The Trophy Wives Club Read online

  Free Maury Povich…Free Dr. Phil…how will I know my life isn’t all that bad compared to others without them? I may not have a baby daddy, but I’d know who he was if I did.

  “They look hard to walk in—”

  “They’re Zanotti’s, darling. Perfectly balanced, a feat in engineering as well as Italian beauty.”

  I lick my lips. What would it hurt to try them on? Since Jay didn’t pay attention to me, I paid salespeople to do so. That’s the height of pathetic, isn’t it? No one will be your friend unless you’re doling out the cold, hard cash? I didn’t know it was a problem until I was broke and couldn’t pay my friends.

  “I shouldn’t. I won’t be able to walk in them.”

  “I have just the thing.” He jogs over to another display and brings over a teal suede wedge with small crystals on the elegant straps.

  “Gorgeous, but still too high for me.”

  “The white leather medallion thong with a fuchsia and teal inlay.”

  “Did you say fuchsia?”

  “On sale for $330.”

  “That’s not even six nights!”

  “Pardon me?’

  Oh gosh. “I’m late. I have to go.” My hands are in a cold sweat as I run out of the shop and brace myself against the wall outside. Breathe in. Breathe out. I need support. Now!

  I haven’t been back to the church for the Trophy Wives Club even though I promised Angry Lindsay. I figured she was mad enough on her own, what more could I do to her. And I implied to Bette I’d be at the foot-washing ceremony and blew that off. Maury was a continuation that day, I had to know who fathered Deidre’s baby! But they kept calling. Kept nagging. I tried to imply I was so busy with friends, but neither Lindsay or Bette seemed to believe me. It was either give in finally, or get caller ID and since I hadn’t found an apartment yet, that seemed unrealistic.

  The monthly foot-washing ceremony had come around again, and in all honesty, I’m desperate to talk to someone, and $40 for a pedicure is a bargain for friendship at this point. Not even one night’s stay. Maybe I need a little preachin’, who knows?

  Bette has rented out the entire pedicure salon, Perfect Nail, for the afternoon. And hey, I may not remember much from my Sunday school days, but I’m pretty sure this isn’t exactly what Jesus had in mind. Then again, I’m all for a religion with good hygiene.

  There are five spa chairs, each with its own cauldron of bubbling, blue water and a personal disciple at the ready. “Do you have room for me today?”

  Bette lights up. “Haley, what a pleasure to see you! We’ve been praying for you.”

  Deidre needs prayer more than me. Dwayne the dirtball was her baby daddy. I take my place between Bette, the boss, and Helena, the gorgeous redhead with the personality of stone. I wish Lindsay were there. I look around the salon, but she’s nowhere to be found. These women are nice and all, but I need someone a little more real. Someone who’s seen the darker side of life and come out the other side.

  “You’re looking beautiful and refreshed,” Bette says in her overly warm, not sure if it’s real, way.

  “Thank you.” I’m feeling homely and haggard, but I’m glad to hear it doesn’t show. At least if I’m to take Bette at her word, and for now, I will. “I’ve had a time of respite.”

  “We don’t mean to mock Jesus’ washing of the feet ceremony, but this is something we can usually gather for, and I always like to provide a Biblical reference,” Bette overexplains.

  “Yeah. Did Jesus prefer a particular color?” I ask.

  “Oh.” Bette laughs. “Good heavens no. Nail color wasn’t invented. I don’t believe. Helena, do you know if nail polish was invented during Jesus’ time?” She looks back at me. “The Greeks and the Hebrews were very inventive.”

  “It’s okay,” I put my hand up. “It was just a joke.”

  “Oh,” Bette says, as though I’ve offended her.

  “I’m going to get something that sparkles, anyway. In honor of finding the real me.” I select a fiery red that has specks of glitter in it, and it’s free with the price of a pedicure.

  “Actually, the origin of nail color is still but a mystery,” Helena pops in. “It is believed to have started with the Chinese or the Egyptians, but direct answers remain unclear. The earliest form seemed to be a combination of floral petals, mashed and left on the nail beds overnight. The Chinese used an early form of lacquer.”

