The Hot Flash Club Chills Out (8 page)

11

T
hat evening, Nora Salter’s house was full of light, movement, and pastel flurries of perfume as the five women got ready for dinner out.

“This is like college!” Wrapped in a towel, Faye left the steamy bathroom and passed Marilyn in the hall, headed for her own shower.

I wouldn’t know,
Shirley thought,
I didn’t get to go to college.
All the other women were better educated. Plus, they all had children. She was the outsider. Still, she reminded herself, they had come here because of
her,
because she, uneducated, childless, thrice-divorced Shirley, had been asked to use the house by Nora Salter, who probably had enough money to
buy
a college. The thought cheered her. Why was she so easily dispirited these days? She didn’t used to be so whiney.

“Ready?” Alice called. “I’m starving!”

They gathered up their purses and wraps. Shirley locked the door behind them as they stepped out into the bright spring evening. The day’s breeze had grown stronger, making their skirts and scarves flip like kites. They all lurched occasionally as their high heels caught on the uneven paving of the brick sidewalks and the cobblestone streets. Startled, they laughed at their unexpected clumsiness.

“Stop!” Faye giggled. She whispered, “I’m not wearing a pad!”

“Pad!” Alice snorted. “I need a catheter with a hose connected to a bag on my ankle.”

This made them all laugh even harder. By the time they arrived at The Boarding House, they were staggering with their knees locked together, bent nearly double.

“Dignity, ladies,” Shirley exhorted.

They choked back their laughter as they were shown to their table. The beautiful room’s elegance calmed them, and by the time they’d ordered martinis and wine and sparking water for Shirley, they were back in sophisticated mode.

“It’s cooler here than I thought it would be,” Polly observed.

Alice lifted one eloquent eyebrow. “Oh, and that’s why you bought that cashmere shawl?”

Polly laughed. “Isn’t it gorgeous? Touch.”

Everyone leaned forward to stroke the shawl.

“It feels like spun whipped cream!” Faye sighed.

“Trust you to use a food analogy.” Alice laughed. “The quality of the shops here
is
amazing.”

“So you’re glad you came?” Shirley inquired anxiously.

“Yes, and I’m coming next weekend, if that works,” Alice said. “I want to attend The Nantucket Film Festival.”

“Oh, yum.” Faye licked her lips. “Do tell.”

Alice’s silver and turquoise bracelets clattered as she waved her hands. “They’re showing first runs of new movies, and some directors and actors will be here. Steve Martin, for one.”

“I’ll come, too,” Faye said. “Is it expensive?”

Alice dug in her purse. “I have a brochure here somewhere. Oh, and that weekend there’s a performance by that wonderful Asian cellist, the beautiful young woman, oh, what’s her name…”

Before she could remember, the waiter arrived with their starters. Faye had the mussels in white wine, Alice the grilled scallops in wine sauce, Marilyn, a crepe filled with lobster and cream, vegetarian Shirley a salad of field greens, and Polly the smoked salmon.

Alice took a bite. “Divine!”

“
Too
good,” Polly agreed with a sigh. “How can I eat food like this and still fit into a bathing suit?”

Faye grinned. “A man asks his wife what she wants for her birthday. She’s our age. She wants to be a little wild, a little daring. She envisions herself in a sporty little convertible, so she hints, ‘Give me something that goes from 0 to 200 in 6 seconds!’ So, on her birthday, her husband gives her a bathroom scale.”

“Oh, no,” everyone groaned.

“Look.” Alice put on her executive face. “We’re supposed to be relaxing here, right? We’re supposed to be de-stressing. We’ve got to have a rule. No dieting on Nantucket!”

Faye lifted her wineglass. “I’ll drink to that.” She looked over at Marilyn. “Hey, you’re pretty quiet this evening. Did you enjoy your day?”

“Loved it!” Marilyn answered.

“Anything here to pique your interest?” Alice asked.

Marilyn said, “Well—”

“Look!” Shirley interrupted. “There’s Kezia!” She twiddled her fingers in greeting at the young woman entering the restaurant with three other people.

All the members of the Hot Flash Club stopped to stare. Kezia wore a scarlet tank top ending above her belly button, and an azure silk skirt riding low on her hips, accentuated by a baroque jeweled belt. A slice of her sleek belly showed like tanned satin as she walked. Her thick black hair was free from its ponytail and fell around her shoulders like a gleaming shawl. A necklace of glittering stones lay across her chest. She threw the group a gorgeous smile and waved.

“She looks like a medieval princess.” Shirley sighed.

“Is that her husband?” Polly gaped at the tall blond man who pulled out Kezia’s chair. “Gosh, he’s handsome. They’re all so beautiful! So perfect! They look like gods!”

“They’re
young,
” Marilyn reminded her. “They haven’t been marked by time.”

Alice raised a critical eyebrow. Quietly, she muttered, “
I
want to know how they can afford to eat in a restaurant like this. They’re island people, aren’t they? Not dot-com zillionaires.”

“Oh, silly.” Shirley laughed. “Her husband’s in construction. He probably makes eighty dollars an hour.”

“Then why is she caretaking?” Alice demanded.

“Why not?” Shirley countered. She turned to Marilyn. “Sorry, Mare, I interrupted you. How do you like Nantucket?”

Marilyn beamed. “It’s a scientist’s paradise! There are wildflower tours and marine ecology seminars, birding field trips, not to mention the Maria Mitchell Museum.”

“Who’s she?” Polly asked.

“Maria Mitchell discovered a new comet in 1847. She was Vassar’s first professor of astronomy. The science museum here is named after her.”

“Still,” Faye pressed, “you seem preoccupied.”

Marilyn sighed. “Just worried about everyone back home.”

“Well, phone them,” Alice said sensibly.

