Grumpy Old Ladies

Donna labored to get up from the bed, forcing her legs to obey her. She turned off the machine, gathered her clothes and put them on again, and patted the coverlet carefully. There was a small damp patch, but maybe Magda wouldn't notice. Maybe it would dry. Probably. The next time she should bring something to put under her—

Next time? she thought. Am I crazy? She was very convinced, very quickly, that there would be a next time. This would not, could not, be her only experience with this kind of earth-shattering orgasmic eruption: it was only a matter of time.

She was already by the back door when she realized she had left the Ollie-sized dick attached to the machine. She groaned, took off her winter boots again, and hurried back upstairs. She detached the dildo, ran to rinse it off at the bathroom, and wiped it absentmindedly with a paper towel while returning to the sex room. She put it back into the box. Then she stood, blinking, and stared at the box. She had no idea which was the one she had taken off the machine when she started. Why hadn't she thought to put it aside? Why had she put it in the box with the others? She cursed herself and her habit to pick up after everyone, including, it seemed, herself.

It had been a big one, and so, with a sigh, she randomly picked one of the larger schlongs and shoved it back on the machine.

Forty-five minutes later she parked on the roadside near the Miller mansion. Technically it might not have qualified as a mansion, but that was what everyone in the town had always called it. It was a large country house, and if she hadn't been so late, she could have parked right on its sizable front yard. Judging by the number of cars, half the town had already arrived.

She arranged her expression, checked her makeup and hair once more in her rearview mirror, and walked briskly to the front door. She didn't wear heels. They would have helped her stunted physique but she couldn't drive with heels, and knew she couldn't stand on them for many hours no matter what the occasion. She straightened her posture, shook off her winter coat, and entered the party.

Everyone was there. Everyone. Easily two hundred people, of whom she knew nearly all. As usual, there was a flurry of activity at her arrival. There was a flurry of activity whenever anyone arrived. She imagined it was much like a heralding of old, but with less trumpets. Lots of people came over to say hello, and then nearly all of them immediately turned back around to go back to the conversations and groupings where they'd been before. A few engaged with her briefly, but they all seemed at least a little uncomfortable.

After it happened for the third time, Donna had the awful realization that all she'd done, since she arrived, was talk about Ollie. It was mortifying to realize she was so one dimensional. No, she thought, as she meandered toward the bar to get herself a drink, I've got two dimensions. Mom and wife, and now I'm no longer either of those things.

She spent the next hour among the pillar heaters in the vast canopy-covered garden that sprawled around the back side of the house. Not wanting to appear pathetic, she found a spot to sit on the edge of a conversation. She could feign attention to it, matching her laughter to the laughter of others, without much effort.

The longer she sat there, though, the less she understood why she was there at all. She hated big parties. She hated big crowds. Ollie had liked crowds, and parties, and socializing. Ollie could tell a fishing story about not catching a fish, and have the whole room dangling on every word. The man could spin a yarn, and he loved it. Donna had been content to be at his side and on his arm, to be seen and to laugh at his jokes.

She was getting a little tired of finding herself in this situation, learning all the ways in which she did and said things that weren't in any way a reflection of her. She was exhausted by it, coming to the same conclusion over and over again that she had to live for herself, only to stumble into yet another trap she'd set for herself; another instance of her doing the exact opposite of that. It didn't help that she didn't have the faintest idea about what she really wanted for herself.

She looked down at the drink in her hand, her second of the night, and got frustrated. She couldn't have any more if she wanted to drive home. Sure, she could call a rideshare, but then she'd need another ride back in the morning to get her car, and that seemed like such a stupid hassle...

...but it was too early to leave. She'd gone to all that trouble to pick out a nice dress, and put some effort into her appearance for the first time since the funeral, and all of that would have been for nothing if she crapped out in the first hour. Besides, she didn't have anywhere else to be. All she had was an empty house, a house way too big for just one, waiting for her.

So, she got up, and went and got herself another drink. She nearly spilled it, stopping abruptly, when her eyes fixed on someone at the other side of the vast space these people humbly called their living room.

