Two by Two(46)

"They'll catch up," I said. "I don't think I was reading when I went to kindergarten."

"Why not?"

"My parents didn't read to me too much. They probably assumed I'd learn to read when I was in school."

"Why didn't they read to you?"         

     



 

"I don't know. Maybe they were too tired."

"Mom reads to me when she's tired. And you read to me when you're tired."

"People are just different, I guess. Hey, by the way, did Bodhi ever show up at school?"

"Yes and we get to sit at the same table. He's really good at coloring."

"That's great. It's nice to sit by someone you already know."

By then, the school was receding in the distance. "Daddy?"

"Yes?"

"Can we go to Dairy Queen before piano? Since I went to school today?"

Noting the time, I did a quick calculation. "I think we can squeeze that in."





The stop for ice cream meant that we arrived at the piano teacher's  house with only a few minutes to spare. London had been on the go for  eight hours, nine by the time the lesson was over, and that didn't count  the time it had taken her to get ready for school. She was going to be  exhausted by the time we got home.

While London practiced, I took a walk through the neighborhood. My knees  were a bit achy from the regular jogging but not too bad. I had just  set out when I heard my cell phone ringing. Marge.

"How did London do on her first day?" Marge asked without preamble.

"She had a good time," I answered. "Her friend Bodhi was there."

"Yeah? How about Bodhi's mom?"

"I didn't see her," I said. "We were gone by the time she and Bodhi got there."

"Thank God," she said. "Otherwise, poor Emily might have been melted by Vivian's laser-beam death stares."

"Aren't you supposed to be working instead of picking on my wife?"

"I'm not picking on her. If anything, I'm on her side. I mean if Liz  started hanging out with her ex, who also happened to be a terrific,  beautiful, recently separated woman, I'd be trying to annihilate her  with my laser-beam stares, too."

"What is it with women?"

"Oh please. Don't even go there. Are you kidding? I'm sure you just love  hearing her bring up Walter in every conversation. Even I was getting  tired of his name."

"She works for him," I said, trying to downplay it. "It's normal."

"Yeah? What's my boss's name?" When I didn't answer, she went on. "And  who cares if they work together, exercise together, travel together, and  fly on the private jet together, right? And what does it matter if she  mentions her billionaire boss's name more than she mentions yours?  You're so evolved that you're above feeling even the slightest tinge of  jealousy."

"Are you trying to get a rise out of me?"

"Not at all," she said. "But I do want to know how the rest of your  weekend went, after you left Mom's. I take it you didn't bring up the  new-bank-account or apartment-in-Atlanta things?"

"No. Saturday night ended up being pretty quiet. We went to bed early.  We were all tired. And on Sunday, I had a break actually." I told her a  bit about Vivian and London's day.

"Like I didn't see that one coming," Marge offered.

"What are you talking about?"

"Did you notice the way she was staring at you after London was stung by the bee?"

I remembered exactly but didn't want to say it. Instead: "She was just upset that London was hurt."

"Nope. She was upset because London went running to you and not her to comfort her. Liz noticed it, too."

I remembered thinking the same thing and said nothing.

"So what does she do?" Marge went on. "She spends all day with London on  Sunday, and then rushes London into the classroom before you had a  chance to kiss her goodbye."

"How do you know about that?"

"Because Mom called and told me. She thought it was odd."

"You're crazy," I said, suddenly feeling suddenly defensive. "You're reading too much into it."

"I might be," she admitted. "I hope I am."

"And stop talking about Vivian like that. All of you need to stop  dissecting everything she does. She's been under a ton of pressure these  last few weeks."

"You're right," she said. "I was out of line. I'm sorry." There was a pause. "What are you doing now?"

"Are you trying to change the subject?"

"I'm doing my best. I've already apologized."

"London's at her piano lesson. I'm on a walk. I figured I'd burn a few more calories before dinner."

"Good for you," she said. "You look thinner in the face by the way."         

     



 

"You can't really tell yet."

"Oh yeah you can. This last weekend, I was like …  wow."

"You're just trying to butter me up so I don't stay mad at you."

"You never stay mad at me. You're such a people pleaser, you'll probably  hang up worried that my feelings were hurt because you called me out."

I laughed. "Goodbye, Marge."





The thing is, as unhappy as I was about Marge's assessment of Vivian, I  couldn't shake the notion that there may have been more than a grain of  truth in it. The only event that didn't fit neatly into Marge's theories  was our amiable Sunday night, but even Vivian's unexpected warmth could  have been explained by the feeling that she'd reaffirmed her undisputed  primacy in London's life.

On the other hand, that was crazy. So what if London had run to me after  being stung by a bee? My feelings wouldn't have been hurt if she'd  instead run to Vivian; people in healthy marriages didn't fall prey to  such petty power struggles. Vivian and I were a team.

Weren't we?





I sensed instantly that Vivian wasn't in a pleasant mood when she  returned from work, and when I asked about her day, she launched into a  story about how the CFO had just submitted her two-week resignation,  which threw the company into sudden upheaval.

"Walter was absolutely furious," she said on her way to the master  bedroom. She went into the closet and began removing her work clothes.  "And I can't say that I blame him. Just last week, she'd formally agreed  to move to Atlanta. She even used it to negotiate a relocation fee  bonus-which she already collected-and now she suddenly informs us that  she's taken a new job? People are always trying to take advantage of  Walter, and I watch it happen all the time. I'm so sick and tired of  it."

There's that name again, remembering Marge's needling. Not once but twice.

"I'm sure she's doing what he thinks is best for her family."

"You didn't let me finish," Vivian snapped. In her bra and panties, she  shimmied into a pair of jeans. "It turns out she's also been recruiting  other executives to follow her to the new company, and there are rumors  that a few other executives are actually thinking about it. Do you know  how much damage that could do to Walter's company?"

Third time's a charm. "Sounds like a rough day."

"It was awful," she said, grabbing a white T-shirt. I couldn't help  noting how stylish Vivian was, even when dressing down. "Of course, what  that means to me is that because of this new wrinkle, I'm probably  going to have to spend even more time in Atlanta, at least for a while  anyway."

That part I heard clearly. "More time than four days?"

She held up her hands and drew a long breath. "Please don't add to an  already awful day. I know you're upset. I'm upset, too. Just let me go  spend some time with London and we'll talk about it later. I want to  hear how her first day went and unwind and maybe have a glass of wine,  okay?"

By then, she was already on her way to see London.

While they were in the family room, I made a quick dinner; chicken,  rice, glazed carrots, and a salad. When it was ready, they came to the  table. Vivian was still distracted and tense. London, meanwhile, kept up  a steady stream of chatter-how she and Bodhi played hopscotch at  recess, that Bodhi was a really good jumper, and countless other details  of her exciting day at school.

After dinner, I cleaned the kitchen while Vivian went upstairs with  London. Despite the late hour, I called Taglieri to speak to him about  the rehearsal tomorrow and make sure he'd reviewed the script. The one  thing I'd learned from clients is that the more familiar they were with  the script, the more successful they were at integrating other  directions.

By the time I got off the phone, I could hear the sound of shouting  upstairs. I hurried up the steps, stopping in the doorway of London's  bedroom. Vivian was holding a damp towel; London, in her pajamas, had  wet hair and her cheeks were streaked with tears.

"How many times have I told you not to put the wet towels into the  hamper?" Vivian demanded. "And this dress shouldn't have gone in the  hamper in the first place!"

"I said I'm sorry!" London shouted back. "I didn't mean it!"