Constance Ridleck looked rather like a young Greer Garson. This was noticed almost immediately by fans of classic movies, and never by anybody else. At eighteen, she had grown into an unusually unpretentious woman with high, full cheekbones, rather merry robin's egg blue eyes, copper colored hair that fell in a thick, naturally curling mass to her shoulders, and an attitude of detached amusement about almost everything around her, despite that fact that, as her mother often pointed out, she was seriously stubborn.
Constance put the last box of her belongings into her car, a late 1980s fugitive on the lam from the scrap heap, while her mother kept busy refusing to watch. Her mother had mixed feelings on her daughter's leaving home: on the one hand, there was frustration that this stubborn girl of hers was so foolish as to throw her life away, and on the other hand, relief that the constant failure this daughter had represented to Tina Ridleck would be out of her realm of her responsibility now, and Tina could devote her extraordinary energy to her younger daughter, Brianna. There was always a silver lining, Tina believed.
Tina was good at looking at the bright side of things, she knew it, and needed this gift when so many things did not go her way. Her husband, Eddie, was not exactly a go-getter, as she was wont to remind everyone thereby sealing her martyrdom, and she had to prod and push him more than once. However, at least his weaker personality did not let him interfere with her hard work on turning their life around. That was the bright side of it. As long as it did not involve him, he was all for it. With any major decision or crisis, he went fishing. That included the purchase of their home, subsequent re-financings of their home, and the births of his three children.
Their oldest daughter, Hayley, named for a favorite soap opera character, may have let Tina down in the looks and smarts and go-gettingness department, but at least she had gotten married young to an apparently steady man with a secure job in the office (the office, not the plant floor) of a local factory with a nice-sounding last name: Burton. Tina (nee Gormey) Ridleck had always cringed at making the lateral move from Gormey to the equally nondescript babble of hard consonants that was Ridleck (and his last name had always colored her opinion of her husband. She could not help it; there it was.), but beamed with satisfaction that her Hayley had definitely traded up.
Hayley's star continued to rise when she and her husband almost immediately purchased one of the new "McMansions" in the new subdivision on the other side of the highway, but with husband, house, dishwasher, microwave, riding lawnmower, and plasma TV in place, there was not much more Hayley could do to improve herself. Her prospects became stale for both she and her mother, at least until the time came for grandchildren. Tina Ridleck hoped that would not be for some time yet, as she was not ready to be a grandmother.
The years up until Hayley's magnificent rise in her mother's esteem, however, were filled with anguish and bitterness, as her mother, seeing at once Hayley failing miserably in a tutu, in every kind of camp she could send her, and in miserably average grades, turned immediately in hopefulness to her second daughter, Constance, named for another favorite soap opera character.
Constance, unlike Hayley, was an adorable child both in appearance and in her friendly manner, never failing to charm the socks off teachers, the better class of people her mother began to invite to house parties, and the agents, talent scouts and directors she began taking her to after that. Constance, at five years old, did not yet look like Greer Garson, but with naturally curly red hair, an ability to sing on key if not terribly loud, and a child who actually enjoyed dance class, she was led like a prize pig to the auction at numerous community theater auditions for "Annie," the inevitable repository for red-haired girls. Commercials were a natural step up, and Tina Ridleck rolled up her sleeves, girded her loins, and tucked that child like a pebble being loaded into a slingshot into the foreground of her plans for improving their lives.
Then the unthinkable happened, and tragedy struck Tina Ridleck. Constance began to rebel.
At first it was in small ways, like yawning during auditions, fidgeting during interviews. Then it developed into outright mutiny, when Constance, under the glare of the lights and the judgment of the camera, would not look enthused about The Product, or forgot the name of The Product, or laughed openly at the name of The Product, or spit out The Product when told to eat The Product. Actually, some of her spit-takes were outrageously funny, but only to the grips and the stage hands. The producers and directors were fed up, and Tina Ridleck wanted to die.
Tina bullied and threatened to kill her daughter like any good mother who had her daughter's best interests at heart, but it was for nothing. Constance was stubborn, and made things ten times worse by growing up into a certifiably stunning beauty, such a waste in someone so intent on messing up her life, and something for which her brokenhearted mother never forgave her. Hayley never forgave her either, even after she had redeemed herself with a steady go-getting husband with a classier last name and a McMansion. She would continue to be resentful of the younger sister seemingly born perfect.
Hayley got back at Constance by a masterful collection of resentful digs and verbal swipes, and her mother took her revenge on Constance by casting her out of her heart and in her typically look-on-the-bright-side attitude: There was always her youngest daughter: Brianna, named for another favorite soap opera character.
