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| Author: |
Darlene Guetre |
| Dated: |
Friday, May 26 2006 @ 10:26 AM EDT |
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1439 times |
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With a sigh, Muriel yanked Scrabble out of the hall closet and hip checked the door shut. She trudged downstairs, slammed the game box on the dining room table and sighed again. Ron peeked over his newspaper at his wife, then dove back under cover to avoid setting Muriel off anew. The Schroeders were in no mood to host the bi-weekly Friday evening Scrabble-and-wine with the Harlows.
Yesterday their son, Mark, dropped by on his way home from work with a surprise announcement that Valerie had been offered a promotion. Before they could exclaim with delight, he deflated their enthusiasm.
“If she accepts the position, it means we have to move,” said Mark.
“What about your job?” asked Ron. “If you quit, you might throw away your best chance to crack management. Soft drink sales is a cutthroat industry.”
“I know, Dad. I’ve spent the last five years slaving to build my clientele. I don’t want to start over. Valerie and I argued for hours last night. There are plenty of firms here where Valerie can work towards a partnership. It’ll just take a bit more time.”
Muriel stared at Mark stricken, trying to comprehend a relationship with her only son reduced to long distance phone calls and occasional visits. She felt behind her for the coffee table and slumped in self-absorbed silence onto piled magazines, crumpling pages.
Before Mark left, he sought his parents’ promise not to mention anything to Valerie’s parents. He and Valerie had agreed not to discuss this with either of their parents until a decision was made.
Four doors down from the Schroeders, Bonnie Harlow mulled over her telephone conversation with her daughter, Valerie. Valerie had labored non-stop for this offer. Bonnie understood Mark’s reservations, but he’d find another job. Valerie deserved this promotion. It’d be inconceivable to refuse it. Wait until Warren heard; he’d be so proud of his daughter echoing his own achievements. It was well worth the sacrifice of Valerie living six hours away.
A few hours later, Bonnie and Warren prepared to head to the Schroeders for Scrabble and wine. The Harlows and Schroeders had been neighbors for twenty-three years. Their children grew up together and, when Mark and Valerie married, both sets of parents were overjoyed.
While en route Bonnie informed Warren of Valerie’s stipulation that they not speak to the Schroeders about her exhilarating development, obtaining his pledge to remain silent. Warren concurred with Bonnie that Valerie was being offered a fantastic promotion and Mark should come to his senses.
Muriel answered the doorbell and both women embraced stiff-armed while the men shook hands. Muriel felt bitter towards the parents of the woman who wanted to take her son away; Bonnie resentful of the parents of the man who was holding back her daughter. The couples settled themselves around the table in the usual husband-wife teams, while the host poured generous glasses of wine. They chitchatted about the weather and neighborhood gossip, all the while each aware of a growing tension.
“Well, shall we get the show on the road?” asked Ron to break an awkward halt in conversation.
Each person flipped over a tile to determine which team had first choice. Muriel won the draw with an “c”. Sneaking a surreptitious peep at Bonnie, she laid down “tacky”. Bonnie looked up to behold Muriel’s half-smirk. Bonnie’s makeup repulsed Muriel. Foundation pasted on with a trowel, accented with glaring eye shadow and blush, finished with garish lip liner and a touch off-shade lipstick. Muriel tried numerous hints, but with no success. She hoped Bonnie received the message this time.
The men, unaware of the undercurrent between the women, pondered their letters. Warren arranged his word on the board horizontal to Muriel’s.
Bonnie’s turn came next. If, all of a sudden, Muriel had a personal vendetta for some unknown reason, Bonnie was quite happy to respond in kind.
She shuffled tiles several times before hitting on the perfect comeback. She pluralized Warren’s word to make “sloven”. Bonnie had long thought Muriel’s appearance would benefit from an effort to lose twenty pounds, a new wardrobe devoid of her ubiquitous baggy sweatshirts and leggings and eradication of those flipped-up 1980’s bangs.
Oblivious, Ron completed his turn. Muriel, incensed by Bonnie’s insinuation, took her time shifting tiles on the rack. Bonnie drummed manicured fingertips on the table.