  My mouth’s ajar. I’m trying to shut it, but it just keeps flopping open. “You should totally be on Oprah with that.”

  “That’s fascinating, Helena,” Bette offers.

  “Nail polish as we know it, or varnish as it was called, started in America when automobile paint was invented.”

  “How do you know all that stuff?” I ask, truly mystified. I was lucky if I remembered my pin number.

  “I have a photographic memory. If I see it once, I happen to remember whatever the information is. I once read a set of encyclopedias in high school, and the data stayed with me.”

  “You must be great at cocktail parties!”

  Helena laughs, an odd sound—sort of like part farm animal, part teenager. “Actually, I don’t get invited to many cocktail parties.”

  “Where did you meet your husband again?”

  “At work.” Her face changes, and I wish I hadn’t brought the memory up for her.

  “So he was brilliant, too?” Again she looks downtrodden, and I’m wondering if I should have just bought the shoes and put myself out of my misery. You can’t say the wrong thing to a guy selling you $330 shoes! “I meant, brilliant in the IQ sense, not the personality sense. Clearly he can’t be that if he left you.”

  Shoot me now.

  “I meant—”

  “Don’t worry. I’ve made peace with the fact that I married an idiot.”

  “Helena!” Bette chastises.

  She shrugs. “I don’t lie, Bette. Have you ever heard me lie? If I know anything, it’s that I married an idiot. But now, he’s where he belongs, and they will make bonehead children together. I wish him the best. Really I do.”

  “I could tell.”

  “Well, let’s talk about something positive, shall we?”

  Climbing up into the chair while trying to take my shoe off at the same time proves too much for my balance, or lack thereof, and I splash my foot down into the water, like a drunk in the Chateau Marmont water fountain. I pull my soggy shoe out and try to remain composed, while Bette jumps up to help me, and Helena takes careful mental notes.

  “I guess it’s starting to show why I wasn’t a great trophy wife, huh?”

  “I hope those were cheap shoes,” Bette says.

  I look down at my Donald Pliner flip-flops. “They weren’t, but they’ll dry out.” I don’t want to elaborate on how I know this. Let’s just say it’s not the first time my shoes were intimate with the pedicure chair.

  “The statistical chance of a trophy wife wearing cheap shoes to get a pedicure is almost nonexistent,” Helena says in a tone much like Spock. I wonder that Helena understands enough about makeup to apply it. She doesn’t seem to know there is any power in beauty at all, so it seems an odd dichotomy. Maybe she learned a thing or two from Cleopatra.

  “I have a friend who brings rhinestone-studded cheap flip-flops to all her appointments,” I offer. “Well, I had a friend who did that. You know, before—”

  “How’s life going on your own, Haley?” Bette asks, as she sits back down. “I’ve been praying for you daily.”

  “You have? What do you pray? I mean, if you don’t mind my asking.” For how strange this group is, I’ll tell you it means something to me that Bette prays for me, and I haven’t had to pay a dime. There was a study on The View that stated people who were prayed for had a higher rate of recovery. Maybe that’s why I was able to resist the shoes.

  “I pray that God would surround you with His love and let you be at peace. I ask that you might receive His forgiveness, so you in turn, can extend that forgiveness to
others.”

  “Meaning Jay?”

  “Forgiveness isn’t for him, Haley. It’s for you.”

  “Like you said, can we talk about something uplifting?”

  “So what are you doing with yourself?” Helena asks.

  The warm water is like a truth serum. “It’s sort of lonely. Not because of Jay. I don’t miss him,” I admit. “He would just come home and tell me what I’d done wrong all day. There’s not much to miss in that. But I miss the companionship of the maids, the cook, just people. I miss people. I’ve watched a lot of television. I’ve picked up the phone to call QVC a few times, only to realize I have to watch my pennies until I know what I’m doing. Not only can I not afford the sixty-nine-dollar caramel apples, but I probably shouldn’t waste the dollar on the phone call, either. I’m still in the motel you know. Jay finally canceled my cell, and I just never restarted it. I figured what was the point? I didn’t have anyone to call.”