Thank God for Brianna, Tina Ridleck thought, and sometimes said aloud, and Constance agreed, which was why she and Brianna got along without any resentfulness between them.
Brianna was the baby, a feather in her cap to start off with, and had the distinction of being the Smart One. She watched the dynamics between mother and her sisters and learned a sense of healthy competition from them. She achieved prominence with excellent grades, and in her mother's eyes, had a shot at really being something. That Brianna disliked reading and never read except to cram for a test, that she never developed a vocabulary larger or less colorful than her mother's, and that she never wanted to "be" anything but rich and famous was not necessarily a detriment to her becoming either. Her mother's choices for her were: surgeon, scientist in drug research, or Bill Gates.
While Brianna's school years were decorated with science fair ribbons and certificates of excellence, Constance was backsliding into a morass of disreputable stubbornly blazing her own trail through the blackboard jungle. She worked a part-time job at McDonald's, bought a rusting car, blatantly refusing her parents' help to buy a newer one that would look better parked in front of their house, and continued to spend too much time with Billy Petroosian. The Petroosians, Billy, his divorced mother who worked at the bowling alley, and a younger sister lived in the first floor of a so-called "triple-decker" unit five streets away, but far enough from the Ridleck's automatic garage door opener and second mortgage to pay for the swimming pool best-intentioned lifestyle as Uganda was from Paris.
Tina Ridleck had done her best, and with what she felt was noble sacrifice, at last gave up on her daughter Constance. The day after high school graduation, Constance loaded her car with her belongings, and with a new full-time job in one of the chain department stores at the new shopping plaza built on the other side of the highway to service the residents of the new subdivision where Hayley lived, drove to her friend Karen's apartment. She was to move in and share expenses with Karen. Unfortunately, Karen had in the last six hours made up with her boyfriend, and Constance suddenly became less a roommate than a third wheel. With a shrug and her usual equanimity, she wished them both well and got back in the car.
Determined not to move back to her parents' home, Constance drove instead to the McMansion of her sister Hayley, who was busy looking through a porcelain figurine catalogue when Constance stepped up onto her faux-farmhouse porch with the decorative welcome mat, the hand-painted hanging piece of slate by the door with bluebirds on it that said "welcome" and the hand-painted oak sign that said "The Burtons" and "welcome" on it, along with various decorations befitting the next upcoming holiday, which was Fourth of July. Uncle Sam stood looking dourly at the happy garden gnome, as if he were ordering him into the army.
The door opened with a swish, and Hayley stood blinking a moment at Constance.
"What do you want?"
"Hi, sorry to bother you. My plans with Karen fell through, and I was wondering if I could camp in your spare room for a few days while I find someplace else to stay. Eventually, I want to find an apartment I can afford, but until then, I'll look for somebody else to room with temporarily, so I won't be with you for more than a few days, I promise. Is that okay?"
"Why don't you go home?"
"I don't think that would be a good idea. It would break Mom's heart if I went back."
"Why should that be my problem?"
"I guess it shouldn't. Sorry to bother you." Constance turned cheerfully away and muttered, "Have a nice day. Jesus loves you," under her breath while her sister closed the door. Hayley spent the next several years telling versions of the time Constance, who had gotten herself homeless, actually had the gall to come to her for help and how she had the chutzpah to tell her off once and for all.
Constance drove to the Petroosians, where she was due later that evening anyway for Billy's going away party. Mrs. Petroosian gave her Billy's old room and told her to stay as long as she wanted.
"How come you waited until I'm leaving to move in with me?" he put his arms around her.
"I'm not moving in with you, I'm moving in with your mother."
"You're sleeping in my bed."
"I'm sleeping alone in your bed."
They laughed, and kissed, and had cake, and then they drove Billy to the bus depot. He had enlisted in the army.
His mother faced it grimly, and after a couple of days, took Constance aside and asked her to stop looking for an apartment.
"The thing is," Mrs. Petroosian said, "I have cancer." She had barely whispered the word, but it sounded as if a bomb had landed on the house. Constance took her hand.
"I've had one cycle of treatment already," Mrs. Petroosian continued, "but I'm slated for surgery now and more chemo. It's going to be pretty rough. Could you stay? I know it's a lot to ask, but I'm going to need some help, and someone here for Marianne, and if you do, you can live here for absolutely nothing, room and board free, I promise."
It was the first business deal Constance ever made for herself, though she did not realize it at the time, and though it was not completely for herself. She agreed, and became Mrs. Petroosian's caretaker and source of strength, and Marianne's big sister.
