Two for One-Relatively Speaking (The Two for One series) Read online

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  The gate to Trinity Manor slid open to accommodate the Bentley limousine; as the vehicle passed through the opening Danielle’s mobile rang. It was Katie.

  “I just got your voice mail,” Katie said. “Oh my God, is your mother really here?”

  “According to Max she is and he would know,” Danielle replied remembering the frantic phone call he had made to her office no more than thirty minutes ago informing her—in typical Max Bland fashion—of this new development and suggesting—again, in typical Max Bland fashion—that she get her pampered white bottom home post-haste, ASAP and lickety-split, if not sooner. He had then muttered something about Trappist monks and hung up.

  “Listen, sweetie,” Danielle now said to Katie, “I’m pulling up to the house now.”

  “Okay, I’m getting my coat on and heading home myself.”

  “Thanks,” Danielle replied. She snapped the mobile shut just as the Bentley stopped. She thanked Penry, the driver, and was about to bound up the steps leading to the front door when suddenly Max appeared from out of nowhere. He had evidently rushed out to catch her because he had neglected to put on a coat and now stood with hands shoved deep in his pockets trying to stay warm.

  “You scared me!” Danielle admonished and because she never let an opportunity to smack him on the arm pass by she did it now.

  “Sorry,” he said.

  “So, what has she told you?”

  “Me? She hasn’t told me anything. I haven’t been in to see her.”

  “What? Max!” Another smack on the arm.

  “Look Danielle, I told you a long time ago never to leave me alone with your screwy mother. Did you think I was joking?”

  “But this is different, Max! She’s been through a devastating breakup of her marriage and she’s obviously here because she’s too upset to be alone.”

  “And I’m sorry your mother’s been through the wringer,” Max said. “But she’s still a screwball, especially with me, and I don’t wanna be bothered with her.” He pointed at her. “You see, this is what happens when you give your address to people—they suddenly drop in unannounced. You really need to start being more like me, Danielle; my parents don’t even know where this house is; in fact, they think we live in Scotland.”

  Danielle sighed. It wasn’t that Max and her mother didn’t get along but Arlene, Danielle readily admitted, was unfortunately like a lot of women in Fountain Hills, Arizona—women who had all married high earners and who competed with each other in an inane assortment of categories: employment of a housekeeper who spoke French, for example, trumped employment of one that spoke Spanish; taking your kids to Disneyworld one summer meant you did better than your neighbor, who only took hers to Disneyland; owning an Airedale surpassed owning a Labrador; parenting a child who studied the violin was worth more points than she whose offspring studied piano. Every aspect of these women’s lives was subject to this kind of scrutiny: brand of toilet paper; long distance provider, satellite versus cable; shape of swimming pool; quality of manicure; home security system; Culligan versus Arrowhead; weight, bust size and number of plastic surgeries to correct deficiencies in both; GPAs of children; who got the lead in the school play; lushness of lawn; Pepsi versus Coke; length of marriage; Moen versus Kohler, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.

  Naturally then, a woman as pretentious as Arlene adored having Max Bland in her inner circle, more for the prestige his name brought to her family than for any real appreciation of his talents, and when she was in his company she went out of her way to prove herself worthy to be in his presence. If there were a Church of Bland, Arlene would have been a cardinal.

  Of course, such sycophancy annoyed the object of her sycophantism and Max could only tolerate Arlene for increments of time so tiny one would need the same chronometers used during the Olympics to measure them.

  Now, about to go into the mansion to see her mother, Danielle said to Max, “Okay, fine, fine, but you will be joining us for dinner, understand?”

  “Or how ‘bout this?” Max offered. “I leave for Liverpool now, a day early?”

  “No.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah…I suspected that wouldn’t go over well. Fine, dinner; but we eat here and I only show up after the food is on the table.”

  “No, we go out but we pick somewhere close.”

  “I’ll only go out if I can meet you at the restaurant and we don’t stay for dessert.”

  “How about you ride with us to the restaurant but I’ll allow you to pretend to get a mysterious phone call right after the main course which will require you to leave before dessert?”