  “Surely, you’re not that poor, are you?” Helena asks. “Do we have to pick up her pedicure tab?” she asks Bette. “Because you know, I don’t believe in that kind of charity. She has to pick herself up off the floor to be helped. You know what Ben Franklin said about God helping those who help themselves. She hasn’t even got a plan yet.”

  “And she is right here,” I say.

  “Does it matter, Helena? I’m going to pay her tab because I invited her, and I’m glad she’s shown up. She didn’t last month, so let’s give her a reason to come back. That’s the Christian thing to do, dear.” Bette pats her hand. I’m glad it’s someone else’s hand being patted and as far as I’m concerned, Helena is much more in need of hand patting than I am.

  I watch Helena’s gaze cloud. I think this Christian thing might not come all that naturally to her, which makes me like her a little more. Being kind is harder than being right, and I don’t think she gets that. She’s has all the grace of a steamroller. Definite friend potential here.

  “I mean, you got some sort of settlement, didn’t you? He was richer than you, right?” Helena prods. “Have you started looking for work? What do you do? You might have to rethink your education like I had to do.” She looks at her nails. “I have my Ph.D., you know?”

  “Yes, you told me.” But no job either. I may not have a photographic memory, but I seem to remember that.

  Lily Tseng walks in, and I have to say I’m glad to add someone else to our little warped group. Bette is trying. She really does make you feel like she’s willing to bake you a fresh batch of cookies anytime, anywhere, but Helena doesn’t seem to understand how the world operates. Small talk doesn’t seem to be her gift.

  “Hi, Lily,” I say with too much enthusiasm.

  “You remembered my name.”

  “Wasn’t that my job for eight years? To remember everyone’s name when Jay couldn’t.” That sounded spiteful. I didn’t mean it that way.

  She laughs, and sways her hair over her shoulder. “Oh, I need to pick a color. Hold that thought, Haley.” She clicks over in her high heels and picks a pale pink, then puts the bottle back. “On second thought, I’m just going to do French today. Hey, May, how’s your week?” She pats her pedicurist and climbs into a chair and turns toward me. “I’m telling you, what a day! It’s like Twelve Angry Men in my office. I didn’t think I was going to get to come.” She switches on the massage chair, looks at me again, and her well-groomed brows flash. “Haley, you wouldn’t be looking for a job, would you?”

  “I am, but I don’t know what I do, besides fold shirts.”

  “Well, you have to do something,” Helena says. “Did you go for the throat on your divorce like Bette warned you against? Apparently, you didn’t do all that well if Bette has to pay for your pedicure. Are you ready to let God guide you?” She smiles at Bette, like she’s passed some sort of test.

  “Helena!” Bette gasps.

  Helena’s face falls. She can’t imagine what she’s said wrong.

  “Well, Helena.” I turn to mortified Bette. “It’s a fair question, Bette. I’m not offended.” I turn back to Helena. “Today is the first time I’ve taken a shower in three days. I shaved my legs this morning and could barely get the razor through the stubble, which grew like tree stumps on all the chocolate I’ve been eating. I think magnesium must help hair growth. Anyway, you know that spreadable frosting for cakes? I’ve been buying the fudgy kind and eating it right out of the tub with a plastic spoon that I pilfer from the deli section at the grocery store. In addition, I’ve been eating a variety of takeout and watching a lot of Jerry Springer—oh, and I could barely zip up my jeans the other day. So for now, I’m not aiming real high, but I do hope to graduate to makeup tomorrow. How about you? Are you well?”

  “So, Haley,” Lily interrupts. “About this job. I have a position I need to fill quickly, and I think you’d be perfect for it. I’ll bet you know a great many people in the industry already.”

  “Lily is the human resources director at CMG, a big talent agency.”

  “One of our big talents is Rachel Barlin,” Lily explains. “Would that bother you?”

  “Would it bother her?” I grin. “If so, sign me up.”

  “You’d probably never see her. You wouldn’t work for her agent, and she’s at a point where he goes to see her. She doesn’t generally come in.”

  “I would get paid?” I ask.

  “Oh yes. It’s a real job, Haley. We have this one agent, who is any number of different diagnoses, including but not limited to ADD, OCD, and probably a good portion mental perfectionist.”