Her second business deal came several months later when, with Mrs. Petroosian co-signing the loan, Constance bought the triple decker from the couple who owned it and were retiring to Florida. She liked the tenants, and liked managing the building. She took a course at the community college (non-credited) on managing rental property, and learned how to paint and wallpaper, and fix toilets. She loved it.
She hired a contractor to build a handicap ramp to the first floor porch because Mrs. Petroosian was in a wheelchair almost all the time now. One day, when they were sitting on the porch on a warm fall day, Mrs. Petroosian asked her to assume the guardianship of Marianne when that became necessary. It was another business deal, one that involved lawyers and contracts and promises of the heart. All sincere business dealt with promises of the heart, or so Constance thought.
"Why not Billy? He could get a hardship discharge, if it came to that. He would want to look after his sister."
Mrs. Petroosian smiled weakly, "I don't want to tie him down. He's so young."
When the day came that guardianship of Marianne fell to Constance, Billy, who had received permission to attend his mother's funeral, was relegated to sleeping on the couch in the living room. Marianne crawled into Constance's bed with her, where they read a few more chapters of "Anne of Green Gables."
"You'll be here when I get back, then?" Billy said the next morning, packing.
"Yep," she smiled, and they held each other a long while, thinking that would seal the pact.
Right after that, Grandma Gormey came to live with them. Tina Ridleck argued with the hospital medical social worker that a nursing home was the best place for her mother, but social worker's hands were tied. If Grandma Gormey could be cared for at home, was invited to live with her granddaughter who was willing to assume her care, and this was what Mrs. Gormey wanted (since the stroke did not affect her speech that much and she firmly said so), then Tina Ridleck had no authority to make the decision to place her in a nursing home. Tina was livid, and was still livid when she ran into Constance in the corridor moments after the "family" meeting.
"If you think I'm having anything to do with this, you are wrong. Wrong!" Tina poked her in the chest, "She's your problem, if that's the way you want it. You just want to show me up in front of that social worker. I don't have time for her. I work for a living. I don't just sit around all day."
"I don't sit around all day."
"Oh yeah, it must be real strenuous collecting other people's rent checks. Do you have to walk all the way to the third floor?"
"There's more to it than that."
"I don't see how you can live in a tenement, let alone own one. Don't think you can come to your father and me if you get into trouble, and you will, with the kind of people who live in those places."
"I won't think that."
Tina Ridleck was under considerable strain, lately, as Constance knew. Brianna was less focused on their goals since Constance had moved out and was no longer the center of Tina's attention. Without the healthy competition to drive her engine, Brianna's high school years began with inauspiciously with grades that were only good and her attention distracted by new friends who might have talked about being rich and famous one day, but who did nothing about it.
Grandma Gormey moved into Mrs. Petroosian's old room, and Marianne became her new granddaughter, and Constance took out more loans and bought the two other triple deckers right next door on either side of them.
Their days were filled with visiting occupational therapists for Grandma, Marianne's school friends to do homework but mostly to talk about boys, and contractors who built handicap ramps onto the other two buildings because Constance saw it as a good idea. You never knew who would need such a help, an elderly person, a wheelchair-bound person, or even someone who had to push a baby stroller. They were great things, as far as Constance was concerned, and fun to roll a Slinky down. She kept her level of cooperation high in her plan to get and keep good tenants. She did more painting and wallpapering, and hired an electrician to do some long-overdue re-wiring.
The day she met him, he was wearing the Civil War uniform of a sergeant.
He handed her the contract like it was a dispatch from the front.
Constance took the envelope that said "Leo's Electrical Repair d.b.a. Leo's Excellent Electrical Services" and squinted harder at the infantryman.
"Are you Leo?"
"No, I work for him. Leo's my uncle."
"Is this the kind of thing electricians wear now? Some union thing?" She laughed at her own pun, but it went right by him.
"No, I'm a reenactor. I'm just dropping this by."
"Okay," she said, feeling rebuffed.
"I'm supposed to get a signature, and a deposit?"
"Okay, sure. Come on in."
She led him through the covey of ten-year-old girls around the kitchen table, who giggled as he passed, and past the living room through the blaring of "No Hope for Tomorrow," Grandma Gormey's favorite soap opera while her occupational therapist bullied her into buttoning the buttons on her sweater by herself during commercials (but not during the show because it was also the occupational therapist's favorite soap opera), to her bedroom, which was also Constance's office.
The sergeant looked uncomfortable, his eyes darting around the room, from the bookshelf copiously stacked with volumes obtained from library fund-raising jumble sales (Imagine no one wanting a water damaged copy of Bulwer's "Last Days of Pompeii?") to the mauve and beige and magenta and hunter green quilt she had made under Grandma Gormey's direction, the frilly curtains, and the simple oak Queen Anne desk by the window. She had taken down Billy's posters of large-breasted women in bikinis the first day she moved in. Not that she was a prude, but they made her feel inferior. Constance sat at her desk and read the contract, pen in hand and checkbook at the ready.
