Ronni nearly choked on her Chicken Marsala. It wasn’t possible. Ducky and Nick? No way.
“Are you okay, dear?” Miranda leaned over to her daughter.
“Yes, Mother, I’m fine. Something just went down the wrong way.”
Something was going down wrong, that was for sure. This whole marriage thing was getting to Ronni already. Exciting James had turned into boring James practically the moment they stepped off the plane.
He worked hard, putting in long hours, and there was nothing for her to do during the day. Her network of friends had disappeared while she was out on the coast and she couldn’t be bothered to reconnect with them. It was summer and the wealthy ones left Chicago for cooler, less humid climes. The others all had jobs. James’ suggestion that she might like to do some volunteer work…or God forbid, get a job…fell on deaf ears.
James was still sexy but he was too tired at night to be sexy more than once. It was wild and it was exciting, but it was always in the bed and he always fell asleep immediately afterward. Ronni had taken to waiting until he was asleep and then getting up, parking herself in front of the television with some wine. She’d click through the channels and refill her glass until she wasn’t seeing straight and then she’d fall into bed. When she woke in the morning, it didn’t seem to matter how early or late, James was already gone to work.
As well, she hated his apartment. It was a condominium, hastily purchased when he moved back to Chicago after school, just a way station until he was settled in and sure about his future. Then he would start looking for the wife-house-kids part of his life. It was a bachelor pad, no doubt about it. Ronni hated it and wanted to start changing it. James said ‘no’. There was no point, he said. They wouldn’t be living there that long; in the fall they would start looking at houses, and besides he liked it the way it was. Ronni thought he was being a cheapskate.
Finally, Ronni was so bored that she did the unthinkable. She started hanging out with her mother, accompanying her to her various luncheons and bridge parties. The Fremont Art Institute Luncheon was a real coup. The Howells were not in the same social stratum as either the Fentons or the Fremonts. Ronni had definitely married up. Miranda Howell had put a lot of time and effort into the Art Institute. She didn’t care a fig about art, but she wanted to be invited to the luncheon. It would move her up a notch in the Chicago society hierarchy. And now that Ronni had married James Fenton…the future looked very bright for Miranda.
Ronni agreed to go. Jeannette Fenton would be there as well, of course; she and Miles were very thick with the Fremonts. John and Miles played golf on a regular basis and James had hinted that John had thrown a lot of money James’ way to get him started on the right foot with Carlson Dunn, his firm that he hoped in the very near future would be Carlson, Dunn and Fenton.
Ronni and her mother were seated at the very back, almost out in the hall. Ronni was annoyed. If she had come with her mother-in-law, she would have been seated at Sharon Fremont’s table, instead of out here in Siberia.
During the initial confusion of arrival and greetings, Ronni hadn’t seen Abigail anywhere. “Where’s Ducky?” she whispered to her mother, as they moved from the foyer to the library.
“Veronica!” hissed her mother. She had always hated Ronni’s nickname for Abigail Fremont. She had nightmares about Sharon and John finding out about it. The fact that it wasn’t really an inappropriate nickname made it worse, not better. And it was Miranda’s own fault, for it was she who had suggested the name to Veronica.
When Ronni was twelve, the Howells had spent a couple of weeks at Brookhaven Lodge. It was the last summer that Ronni agreed to go there. She asked for Rose Cottage again, as she had the year before. Miranda told her that it was already booked and they would stay in the Lodge. Ronni was furious and spent the two weeks being mean and spiteful to the girl who was lucky enough to have Rose Cottage, Abigail Fremont. Ronni was obsessed with her. Whenever she was with her parents, it was all she could talk about, how plain and ugly Abigail was, how awkward and gangly.
“She didn’t look too awkward today on that tennis court,” replied Donald Howell. Abigail had walked away with the Young People’s Tennis Cup, defeating every opponent, including the boys.
“And she’ll grow out of it, I’m sure,” said Miranda. “People change. An ugly duckling can some day turn into a swan.”
And that was it. Abigail was Ducky to Ronni from that day on. She never said it to her face, but Abigail knew that she said it behind her back. When the two weeks were over, Abigail breathed a sigh of relief, which lasted for an entire year…until she reached high school and her parents decided to move her from her private girls school to the co-educational Oak Park Academy. And Ronni got four more years of feeling superior to Ducky.
A commotion in the dining room when they were eating their soup signaled Ducky’s arrival. Ronni and her mother couldn’t see what was going on but word filtered back that Abigail had arrived…traffic…construction. When the housekeeper appeared with the phone, Ronni took note of the look on Sharon Fremont’s face and made a promise to herself never to piss that woman off.
The dynamic in the room was very interesting. Sharon’s table was situated right in the doorway between the dining room and the library, so she could see all her guests. And they could see her. And hear her. Muted conversations were carried on at the various tables, but Ronni was willing to bet that if there was a quiz at the end of the meal, every woman there would be able to quote all of Sharon’s words verbatim.
“Abigail’s young man…”
Forks froze halfway to mouths. Tread carefully here. They all knew that Abigail had been thrown over by Philip Randall just a couple of months previously. The Fremonts had tried to put it out that Abigail had been the one doing the throwing, but come on, who would believe that? Philip had left town and moved back to Philadelphia, so there could be some truth to it, they guessed, but no…Sharon Fremont was too desperate to marry her daughter off…she would have forbidden her to break off with a catch like Philip.
One brave soul stepped forward. “Abigail’s young man?”