  “He sounds like Jay.”

  “Exactly what I was thinking. You’d be perfect! He needs to be handled, and he needs an assistant. Actually, he needs an assistant about every six weeks, but by then, something better would probably open up at the agency, and I could find you a decent boss.”

  “He’s not Rachel’s agent? You’re sure.”

  “Positive, and for as insane as he is, he’s brilliant, and he’s got the Midas touch when it comes to talent. He just can’t pick an assistant for beans because he has so much work. He piles too much on them before they know what they’re doing. He always goes for the lookers, but of course, they can’t handle all the requirements. You have both!”

  “I’ve never actually been an assistant, so I don’t know—”

  “So what would you call what you did in your marriage?”

  “I shopped a lot. No, that’s not true, I did a lot of detail work to make sure the movies got produced.”

  “A detail person is exactly what I need, and it sure doesn’t hurt that you’re gorgeous. I can’t go wrong!”

  “What would I have to do?” I ask, like it matters. Right now, the only talent I’m using is my remote finger.

  “Handle him. If he tells you to do this, but he really needs something else done, you handle it. You smile pretty to his face, then do what needs to be done. Do you understand?”

  “Sadly, I understand perfectly.”

  Lily takes out a card. “Be here at three o’clock today. I’ll set up the interview.”

  I grasp it. “I will. Thank you!”

  “Do you have a job for me?” Helena asks.

  “Helena, you’re in the sciences. What would I have for you?”

  She shrugs. “Probably nothing, but I’m bored and tired of looking for something.”

  “You know, Helena, you probably could use a little coaching in your interviewing skills. You know, subtly keeping the truth to yourself sometimes? I could help you with that this week, if you like,” Lily offered.

  Helena lights up, “You’d help me with that?”

  “Just get me a description of what kind of job you’re going for, and your résumé, and I’m happy to help.”

  Bette rubs Helena’s back. “We’re all going to be working soon. I can feel it! This is our year!”

  Chapter 12

  Penny, the dark-haired yoga gal, walks in with a double stroller inside which are two toddlers hitting each ot
her and crying. “Hey, sorry I’m late. My mom canceled, so I brought the twins. Sorry, I had to get out though.”

  The twins, two boys, are wailing, and though they seem to be in abject pain, they continue to inflict havoc upon one another. One of the boys grabs the other’s ear and starts to pinch, while the other twin takes a clump of hair and practices his version of a saltwater taffy pull. The screams get louder and Penny, with her yoga body and sense of inner calm, looks as if she might pull her own hair out. There aren’t enough downward dogs and cobra positions in anyone’s routine to quiet the souls of these two screaming toddlers.

  I step down from the massage chair (without getting wet), as no one has started on my pedicure yet, and kneel before the stroller in my bare, wet feet and smile at the boys. They look to one another and wail louder. I hand them each a fishy cracker on their stroller trays. “Are you hungry?”

  The boys are towheads sporting bright blue eyes, which have already developed a sense of mischief. They stop torturing one another and look at me, tears still on their cheeks and watery eyes flowing. I touch their cheeks with the back of my fingers. “They’re gorgeous, Penny. How old are they?”

  “Eighteen months,” she says with a heavy sigh. “It only feels like six years.”

  “Well, they probably need a little exercise.”

  “I think they’ve already had eighty laps around the house this morning.”

  “They’re walking, right?” I start to pull one of the boys out of the stroller. Maybe it’s my biological clock, maybe the lack of affection, but I want to cuddle these munchkins and not let go. Even their screaming doesn’t put me off. “Truthfully, this is how I feel when I’ve been in the motel too long. Maybe they just need some good, ol’ vitamin D sunshine.”

  “Don’t do that, Haley! They’ll be all over,” Helena objects, lifting her feet out of the water like I’m letting rats out of the cage.

  “I’ll just take them for a little walk. There’s a park right up the street. Jay used to run there every day.” I look to Penny. “Would that be all right if I took them for a walk? It would give you a chance to relax, and it would give me something to do. Relaxing isn’t exactly a big need at the moment, and who is going to see my feet?”