Magda. As adults who both frequented this same party year in and year out, Magda and Donna had developed an innate ability to simply be elsewhere from each other. It wasn't often that Donna came face to face with her at all, which was surprising when she thought about it, but much more surprising was that she was wearing the dress! Donna's dress! Solid blue, sleeveless, with the tiny white dots! She gaped, in stunned admiration, at how different the blue fabric looked around Magda's slim waist, how it made her look so elegant she looked almost royal, with her hair done up and her delicate neck showing.

Donna glanced down at herself. All feelings of how the dress made her look thinner and taller vanished. She looked like a box. A sturdy box of Christmas chocolates, perhaps. Why had she gorged on all the Girl Scout cookies herself? Why hadn't she been at the gym in months? It wasn't like she had anything else to do. No matter how often she went, though, and no matter how hard she worked, no amount of gym would change her stupid stature. She was short, and fat, and ridiculously curvy, and try as she might, there at that party, she couldn't channel the feeling into a rage towards Magda.

No doubt Magda had picked the same dress to spite Donna. Donna had often tried hers on in her bedroom, trying to accessorize it just so. Magda had probably seen her at one of those fitting sessions, but it wasn't Magda's fault that she'd looked good in a potato sack and Donna didn't. And why had she wanted to look good in the first place? It wasn't like she was hoping to hook up.

She scoffed at her inner narrative, and wondered how out of date it was to call it hooking up. Perhaps the term had been valid back when she herself had been valid in the dating scene.

Donna had gulped down her drink to drown her growing confusion. Car or no car, she needed another drink, preferably a double, so she turned back towards the bar.

The drinking helped, somewhat. She had a bit more fun. She got out from under her shell, and talked a little bit more. Not much, but not none, and she managed to talk about other things than her late husband. She drifted around the party, looking for friendly faces and avoiding Magda, and generally found that there were three groups: couples, single men, and single women. On another day, she might have laughed at herself for having such an obvious observation, but the depth of it came when she realized that she was no longer part of the first, was not interested in the second, and still didn't feel like she belonged to the third.

Despite her disinterest, the single men seemed interested in her. Men a few years older than her, and men quite a few years younger than her, gave her glances as she walked by like she hadn't gotten in twenty years. She kept reaching down to touch her left hand, to brush her fingertips on the ring Ollie had given her, but that didn't seem to slow any of them down. They all knew. She had thought it a ridiculous idea to try to hook up in a party like this, but apparently the men thought differently.

She'd politely declined a half dozen drink offers by ten o'clock, and one of them caught her just before eleven.

"Here," Frank said, managing to swap out the glass she'd been sipping from with a fresh one in a window of only a few seconds where she didn't have her hand on it. She'd put it down to lean to the side, raising her leg to scratch an itch on her calf, and needed her free hand to balance. Four seconds tops. "Brought you a refill, cus I'm such a nice guy."

Donna saw her sipping drink moving away from her, and knew she had to be done drinking for the night. "No," she said, suddenly very aware of how many drinks she'd had.

Determined, she remembered. Frank and Ollie had been friends, and Frank had often visited their house once upon a time. Once they'd discussed Frank's womanizing manners over barbecuing. Frank had boasted how he was determined, a go-getter, and how it was needed to show the ladies who's in charge. Ollie had laughed and rolled his eyes, and Donna had smiled politely, thinking it was a stupid thing to say. She had never once imagined she'd be at the receiving end of Frank's 'charm'.

"Come on," Frank said, and grabbed Donna's arm. "Someone said there's gonna be some fireworks outside. You should come see."

Donna shrugged his hand off and stepped to the side. "Really, Frank," she said, going for the stern tone that always made her kids snap out of it. It felt ridiculous to use it with a grown man, but Frank was being startlingly pigheaded. "Fireworks? Do I look like I was born yesterday?"

"Donna, bella... Bella Donna," Frank said in an exaggerated Italian accent, clearly trying to change gears. "I miss Ollie as much as you do, he was like a brother to me! But he's gone, may he rest in peace, and you, Donna..." He paused to look her over from head to toe with a smirk. "You are a fine woman, and you still have some mileage left in you."

