to have set her own feelings aside and said such a thing to Gwen was very gracious.
But if Inge was impressed, Gwen was elated. "This is how divorce should be!" she cried, feelingly. "I really, really respect Win for this. This is how divorced people should get along. Inge, Win wants us to have lunch!"
Whoa. "Lunch?"
"You heard me! Lunch! Is that decent or what? I'm so happy, Inge! I feel like a huge barrier has been lifted from our path. I feel like there are no obstacles for Jason and me now. I feel like-"
Gwen stopped midsentence, following the direction of Inge's eyes. Another mother was lurking in the hope of speaking to the kindergarten teacher.
"Mrs. Barrett!" said Gwen, brightly. "Owen is doing great!"
"Well, only sort of," Mrs. Barrett complained. "He's not being stimulated, Miss Brice. We need to talk about Enrichment. You know, he's already doing multiplication-"
Inge planted a quick kiss on Gwen's cheek and slipped away.
As she pushed through the heavy doors of Caro and emerged into the coolness of the night, Inge reflected on her conversation with Gwen. So Win wanted to do lunch! No doubt it was good of her to have cleared the air as she had done, telling Gwen forthrightly that she knew. No doubt she had been generous in giving the new relationship her blessing. Her candor and courage-yes, it had been courage-had made this matter easier for everyone.
But lunch! It was awfully civilized, of course. But somehow Inge wasn't sure ...Characteristically, Dan was. He waved his arms in the air and declared it a catastrophe.
"This is a Judas thing," he said. "A Judas hug. A Judas lunch."
"Not to overstate the point," retorted Inge. She was home, and they were undressing for bed.
"I'm not overstating anything. Why, in God's name, do they need to sit down for lunch together? What can they possibly have to say to each other?"
"She wants to talk about the boys."
He snorted with derision. "Right," he said. "Not."
"Why not?"
" 'Cause what she wants to talk about is Gwen, Inge. Or rather, she wants to hear about Gwen. And Jason. And Gwen and Jason. That's why."
Inge privately felt the truth of this, but she did not want to cede the point.
"You just don't want to admit how classy that was, walking straight up to Gwen and wishing her well. How many ex-wives could have done that?"
"Oh, that part was good. I'll give her that much."
"That part was excellent," corrected Inge, pressing her temporary advantage. "Win is being a total grown-up about this. I'm very impressed and I'm very relieved. I think I'm almost as relieved as Gwen." She turned away, knowing how her next remark would sound and preferring not to look her husband in the eye when she said it. "I just don't want her to know I set them up."
"Since she knows where you live."
"Give me a break. It would just be awkward, that's all. I'm thinking." Inge spoke more tentatively now, as she introduced an idea that had been on her mind lately. "I'm thinking I might call Jason, and ask him to keep that part quiet."
He hooted. "Which you would explain how? 'I'd like my role in your shabby little affair to remain unknown.' Or, 'I double-crossed my real friend, your ex-wife, so would you please keep it quiet?' Or-"
"Stop! It's not a shabby little affair! These are two good people who are happy today because of me, Dan. You just don't want to admit that I had a brilliant matchmaking idea."
"You had a brilliant matchmaking idea."
"So you do admit it!"
"I do. I'm proud of you. And I'm really glad for Jas. He's had a rough ride and I want him to be happy. But now you should rest on your laurels. Do nothing. If you try to back out at this point you'll insult everyone concerned. And even if they weren't insulted, it's just too complicated, Inge. You'd be asking them to lie."
"You could tell him."
Dan laughed. "I can picture that conversation."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that when Jason is around-even just around-I never utter her name."
"That's a little theatrical."
"Not really. A guy like Jason-" He broke off, searching for words. When he found them they sounded like a warning. "He's not a hater, Inge. But he hates Win. And I figure there's got to be a reason."
CHAPTER 5
It was November and, although it was a Wednesday evening, once again Dan and Inge were going out. This time, though, they had hired Andrea's cleaning lady to stay with the children. The costly babysitter was already in the kitchen, fixing dinner. Inge had taken advantage of her presence to loiter at her desk.
Very soon she would need to get dressed. Uncharacteristically, however, she was reluctant to leave her work. She was anxious about her business. She had earned too little lately. They were already bleeding money and had just received their annual letter from Caro, informing them that tuition next year would rise by another 8 percent. More and more often, there were months when Inge thought of the place as a beast that meant to kill them.
She was weary of the relentless daily strain of living beyond their means. Tonight was a perfect example. They had received an invitation. A benefit concert had been scheduled at a museum downtown and Gwen was to perform a brief solo. Jason was very excited and had asked them to come hear her. It had been only natural for him to suggest that they get some dinner together afterward.
Jason was an old friend with a new love. He was proud of her. It seemed to the Gordons that they ought to be able to accept so sweet an invitation without hesitating. But between the sitter, the tickets, the parking and the meal, the price for the evening would end up at about the cost of a midsized appliance. They had several of those that needed replacing, but were not being replaced because they could not afford to do so.
Now it really was time to dress. As she hurried upstairs to her room, Inge resolved to banish these unhappy thoughts from her mind.
It would be a fine evening. It could be a strange evening, too, however. In the bustle of planning for it, Inge had barely considered what it might be like for her and her husband of 15 years to share a table with their old friend and his sexy young sweetheart. What would Dan think? He had never had a wandering eye, but he was human.
And what about Jason? He had always distinctly liked Inge; she had always known that and it had given her a nicely feminine pleasure. With Gwen by his side, though, would he even notice that she was there? She surprised herself with a pang of undeniably female jealousy.
Frowning as she stepped into a pair of slacks, Inge remembered the Gwen she had seen at the carpool line just one week ago. After-school haste had kept them from visiting for some days, and following this brief separation, Inge had noticed right away that the younger woman looked different. She had wondered if perhaps Gwen was slimmer. If she was, then something slightly juvenile in her appearance had vanished along with the pounds. The emergence of bones and planes beneath her flesh had served only to accentuate the curves that remained, lending her a glamour she had never had before and taking her prettiness closer to beauty.
Gwen had seemed taller, too. Glancing down, Inge had noticed boots with stiletto heels of a very unkindergartenish height. Those heels … Inge noticed the buttery folds of the leather around her ankles, and the way the tops stopped just precisely the right distance beneath the swinging hem of her skirt. Inge could not place it, but the look was strangely familiar.
