The Single Life

When Alice didn’t say anything, Lauren couldn’t stop herself from asking, “You are, aren’t you?”

Alice stirred her coffee slowly, seemingly enthralled by the tiny ripples forming on the surface. “I hope so. But sometimes I wonder. We don’t do anything together anymore. We could be living on opposite sides of the continent, of the globe, for that matter. It wouldn’t be any different.” She set the spoon down on the saucer and folded her arms across her chest. “You know why we’re not together today? Because he can’t tear himself away from the TV! Can you imagine? The kids had to fight to get a TV because he thought they were already far too brainwashed without one, and now he can’t turn it off? I don’t get it. I just don’t.”

Lauren remembered those arguments. Frank’s disapproval of the mainstream media and entertainment industry was one of the last remaining testimonies to his radical past. For years, until they were teenagers, Karen and Mark would come to Lauren’s house to watch their favorite shows. “Like you said, things change.”

Alice’s only response was a grunt.

“I guess that means you’re not too interested in watching TV.”

Alice’s raised eyebrow was answer enough.

“I guess not. Well then, maybe you need to find something that will get Frank away from it. Think of something you can do together. In the meantime, let’s do something for ourselves, and I know just the thing. In fact, I’m going to make a salon appointment for both of us.”

Several days after that appointment, Lauren still wasn’t used to the face in the mirror. She’d only wanted to get her roots retouched, but the stylist had convinced her to cut it short. Very short. Lauren’s hair hadn’t been shorter than a chin-length bob since college, and even that had been difficult for her in the beginning.

But the stylist had said something about a short, spunky look taking some of the droop off her face, and Alice would only agree to try new highlights in her hair if she had a partner in crime. With such persuasive opposition, what could Lauren do but give in?

Now, she rubbed gel into her hands and worked it into her hair the way she’d been shown. Who would think that she would be trying this goop for the first time at fifty-three? Wouldn’t Chrissie be surprised? Probably. But she would approve.

The droop was still there, Lauren thought, noticing the circles under her eyes. But the close-cropped style did give her a dignity and grace that she had thought lost forever. Now, all she needed was a life to go with the look.

If only everything were as simple as a haircut, but both she and Alice knew it wasn’t. They had brainstormed a list of activities that might seduce Frank away from his newfound love, the television, and back into the arms of his decades-old wife. Lauren hoped one of their ideas would work. And if it didn’t, she’d be there for her friend.

She was still considering her new face when the doorbell rang. She wasn’t expecting anyone. It was a bit too soon for a response to those applications she had sent out, but maybe she was finally getting lucky.

She ran downstairs and opened the door.

“Hello, Helen,” Lauren said to Chrissie’s former roommate, taking in the short form standing on her porch. A dark ski cap was pulled low over the young woman’s face, covering her hair. It made her eyes very blue and her elfin features pronounced. Unfortunately, with her oversized down-jacket, she looked more like a troll than an elf.

“Hello, Lauren. Do you—” Helen stopped and stared. “You’ve done something to your hair. It looks very different,” she said. “Very nice, I mean. I like it.”

“Thank you, Helen.” Without thinking, Lauren reached up and touched the spiky tufts of hair.

What could Helen Matter want? Surely she knew Chrissie was in Vienna. Maybe she was looking for Jeff. Helen’s crush on Lauren’s son had always been so transparent. Lauren had wanted to teach a poor girl a thing or two about men, but given how badly Lauren had misjudged the man in her life, Helen would probably be better off learning those lessons herself.

“Do you, um, mind if I come in?”

Realizing they had been standing silent for the last minute, Lauren nodded and pulled the door open. It was then she realized that Helen had come with two big suitcases, a duffel bag and a leather carry-on the size of a laptop. If the baggage was anything to judge by, Helen wasn’t just coming in. She was moving in.

Trying to make sense of it all, Lauren forgot to ask Helen if she wanted any help. Before she knew it, everything was inside, neatly stacked at the bottom of the oak staircase.

“Helen?”

The young woman turned around, an anxious look on her face. “Don’t worry. I’ll carry it all up. I really won’t get in your way.”

“In my way?”

“Yes. It’ll all go to Chrissie’s room.”

“Chrissie’s room?”

