Two Feet Off The Ground Read online

  I stared at the issue of Airplane Digest he tossed on the desk. It wasn’t like he managed the radio tower at TF Green Airport. How could he not remember?

  “It’s just that it’s been a while and I was starting to get a little worried.”

  The man stood and peered out the window.

  “Well, no need to be. Isn’t that him coming towards the building?” He pointed to the three of them skipping across the tarred lot.

  The last time a wave of relief this big washed over me, Owen had been running up to me after getting lost in Wal-Mart when he was six. I turned for one second to get a box of tampons and when I reached down for his little hand, he was gone. I stood alone amidst a sea of maxi pads and adult diapers, frantic that someone had snatched my little boy. I had screamed his name out loud and ran like a rabid dog through the aisles, tossing bins as I tripped over them. Crying and hysterical, a store manager grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me until I chilled out long enough to cough up Owen’s name and description. In a flash, the doors locked and a Code Adam notice blared out of the loud speakers. And just as fast, as the army of Wal-Mart workers snapped into search and recovery mode, Owen crawled out from under a rack of men’s t-shirts red and ashamed, with his pants soaked through. I never ran up to him so fast before in all of my life. I threw my arms around his little body and vowed never to make him wait again if he asked me to go to the bathroom in a store.

  This time, his face left no room for tears. His smile lit up the room like a thousand-watt chandelier. He ran up to me and hugged me tight. Was it normal for his heart to beat that fast?

  “Mom, you have to come next time. We saw our house. I took a picture of it. And then we saw the Newport Bridge!”

  He swelled with joy recanting every detail.

  I smiled and urged him to continue, slowly deflating to a blob of guilt. I knew full well his newfound freedom was about to be struck head on and squashed like a squirrel on the road. If he could hang with Chuck and Paula like this, he could probably grow up and be a pilot just like Chuck, or even better, a fighter pilot in the US Armed Forces who’d end up saving a small town of innocent villagers from enemy attack. Yeah, he had a better shot at being the Queen of England than flying next to his mom in Uncle Chuck’s Cesna for weekend flights to Martha’s Vineyard or Block Island or even to the end of the taxi runway. I couldn’t run off and hide in a bathroom stall every time Uncle Chuck decided he wanted to take us flying.

  “How’s your stomach?” He turned his bright eyes up to me.

  “I don’t feel like talking about me right now.” I kissed the top of his matted head. “I want to hear all about your trip. Did we look like little ants down here?”

  He giggled. “The cars on the highway looked like Matchbox cars. Didn’t they, Coach?”

  “Your mother will have to come up and find out for herself.” She tossed her arms around each of our shoulders and walked us towards the exit. “Maybe we can arrange to fly down to Baltimore and see the Red Sox beat the O’s next time.”

  I realized in that short walk to the car that I’d just arrived at the turnoff that would lead to the end of our road. I hoped it was a long road at least.

  Chapter Seven

  I had only missed one day at the salon, and before I could even flip on my curling iron switch, Meredith, a yippy stylist who reminded me of an annoying little terrier biting my ankles, spilled some news to me.

  “You should have seen Aziza’s face. She turned beet red—almost purple—when the flowers delivered. I thought I was going to have to squirt her down with the hose to cool her down. I think she’s in love this time.”

  Flowers? Love? What?! Aziza never even kept a new tank top purchase from me, never mind something like this.

  “Where is she?” I asked.

  “She’s out back straightening the color tubes.”

  I dropped my keys and pocketbook on my station and bolted to the backroom. Aziza was stuffed headfirst in the closet tossing empty color boxes on the floor behind her.

  “Why didn’t you call me?” I asked.

  She jumped and hit her head on a shelf. “Shit!” She bent over and rubbed it.

  “You didn’t think to call me and tell me you got flowers?”

  She rolled her eyes and sat down in the plushy chair. “You were sick. I didn’t want to bother you.”

  Bullshit. If I had as much as a toothache, she’d scoot her schedule aside to spoon feed me chicken soup and wrap me in warm blankets. “Who sent them?”