  “No starters?”

  “No starters.”

  “Deal.” They shook on it.

  “Now if you’ll excuse me,” Max said, “I left Brother Armand Couvreur, of the Trappist community in Lemieux, on hold in my office; he’s got some pamphlets to mail me and I still need to give to him our address.”

  Chapter 7

  Mother and daughter embraced. For Danielle it felt wonderful to be able to finally give her mom a tactile demonstration of love and womanly support after all these weeks of emotional turmoil. The hug lasted far longer than the usual “nice to see you” variety and during its entirety Danielle tried to provide Arlene some of her own strength via osmosis.

  Afterwards, Arlene stepped back to arm’s length and surveyed her daughter.

  “Very nice,” she commented, feeling the fabric of Danielle’s suit with practiced fingers. “Versace?”

  “Armani,” the younger woman corrected. “Fall collection.”

  Arlene was in her early fifties but seemed no older than forty. By looking at her it was easy for one to see from whom Danielle got her stunning looks. Of average height, model slender but well-proportioned, with an impressive mane of dark hair streaked subtly with blonde Arlene bore a striking resemblance to Susan Lucci in her Erica Kane years (this resemblance, by the way, worth quite a bit of points in Fountain Hills) and despite how easily she annoyed Max even he had to admit she was high up on the eye candy scale.

  “So, are you surprised to see me, darling?”

  “Well, considering that when I went to work this morning I thought you were on an entirely different continent, yes. Let’s sit.”

  They went into the main salon. Danielle requested Maureen to bring Arlene another hot chocolate and herself a mug of Earl Grey. When the beverages were served she then gave Maureen a pleasant surprise by telling her that she and the junior maid could take the rest of the day off. If private family matters were to be discussed it would be done without nosy outsiders having the chance to eavesdrop.

  When they were alone Danielle said, “You know, I’m very upset with you, Mom. How come you haven’t returned my calls the past three or four days? I was worried sick.”

  “Oh, simple, darling…I was on a cruise.”

  “Cruise?”

  “Yes, to here. Most relaxing but I must say I’m quite miffed about my cell not working during the voyage. Those commercials make it seem like their phones will work absolutely everywhere.”

  “They don’t mean the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, Mom.”

  “Nor, apparently, England. See?” From her purse Arlene removed her phone; the red “no service” light was shining steadily. “I must have looked like a fool walking around the pier in Southampton holding this stupid thing up over my head trying to get a signal.”

  So Danielle explained to her mother about the different wireless communications system extant in Europe which rendered most American cell phones useless pretty much anywhere east of Bangor, Maine. Arlene was appalled.

  “I wasn’t told that when I bought the stupid thing! How dare they! What if I’d had an emergency upon arriving? What if I’d been mugged?”

  “But you weren’t mugged, Mom,” Danielle noted. “Now forget about your phone and tell me why you didn’t let me know you were coming.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Arlene confessed. “The idea of surprisi
ng you appealed to me, I guess. I’ve sort of made a resolution to be more spontaneous in my new life, darling, and popping in to see my daughter in England seemed the epitome of spontaneity, so here I am.”

  “Ah. Well, of course I love that you’re here. You look remarkable.”

  “There is one other thing, though, darling.”

  “And that is?”

  “Well, as part of my new spontaneity program,” Arlene stated, “I’ve decided to leave Fountain Hills. I’ve lived there long enough, after all, and…and it’s time for something new, don’t you think?”

  Danielle nodded, keeping her poker face on. She knew, but refused to let on that she knew, that Arlene’s decision to uproot had zero to do with spontaneity and everything to do with the fact that the circumstances behind her destroyed marriage meant that Arlene, socially, was finished in Fountain Hills. Having a husband who cheated was one thing; everyone had one of those and what’s more, most of those idiotic women actually considered a husband’s infidelity a small price to pay for the cushy lives they led. But having a husband who had an entire second family in another state and had successfully kept it secret for nearly thirty years? No one could survive that kind of embarrassment.