“Yes. Chrissie’s room,” Helen said, pulling off her ski cap. Her long blond hair clung to her face. She brushed it away as a hint of a smile started to show. It faded quickly in response to Lauren’s puzzled expression.

“Oh my God! She didn’t tell you? She said she would. I wouldn’t have come otherwise. Oh my God! She said it would be all right. She said you wouldn’t mind. Oh my God! She said—”

“Wouldn’t mind about what? I’m afraid you’ve lost me completely here. What’s going on?” Lauren shook her head in confusion.

“Chrissie said you agreed. I wouldn’t have come otherwise. She said she talked to you—”

“Talked to me about what?”

“She said it was okay—”

“Helen—”

Something in Lauren’s voice must have finally broken through. Helen stopped rambling. She took a deep breath. “I guess she didn’t tell you.”

“No. But you could. I would like that.”

“I don’t have any place to stay. My roommate and my boyfriend—well, he’s not my boyfriend, really. My roommate and a guy, a guy I know, well they, um, they…” Her arms flailed around helplessly. “Well, anyway, he may be moving in. And, um, there isn’t enough room for the three of us, so I had to leave. I’ve tried campus housing and the Internet, but there’s nothing. Not until September. Chrissie said I could stay here until then. She said you wouldn’t mind, Lauren. I wouldn’t have come otherwise. Really, I wouldn’t—”

Lauren held up her hand, signaling Helen to stop. She’d had enough of the hysterical ranting for one day, especially since she still didn’t understand what was going on.

“Didn’t they give you any notice?”

“Notice? Oh you mean about the apartment? No, the lease is in my name.”

“Then why are you leaving?”

Lauren didn’t know why she was asking. Helen may have been a child prodigy. She might be brushing shoulders with Nobel Prize winners. She might even be a future prize-winner herself. But she had very little idea how to deal with the real world.

“It’s easier for one person to leave than for two.”

“And they wanted you to leave straight away?”

“No, but it was kind of awkward. They—”

Lauren held up her hand again. She didn’t want to hear any more details. “So Chrissie told you that you could use her room?”

“Yes. Until I find something else. I’ll pay you, of course. Chrissie said you, um, needed the money. With the divorce and everything.”

So that’s why Chrissie hadn’t bothered to tell her! She was interfering in her mother’s life! She thought she had found the perfect solution for everyone. Never mind that Lauren wasn’t interested in sharing her house again!

She liked living alone. Well, not really. The house was so big, empty and gloomy now. Still, she was getting used to it, and she really didn’t want to share her life and her habits with a roommate. She didn’t need an outsider observing her emotions, invading her space and interrupting her routine. She hadn’t liked group living arrangements when she was younger and she wasn’t about to try again. Home was for family, not for strangers who walked in off the street.

But, Lauren suddenly remembered, she didn’t have a family, not one that lived here anyway. And Helen wasn’t a stranger. Lauren had known her for almost ten years, ever since the girls were freshmen in college. Lauren had warmed to Helen then, despite her rather odd behavior. Chrissie knew this. She also knew her mother would never chase her best friend away, no matter how much she wanted to.

“Okay, Helen,” Lauren said. “You can stay.”

“I can stay?”

“Yes. In Chrissie’s room,” Lauren said, resigned to the fact that even with continents and oceans separating them, her daughter was formidable.

CHAPTER 4

What was Clare going to do?

In fifteen minutes, Anton Muller was going to walk through that door with a file under his arm and questions in his eye. Questions? She would be lucky if there were just questions. More like accusations, recriminations, condemnations.

No matter. He could hardly have more than she did. For several days now, she had been reminding herself of everything she had done wrong. And when she was done, she had begun all over again. She had acted like an out-of-control twenty-year-old.

Clare closed her eyes tightly, hoping the waves of embarrassment and regret would wash away. They didn’t. This problem was much harder to fix than her Saturday-morning hangover.

Breathe deep. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Good. Now think, calmly, rationally, the way you do when preparing a brief. The way you do in court. Just think.

Think? How was she going to sit next to Anton, calmly discussing depositions, custody feuds and marital settlement agreements? Could she look him in the face and not remember that he had seen her drunk? Could she sit next to him and forget what it had been like to be held in his arms? Could she hand him the file and ignore that her whole body had ached for him? Was still aching for him.