"Wow," she had said, leaning over to kiss her friend as the Caro mothers in their gigantic cars streamed into line beside them. "Love becomes you."
Gwen swung her ankle to the side and lifted it, displaying the boots. "Do you like them?" she asked, eyebrows delicately raised. "You'll never guess who picked them out. Win. She said they were a 'must.'"
So that's where Inge had seen this look. "You guys shopped?" she asked. "I thought you were just having lunch."
"Twice! We shopped twice! Plus lunch," said Gwen. "She's completely redone my wardrobe. She picked the sweater, too. Nice?"
So that explained the new curves. Gwen didn't have a better figure. She just had better clothes.
"The sweater was actually a gift," Gwen continued. "I'd already spent a lot of money, so I decided I couldn't spring for it. When we got back to the car, Win just handed me a bag and there it was. Wasn't that a lovely thing to do?"
"Very lovely," agreed Inge, though privately she reflected that there was something a little kinky about a woman buying such a form-fitting sweater for her ex-husband's new girlfriend. "And it does look fabulous. Win has gorgeous taste."
"Sensational!"
"So I guess you and Win are really getting along!"
At this, Gwen's eyes went wide and round with feeling. "We talk all the time!" she said. "She calls and we just chat-even when it's nothing special, just to stay in touch. I'm pretty lucky, Inge. If you're going to have an ex-wife in your life, you can't do better than this. The Deans have a very civilized divorce."
"Mmm," Inge said noncommittally. "And how about you and Jason? How was Halloween?"
"Great! Or, eventually it was great. Jason was a little cranky at first, when he and the boys came to pick me up. Well, not cranky, you know, he never actually does that. He's too stiff!" Gwen laughed. "But he was kind of … displeased." She laughed again. "Win was there, to take all kinds of pictures and stuff. I think he was just surprised to see her, and then … well, it's a civilized divorce, like I said, but he's definitely more reserved when she's around!
"But of course it went fine. She just posed everybody and clicked the shutter and he went right along. And he warmed up when it was just me and him and the boys, and then we had so much fun! I hadn't done Halloween in years. Inge, it's so neat having kids!"
And Gwen's smile had been like sunshine.
That smile glowed in Inge's mind now, as she slipped on her jacket and prepared for the concert. She rebuked herself for her envy of Gwen. There was something deeply touching and very precious about new love. Gwen deserved her turn to shine and this was it. A line from Shakespeare floated through Inge's thoughts: "Then come kiss me, sweet-and-twenty… ."
Inge looped a string of beads over her head and reached for an embroidered bag. On her way out the door she passed the mirror and halted to look briefly at her own reflection. Her mouth twisted ruefully. Well, there was sweet-and-twenty, and there was herself: a middle-aged suburban mom in a pantsuit, dressed for town.
Jason Dean paced inside the entrance to the museum, his eyes flickering tensely between his watch and the doors through which Dan and Inge would soon emerge. Gwendolyn was backstage, warming up. He had just said goodbye to her, and now it was time for him and their friends to take their seats.
He felt a wave of severity that they were not yet there, and then forced himself to remember that it was not unreasonable for them to be a few minutes late.
He must have been crazy to have quarreled with Gwen over a pair of boots. Not that it had been a quarrel, really. Jason detested scenes, and one of the things he loved about Gwen was that she never indulged in them. But there had been words-words he had not chosen well.
He had not been able to help himself. He had been deeply vexed by the sight of his fresh, lovely new girlfriend in footwear that smacked of his first wife.
It was not Gwen's fault. He knew that by wearing something new she had meant only to please him. But he hated those boots. They brought to his new romance a familiar odor that had rankled in his old one. He knew Win, and he had known even without asking that she had been involved in their purchase.
Jason recognized that his ex-wife understood quality. He knew she dressed well and that the boots she had bought for Gwen had style. But Jason had had it with style. Lately, style made his gorge rise.
And the timing was bad. There could not have been a worse moment for Gwen to appear before him dressed by his ex-wife. Jason had just recovered from Halloween. It had been a nasty shock when he and the boys had gone to pick up Gwen, and found Win there, too.
He had not been able to say anything-not with the boys hovering around, innocent in their childishly gruesome costumes and intent on the urgent business of Halloween. But he had been furious that she was there. It was one thing for Philip and Andrew to be with him and Win, divorced though they were. And they needed to see him with Gwen; they had to get to know her, after all. But for his children to be with all three of them together-for their soft young faces to gaze upon this trio of adults, with their tangled sexual connection-this upset Jason deeply.
Besides, before he and the boys had arrived, the two women had been alone together. Had they talked about him? The very idea made his flesh crawl. Jason Dean was a private man, and divorce had been the ultimate violation of his privacy. He was ashamed that his marriage had failed-deeply ashamed-and the divorce had exposed that shame to prying eyes. Worse still, it had taken the one who knew him best and loosed her upon the world, bearing all of his secrets with her. From the beginning, he had seethed at Win for putting him in this position. Now he was newly enraged to find her contaminating presence circling about the woman he had begun to perceive as his means of escape. She had even taken a picture of him and Gwen. This had been practically like handling them. And Philip and Andrew had been right there, looking on as she serenely clicked away!
He knew that Win talked about openness and frankness and partnership. But he did not feel the same way. He did not want Gwen to know her. He knew, too, that Win was aware of his feelings and was disregarding them. That was the gift marriage gave you, he reflected darkly as he paced now by the museum door. No matter how briefly you had been married or how long you had been divorced, each of you would always, forever after, know exactly what the other one was thinking.
He had eventually recovered on Halloween, and he and Gwen and the boys had wound up enjoying the evening. She had been as cheerful as ever, and just as sweet with Philip and Andrew. He had gone on to look forward to tonight. It delighted him that Gwen played the violin. He was not exactly a music lover himself; like that of many in his circle, Jason's interest in classical music was more dutiful than real. But his sense of duty was potent and he admired those whose musical affinities were genuine. Gwen's love of music seemed honorable to him. It was part of what made her different from other women, and better. He felt that it entitled her to his respect and protection.