  “No one important.” She avoided my eyes. “Just some girl I met when I was out.”

  “How come you didn’t tell me about her?”

  “Because she’s not a big deal.”

  What kind of flowers were they?” I needed details. I needed to be a part of this somehow.

  “Why does it matter to you? Flowers are flowers.” She stood up and walked out towards the front desk.

  “Were they roses?” I yelled out to her. Everyone in the salon now lifted their eyes up at us.

  “What if they were? So, what? It doesn’t matter anyway.”

  “So, they were roses,” I said matter-of-factly, slightly scarred already from being left out. I’d never seen Aziza turn beet red before.

  “Yes. They were roses. Really, no big deal.”

  “Were they red?” I closed in on her this time.

  “Can we talk about this later? I’ve got a client waiting.” She brushed a chunk of her black mane over her shoulder. A patch of red blotches dotted the sides of her face.

  “You’re blushing. They were red. Who were they from?”

  “Why do you have to be so freaking nosy?” she asked.

  “Why are you making me dig like this?” I lowered my voice now because this was verging on way too personal for the rest of Bella to know. “You’re supposed to offer this information up to me before I hear it from someone who doesn’t even know your home phone number.”

  “Fine, I’ll tell you. But you have to promise not to get mad at me.”

  “Well, unless they’re from Paula I can’t see why I’d—” Wait. I knew exactly who sent them. I had slapped the counter shocking even the very hard-of-hearing Mrs. Williams to attention. “They’re from Tania aren’t they? You went out with her, didn’t you?”

  “Well, only once. I know how this looks,” she said. “But, she’s really cool.”

  I narrowed my eyes at her feeling very much like an abused puppy with no one to turn to help lick my wounds but myself. “Let’s just get to work and talk about this later.”

  * *

  The rest of the day flowed as smoothly as it could. I avoided Aziza as much as possible. When I needed to mix a color at the same time as her, I’d send a junior stylist to prep it for me. When she asked if anyone wanted take-out for lunch, I was the only one who declined ordering, even though the only thing I had to eat at the salon was a bag of crushed pretzels I found stuffed at the bottom of my pocketbook. Eventually skinny Maggie, the nail goddess at Bella, offered me half of an egg salad sandwich and a dill pickle. I hated dill pickles.

  At the end of the day, I cleaned up my station as efficiently as possible, sticking my combs in the sanitizer, wiping my blades down with oil and unplugging my flat iron and curling wands. I was responsible. Aziza on the other hand didn’t have a freaking responsible cell in her body, obviously. Who dates the ex–girlfriend, wait—the celebrity ex-girlfriend that is—of her best friend’s new girlfriend?

  I decided to duck out while Aziza washed down the sinks, grateful to be free at last to stomp my feet like a spoiled brat right there by my car. I even punched the dashboard before speeding off to home.

  This lesbian community was way too small. I wished I could just escape and start over someplace where I knew no one.

  How could Aziza be okay with this? How did she answer the phone that day and say yes to Tania knowing full well I’d be pissed at her? Did she even give a crap about me anymore? Was she that selfish?

  Wa
tch them become this big couple. Aziza–the new Paula, traveling on Tania’s arm from one tour stop to another, offering her standing ovations, and handing her CDs to sign as crowds gathered to get her autograph.

  Aziza would run into work each day and shovel all this crap at me, and all I’d be able to do is close my mouth and pray that none of this shit sunk in.

  What about the holidays? Would I have to invite both of them over for gift exchanges and eggnog by the tree? Maybe me and Tania could even swap sex-stories about Paula. Gee, wouldn’t that be right in line with the Christmas spirit? And I’d have to go shopping to buy Paula’s ex-lover a present. What would I get her? A framed picture of me and Paula? And what would the gift tag say? Merry Christmas, Love Your Ex and Her New Girlfriend. I’d rather eat Chinese takeout out of the box in front of a tire fire in a back alley somewhere than hold hands and sing Christmas carols with this new power couple.

  By the time I got home, Aziza had called my cell phone twice without leaving a message.