  “I think that’s a good idea, Mom,” Danielle said.

  “I thought I’d give California a try,” Arlene went on. “Or maybe New York—Max would like that, wouldn’t he? In any case I was hoping I could stay here until I’ve decided?”

  “Mom, you can stay as long as you’d like,” Danielle assured her, leaning over to administer another hug. “I mean it, as long as you’d like.” Oh boy, Max was going to love this, she thought, and in her mind, during this embrace with Arlene, she figured out what she’d need to do in order to get Max to go along quietly with this. The sex tonight would have to be awesome; porn video awesome.

  “Now that that’s settled,” Arlene said, “tell me, is Katie here?”

  Danielle told her that no, Katie hadn’t arrived yet and therefore they could talk freely.

  “But I want to talk freely with you and Katie. I have a very important announcement to make and I most certainly could use her advice.”

  Danielle was puzzled but didn’t press the issue; besides, she wanted to know, “Have you heard from Dad recently?”

  “I no longer hear directly from your father, darling,” Arlene answered. “I won’t allow it. I refuse to take his calls and will only communicate with him via his lawyer.”

  “Good for you.”

  “Do you know, darling, that he hired a female lawyer? As if I’d be more sympathetic to his requests for leniency if those requests are delivered by a woman. Ha! In any case I expect the divorce to be quick. I’ve told my lawyer what I want and all he has to do is get your father to sign the papers.”

  Danielle shook her head. “God, I hope you give Dad what he deserves. I want him crucified, do you understand me?”

  “Oh, trust me, darling,” Arlene said, “The life of Harold Edwards is about to change drastically. When the smoke from this clears he’ll have the clothes on his back but not much else. Who knows? I may decide I want the clothes, too.”

  “God, I can’t believe this,” muttered Danielle. “One day I have a perfectly normal family and a father I’m proud of and the next it’s like we’re a plotline on Footballers Wives.”

  “Footballers what?”

  “It’s a soap here in Britain. Makes Desperate Housewives look like Sesame Street.”

  “Have you heard from him?” Arlene queried.

  “He’s tried but I refused to take his calls; I’ve even blocked his e-mails. So tell me your plans.”

  The next half hour the daughter listened to the mother detail the arrangements the latter was making to rebuild her life. The house in Fountain Hills was already listed, Harold’s possessions having already been burned in the backyard; there were final particulars to hammer out pertaining to the divorce; realtors on both the east and west coasts of America were putting together lists of potential properties Arlene may want to buy; she was considering returning to school to finish her Bachelor’s degree in art history, put on hold when she became pregnant with Danielle after her twentieth birthday, and in the meantime Arlene wanted simply to escape, to slow down and acclimate herself to the reality of no longer being Mrs. Harold Edwards, devoted wife and homemaker, but rather, once more, Ms. Arlene Corcoran, woman scorned but brave enough to start over.

  Afterwards, Danielle asked: “What’s she like? My half sister?”

  “Sloane?”

  “God, her name is Sloane?” Oddly enough this was the first time the spawn’s real name had touched Danielle’s ears. “Sloane? What the hell?”

  “I think it’s a perfectly lovely name, darling,” Arlene insisted. “She’s quite nice. The poor thing…she’s just as devastated by this as you and I are.”

  “Yeah, I bet,” was Danielle’s snide reply.

  “No, really, darling. You have to remember that all her life she believed your father was her father. And then, poof!, she finds out otherwise. Everything you felt she did too. We both cried about it for two days at least.”

  “You let her stay with you for two days!”

  “Of course, darling. She’s a wonderful young woman, Danielle, and she did us both a huge favor by coming forward as she did. Oh, I’ll admit that at first I resented her and how she presumed to come into my life and wreck it. I remember thinking, ‘Did I really need to learn this? Couldn’t I have been kept in the dark for however many years I have left?’ But, well, really, isn’t it worse to continue being made a fool of? Thinking your husband is in New Mexico doing one thing when in fact he’s doing another? I just don’t understand how he found time to research those incredibly boring books about the Anacondas he wrote.”