But here were Dan and Inge, and not so terribly late after all. Jason's mood began to brighten, just from walking toward them. Dan and Inge were good people and old friends, and their happy greetings began even before they clasped hands. It was a pleasure to kiss Inge, to throw an arm around Dan, and to meet their warm and lively eyes. Inge looked pretty, too. She had dressed up just a little, in that nice way that Jason liked. What an enjoyable evening this would be, with Gwen and their friends.
The waiter was hovering. Gwen had already ordered the daube, but she was still considering appetizers.
"I think I'm going to start with this tart," she said at last, pointing at the menu. "With the leeks and the sage. I'm starving." Jason beamed. Win-a size 4 at 5-foot-10-hadn't eaten pastry since she was 12. "Good," he said, squeezing Gwen's hand where it rested on the tablecloth. "You worked up an appetite with all that fiddling. I'll have the steak tartare, so we can share."
"Eew," she replied cheerfully.
Jason laughed. Inge glanced at Dan again to see if he was noticing all of this adorableness. She saw that he was still grappling with their companions' plans to order appetizers. None of the entrees cost less than $30, and Jason had already asked for a rather nice red.
Dan did not look at Inge. "I'm thinking pasta," he said with a studied casualness, reviewing the four choices that were offered.
But Inge closed her menu and pushed it aside. "I'm having the salmon," she said. "And I'm going to start with the pumpkin soup, since it's fall and everything." She did not share Dan's approach to these situations. If they were going out to dinner they should go out to dinner. Yet having ordered, she rose, clutching her bag. This was an excellent moment to avoid her husband's eyes.
"Inge, I see it. I'll come with you," said Gwen. And she led the way between the tables toward the back of the room.
The restroom was empty and quiet and they stood before the mirror, washing. Inge examined her reflection and withdrew a comb from her bag. The windy night had done some damage.
Gwen pulled out her lipstick. Their eyes met in the glass and Inge smiled at the strangeness of the moment. Here she was with her children's kindergarten teacher, and one of their oldest friends was the teacher's adoring date. How weird and wonderful it was that all of this was happening.
Impulsively, she put her arm around Gwen's shoulders and gave her a squeeze. "Gwen, it's so, so good to see the two of you together," she said, with unaffected pleasure.
"Isn't it?" Gwen replied. "Even though we've just had a nasty fight."
Inge was astonished. She put down her comb.
"Right before the concert," said Gwen. "Not a fight, really. Jason doesn't fight. But we 'had words.'" Her fingers made quote marks in the air.
"He's crazy about you!"
"Music soothes the savage beast. It's over now."
"What on earth was it about?"
"Would you believe my shoes?"
Inge looked down. Gwen was wearing the boots.
"They're beautiful!"
"He hates them."
"No!"
"Yes. Not that he said so. This is Jason. But he came backstage to see me before the performance and I could tell he wasn't happy. I could tell immediately. Then I saw him staring at my feet with just this look. So eventually I asked him if he liked my new boots. I had to drag it out of him."
"So what's the problem? How come he even cares what's on your feet?"
"Are you ready for this? He said he doesn't want me looking like Win! So I said, 'well, Win picked them out.' And then he blew a fuse."
"You're kidding!"
"Well, he blew a fuse Jason-style, which means he just got very quiet. It was like the frost came in."
"So what did you say?"
"I didn't know what to say! I said we had spent some time together. I said she was being very nice! I said it could be worse-she could be hostile! That would be worse, right? It is good that she isn't, no?"
"How did he take that?"
"He just sort of glared." She sighed. "I'll get rid of the boots. I don't agree about Win, but obviously I can't wear them again. I don't even want to tell him about the sweater. I'd better burn it."
"Oh, Gwen, I'm sorry."
"Don't be. I'm so happy, Inge! This is nothing; it'll blow over. The main thing is I've never had a boyfriend like Jason before-ever. It sounds silly, but Inge, he's so nice to me! I can't believe how respectful he is. Even this fight-it was all so polite! He's such a gentleman! I used to think that 'gentleman' thing was stuffy and stiff, or sexist even. You know, how people say a man shouldn't put you on a pedestal. But I've completely changed my mind. Now it just seems courteous, and then that seems very loving to me."
This was profound. Inge was deeply touched.
"That's wonderful, Gwen. That's really wonderful."
"It is, isn't it?"
"It's amazing how a person's life can change."
"And how. Inge, do you remember that we once talked about marriage? It was just before I started seeing Jason. You told me to think about husbands instead of boyfriends."
"I remember."
"Well, what you said had a big effect on me. You were right! And, you know, Jason might be everything I'll ever want!"
"Are you saying you want to marry him?" How many weeks had it been?
"Not exactly. I mean, maybe. Certainly not yet. All I mean is that Jason's the kind of man I want to marry. I think when I do marry, it should be someone like him. And-well, maybe."
"Wow. Gwen, this is great!" Inge gave Gwen another quick hug. "But how are the boys? How are they taking all of this?"
Gwen clasped her hands together. "The boys are adorable! Inge, I'm crazy about them! I know I'd only be their stepmom, if we got married. I know they already have a mother. But I love them, too! The more love, the better, right?"
Inge felt that this part was getting complicated. Gwen's heart was undoubtedly in the right place, but she was delirious if she thought she loved those boys the way their parents did, after just a couple of months. "Loving them is definitely better than not loving them," Inge said, judiciously.
"And they know I make their Dad happy. That has to please them, right?"
"Mmm," said Inge, hoping Gwen would not hear how noncommittal she was being. And, in fact, Gwen did not even seem to have listened. She was returning, obviously still troubled, to her recent spat with Jason.
"You know," she said, "there was no way I could have known not to let Win shop for me. She still shops for him! She buys him clothes! She talks about it all the time!"
"Does he wear what she buys?"
Gwen's eyes went wide. "That's a good question! I never asked him!"
"Could you? I mean, do you guys ever talk about her?" Inge remembered that Gwen had once said that they didn't.
"Never!" Gwen replied. "He never mentions her name. Until tonight, about the boots. As a matter of fact, it's been kind of a black hole between us."
Inge took a deep breath. It was time to ask an important question. "Gwen, do you want to be seeing so much of Win?"
"Not really." Gwen looked uncomfortable. "I mean, at first I liked it. She's a pretty fun person, after all, and I was so glad she wasn't going to fight me. And I guess I saw her as a source of information. I have to admit that. I got some, too! Jason doesn't like garlic, it turns out." She laughed unhappily. "So at first I liked it. But now… ." Gwen's voice trailed off.