  I yelled down the hallway to Owen. “If Auntie Azi calls, tell her I’m taking a shower or something.”

  “She already called and said she’s bringing pizza.” He skated around the kitchen in roller blades, raiding the cabinets for licorice, then rolling past me to grab a Coke out of the fridge.

  I needed a drink.

  I poured myself a glass of Merlot, spilling it over the edge of the glass. “Well, when she gets here, tell her I went to bed.”

  Owen inched closer. “Why are you mad at her?”

  “Because sometimes she acts like a selfish you-know-what,” I said, “We’ll be fine. I just need some time to myself.”

  He grabbed hold of the counter and edged himself even closer to me. “What did she do?”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  He shoved off towards his room. “Whatever.”

  I wiped the butcher block countertop, which Owen left stained with fruit punch. What did he expect me to do for the rest of my life? Be his maid? Was everyone out to get me that day?

  And, just who did Aziza think she was barking out her upcoming entrance like she was already a celebrity’s girlfriend? Aziza was bringing pizza. Oh, stop the world people, the Great Aziza would be gracing the pitiful folks of condo C-3 with her presence.

  I piled the dirty breakfast plates from that morning into the dishwasher. I never should’ve told her about Paula. Leave it to Aziza, the praying mantis herself, to get all involved and then tangled up in the web. I’d bet my life that if she hadn’t met Paula before meeting Tania, she would’ve kept on hating Tania’s music every bit as much as she did the day we saw her at the Newport Folk Festival a year ago. Aziza’s exact words after Tania played her first set – I wish I were deaf.

  Ugh.

  Owen adored his Aunti Azi and would trade just about anything to make sure she stood by his side as much as possible. He hated when we fought. So, when he emerged from his bedroom, holding his stomach like a bad actor feigning an appendix eruption, I just rolled my eyes. I knew what he was up to.

  Dressed in his soccer ball pajamas, he hunched over and held his belly, clinging to the wall as he walked toward me. “It really hurts, mom. Can you call Auntie and ask her to bring some of that pink stuff?”

  Ten minutes ago he had been gliding around the floor like a champion hockey player. “Give me a break.”

  He bent over and groaned. “I think I’m going to puke.”

  I reached under the sink for a bucket. It smelled like lemons and ammonia. “Use this.”

  Owen inhaled the stench and threw the bucket down on the ceramic tile. He straightened. “Are you trying to kill me?”

  “You know damn well you don’t have a stomach ache.”

  “I do.” He buckled over again.

  “Good. Then, get in the car.” I walked towards the front door.

  Owen trailed behind me. “Where are we going?”

  I grabbed my keys off the nail and opened the door, ushering him past me. “To the hospital.”

  He made it as far as the door and stopped. “I really just think I need some crackers and pink stuff.”

  “I don’t think so.” I pointed my finger towards the parking lot. “Go.”

  He miraculously stood up tall. “Why are you always mad at her?”

  I stared at his big watery eyes for a few seconds before moving past him back into the condo. I flung my keys on the coffee table. He was so sensitive. “Everything’s fine, Owen.”

  “I just hate it when you’re mad at each other.”

  There I went again putting my son in the middle of one of our fights. What did he know about the rules of dating amongst best friends? I couldn’t bear to look into his sad eyes for another second. “Is she bringing pepperoni?” I asked him.

  He nodded and a smile lit up his face. “And Feta.”

  I wrapped my arm around him. “That’s my favorite.”

  “That’s why she’s bringing it.”

  Who needed couple’s counseling when we had Owen to keep the peace?

  * *

  I opened the front door and took the pizza from Aziza’s hands. I noticed fresh tears pooling in her eyes and before I could open my mouth, she dropped into my arms like a child who had just been returned to her mommy after being kidnapped. She buried her head in my shoulder.

  “I hate when you’re mad at me,” she said, her words pitchy and scratchy. “I should’ve called you and told you about it. I just didn’t know how to handle it, sweetie. I’m so, so sorry.”

  And just like that, I forgave her. “Let’s just put it behind us,” I said, closing the door with my foot.