Ronni didn’t pay too much attention until she heard, “Backstreet Boys.” Then she paid very close attention. The more boring her life in Chicago became, the more the days in California improved in her mind. She thought longingly of Nick and the fun they had had. Nick told her all the time how beautiful she was and unless Abigail Fremont had changed a great deal in the last few years, there was no way she was dating Nick Carter.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Abby returned to the dining room and took her seat. She apologized to the ladies at her table and smiled enigmatically at her mother. Her heart was racing. If her mother just hadn’t said anything, she’d be in the clear. She’d ‘break up’ with Nick tonight and call an end to this whole ridiculous charade. Her hopes were dashed immediately.
“So, Abigail, your mother says that you have a new…friend? Where did you meet him? Isn’t he from California?”
“Yes, he is, Mrs. Abernathy,” answered Abby, avoiding the first part of the question. “He has a home in Florida, as well.”
Cynthia Abernathy realized that she was not going to get the answer to the first part of the question and that she could not discuss the matter further without appearing rude. Over to you, ladies, she thought as she delicately passed the salt and the ball to Candace Walker on her left.
“Have you been seeing each other long?” asked Candace.
“Not really, Mrs. Walker. Not in the grand scheme of things, I guess,” said Abby cryptically, stopping the lady in her tracks. “Mmm, this is good chicken. Mrs. Smith has outdone herself again.”
The ladies at the table all murmured their agreement and reluctantly changed the subject. They each thought that a little of Sharon Fremont had rubbed off on Abigail and that tennis wasn’t the only game she was good at.
Sharon Fremont, on the other hand, was completely unaware of the stir she had caused. She considered any music written after 1850 to be beneath her notice and did not understand that more than one of the ladies in the room, middle-aged or not, not only listened to Backstreet Boys music, but were already scheming a way to get Abigail to introduce them to Nick. If it were true. Because really, when you looked at it…not that you should judge someone on her looks, but really…when you looked at her…
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Hey, Abby!
Well, well, well, if it isn’t the great schemer.
Sorry about that. Are you mad?
I’m not sure. No, no I’m not. I’m a little confused, though.
Nick explained what had happened.
So, what you’re saying, Nick, is that you couldn’t carry this charade off for more than one day.
Yeah, that’s pretty much it, I guess. But it’s smoothed over now.
Okay, if you say so.
What about on your end?
Your timing was impeccable…or it sucked, depending on how you want to look at it.
The lunch?
That’s right. Every one of my mother’s cronies sitting right there over their Lobster Bisque and Chicken Marsala and hearing my mother announce that my new boyfriend was on the phone.
Nick hesitated. He never really thought about Abby’s end of things. Because you’re a selfish prick, he told himself.
How did they take it?
Half of them didn’t believe it and the other half want your autograph.
So it was out there then, thought Nick. He had been half toying with the notion that they could scrap the plan. Just drift apart and after a couple of months tell the boys that it hadn’t worked out after all. But he had promised Abby that he wouldn’t hurt her and if they did it now, even if she were the one to ‘break it off’, it would make her look bad.
So then, I guess it’s official.
It’s at least public. Tell me what I’m supposed to say to people, please.
What do you mean?
I mean, if someone asks me, a reporter or something.
Tell them that we are dating and it’s none of their fucking business, but in a classy way.
Mr. Carter and I have a personal relationship that is private…
Yeah, like that.
…and none of your f***ing business.
LOL! Sure, Abby. Your mom would love that.
My mom can’t remember the name of the group. She’s blocking it out, apparently, since it’s not the New York Philharmonic. Her latest was the Backbeat Boys. LOL!!
They chatted on for a few minutes and then wrapped it up, saying ‘goodnight’ and ‘talk to you later’. They logged off and both stared at blank computer screens for a moment. Then with a deep sigh, they moved away. In Atlanta, Nick thought about AJ, about how he knew half the truth. He wondered what he would do about it. In Chicago, Abby thought about that witch, Ronni Howell. Ronni Fenton, she corrected herself. Seeing her today brought back all those anxieties from high school.
Ronni was just as bitchy and poisonous as ever. Abby hadn’t even known she was going to be there. She had barely glanced at the seating plans when her mother showed her and V. Fenton hadn’t registered as Ronni. But suddenly, there she was, after the lunch was over and people were leaving.
“Abigail! So nice to see you again.”
Why? wondered Abigail. Did you run out of small animals to torture? “Veronica,” Abby nodded a greeting. “I understand congratulations are in order.”
“Yes. Thank you. James and I are very happy.” Veronica waved her left hand in Abby’s face. “But I believe you deserve congratulations as well. Bagging a Backstreet Boy! Who would have thought? And especially this one…”
Miranda Howell whisked Veronica away from Abigail and out the door before Ronni could say why ‘this one’ was so special. She didn’t know what Ronni had been about to say and she didn’t care. She recognized the look on her daughter’s face and knew she was up to no good. The luncheon had gone pretty well from Miranda’s viewpoint, and she wasn’t going to have it ruined by her daughter’s spitefulness and jealousy.
Miranda did not know what Veronica had got up to in California and quite frankly, she didn’t want to. She clung to the story of roommates in suburbia, even though she had never once managed to get Veronica at home, but always had to leave a message with Sandra. When Veronica had phoned with the news that she had eloped to Las Vegas with James Fenton and would be moving back to Chicago, Miranda had sat down and wept with joy and relief.
Abby climbed into bed. She was Nick Carter’s girlfriend. And soon, the word would spread. There was no way it wouldn’t. No point in praying for that. She’d better save her prayers for something that was at least possible. Maybe she’d better start thinking about what people would think of her. She already knew what Ronni Howell-Fenton thought. And Abby decided to put her prayers to work there. She prayed that Nick and Ronni would never be in the same room together.