  “Anasazis, Mom.”

  Arlene downed the remainder of her cocoa.

  “Actually,” she continued, after dabbing her mouth with a napkin, “Sloane is a dear. More bookish than you, perhaps; definitely more shy. I could certainly see her and Max getting along nicely, though.”

  Danielle made no reply to this but vowed inwardly that if Sloane so much as sneezed in Max’s direction the woman would find herself stripped naked, shoved in a box and FedEx-ed to the nearest men’s prison.

  “In fact, she’s a huge fan of his and told me about how she studied him at Bryn Mawr and wrote her Masters thesis on his work. But enough about all this nasty business, darling,” Arlene said, patting Danielle’s knee. “How are you and Max doing?”

  Under normal circumstances, that is, circumstances which don’t have anything to do with New Mexico or second families, this would have been the very first question Arlene would have asked Danielle back at the “Hello, how are you?” stage, the health of her daughter’s relationship with the wealthy and famous Max Bland being of paramount concern. So Danielle spent the requisite few minutes assuring the older woman that she and Max were still the perfect couple and by all accounts would be together until they both breathed their last.

  “And this house!” Arlene gushed. “I had no idea! The pictures you e-mailed me don’t do it justice, darling. You’ve done very well.”

  “Yes, well, I do great, Mom, but if you think I could afford a house a third the size of this one even on my high salary—which is in pounds by the way—you’d be kidding yourself. This was all Pope Anne’s doing so give Max all the credit.”

  “All the more reason to keep him happy, darling,” Arlene advised.

  “Oh yes, of course, Mom. Heaven forbid I fail to keep him happy and lose my mansion privileges. And I suppose if I ever catch him in bed with another woman or if he starts beating me up because I don’t vacuum enough I should just be grateful he’s rich, right?”

  Raising her eyebrows Arlene said, “That’s not what I meant at all, darling.”

  “Well, it certainly seems like that’s what you mean when you make comments like that, Mom.”

  “There is nothing wrong with suggesting that
a man like Max is a godsend for a woman,” stated Arlene.

  Danielle scoffed. “But there is something wrong with expecting that the responsibility of keeping us together rests solely on my shoulders. This is a new era, Mom, and I’m entitled to have Max work hard at keeping me happy as well, no matter how well-off he is. Honestly, it’s so obvious that your perspectives on what’s important in male-female relationships are seriously skewed.”

  “Yes, well, perhaps you’re right, darling,” the mother said slowly. “Anyway, that won’t be a problem any longer.”

  “And what’s that supposed to mean?” sighed Danielle, feeling a little guilty that the oft-felt vexation at the very Fountain Hills-ness of her mother had found voice now. But Arlene evaded the question by saying, “I’ll tell you what that means later, darling. For right now why don’t you show me around?”

  So the tour was given, all of the more interesting features being shown: the greenhouse; the solarium; the elevator; the library; the indoor pool and sauna; the art masterpieces on display throughout the home; Danielle’s office; the gym; the wine cellar…Arlene seemed overwhelmed and from the looks on her face at various points on the tour Danielle knew that inwardly her mother was wishing she was still of the elect of Fountain Hills so that she could brag about all of this.

  Returning to the ground floor via the east staircase the two women had made the decision to have a light snack before dinner when, en route to the kitchen, they encountered Katie.

  “Hi, I just got here a minute ago,” Katie said in greeting. Naturally, she made a move to embrace her wife but suddenly, unexpectedly, it was Arlene who ended up in her arms.

  “Katie, precious, I am so glad to see you,” Arlene exulted.

  “Um…I’m glad to see you, too, Arlene,” was Katie’s reply, not without confusion evident in her voice.

  Then, as she had done with Danielle, Arlene stepped back and fingered the fabric of Katie’s blouse.

  “Very nice,” she declared. “Dior?”

  “Um, no…Guy Laroche, I believe.” And then, surprisingly, Arlene was hugging her again.