"Please have a seat," she said. He had already noticed there was nowhere else to sit but the bed. He was not sure sitting on her bed would be appropriate.
"I'm fine," he said. When she turned to hand him his copy of the contract and the check, she caught him staring at the stuffed Kermit the Frog lying near the pillow, his left flipper caught in the pages of "Gone With the Wind" for a bookmarker.
"Kermit belongs to my little girl. We're reading the book together. She saw the movie for the first time last week, and it's all she can pretend play now."
"You have a little girl? One of those kids in the kitchen?"
"Well, she's not mine. I'm her guardian, her mom died. Her mom was my friend."
"Oh, I'm sorry." He took the contract and the check, "Leo will call you at the end of the week to tell you when we can start the job. He doesn't know when yet. He thinks it could be next Wednesday."
"Okay," she held her hand out to shake his, "Thanks for coming by. I'm sorry, I didn't get your name."
"Randolph...Herbert."
When she thought about it afterward, she was not sure that Herbert was his first name or last name, as he was so formal that it sounded like he was saying his last name first, like James Bond always did. The next time she saw him, he was in work clothes with "Leo's Electrical Repair d.b.a. Leo's Excellent Electrical Services" printed on the back of his shirt, with his name embroidered over the left front pocket, "Randy," above the embroidered caricature of Leo's face. Leo was not that good looking. And there was a loose thread coming out of his nose.
He waved to her, but said nothing as he went to work. He had only a little more to say the afternoon of Christmas Eve, when he knocked on her door to announce he was through with replacing the outlets on the third floor of the block to the left, and would come back next Monday to continue with the rest of the house.
Constance was baking, wiping her hands on the snowman dishtowel.
"I'll just leave this with you, too," Randolph Herbert said, handing her a manila envelope, "My uncle gives these to all his customers. It's a calendar."
Constance chuckled, "Well, thank Leo for me, that's very nice. Merry Christmas, Randy."
"Randolph."
"Randolph? I'm sorry. It says Randy on your shirt."
"It's my Dad's shirt. He's Randy, I'm Randolph."
"Oh, your dad's an electrician, too?"
"No, he works at Home Depot. He got fed up with my Uncle Leo and quit, and now Leo's got all these shirts with Randy on them."
"So he hired you."
"Yes."
She made a mental note to not make anymore small talk with Randolph. He pulled a paper lunch bag out from inside his coat.
"I have this, too, for your little girl. Does she still like "Gone with the Wind?"
"Um...yes... what is it?" She looked into the bag. There were two doll-size dresses in the style of the mid-19th century.
"I saw her playing with Barbie dolls with her friends. A lady I know makes doll clothes for the Civil War era."
"Randolph, this is so sweet. You shouldn't have brought her anything. Thank you very much."
"It's nothing." He turned to leave, "I didn't wrap them. Maybe you could stick them in her stocking, if she has one, and tell her they're from Santa Claus."
"Randolph," she said, and wondered later why she said it, "would you like to join us tonight? I'm having my family over for a little Christmas Eve party."
"No thanks, I don't want to intrude. Besides, I have to be someplace."
"Well then, how do you feel about New Year's Eve? I'm going to house party some friends are having, it's no big deal, but if you'd like to come along, you're more than welcome."
"New Year's Eve?"
"Yeah."
"Okay. Great."
The family Christmas Eve party was only Brianna after all.
"Somebody's here! Somebody's here!" Marianne ran to pull the curtain on the door aside, excited to have Constance's family for her family, but only Brianna glowed under the porch light, snow collecting in her now blue hair.
"Um, Connie?" Marianne pulled back from the curtain with a flinch as if the boogeyman were on the other side of the door, "I don't know who this is."
Constance poured more eggnog into Grandma Gormey's cup, swearing to cut her off after her third.
"Let me see, I'll tell you who it is," Constance replied, snatching another cookie almost shaped like an angel, but looking more like Alfred Hitchcock in profile. She opened the door. She squinted harder.
"Hey, Connie! How the ---- are you?"
"Well hello there...Brianna?"
"I'm freezing my butt out here."
"Come in, come in."
Constance introduced her to Marianne, who pulled back and hovered for safety behind Grandma Gormey. Brianna took a seat at the kitchen table, smiled at the paper bells that hung from the ceiling, the Santa Claus cutouts on the windows, the Formica table covered in plastic plates of cookies, cheese and crackers, cakes, breads, salads and a crock pot full of meatballs.