"But now, what?"
"Now I sort of feel like I don't need her help. And it's actually getting to where I don't like to hear her talk about him."
"Don't see her anymore!"
"That'll be awkward," said Gwen. "We're kind of on a roll now. I don't want to be mean. If I cut things off, it'll be kind of like I'm making a statement."
"And you don't want an enemy."
"Right. I'm supposed to go see her new house this weekend."
"I hear it's beautiful," said Inge.
"I know. It's amazing."
"So you've already been?" They really had been spending time together.
"Yes. I went a couple of weeks ago. She was working on windows and she wanted to fuss about fabrics-that kind of thing. But I have to go again. This time it's kitchen tiles, and, you know, she's done all that shopping for me! So I just don't feel like I can say no."
"So you'll go."
"Yes." Gwen sighed. "You know, she's always asking me if I've seen Jason's new house. I think she wants to see it herself."
"Have you?"
"No." This was said firmly. "And that's good, actually, because this way I don't have to answer any questions about it. After the boot business I have a very strong feeling he would not want me talking."
The door swung open and a pair of women walked in.
"They're going to think something happened to us," said Inge. "We'd better get back."
But Jason and Dan did not appear to have missed them. They were deep in conversation.
"What have you two been talking about?" Gwen asked playfully, ruffling Jason's hair as she took her seat beside him.
"We've been talking about Jason's house," answered Dan. He looked at Inge. "He's thinking of making some changes before he moves in."
"I'm trying to hire your husband," said Jason.
"Excellent," said Inge crisply. "Not cheap, but he's reasonable."
Jason laughed and threw his arm over Gwen's shoulder. "Some changes. Many changes. I want you to see it, honey!"
Gwen avoided meeting Inge's eyes. "I'd love to!"
"All of you. Together. Inge, you come, too."
"Are you sure? Wouldn't I be in the way?"
"Not at all!"
"I mean, I'd love to see it, but think about it. Dan has to be there, and Gwen should be there, but three's a crowd."
"Inge, how long have we known each other?"
"Fine, then. Me, too. I admit that I'm dying to."
And Jason, grinning like a boy, ordered another bottle of red.
CHAPTER 6
Dan dipped the ladle back into the soup and lifted it to his lips. It wanted something, but he wasn't sure what.
The Dean boys were visiting the Gordons, and Dan was in charge. It was late on a Saturday afternoon, and the week before Thanksgiving. The kids had been outside for hours, but as the day had grown chilly they had retreated to the basement.
These children, friends from birth, had needed little attention from Dan. But he knew this would not last indefinitely, and the soup was almost ready. He had begun to watch for Inge to come home. Just on time, then, he heard the front door opening briskly.
"Hello!" called Win's voice.
So it was not Inge. "Hello yourself!" he called back.
Dan heard her closing the door and seconds later she streamed into the room. "I'm in your house," she announced, unnecessarily. She dropped her coat and bag on the table and crossed the floor to kiss his cheek over the kitchen counter. "What is that? It smells fantastic. Was I supposed to knock?"
"Soup. And you? Never."
Energy had blown in with her like the wind. She was only one person, but in dark slacks and a sweater her tall slim form seemed to fill the space. Dan took in her swinging hair, her long stride and the cat-like way she moved on the high heels she was never without.
Win was tightly wound. One wouldn't want to live with her. There was no denying, though, that she had that certain something. Dan's cheek glowed where her lips had brushed it.
She stepped to the top of the basement stairs, from which the children's voices floated upward.
"Hi, boys; your Mom's here!" she called. They did not respond and she did not pursue it.
Win slid a barstool from beneath the counter and slipped onto it, resting her elbow on the counter where Dan was working. "How'd everything go?" she asked. He started to respond but she held up an admonitory finger, asking him to wait. She leaned over to the table where she had dropped her bag and dragged it toward her so she could scrutinize the watch that was clasped around the strap. "I have time," she announced. "You're not in a rush?"
"Not at all," he said, and he wasn't, either, now that he had company. Dan reached over his head for a pair of wineglasses and filled them from an open red that he'd been pouring little by little into the soup. He slid one glass across the counter to his guest and raised the other to his lips, where he took a long swallow. "Inge's out and this needs to simmer," he enlarged, gesturing with his eyes toward the pot.
"Good," she said, fingering the stem of her glass. "You'll throw me out when it's done. So everything went fine?"
"Everything went great."
"No fighting?"
"I mean great," he repeated, with emphasis. "Your boys are wonderful, Win. It's like dealing with adults."
"Well, they didn't get it from me." She flushed with pleasure, and Dan could see that, despite her jocular reply, his praise greatly pleased her. "That cooperation thing, I mean. I've always been a rebel but I knew they'd be Jason's kids and they are. I've told him he has no deniability! And of course it's been a godsend, with this divorce, that they're so good. They've been angels about the whole thing," she added, with compassion.
She loves them, thought Dan. Must remember that.
Win took a sip from her glass. "Have I told you I'm crazy about your house?" she asked, changing the subject. "Happy to list it for you, anytime you want to sell. This kitchen is adorable."
Dan laughed delightedly. "It is," he conceded. "I was the architect and I'll admit that it's adorable." He laughed again.
"So…? What's funny, Dan?"
"So you're in real estate, Win! That's what you'll say in the ad, when you do list us. You'll say 'adorable' instead of 'tiny.'"
"It is!"
"It's OK. We like it, too. It's a ship's kitchen, Inge always says."
Dan and Inge's kitchen could have fit on a ship, and, like a galley, it was a wonder of efficient, space-saving design. It appeared to have only one counter, but the front panel of the sole floor-to-ceiling cabinet concealed another, intricately hinged one that dropped down like a Murphy bed. Outsized platters and pans were slotted vertically onto a wide shelf that ran eight inches below the roofline, and a library-style ladder used to access the shelf rolled out of sight when not needed. Pots hung from the ceiling, and mugs hung from hooks affixed to the undersides of cupboard shelves. Yet despite all the trappings, the kitchen's bright white cabinets and cherry-red walls established a space that never looked cluttered, or left a visitor feeling confined. Dan could afford to joke. He knew his kitchen dazzled all who saw it. He knew it was a work of genius.