  “Thank God.” She unwrapped herself from me. “I bought some beer, too.” She slid the twelve-pack of my favorite, Sam Adams Summer Ale, on the counter. “Figured we could use some tonight.”

  How could I stay mad at my best friend? Adorable as she was and all. I needed one more hug to make sure we were okay. It gave me strength because then I added, “I want to hear all about it.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.” Not really. But, isn’t that what best friends are supposed to do?

  The three of us sat around the breakfast bar and shoveled slice after slice into our mouths and talked about the upcoming trip to D.C. that weekend.

  “I’ll come over tomorrow and help you guys pack,” Aziza said, a pepperoni fell to the plate in front of her. “I’ve got something you can bring with you.” She winked at me.

  She had no clue that a school trip didn’t mean I could put the kids to bed and go color the town with Paula late at night. I could only imagine that Aziza’s mystery travel item had less to do with practicality and more to do with red lace.

  On that note, I stood up and started to clean up our mess.

  A few minutes later, Owen went to bed and we went out onto my deck with our cooler of beer. We stared out at the lake in silence. The oversized deck provided a panoramic view. The sun had just about set, and a half-moon rose over the northeast side of the lake. A few straggling kayakers floated in the distance. The early summer night air snuggled against us like a fuzzy blanket.

  I smelled burgers.

  It didn’t take long for Aziza to explode with details about her date with Tania.

  “She took me to this piano bar and we sat next to each other on this secluded leather couch. Next thing I know, the waitress is handing us a couple of shots of Agua Dente. I lost count how many we had. But I’d say by the third was when I was feeling really good. She just started making out with me in the candlelit nook with “Songbird” playing in the background. Seriously, the most romantic night of my life.”

  I sucked my bottle of beer dry and reached for a fourth. “Go on.”

  “The only kind of bad thing was that when I got back from the bathroom, she was smoking a cigarette.”

  “Oh,” I said, projecting my most convincing sympathy possible, which proved difficult considering I had to press myself against the wicker chair to avoid bre
aking out into a series of cartwheels. Suddenly, Tania West wasn’t so perfect anymore.

  “A smoker. Yuck, huh? I would never guess Paula would be into a smoker.”

  “She said it helps keep the raspy quality of her voice,” Aziza defended.

  “So, it’s a career thing?” I couldn’t help interjecting some sarcasm on that one.

  “Look, at first, I was kind of grossed out. But then, the longer I sat there with her, the less it bothered me. Aziza scrunched her face to the side. “I actually smoked a few myself.”

  “You didn’t? Really?”

  “Yeah. So there we were puffing away and who walks in?”

  I stared at her. “Who?”

  “Do you remember that really hot girl that I took to the New York show a few years back?”

  “Bend-Over-Backwards-Lizzy?” Aziza had described this girl as being more limber than Gumby.

  “Yes! So, she came over and started flirting, even with Tania draping her arm around me. Can you believe it?”

  “Well, she was into the whole threesome idea, so yeah, I can see her trying to pry herself into you both.” I sat up a little taller. I loved drama.

  “Well, I think Tania got a little jealous of all the attention, so we left and went back to her place. She has the best view of the city. She’s on the eleventh floor overlooking the bay. It’s incredible.”

  “Did you have sex?”

  “We did.” Aziza giggled. “I’ve never had sex like this before. It lasted hours. I couldn’t get enough of her.”

  I gulped back another long swig of beer. My head spun, making the moon light hip hop dance on the water. Padded by alcohol helped me to hear Aziza through. “Hence the roses, huh?”

  “Don’t be mad at me for what I’m about to do.” Aziza stuck her hand in her pocketbook and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “I’m just really craving one right now. The drinking, the talk about sex, it’s just all too much for my senses right now.”

  She stuck the cigarette in her mouth and let it dangle there while she found her lighter.

  “You don’t smoke.” I snatched the unlit cigarette before she could light it.

  “Lighten up. This is the same pack I bought that night. I just feel bad throwing them in the trash after paying six bucks for them.” She plucked another cigarette from the pack and lit that one, leaving the unlit one dangling from my fingers.