"Wow, this is so sweet and cornball," Brianna grinned, "Mom would hate this."
Constance laughed, and was determined not to mention Brianna's pierced eyebrow, her pierced nose, her pierced tongue, or the tattoo of a butterfly on her chest. She did not have to; Brianna brought it up first.
"So, whaddya think?" She gestured to herself like she was showing what was behind Door Number One.
"Well, it's a new look, all right, Bri." Constance said, "Mom dead from it, yet?"
Brianna threw her head back and laughed, and fumbled with her cigarettes.
"Hey, girl, one favor," Constance said, "No smokes in here, and watch the language, okay?"
"Jeez, you're worse than Mom."
"Not exactly. I'm not going to enroll you in the Miss Wrought Iron contest."
Brianna giggled until she became red faced. She was a good sport; in this Constance constantly thanked God for Brianna. One of the largest industries in town was the manufacture of wrought iron, and so the community's traditional beauty ("don't call it a beauty contest, it's NOT a beauty contest") contest was called the Miss Wrought Iron contest. Tina Ridleck tried to enter Constance in it when she was 17, but Constance tore up every entrance form her mother brought before her and threatened to openly discuss religion, politics, and menstruation if ever brought to an interview with the Selection Committee. Tina had to admit defeat, but knew that Brianna was waiting in the wings, so there was her silver lining.
Brianna, still in the throes of her competitive stage, entered willingly and discussed their future goals, her GPA, and how important God and Country were to her before the Selection Committee and two hundred and fifty of the town's most important people (the mayor, the selectmen, the CEOs of the local wrought iron industry, and Bud Tilton, the owner of Bud's Buick Dealership d.b.a. Bud's Fine Cars, whom Tina had dreamed of marrying when she was in high school).
Brianna did not even make the finals. Tina Ridleck, like Job, cursed her fate and cursed her daughter (not necessarily like Job).
"If you had entered, you'd have won," Brianna said.
"Get out."
"You would have won."
"She's beautiful. She looks like Greer Garson." Marianne found the courage to speak at last. She was an old movie buff and noticed the similarity only a half hour into "Random Harvest."
"That would have made Mom's day."
"Poor Mom."
"How you doin' Grandma?" Brianna called over the platters of food.
"I'm happy here. Constance is a good girl."
Brianna's face slowly lost its plastered grin, and she looked at the sugar cookies sprinkled with red and green sugar, shaped like Alfred Hitchcock.
"I know, Grandma. I know."
When both Grandma Gormey and Marianne were tucked into bed, Brianna noticing that Constance actually tucked them into their beds, kissed them and said the words, "good night," the two sisters sat quietly at the kitchen table, and Brianna lifted her foot onto one of the chairs.
"Is this what you want, Constance?"
Constance sipped from her beer and shoved another chip in her mouth, "I don't know, but I like it."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"You're good at it."
"It's easy to be good at something when you're happy doing it."
"But where does it get you? Saddled with another woman's kid. Wiping oatmeal of an old woman's chin. Never getting the chance to go out with your friends."
"I go out." She thought of the New Year's Eve party and wondered why she had asked Randolph.
"Yeah? Do you have a boyfriend?"
"That's hard to say. Billy'll be discharged in another six months. He wants to move back here. We've been writing. I'll wait and see what happens."
"So that's it? You marry your old prom date and live happily ever after? Jeez, that's only slightly more depressing than Hayley."
"What's our Hayley up to these days? She didn't want to come tonight?"
"Hayley's husband left her."
"Uh-oh."
"Very messy divorce, they're fighting over everything."
"Too bad. At least they don't have to worry about kids making the split more difficult."
"No chance of that. Hayley can't have kids." Brianna took reached for another bottle of beer, but changed her mind. "Ya got any Coke or Sprite?"
Constance went to the refrigerator, "I didn't know that."
"Mom thinks you invited everybody over to rub it in our noses."
"Rub what?"
"The divorce. Dad's losing his job...."
"He lost his job?!"
"A month ago. They're downsizing all the older guys at the plant."
"Old? He's only fifty."
"He's more cost to them than a kid just starting. More money, more vacay, more pension."
"How are they doing?"
"I don't know. Mom acts like this is nothing more than nuisance, but Dad's feeling the stress like you wouldn't believe. He's gonna have a heart attack or a nervous breakdown or something. And then there's me."
"What about you, Bri?"
"I've got a full scholarship for freshman year next year. But that's all. After that I have to find the money year by year. I didn't get the four-year scholarship."
"One year at an ivy league school is pretty terrific, Bri. You ought to be proud."