"Well, it certainly does cook," said Win. "I mean you cook, in it. You're such a great husband! Jason makes egg salad and that's it. High calorie and high cholesterol both, and his cholesterol's not good! His mother taught him to make it; can you believe that. I guess you can. You've seen her." She laughed, a little unpleasantly.
Dan felt that this second reference to Jason was one too many. "How's business, Win?"
"Booming," she said. "You can't not make money in this market. When Jason made partner, somebody told him law was like picking money off of trees. I have to admit that sounded good to me!" She brayed.
And again with Jason, thought Dan, refilling his glass.
"That wasn't untrue, of course," continued Win. "There's plenty of money in law! But the real money's in real estate. This market has made a believer out of me."
"But they say that what goes up must come down."
"Call me a fool, but I don't think so. OK, so maybe a little, and maybe for the short-term. But it'll come back. Washington is as safe as it gets for real estate. Because of the government! I mean, unless they drop the big one and the Russians win or something."
"I don't think it's Russians anymore."
"Or whoever." Win took another swallow of wine. "The terrorists. My point is, demand here is just about bulletproof."
"So it isn't slowing down."
"It's speeding up! I've sold a ridiculous number of properties this year-my personal record. And I'm selling at the very high end." She twirled the stem of her glass in her fingers. Her lipstick had left a pale print of her mouth on the rim where she had been drinking.
She widened her eyes in wonder. "Dan, it's just a revelation to me, every day. You have no idea how much money people have! Well, you probably do. You're an architect. But, Dan, they're buying these palaces-and they renovate! They buy these monster houses that have absolutely everything-and I mean everything-then they're making them bigger! They're giving them more! I know you know this-you do this-but it blows my mind."
"I actually try to avoid those jobs."
"I know you do; you have integrity. You're the last one! But these buyers! Whatever it is, if you and I go out for it, they want it at home. They never want to rent or hire anything. They want to install it! First, it was home offices. Then, it was professional kitchens, like in a restaurant. Now, it's theaters in the family room, spas in the bathroom, hotel suites in the basement. Your house should be like a hotel! Including ballrooms! I'm seeing them now! God forbid, your daughter should be married at the club!"
Win's description was beginning to interest Dan, or perhaps he was feeling the wine. "Maybe it's a nesting thing," he offered.
"Some nest!"
"No, really, Win. You're giving me ideas about this. You're making it sound good. Maybe these people just like to stay home."
"These people have way more money than taste."
"But not you. I hear yours is a beauty."
With her glass in her hand Win actually hugged herself. "I love my house. It's me." She laughed. "It's my new husband. So, you see, all these McMansions are good for something. They bought me mine."
"I'm glad, Win."
"But speaking of McMansions-" she reached across the counter and slapped his arm, playfully, "-you have to tell me about Jason's! Everybody's seen it but me!"
There was now no question that Dan was feeling the wine. Win was still nursing her first glass, but his second had been emptied and he was sipping his third. A pleasant lassitude enveloped him. Nonetheless-through the fog- her question activated an alarm. Inge had told him about her conversation with Gwen at the restaurant. He would need to be circumspect in any matter involving Jason.
"Mmm," he said, stalling.
"Have you seen it?"
"Nope." And thank God.
"You will, though. I'm sure he'll have work done and I bet he'll use you. Jason is totally that nester you were talking about. He's going to want to perfect that place, especially with that cute young thing in his life!"
Now the alarm in Dan's brain began to wail like a siren. He dipped the ladle into the soup, filling it. "Try this," he offered, handing it across the counter. "Does it need salt?"
Win flipped her hair behind her shoulders and took the steaming ladle. She sipped from it carefully. "Mmm, fantastic! Definitely no salt. Maybe more wine." She handed back the ladle and looked him straight in the eye as he took it. "Is Jason using you to remodel his new house, Dan?"
She was very shrewd. Trust Win to know how hard it is to duck a direct question-especially when the questioner is wearing three-inch heels and a sweater that Dan began to realize was really rather tight. Especially when she is sitting at your own kitchen counter, looking straight into your eyes.
Dan froze, not trusting himself to speak.
She looked away uncomfortably, breaking their gaze. "Oh, I'm sorry," she said. "How awkward. He's probably just thinking that business and friendship don't mix. I know he really loves your work, Dan."
Against the odds, Dan had resisted her frontal assault, but now his vanity surged. "No," he said. "He's using me."
"Exciting! So you'll be going to see it. Will Gwen be there, too?"
Remorse; concern. How had she done that? How much had he drunk? Dan rubbed his eyes.
Win continued. "Of course she will! I'm so jealous! All my favorite people are going to see Jason's house and I'm not!" The playful petulance in her voice grew abruptly brittle. "I had the most hilarious conversation with Stacy the other day. Did I tell Inge about this? I don't think so. It was a couple of weeks ago. Anyway, Stacy and I were at my house-my new one-and Gwen was there, too, and we were looking at fabrics for the windows. And, you know, I was totally surprised. Because piece after piece, Gwen picked absolutely the most expensive stuff we had. I mean, top, top of the line. And all gorgeous, by the way! She's got a great eye!"
Win laughed shrilly. "But like I said, I was stunned! I mean, who knew she had that kind of taste? You can't tell from her clothes!" She laughed again. "And I wasn't the only one who noticed because after she left, Stacy said, 'Would you look at that: She doesn't have two dimes to rub together but if she did, she'd know how to spend them!' Stacy said, 'She's a mouse now, with those discount skirts, but all she has to do is marry a decent income and she'll be the mouse that roared!'"
Dan tried to speak, but Win cut him off.
"No, that's not the incredible part! It's very funny, but that's not the part I wanted to tell you. It's what Stacy said next. She said, 'Gwen just looks so second wife.' She said that! So I said, 'What do you mean, second wife?' And she said 'You know, a guy's first wife is the one he meets when he lives in the city, and it's all about their jobs and the nightlife and all of that stuff.' So I said, 'Then, who's your second wife?' And she said, 'Your second wife is the 28-year-old kindergarten teacher!' She said that! Can you believe it? To me?"
"Win ..."
"I mean, I was a little insulted, being the first wife and all, but wasn't that hilarious? And what exactly does it say about me? 'Cause I'm a lot of stuff, but I'm never teaching kindergarten!"
