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Yeah, right. Walk into a room full of strangers and admit that she had no passion? "No, actually, Im not. Its not my thing. "
"And what exactly is your thing?"
That stung. "Youre using your lawyer voice. "
"What are you going to do tonight, alphabetize your spice drawer? Believe me, Birdie, youre going to wake up one day and be sixty years old, and you wont remember the last time you were happy. "
Elizabeth had no answer to that. The same ugly scenario had occurred to her. Often. "If I went--and Im not capitulating, mind you--but if I went, what would it be like?"
"A bunch of girlfriends getting together. Theyll probably talk about how it feels to be lost in the middle of life. "
That didnt sound so bad; shed imagined an Inquisition. Perhaps with torture aids. "Would I have to talk?"
"No, Marcel Marceau, you could sit there like a rock. "
"You really think it would help me?"
"Lets put it this way, if you dont go this week, Ill make next week such a piece of hell that by next Thursday youll be begging to go. "
Elizabeth couldnt help smiling. Years ago, when Meghann had suffered through her terrible, heartbreaking divorce, Elizabeth had treated her in exactly the same way. Tough love. Sometimes a friend had to strong-arm you; that was all there was to it. "Okay, Ill go. "
"Promise?"
"Bite me. "
"For the hearing impaired, I ask again, you promise?"
This could go on all day. "I promise. Now, dont you have some deadbeat dad to harass?"
"No, actually, but I have a date. Hes Italian. Giuliano. "
"You finally ran out of Americans, huh?"
They talked for another twenty minutes about Meghanns lack of a love life, then hung up. Elizabeth poured herself a glass of wine and took a pair of chicken breasts out of the freezer. As they defrosted in the microwave, she checked the answering machine. There was a message from her younger daughter, Jamie, and one from Jack. He was tracking down a big story and wouldnt be home until late tonight.
"There you have it, sports fans," she said aloud. It was yet another of her crazy-older-woman traits; she talked to herself. "Im going to the meeting. "
She took a shower, then went into her walk-in closet. She stared at her neatly organized clothes. So much of what she bought was bright and colorful: hand-painted scarves, hand-knit sweaters, batik silk-screen prints. She loved art in all its forms. Since her teen years, shed been complimented on her fashion sense. But none of that helped her now. The last thing she wanted to do was stand out in the crowd.
Look, there. A woman with no passion.
After several false starts, she chose chocolate brown wool pants and a cream-colored cashmere turtleneck. She decided against a belt. It had been years since any of her good ones fit, anyway. She applied her makeup, then pulled her straight blond hair (in need of a dye job, she noticed) back into a french braid. She removed the dangly hammered-silver-and-turquoise earrings she usually wore and put in a pair of pearl studs, then studied herself in the mirror.
"Pe
rfect. " She looked as bland as a wren.
At six, she left Jack a note on the kitchen counter, just in case he got home before she did. It was a wasted gesture, of course. With his homing skills, shed be through menopause by the time he found it.
Twenty-five minutes later, she pulled into the parking lot.
The community college had been built in the late seventies and looked like it. Textured concrete walls supported a flat orange metal roof. Winter-bare trees lined the pathways and gave the campus a strangely sorrowful mien. Haggard, worn holiday decorations--grayed snowmen and faded menorahs--hung from the streetlamps, rustled in the slight breeze.
Elizabeth clutched her handbag tightly under her arm and kept going. As she moved down the interior hallways, she was glad shed worn her loafers. Her footsteps were muted, barely noticeable. No one would hear a thing if she decided to turn back.
Finally, she came to room 106. Unfortunately, there was no window in the door, no way to peek inside and find a reason to change her mind.
Cautiously, she opened the door. Without allowing herself another pause, she walked inside.