"How many student loans am I going to need to see it through? What if I don't want to see it through? What with all the loans and second mortgages Mom and Dad have taken out for me, what happens if I blow it and they lose the house?"
"You don't need that on your shoulders do you?"
"Is this what you want, Constance?"
Constance asked herself that the following week when Randolph showed up at her door with flowers and wearing a suit. She was in jeans.
"Well, this is lovely, Randolph. How nice you look."
"Thank you. You look nice, too."
Marianne came forward and thanked him for her doll clothes, because Constance confessed that it was Mr. Herbert the electrician and not Santa Claus this time. She demonstrated the clothes to him, and brought out two Barbies looking like escapees from "Little Women," only with pink high heels and long blonde hair, and a pink car.
At her friend Karen's (who was now with a different boyfriend), Randolph was the only guy in a suit, something which was commented on and kidded about often in the course of the evening, until Constance's sense of irritation with him was battling her sense of compassion for him. He stuck it out through until midnight, when they turned on the TV to watch the ball drop in New York City, donned paper hats, and he briefly kissed her. She wondered if that could be counted on as their first kiss, since it was done under the auspices of a countdown and immediately followed by kissing everybody else.
In another month, Constance felt surely this was what she wanted, as she purchased her first twenty-unit apartment building. She hired contractors to refurbish the complex, including calling back Leo, who sent Randolph over to do the job.
"You're going to think I only buy rental buildings to keep you around, Randolph."
"All you have to do is ask, you know."
She did not ask, but she did not say no when he asked her to go to an historical exhibit his reenactor's group was putting on next month at the high school gym. He felt he needed to give her plenty of time to clear her calendar.
She was never not busy, but she was never not free, either. Constance offered her sister Hayley an apartment when it looked like her husband, who had the superior lawyer, was getting the McMansion, and Hayley bitterly moved in to the apartment, acknowledging the welcome home fruit basket Constance had left her, with "So, what am I supposed to do with this?"
Constance offered her parents an apartment in the same complex as well, and offered her father the job of being the resident manager. In the first act of defiance of his wife, he accepted.
Tina was livid. "We don't need this."
"I need this," he said, and hugged his daughter. The bank took their house. It was the same week that Tina, quite by chance, discovered that Constance was a member of the Chamber of Commerce, and frequently went to Chamber meetings and breakfasts, hobnobbing over orange juice with Bud Tilton, who said he did not remember her mother. Though that stung, Constance's approval rating went up a notch.
Tina finally visited Constance's home on the first floor of that first triple decker that had started her career as a real estate investor. It had just dawned on Tina that this is what her daughter was, a real estate investor. It sounded good, and she was impressed.
Constance was looking through real estate advertisements at the kitchen table, Marianne was at school, and Grandma Gormey was at her t'ai chi class at the Senior Center.
"So, how much money do you make at this?" Tina asked, wondering about the tacky Formica table, but the really very good china.
"I'm not going to talk about that, Mom."
"But you must do all right. You must make a hundred thousand a year. More than that, probably. Several hundred thousand. Right?"
"What are you driving at, Mom?"
"You made this work out all right. I can see that. You've done well. It's just that, baby...." Tina had not called her baby since the Miss Wrought Iron contest, and it made Constance suspicious.
"....it's just that with your good money sense, and your good looks, you could have really done something with your life."
"I think I have done something with my life."
"You have, you have. But more, I'm saying. Even more than living in this place and just living your days with an old woman and a strange girl who isn't even yours."
"More?"
"More."
"I always wanted more, Mom."
"Good. More what, baby?"
"More substance, Mom. More things that matter. I never got that from you, so I had to get it for myself. I've got three generations under this roof, and I like that. I've got work that's interesting and I like that. All you ever gave was empty, shallow ambition. Really shallow. You know, I had a dream once when I was kid. I dreamed I was eating French fries, all covered in ketchup. They were hot and salty and looked really good. But every time I reached for one, and tried to put it in my mouth, it disappeared. I kept reaching for another one, and another one, but at the point I put them in my mouth, all I could taste was my fingers. And then I woke up. That's what it's been like living with you, Mom. No substance. Only emptiness and constant wanting for something substantial. No ketchup, only fingers."
Tina bristled, and sat up straighter in her chair.
"Don't blame me for your problems. It's the mother who always gets blamed."
"I don't have any problems, at least none that I can't fix. I can't say the same for Hayley or Brianna. Hayley you've left with absolutely no sense of self worth, and Brianna has too much. She thinks whatever she does is golden. She's partying and blowing a hole right in your plans for her, isn't she? She's not even going to make it through her freshman year in college next year, is she?"