"Win, you-"
"No, it was just funny, that's all! Stacy-you know, she looks like a dingbat but she says these things. And I didn't know what to say back! So I just said, 'Stacy-'" Win paused, placing her palms flat on the counter and leaning intently toward Dan-"'Stacy, never underestimate a first wife!'"
From deep in the basement came a resounding thud, followed by a full-throated wail and a chorus of excited voices.
"Sounds like it's over," said Win, her voice still tight. And indeed, seconds later Michael staggered in bearing a luxuriously weeping Davy.
Philip was close behind them. "He bumped his head," he said, his brow creased with concern.
"It's nothing," said Dan. Michael had dumped Davy at his feet, and now he rubbed his knuckles in his son's hair. "Noogies," he offered, by way of consolation. "Wash up for dinner."
Win hopped down from her stool and bent to kiss the top of her youngest child's head. "Philip, Andrew," she said. "It's time to go. These people have to eat."
Uh-oh. Was Dan supposed to invite them to stay? Where was Inge, anyway? Whether to salt the soup he could handle. But this kind of thing was her department. He stepped out from behind the counter and stood uncomfortably, rubbing his hands. He had really had far too much wine.
Fortunately, Win took charge. "Boys, get your jackets," she said. She put her arm half around Dan and kissed both his cheeks, one after the other. With her face so close and warm he suddenly felt unspeakably sad for her.
"Thanks for having the kids," she said. "I can tell they had a great time. They always do, over here. And think of me when you all see that house, will you?"
"Win, you'll be right there with us."
She smiled. "Inge's lucky. I always said so!" And with that the door closed behind them, and they were gone.
In the sudden silence of the house Dan ran his hand through his hair and sighed. What a woman. What a situation! Then he closed his eyes and sang it out.
"Dinner!
Gwen turned the key in the ignition, cutting the motor. She sat for a moment in the ensuing silence. If only she could turn the car on again. If only she could glide back through the gateposts, reverse out of Win's driveway and head home.
She had had another quarrel with Jason.
She had decided to tell him that she was going to Win's house. Gwen had given the matter considerable thought after her conversation with Inge at the restaurant. She had known that the visit would make him unhappy, but had concluded that she should not be secretive about it. So she had told him.
She had been only partly right. Jason was more than unhappy. He had asked her not to go. Phone her, he had said. Or send her an e-mail. He didn't care how it was done, but Gwen must tell Win that the visit was off.
But that, unfortunately, Gwen could not do. Just canceling-just like that-was something she did not have in her. Gwendolyn Brice had a terrible dread of confrontations. By lifelong habit she was polite to the soles of her feet.
She protested that she could not possibly be so nakedly rude. This would be the last time, she offered. She would not go again after this. Yet Jason had persisted. She had felt squeezed between his displeasure and her sense of obligation to a woman who had been friendly to her. She had found the feeling simply awful.
The result had been that Jason had given way. But he had done so most unhappily, and Gwen knew it. Once again, they had smoothed the matter over and moved on. They had been pleasant to each other for the rest of the evening. But she was aware that no matter how smooth they had managed to make it, their quarrel had been a blow. There had been too many of these; that was the problem. There was the awkwardness over the trick-or-treating, and then the business about the boots, and now this...
Sitting in her quiet car, Gwen reflected with a flash of anger that every time Win came into their lives, trouble followed. She would stick to the pledge she had made to Jason: This would be absolutely her last visit with his ex-wife. She had been unable to back out of a commitment already made, but she would decline any future invitations that might be proffered, and in a way that brooked no discussion. Of that much she was certainly capable. Then she would never mention Win's name again. The next time it was uttered between them would be when he spoke it.
Fortified by this decision, Gwen gave the key a final wrench, scooped it into her bag and swung her body out of her car.
Showtime.
"So the question is, am I going with the green or with one of these?" said Win.
They were standing in Win's new kitchen. The counter and backsplash were to be retiled, and Win had to pick a color. She had selected a group of possibilities in glossy shades of ocher, from bright to deep. She had also chosen one pale green tile with a shimmering iridescent sheen.
Win had provided takeout coffee so Gwen pondered the tiles, frowning, with a steaming paper cup in her hand. Standing slightly behind her, Win pondered Gwen. She had checked the left hand the moment her guest had walked in. There was nothing there. But where had those earrings come from?
"Have some of these, too," she offered. Win reached across the counter and, with one polished fingernail, broke the foil seal on a white paper box. She pushed back the tissue to expose a sheaf of elephant ears, crumbly with butter and very slightly sticky.
"Mmm. No thanks, though," said Gwen.
"This is the kind I like," said Win, extracting one that was half dipped in thick dark chocolate. She bit it and brushed away the crumbs that fell to her slim hips.
This is a transparent attempt to fatten me up, thought Gwen.
She said nothing. Instead she lifted the green tile to examine it more closely. The glaze was complex and the colors that swirled within it were soft and pale. It even smelled expensive.
"I like these," she said. "I mean, they're all gorgeous. But in a kitchen I think you're better off with a cool color."
"That's so true!" said Win. "You're so right! As soon as I saw that tile I knew I had to bring it here. The problem is, I've always liked reds and earth tones. I mean, they're my longtime favorites."
"So use them," said Gwen. Perhaps that sounded a bit short. "They're all lovely," she amplified, softening it. "Just pick what you like."
"Well, I don't want the kitchen to be awful in the summertime. Oh, well. Come upstairs while I think. I found the most wonderful carpenter and I want to show you what he did."
Win led the way out of the kitchen, cup in hand, and Gwen followed behind. She sneaked a peek at her watch. She probably had to stay at least a half hour. A film of sawdust covered the upstairs. A corridor between the bedrooms had been lined with beautiful built-in shelves and cabinets. Beneath a long window in the center a window seat had been installed. The work had been done perfectly, and it was impossible not to admire it.
"Wow! This was a great idea, Win."
"Wasn't it? I mean, if I do say so. Because it's a wide hall. And even with the shelves I think I still have room for some easy chairs there-" Win pointed to a corner "-and there, too."
"You do."
"Sit!" Win settled herself on one end of the window seat and beckoned Gwen toward the other. "It's going to have cushions eventually, but it's usable, I think, even without."
"It's great, Win," said Gwen. "You've just done beautiful things with this space." But she checked her watch again as she sat. This time Win saw it.