“P-o-m-p-o-u-s,” spelled Muriel, connecting with the beginning of Bonnie’s last word. “It’s on a double word score, so twenty-eight points please.” She resisted the compulsion to enjoy Bonnie’s expression, instead focusing on replenishing her letters.
Muriel considered it long past due someone informed Bonnie of her snobby attitude. She sweats at the gym every morning, trades in her Volvo every three years and an interior designer is revamping her house. All to impress. Muriel was positive if Bonnie knew about Valerie’s job offer, she’d encourage Valerie to accept it for prestige’s sake.
A slight flush burned beneath Bonnie’s fastidious makeup. She struggled to project serenity. Head bowed, she contemplated her tiles while Warren played and Ron fussed about refilling wine glasses.
So Muriel thought her pompous. Bonnie deemed that amusing coming from such an apathetic person. Muriel complains about boredom and isolation. What does she expect? After Mark was born, she stayed home and never worked again. If she had any drive, she’d attend classes and do something productive with her life. With that sort of example, it’s no wonder Mark’s ambitionless.
Bonnie rearranged her letters one last time, and then with slow precision laid down her tiles. “The blank is a ‘p’ for ‘torpid’”. She sipped her wine, peering with anticipation over the rim of the glass at Muriel. She’d bet Muriel didn’t know the meaning of torpid.
Muriel stared at Bonnie’s latest play with a slight frown. She had no inkling what it meant, but had a notion it wasn’t complimentary. She shifted position in her chair, stabs of pain gripping her lower back. She’d been to Bonnie for chiropractic adjustments but the agonizing spasms kept returning. At least Bonnie hadn’t charged for the treatments; Muriel despised paying for inferior services.
What good was Bonnie’s interminable education and leaving babysitters to raise her kids? All for Bonnie to put “doctor” in front of her name and fleece people out of their money. At least she’d stayed home to bring up children with proper priorities and values.
Muriel’s attention returned to her letters. She’d picked an “u” last turn. Now she could finally make a word with the “q” she’d had been holding. Inspiration hit, but she hesitated. If she put this word down, there was no turning back. Although she had issues with the Harlows’ principles, she didn’t want to cause problems for Mark.
Chewing over her dilemma, Muriel’s gaze fell on Bonnie’s wedding rings. Warren had surprised Bonnie with new chunky diamond monstrosities for their twentieth anniversary. To Muriel, at this moment in time, those rings symbolized the Harlows’ obsession with monetary status. Sacrifice whatever or whoever, including Mark, to climb another rung on the ladder of materialistic acquisition.
Muriel’s mouth tightened with resolution as she began laying her tiles. “Q”, followed by the “u”, then an “a”. The trill of the telephone interrupted her motions. She paused with a “c” gripped between thumb and index finger, intending to join it onto the “k” in a previously played word.
Ron grabbed the phone on the second ring. His sudden shout of excitement captured everyone’s attention.
“That’s fabulous, Mark! Your mother will be ecstatic. When’s the happy event?" Ron’s face glowed as he thrust the phone towards Bonnie. “Here, Valerie wants to speak to you.”
“Ron, what’s happening?" Muriel’s hand with the “c” was still suspended midair.
“Mark and Valerie just found out they’re expecting a baby. They knew it was Scrabble night so they called to let us know. They’re going to start house hunting right away so they can be close to all the grandparents. Valerie is taking a year off work when the baby arrives.”
“Buy a house here?" Muriel wanted to be positive that she’d heard Ron correctly. At his nod, she jumped up to rush around the table and throw her arms around him, knocking the game askew in the process.
After glasses were pinged together in a toast and the general babble of excitement died down, Muriel remembered with a jolt the ultimate insult she planned to deliver Bonnie on her last play. She leaned over the Scrabble board to realize the tiles were disarrayed. Mark’s call prevented her from creating an irreparable rift with the Harlows.
Relaxing in relief, Muriel envisaged teaching this grandchild the paramount value of building loving relationships with family and friends.
Bonnie leaned back with satisfaction from a murmured conversation with Warren.
Tomorrow they would open a bank account for the baby’s education fund, so that it would have every possible advantage.
The women’s glances met across the table. On both faces complacent smiles blossomed.
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