“I did, before we came out. It took Mother forever to find her cell phone—she’d lost it in her knitting basket. Ian said he’s going to share a pizza with Angus tonight. I just don’t want Ian to feel I’m deserting him because his son came to live with us, and I certainly don’t want my mother to think I’m running away from her.”

“I have an idea,” Shirley said. “Why don’t you bring Ian and Angus and your mother down here for a visit this summer. I don’t mean all together. At different times.”

Marilyn nodded. “That will help.”

But Faye shook her head. “Marilyn. Look at your hands.”

Dutifully, Marilyn held out her hands. Jewelry didn’t interest her, so she wore only the pretty diamond solitaire engagement ring Ian had given her.

“Turn them over,” Faye ordered.

Marilyn obeyed. The scrapes on her palms from her morning’s fall were an angry red.

Faye gently cupped Marilyn’s hands in hers. “Only this morning, you fell on your face because you were hurrying. I’ve been doing the same sort of thing. We’re all so busy with our lives at home. I think Nantucket should be just for us, a get-away-from-it-all vacation spot. At least for a while.”

“I agree!” Alice looked around the table. “
Plus,
if we’ve made it a rule that there’s no dieting on Nantucket, let’s make another rule: no worrying on Nantucket. We’re here for pleasure, ladies. We’re damned lucky that Nora Salter’s letting us have her house for three whole months—do you have any idea what kind of rent someone could get for that here? We couldn’t afford it. This is an unbelievable luxury, and I think Fate would be absolutely
offended
if we didn’t enjoy ourselves.”

Shirley raised her glass of sparkling water. “I’ll drink to
that
!”

The others raised their glasses, too.

After dinner, they walked around town, pausing to gaze in the shop windows, wandering down to the waterfront to watch a ferry pull in. Strolling back through town, they passed the Dreamland Theatre.

“The Film Festival will be showing some of its movies here next week,” Alice said.

“Cool.” Polly drew her shawl around her against the cold sea breeze. “Wasn’t there a movie set on Nantucket?”

Faye nodded. “Um, yes, I remember…what was it called?”

“Oh, I know!” Shirley wrinkled her forehead in thought. “What’s his name was in it.”

Faye looked intently at Shirley, as if their joint brains could connect and conjure up the information. “The lead actor had dark hair. Was it George Clooney?”

“No! It was…” Polly tapped her lip. “Was it Ben Affleck?”

“No, no, someone older.”

“Was it Denzel Washington?” Alice asked.

“No,” Faye shook her head. “Let’s walk, maybe movement will kick my brain into gear. It was…Peter! Peter someone!”

“Peter Sellers?” Alice offered.

“Peter Ustinov?” Shirley suggested.

“No, no,” Faye said. “Peter, Peter…”

“Peter O’Toole!” Marilyn yelled.

“No, that’s not right—Peter Gallagher!” Polly cried, clapping her hands in triumph.

“Right!” Faye gave Polly a high five. “And Michelle Pfeiffer.”

“Except she wasn’t really in it,” Polly continued, as the memory returned, “because she was the wife who died in the beginning. On a boat, right?”

“Right,” Faye agreed. “And doesn’t the husband see a ghost on the beach—”

“That’s enough!” Alice interrupted. “No talking about ghosts before bedtime.”

The rising wind drove them back to the house. Except for the occasional restaurant, the town was shut down for the night. Street lamps illuminated the empty sidewalks. The businesses and shops were closed. One lonely truck rattled over the cobblestones and off into the darkness.

“Kind of dead here,” Alice observed, drawing her jacket tight around her neck.

“Not in the summer,” Faye told her. “I’ve been here in July. There are street musicians, and the shops are open, and the streets are crowded.”

“Hope so.” Alice shivered. “It’s too quiet for me.”

“We’re supposed to
enjoy
the quiet,” Shirley reminded her.

They’d left a lamp burning in the window, and as they stepped into the Orange Street house, they felt their spirits lift. The old house, in spite of its roominess, was cozy and welcoming.

“Anyone want a nightcap?” Faye asked. “I brought some Baileys Irish Cream.”

“You’re wicked!” Polly laughed. “But guess what? I brought some, too!”

“Pajama party!” Shirley cried.

“I’ll join you in a minute,” Marilyn told them. “I’ve got to phone Ian and Ruth.”

“I’ve got to phone Gideon,” Alice said.

“I’ve got to phone Aubrey,” Faye said.

“I don’t
have
to phone Hugh,” Polly said wistfully, “but maybe I will, anyway.”

I could phone Stan,
Shirley thought,
but I don’t want to.
“I’m going to make myself some chamomile tea. I’ll meet you all in the front parlor.”

She was curled up on the sofa with a mug on the table next to her and a gorgeous glossy photography book about Nantucket in her lap when the others came down.

“Let’s light a fire,” Faye suggested. “I’m freezing.”

“Do the fireplaces work?” Polly asked nervously.

“I’m not sure.” Shirley grabbed a pad and pen lying on the table. “I’ll add that to my list of things to ask Nora.”

“Surely we won’t need a fire in the summer,” Alice said.

“You never know,” Faye told her. “This island gets lots of wind and fog.”

“Well, for tonight, how about turning on the furnace?” Alice suggested.

Shirley flipped through her notes. “There’s a thermostat—”

“There!” Faye pointed. “By the portrait of the sea captain.”

Alice turned the dial. From deep in the house, the furnace rumbled to life, and in moments warm air wafted into the chilly room.

“That’s more like it.” Alice plunked down into a wing chair and lifted her legs, resting her feet on the coffee table. “Aaah.” She yawned. “I don’t know why I’m so tired.”

“It’s the sea air,” Faye told her. “You’ll sleep like a baby tonight.”