"Thanks," she replied. "This is all small stuff, of course, so I've been able to plot it out myself. If I were making the kind of changes Jason's making then I would've needed an architect. I probably would have hired Dan, too. It wouldn't have been pretty, Jason and I fighting for his time!"
Win laughed and Gwen's anger flared. So she knew, and she was letting Gwen know that she knew. But Gwen nodded and smiled politely, determined not to rise to the bait. "Do you already have the chairs for that spot, Win?" She gestured toward the corner Win had indicated moments ago. "Or are you planning to shop?"
"Oh, I'll have to shop. Stacy's started nosing around. Jason'll need to buy, too, with seven bedrooms."
Seven. Had she seen it? It was imperative that Gwen turn the conversation. "So tell me what she's finding," she said determinedly.
"So far she's finding wing chairs, which isn't what I want," said Win. "It's a big space, but not big enough for that. I don't know about Stacy sometimes. Beautiful earrings! New?"
The earrings had belonged to Gwen's grandmother, but she understood the question perfectly, and felt no obligation to enlighten Win. "Not particularly," she said, and then was silent.
The two women wandered about the upstairs. There was a sitting room off Win's new bedroom, and the carpenter had also built shelving there. Furnishing this small space would be tricky, and the problem provided them with something to discuss.
Half-listening to Win, Gwen reflected with relief that she was now minutes from making her escape. "The thing is," Win was saying, "it opens to the bedroom." With her hands on her hips, she gazed through the arched doorway into the rest of the master suite. "So the rooms have to work together. And in here"-she waved her hand before her-"I'm thinking of going very feminine, maybe even floral." She snapped her fingers in the air, lightheartedly. "I mean, why not, since it's only me? I could never get away with that stuff when I was married. I once tried white eyelet on the bed and it just froze Jason. He couldn't touch me till I took it off. I think he finds lace emasculating. He's such a man's man."
Turning, Win put a confidential hand on Gwen's arm. "I suggest black, honey. It makes him crazy." She laughed.
Gwen was speechless. For a moment she stood still with Win's hand on her arm. Then she found her voice. "I have to go," she said.
She turned toward the stairs, and Win followed. "I think I'm going to go with those ocher tiles after all," she said, from behind Gwen's back. "That color just makes me happy and, you know, it's my house! What's the point of getting divorced if you can't have what you like?"
Gwen had reached the bottom of the stairs and was putting on her coat.
"I'm sure you'll be happy with those tiles, Win," she said. She had one hand on the doorknob and the other was in her purse, frantically fishing for her keys. She couldn't wait to be out.
"Oh, I should ask you," said Win. "Before you go. When is the visit to Jason's house?"
Gwen's hand stopped its rummaging, and she looked up, stupefied. She met Win's eyes, and they stared at each other.
"Dan wants me to go. But he forgot to tell me the day."
"It's this weekend," said Gwen woodenly. "Sunday."
"And the time?"
Gwen was silent.
"Something like 10? I don't want to be late."
"We're meeting at 11," said Gwen. Her ears had begun to ring and she felt as if she were speaking through a long tunnel. "I'm afraid I have to leave now, Win."
"Well, sweetie, thanks so much for coming," said Win, grasping Gwen's shoulders and kissing her cheek. "It's a big help, just having someone to bounce things off of. And I'm so glad we're getting to know each other this way. I do cherish our friendship."
"No problem, Win," said Gwen. The tunnel still sang around her and she heard her own words thickly through its noise. "I'm glad to help." And she slipped from Win's grasp and slid through the door. It clicked behind her. The ringing blotted out the sounds of the afternoon. Somehow, she stumbled to her car. Somehow, she turned the key. Somehow, she made it through the gateposts.
A block away from Win's house, Gwen pulled to the side of the road and stopped. She put the car in park and rested her forehead on the steering wheel. Jason had been right. She never should have gone. And now Win would be there when she visited his new home!
Damn Dan! She had thought he supported her and Jason! How could he have invited Win? Was it purely professional or was it something worse-some kind of lingering loyalty to his old friend's first wife?
And how could she possibly tell Jason? A fresh fear twisted Gwen's heart: Maybe Jason already knew. Maybe he wanted Win there. Win did know houses. Maybe he wanted her advice on the remodel. After all, she still consulted him on legal matters.
No, Gwen set that thought aside. She was sure that Jason had not been involved in the invitation to Win, and she was sure he would not be happy to find her there. But how could she possibly tell him? The whole subject of his ex-wife had become worse than uncomfortable between them. She could not imagine herself mentioning Win's name to Jason-not one more time.
She lifted her head and grasped her rearview mirror so as to peer at her face. She was utterly colorless. She looked sick.
This would never do. Gwen snapped the mirror back into place. Abruptly, she reached a decision. It was not her job to tell Jason and she would not do so. This thing was none of her business. It was between Jason and Dan and Win. All she was supposed to do was to show up at the house on Sunday. That was what was expected of her and she would do it. If anyone else showed up, too-well, let the chips fall where they may.
The ringing in her head had stopped. The foliage was gone from the trees now and, in the absence of shade, a bright wintry light beat on her windshield, spreading a soothing heat through her car.
Gwen turned the key, glanced over her shoulder and pulled back onto the road. This would be the last time. After Sunday, she would never see Winifred again.
"Whoa," said Inge. It was Sunday morning, and they had pulled up to the curb in front of Jason's new house just a few minutes after 11.
From the outside, Jason's house was not beautiful. Nor was its situation. Both the house and the block it was on were brand new, and the area had been bulldozed of all trees to accommodate the construction. Because nothing had yet been planted to replace what had been mowed down, the structure rose up from a barren landscape and wore an air of understandable surprise at finding itself on what appeared to be the moon.
Nor did it seem to know what it was. A mishmash of stone and siding and brick cluttered the front, and gables and balconies jutted out in odd places. But it was undeniably enormous.
"It's the size of a small conference center," said Inge, peering around the side. Amazingly, the house appeared to be as deep as it was wide.
"Small?" asked Dan.
Jason's car was already in the driveway and the front door of the house stood open. Helloing, they walked right in. An answering call greeted them from within the bowels of the cavernous house. Then Jason emerged in jeans and sneakers, hand outstretched, smiling like a kid with a new toy.
"I don't know what we're going to be able to do here," said Dan, as Jason clapped him on the back. "We don't have much space to work with."