Tina stood, "You think that because your father and I, and your sisters are living in your apartments that you can tell us what to do, is that it?"
"Nope. But if you ever ask me any personal questions, Mom, like what do I think and what do I want, I'm always going to give you a straight answer. If you don't want to hear what I have to say, you'd better not ask."
Tina left, believing Constance looked forward to dancing on her grave.
Constance had given definition to herself as to what she was really searching for: substance. She liked the word, and was so pleased with herself for a while that she rested on her laurels and gave up the quest. Why shouldn't she go with the flow for once and take the most convenient route to happiness?
The day Randolph came to pick her up for the historical exhibit, wearing his Union uniform, and Billy came home, wearing his.
The two men looked at each other with momentary disbelief as if each was looking in a fun-house mirror distortion. Billy smirked. Then Randolph lowered his gaze, looking sheepishly down at his boots. Constance stepped out onto the porch just in time to see Randolph humiliated at play-acting a solder in the presence of real one. He lost his manhood. He lost the war. He lost Constance.
She shrieked and jumped down the steps into Billy's enormous, body-lifting hug and they laughed, and they kissed.
"Why didn't you call?"
"I wanted it to be a surprise."
It was like a World War II home front movie, the kind Marianne liked. Randolph stepped away to his car. Constance finally noticed him.
"Randolph, where are you going? Stay!"
"No, you've got a lot of catching up to do. I'll see you another time." He drove off, and Billy smirked and shook his head.
In no time Billy settled in again, happily back in the old life, the old neighborhood, and his old room, this time with Constance. He was astounded to hear of her success in real estate investing. She took him around to her buildings, and he shook hands with her father, who happily showed him his office, the one place where he was safe from his wife. Constance told him about her tenants, most of whom she knew by first name, and the ones she addressed by surname was purely out of respect for their age.
"Is this what you want?" Billy asked her one spring evening as they sat on the front porch swing (something she installed on all her triple deckers).
"Narrow that down." She cuddled against him.
"Living here in this dump. I mean why live in the same building you rent out? You could afford to buy one of those really nice houses north of the shopping plaza."
"A McMansion?" She chuckled, "My sister Hayley lived in one of those. She's living in one of my apartments, now."
"You wouldn't like that?"
She made a face. "Too much frosting and not enough cake."
"Come again?"
"No fries, all fingers."
"Forget I asked."
"I tell you what I would like. I've been looking a few houses outside of town. There one in particular, a Georgian farmhouse. It's small, but nice. The owners have maintained it very well. It's got a porch, and three rooms downstairs, and two small ones upstairs. It's right on the edge of the Conservation Land. It used to be part of a farm. Just a small lot, right on the road."
"There's nothing out there."
"There's a few neighbors, and the Conservation Land, and this house. That's enough. I bet the night sky is beautiful. They don't have too many streetlights out that way."
"That's what you want? To live in a run-down old dump?"
"Is everything you don't like a dump?"
"When you could have something new? And big? And a huge lawn? And a pool? And a two-car garage? And a boat?"
"A boat, too?"
"You can afford all that. Why sit on it? You can't take it with you."
"That's true."
"So why not make your life a little better?"
She was struggling to find a less righteous answer to that than the one she was thinking, when he jumped to his feet, nearly knocking her out of the swing. A man stood at the bottom of the steps to the porch. He looked at Constance with vague intentions that made her uncomfortable, and brought his glance up to Billy, who also noted that the man looked at Constance first.
Billy said nothing. It was the man who explained why he was here. Billy evidently already knew who he was; he did not trouble to explain that.
Billy owed him and his partner tens of thousands of dollars he had embezzled as an employee of the partner's casino in Las Vegas, and Billy was advised to present the money immediately.
"Las Vegas? He was only discharged out of the army three months ago, and he's been here ever since," Constance said, standing and recovering her nerve.
"Is she part of this?" the man asked, allowing Billy the opportunity to free her from their business. Billy did not free her.
"Yes, yes she is. She has the money."
"Billy?"
"I'm waiting," said the man.
"I'm in trouble," Billy said softly, "I need your help. You helped your parents, and your sisters, and your grandmother. You helped my mom. Now I need your help, Connie."
"And Marianne."
"Right, and Marianne."
"Is that all I am ?"
"I so need your help, I'm not kidding."
"What happened?"
"I'll tell you later."
"You'll tell me now."
"Please Connie, this isn't joking. My buddy Jim and I, we were in the service together...we got into a deal and took some money from the casino...."
"Jim's in the hospital, by the way," the man said, "Thought you'd like to know."
"Oh God," Billy wiped his face and shook Constance, "Can you just pay him and I'll tell you everything."