Fool. Idiot. Behaving like a lovesick teenager.

No wonder there were rules! Thou shalt not get drunk with thy colleague. Thou shalt not covet thy colleague. Even when his face is a fraction of an inch away from yours and his aftershave fills your nose. Even when his arms are wrapped around you. Even when he covets you, too.

No. Forget that. Anton didn’t covet her. She was all the more the fool if she thought that the case. And even if he did, she was at fault here. She and she alone. Anton had just been kind and helpful and supportive, as always. The way he had been when he had put her in a cab and sent her home.

Drunk. Humiliated. Mortified.

Why had she ignored the rules? Why now? Why with Anton?

What if the office gossips got hold of this! Clare could already hear the whispers. She could see the smirking looks. She could feel the accusatory labels. She couldn’t let it happen. Ever.

There was an easy way to do it. What Bailey Senior had done with Jenny What’s-Her-Name. Pull Anton off all the cases they worked together. Ignore him. Stonewall him into leaving the firm if necessary. Make him pay for her hormones and her absent self-control. She could do that.

No. No. No. She couldn’t do that. She was responsible for what happened—for what almost happened. She would have to deal with it. She would have to talk to him. Then, they could bury it together. Forever.

Lauren lifted the spoon from the counter and plunged it into the sugar bowl. She then transferred the bowl to the far end of the shelf, placing it next to the other condiments. She fiddled with the other containers, alphabetizing and aligning them into neat and orderly rows.

Some might call her obsessive, but after thirty years of running her own house she knew exactly what it should look like because she knew exactly where everything should be. Her husband and her children had respected that. Why couldn’t Helen do the same?

Ever since the young woman had moved in a week ago, Lauren had done nothing but tidy up and set things straight. Helen didn’t have any eye for the order that Lauren had established in her house, the order she liked to keep. How had Chrissie managed to live with Helen? But then Chrissie hadn’t always been too keen about her mother’s rigid housekeeping. No wonder the two girls had roomed together for so long.

With a sigh, Lauren picked up the dishcloth Helen had left on the table and placed it on the rack. She didn’t think she would be able to continue with this living arrangement much longer. She wasn’t ready to do a remake of The Odd Couple.

It didn’t matter that Helen had said she would stick to Chrissie’s room. She had to cook and to eat and to bathe. To do that, she had to venture into other parts of the house. The parts Lauren thought of as “hers,” but which were rapidly becoming Helen’s.

Of course, Helen didn’t realize what she was doing when she forgot to return the spoon to the sugar bowl or left the kitchen tap running, or stomped mud on the porch instead of on the mat.

They were little things, irrelevant things. But they irritated Lauren all the more because she couldn’t complain about them. Who could she complain to, anyway? Helen would certainly apologize and then she would forget what she had done. Chrissie would snort and tell her mother to get on with it, just as she had done when Lauren had confronted her about Helen’s surprise arrival.

“It’s for your own good,” she had said.

“You seem to be forgetting who you are talking to, Chrissie. I’m the mother in this relationship. I watch out for your good. Not the other way round.”

“We already tried that. Now it’s my turn. Oh, and Mom, what’s this about a haircut?”

“Alice and I decided to try something new,” Lauren began only to realize what her daughter was up to. “But Chrissie—”

“Helen says it looks nice.”

“Chrissie—”

“Oh, come on, Mom. She needs a place to stay, you need some money.”

“I don’t need strangers in the house.”

“She’s not a stranger. She’s almost family.”

“Not family, Chrissie. She’s a friend.”

“A very dear friend. Practically a sister. Surely you can adopt her for a while? After Jeff and me, it shouldn’t be that big a deal.”

Actually, it was a big deal. It was hard enough for Lauren to take care of herself. How could she take on Helen as well? But Lauren let it go. At least it was for a good cause. The rent money would buy her a little more time with the house.

Anton knocked on the door and entered without waiting. Clare joined him at the table and pulled the file he had placed there toward her. She tapped her fingers against it, but didn’t open it. Instead she forced herself to look straight into his mesmerizing deep blue eyes.

“Anton,” she said, stretching as tall as she could, trying to be as imposing as her five feet seven inch height would allow. “About what happened the other night… I just… I just wanted to say thank-you. For getting me a cab, I mean.”

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.