"What's to change?" asked Inge, kissing him. "It's gorgeous, Jason!"
And it was. She shuddered to imagine what Dan might be thinking, but despite the house's preposterous exterior, she had fallen in love as soon as she had crossed the threshold. Instantly and unequivocally, she wanted this house.
They stood now in the foyer, and above their heads the ceiling was open to the third floor. A broad staircase coiled around this lofty space, rising up, up and up to a round many-paned skylight at the top. Inge knew most McMansions had tiny living rooms, but looking through an arched doorway to her left, she could already see that this one was different. A long and handsome room stretched open to the distant wall where an enormous fireplace was flanked by windows that reached to the towering ceiling and repeated that graceful arch. Yet more arched windows faced the street. Inge's gaze again traveled upward and ran along the dentil moldings that encircled the room. She knew they were fake-plastic or pressed sawdust or something-but she didn't care. They looked great and the space was real-the light-filled, golden space.
She stepped inside it and turned to face them, spreading her arms wide. "You could launch a hot-air balloon in here!" she cried.
Jason laughed and waved his hand dismissively. "That's all going," he said happily. "It's doomed."
"What?"
"What do I want with a room like that?" he asked. "I don't entertain."
"I'm heartbroken already," said Inge.
Jason laughed again. "I'm thinking of it all as raw square footage. I'll show you around when Gwen comes," he added. "But feel free to wander if you like."
"We'll wait," said Inge. "But can you point me toward the bathroom?"
She really just wanted to see it. It consisted of not one room but two: a mirrored outer chamber that amounted to a lounge or powder room and was large enough for furniture; and an inner chamber with a toilet, built-in cabinets and a handsome pedestal sink. As Inge had expected, the whole thing was bigger than her kitchen.
She emerged to find both men waiting for her. "There are bagels and a coffee box in the kitchen," said Jason. "I stopped at Measured Out. Please help yourself, though I'm sorry there's no place for you to sit. I'm going to call Gwen. I'm not sure what's keeping her." He retreated to the back, whistling briskly.
"He wants a basketball court in the basement," Dan said under his breath.
"You're kidding!"
"Apparently, it's big enough. What's it like in there?" he added, nodding toward the bathroom.
"Nordstrom," replied Inge shortly. She was about to expand, but Jason was returning with his phone in his hand. "She's not answering," he said. "It's unusual for Gwen. She's normally very punctual."
"We're not in a hurry," said Inge.
"But where on earth is she?" Frowning, Jason stepped away from them, punching a number into the phone.
Just as he did so, though, Dan and Inge heard the distant whine of a motor approaching from down the street. They watched through the open door as a small economy car pulled into view, swung into the driveway and stopped.
"Jas, it's OK," said Dan. "She's here."
But Inge was staring at the car. It was definitely her; she could see Gwen's face through the driver's side window. But she had the strangest feeling that Gwen was not alone. The sunlight glared off the windshield and she could not really see. Was there someone in the passenger's seat?
Jason, relieved, joined them in the doorway. Now, all three of them watched as Gwen, with a wobbly smile, emerged from her car. But then the passenger door opened as well. As they stared openmouthed, Win's tall form unfolded itself from the tiny car and stepped into the daylight. A broad smile beamed on her face, and in her arms were a coffee box and a bag from Measured Out. "It's gorgeous!" she cried. "Good morning!"
Bearing her bag and her box, with her purse and its jangling watch slung over her arm, Win sailed up the front walk and led the way through the door, air-kissing Dan and Inge as she passed. "I brought bagels," she said, in a voice that was a little too loud. She made a playful pout at Jason as she breezed past. His face was stony with anger.
"Where are the boys?" he demanded, without preamble.
"With a sitter!" Win's arms were full, but with a shrug she tossed her long hair over her shoulders. "You ought to get Stacy out here," she added brightly. "You want that first decorating consult before you remodel!"
Uninvited, she glided back to the kitchen, just as Gwen was climbing the front steps. Dan, Inge and Jason turned their stupefied eyes to her. She greeted the Gordons with careful courtesy and turned a polite smile to Jason's icy face. Locking onto his gaze, she spoke, enunciating very clearly.
"Hi, honey. Dan invited Win to join us today."
Jason whipped toward Dan. Dan's astonishment was unmistakably authentic. "I-I certainly didn't-I never... "
But Win, who had deposited her things, rejoined them at just this moment. "I see my coffee's redundant!" she laughed. Then she gave Jason's arm a pat. "I'm so glad Gwen told me about this," she said.
Gwen gaped, speechless. Heedless of the stunned silence around her, Win kept talking. "There we were, Gwen and I, at my tiny little new house. And, of course, what were we talking about? Your new house! You're so much more interesting than I am!" And she laughed again. "Well! I think we're all here! When's the tour?"
Now Jason spoke. "Tour," he said with crisp decision. "By all means. Show yourselves around." He reached into his pocket and drew out his keys. "I'm taking off," he said. "Inge-" he turned to her pointedly. "Did you get coffee? We seem to have extra. Please help yourself. Dan, we'll talk."
For a moment no one spoke. Win broke the silence. "Well, I'm not shy!" she cried. "Let's start upstairs." And she turned and skipped lightly upward. "Jason," said Dan awkwardly. "We can come back another-" "Not at all," he replied, with immaculate courtesy. "Why should you drive all this way twice? Go ahead and wander. Inge, forgive my rotten manners, will you? Just let yourselves out when you've seen enough. I'm sure Winifred will know how to lock up."
He brushed past Gwen where she stood in the doorway. He had neither spoken to her nor met her eyes. But as his body swept past hers something caught on his belt, snaring him. He reached down to detach himself. It was Gwen's watch, which was buckled around the strap of her purse.
With the tips of his fingers he separated the watch from his clothing. And then he was gone.
Win-no one having followed her-came tripping back downstairs.
"This is the biggest one I've seen, and I've seen a lot!" she announced. "There's a second kitchen off the main master!"
But on the third stair from the bottom she appeared to notice that Jason had gone.
"Oh!" she said archly. "Is Jason in a temper?" She forced a laugh. "Well, it's not the first time, is it? Let's see the house anyway. Everyone's always scared of Jason's temper, but I'm not!" And a new light burned in her eyes as she said it, like a small, steady coal behind the iris.
Part 3 of McMansions will run in the January/February 2009 issue.
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