She said she would go into the house and get her checkbook, but the man wanted Billy to remain outside with him. Once inside, she locked the door and called the police.
The man was eventually extradited to Nevada where several charges awaited him, and so was Billy. He said he would never forgive her.
She went through his things, before putting them into storage, and discovered he had actually been discharged almost a year before he had returned home. Wearing his uniform when he came home was a trick to play on her sympathy and conceal what he had been doing. She also discovered that he had actually enlisted in the army after his mother first told him of her positive test results. Billy, always fun loving and a little irresponsible in a charming way, would never have joined the military if he had not needed something very irrevocable to take him away from other people's misery and his own responsibility to possibly alleviate it.
Billy cooperated with the federal agents, and his sentence was really rather light, all things considered. Constance still felt she had betrayed Mrs. Petroosian by turning in her son.
She had also betrayed something of herself and her own search for substance while with Billy, and decided to resume the chase, more humbled and less self-congratulatory this time.
The gown was of cotton fabric, very similar to what antebellum Barbie wore. She had found a retro pattern though a Civil War reenactors website and Grandma Gormey, who had pretty nearly recovered the use of her right hand, helped her to sew it. Constance went to the Fourth of July reenactment up at the town park, and searched for Randolph among the blue-coated soldiers like Scarlett looking for Ashley among gray-coated ones.
He was seated in a camp chair, cleaning his replica Springfield Rifle, the idol of a group of little boys, when he saw her approach. He looked quizzically at her costume, and then stood, because he was a gentleman. Suddenly it occurred to her that's what he was. Funny, she thought, that it had slipped her notice before.
"Good morning, Sergeant Herbert. I see you're busy."
"What are you doing here?" He noticed her dress and smiled.
"I wanted to see for myself. I'm sorry I missed your other exhibit."
"That's all right. You had good reason."
"No, I didn't, really. It only seemed so at the time, but it wasn't such a good reason at all."
They strolled through the encampment and he introduced her to his friends, including the lady who made the doll clothes and sold them on a website. Constance said she had wished she brought Marianne.
"Next time." he said.
"You like children. Her own brother had no time for her."
"If something matters, you make time."
"Yes." She slipped her hand underneath her collar and tugged for the hundredth time.
"Excuse me. This is not very Victorian ladylike of me, but my bra straps keep slipping."
"You're not supposed to be wearing a bra." He said it matter of factly, without any innuendo or flirtation, and this charmed her most.
"Am I not?"
"No. I could show you. Somebody's got an exhibit of Nineteenth century clothing around here somewhere. I forget which tent. Anyway, you'd be wearing a corset."
"You wanna bet?"
"Made of whale bone."
"Sounds comfy."
"I expect it would have been a relief to take it off at the end of the day."
"Yes," she returned his smile, "a relief to take it off. But I might need help." She glanced briefly at him out of the corner of her eye. He smiled, warmly aware she was flirting with him; it was what she was looking for, thrilled with her good luck.
They ate barbecue and sang camp songs, and when everyone piled their tents and the wares, their kits and their kit bags into their cars, Constance suggested they take a drive a little farther down this road to a house she was thinking of buying.
The house was empty, with a for sale sign planted beneath an oak tree out front. They stood on the front porch and peered into the windows.
"That would make a good office," Constance said, "and I could always have a handicap ramp put in for Grandma, if she ever needs one."
"I could do that for you."
"You do carpentry work?"
"Yes, I do it on the side. I'm thinking of leaving Uncle Leo, like my Dad did. I'm getting fed up, too."
"Too bad. He gives away nice calendars. Will you work as a carpenter or electrician?"
"Electrician, mainly. I'd like to set up my own small business, only I'm a little scared."
"You could do it."
"I'm not very good with the business side of it. I can do the work, but it's the other stuff that would stump me."
"I could do it."
"You've got enough to do."
"I'll never have enough to do."
"Really? I could help you with your properties, too. I could do a lot of the work."
"I think there's room for two desks in there."
"I think you're right."
They stood on the porch and watched the glow from an orange summer sunset fade into the first stars. The neighbors across the road, an elderly couple, had been watching them for some time, knowing the house was empty and wondering if they were vandals.
"Do you suppose a vandal would dress like a Civil War guy?" his wife asked the man peering through the curtain.
"I don't know. They've got some pretty weird gang outfits these days. They got their own colors, and stuff."
The soldier and his lady held each other and kissed, for much longer than the time it took to say Happy New Year.
"Ohhh," the old man's wife said, "Isn't that lovely. He's so handsome. And she's so elegant. Reminds me of Greer Garson in 'Mrs. Parkington.'"
"No. No, I don't see it," said the old man.
###
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