Mr. and Mrs. Wilton and Mr. Bernard are silent, but their attention is fixed on George and Ava, like it’s something they’re watching on the stage. Ava doesn’t want a scene, so she scoots her bench back and smiles at George.
“Sure thing,” she says. “I’ll be right back.”
But when Ava heads down the hallway toward the owner’s quarters, George is following right on her heels.
“George,” she says. “Please wait in the living room. I can’t invite you back here.”
“If you think I’m waiting out front, you’re nuts, missy,” George says. “I intend to find out what Mitzi is up to.”
Ava can’t believe this is happening. She turns around to face George. They are smack in the middle of the hallway, right in front of the door to the nursery, which is closed, meaning the baby is asleep. Ava hears the water running in Kevin and Isabelle’s room; one of them is showering. It’s time to get ready. Shelby will be there any minute to get her instructions for babysitting.
Ava huffs in frustration and marches down the hall-past the turnoff for Bart’s room where the light is on-to her father’s room. Ava knocks on the door.
No answer.
“He’s not answering,” Ava says.
George takes it upon himself to knock again; it’s a knock to wake the dead, and Ava winces.
“The baby’s sleeping,” she says.
At that second, she hears her father’s voice. Then Mitzi’s voice. Ava squeezes her eyes shut as though she’s about to witness a car crash.
George clears his throat, loudly.
Ava fires a warning shot. “Daddy?”
But when Kelley and Mitzi reach the bottom of the stairs and see George, they are both wholly unprepared. Mitzi gasps like George is the Grim Reaper. Mitzi is carrying a deep purple gown in one hand, and a pair of crystal stilettos in the other. All of a sudden, Ava understands what was going on upstairs, and how ill-timed George’s visit is.
“Mitzi, let’s go,” George says.
“My plans have changed,” she says. “I’m going to…”
“Your plans have changed?” George booms. His voice, raised to this decibel, is truly terrifying. For an instant, Ava wonders if he’s ever hit Mitzi.
Mitzi merely blinks at him. “Lower your voice, George. The baby is sleeping.”
He changes to an angry whisper. “What do you mean your plans have changed?”
“I’m going to the Festival of Trees party,” she says. She holds up the purple dress. “Margaret lent me this to wear. It was designed by John Galliano.”
“I don’t care if it was designed by John Wilkes Booth,” George says. “You’re coming back to the hotel with me.”
“George,” Kelley says, “we have one extra ticket to the party. We thought it would be good for Mitzi to get out and have some fun.”
“I know what’s good for Mitzi,” George says. “She belongs with me.”
“Where were you all day?” Mitzi asks. “Were you with Mary Rose?”
“I had lunch with Mary Rose, yes,” George says. “Then she went shopping and I went on a wild-goose chase looking for you.”
“You had dinner last night with Mary Rose and then lunch today with Mary Rose,” Mitzi says. “And she looks just like Patti. She and Patti could be identical twins separated at birth. What am I supposed to think?”
“Oh, come on,” George says. “Mary Rose is at least thirty pounds lighter than Patti.”
Ava winces. She can’t believe how badly George is blowing this.
Mitzi says, “Sorry, George. I’m going to the party with Kelley.”
“If you go to the party with Kelley…,” George says.
Here comes the ultimatum, Ava thinks.
“… I’ll pack your things up at the hotel and leave them for you at the front desk. And don’t bother coming back to Lenox.”
“Really?” Mitzi says.
“Yes, really,” George says.
“So you’re allowed to go on a date or two with good old Mary Rose, that’s not a problem. But I can’t enjoy one night of fun with my family.”
“Oh, so now they’re your family?” George says. “You haven’t referred to these people as your ‘family’ all year. You left them without thinking of anyone but yourself.”
George has a point, Mitzi thinks.
“I left them for you, George,” Mitzi says. “Because I had fallen in love with you.”
“Well, then,” George says, “if you’re in love with me, come with me now. Please, Mrs. Claus?”
“I don’t like it when you call me that,” Mitzi says.
“Okay, George,” Kelley says, stepping in. “Why don’t you leave. I’ll take care of Mitzi tonight.”
“I just bet you want to take care of her!” George says. He shakes his head. “Are you just going to let yourself bounce back and forth between us like a Ping-Pong ball, Mitzi? I thought you wanted to be with me.”
“I don’t know what I want,” Mitzi says. She looks between Kelley and George. Ava, for one, feels her turmoil. It is possible to have feelings for two people at once, as she has unfortunately learned.
I can’t stop thinking about you.
Ava feels like the Ping-Pong ball.
It’s absolutely none of her business, but Ava speaks up anyway. She says, “George, I think Mitzi should come with us tonight. She could use a distraction and she’s going to look dynamite in that dress.”
“No,” George says. “No, no, NO!” This is an angry variation on his usual HO-HO-HO!, and his last “NO!” is so loud that, a few rooms away, the baby starts to cry.
Kelley leads Mitzi past George into his bedroom and closes the door, leaving George and Ava in the hallway.
Ava says, “I need to go check on the baby.”
George says, “What do you expect me to do?”
“I expect you to leave,” Ava says.
JENNIFER
She carries a glass of wine to her room, a dressing drink. She takes one Ativan, and then another.
Two Ativan and a glass of wine is like a three-hour vacation on a deserted white sand beach.
She hasn’t been out in so long, she’s forgotten the routine: long shower, special attention to her hair and makeup. She misses Patrick. He once confided that his favorite part of marriage was getting ready to go out together. They would primp in the master bathroom of their Beacon Hill townhouse, which Jennifer had turned into an Asian-inspired sanctuary with jade green marble, teak accents, and a collection of mismatched Buddhas-stone, brass, ceramic. They played Frank Sinatra and Tony Bennett, music that made them feel like adults in love from another era.
Jennifer and Patrick shared a classic, refined taste. Jennifer had never met a man who was as masculine and sexy as Patrick, yet who appreciated things like the cut crystal vase of hothouse roses that Jennifer liked to keep on her dressing table. Patrick always put on both Jennifer’s perfume-applied by running his forefinger along her collarbone-and her heels. The higher the heels were and the more complicated the straps, the more he loved them.
Enough thinking like that. She still had six months until he would be out, and allowed to touch her.
Megan had joked that this was the perfect time for Jennifer to have an affair.
But Jennifer has zero interest in anyone but Patrick. It’s as though she punched buttons on a man-making machine, including all the qualities and quirks she wanted-and out he popped.
Jail.
Jennifer sips her wine. Her head starts to spin. She sits on the closed lid of the toilet and thinks to herself, I’m addicted to pills. What will she do when the oxy runs out? Fake a back injury? Find a dealer? She is disappointed in herself for succumbing to this predictable crutch. She realizes half the women on Beacon Hill are medicated, but she’d expected more from herself. She should have started yoga, or meditation. She pictures herself on a mat, wearing a cute outfit from lululemon, her body a clean, empty, flexible vessel.