"Mileage?" she blurted. Donna didn't know whether to laugh or be insulted. Frank had a garage, and she could vividly picture him patting some pile of garbage on the hood and using that same exact phrase.

"Frank, she said no."

Donna's head snapped to the side. Magda stepped up beside her and swatted Frank's hand just as he started to reach for her arm a second time.

Frank's lips curled into a smile, as he looked from one to the other.

"Magdalena," he said and bowed his head a little. "How long has it been?"

"Not long enough," she replied, scowling. She stared at Frank with such force Donna was surprised the man didn't burst up in flames.

"Don't be like that," he said, affably. "We had some good times, didn't we?"

She said, evenly, "You're drunk, Frank."

Frank's smile, somehow, got even sleazier. "We can do that thing you like."

A small crowd behind them had quieted and turned toward them, which gave Frank momentary pause, and instead of quipping anything back Magda just grabbed Donna's arm herself and pulled her off.

"That pig!" Magda hissed, under her breath. "That... that insensitive prick!" She turned towards Donna, who stumbled on the steps to the back garden, and grabbed her arm to help steady her. "How much have you had to drink, anyway?"

There was a sound behind them, and Magda pulled her further into the shadows. She let go, and Donna stood, nursing her elbow and watching in bewilderment as Magda paced back and forth and hissed furiously.

"Fucking vulture! Ollie is hardly cold in the ground, and he's..." She shook her head. "He did the same thing after Leo, you know. Sniffin' around. Inviting himself to dinner."

"He did?"

Magda didn't seem to hear her, eyes focused somewhere in the past. "I knew the brakes were coming up. Leo had talked about it, he told me, but... and then the funeral was so expensive and I didn't have the money. I..."

Then she blinked, seeming to realize who it was she was talking to, and the color drained from her face.

"Why am I telling you this? Oh God, why am I telling you this?! You must be loving this. Ohh, just loving this."

Donna, who was too astonished to do anything else, shook her head.

"I did what I had to do, okay? He has this way of... of... tricking you into thinking it has to be that way. He had me... trapped for a while. God, I'm glad I got rid of that loser! I've regretted being with him, but it was such a difficult time, money was so tight, and I hated to work long hours, and if I had to take the bus I'd never see my kids awake. I hardly did even with the car, and I hated, I hated that they were always eating dinner at your place. Hated it! Made me feel such a crappy mom! But I couldn't tell them no! I wasn't around to cook for them! I... was... never... there!"

Magda paused to draw a breath. Donna didn't know what to say, so she just grasped the first straw her inebriated mind could come up with. "I didn't mind," she said, and when Magda turned to stare at her, she elaborated. "Having Laurie and Lennox over. I had to cook for the masses anyway. What was two more? Hardly nothing, and they got on so well with my kids. They change the dynamics. Without them there, mine would fight so much more."

Magda made an exasperated noise. "Great. Just great. Would you—would you do me a favor and call my mom? Tell her she was right all along? She always said I couldn't do it on my own. Even said I should consider Frank for keeps." Magda bristled with rage, and then... shrank. She looked at Donna, and then towards the house, and depleted right before Donna's eyes. "Anyway... I... just think you should stay away from Frank."

Then she turned to go.

"Wait," Donna said and the pleading in her voice astonished herself. "Wait, Em."

She hadn't called Magda by that name since they were twelve. She couldn't imagine what compelled her to drudge it up from the depths just then, but it stopped both of them in their tracks.

"I never thought you weren't handling it," Donna said to Magda's back. "I was always astonished how you could juggle all that so easily."

Magda considered this, then sniffled and turned back towards her. "It wasn't easy."

"No, I..." Donna had no idea what she was doing. "I can't imagine it was." Then she blinked, and said, "No, that's not true either. I'm starting to think I could imagine how hard it was, and I... don't want to."

Magda sniffed again and said, ""I've had enough of this pretentious shit for one more year. Hell, maybe more. Do you..." Their eyes met. "Can you drive?"

It felt like she had something caught in her throat, so Donna just shook her head.

The drive home was quiet. Donna kept stealing glances at Magda's profile, looking quickly away if the taller woman turned to meet her eye. She pulled into her driveway, and they both lingered before opening the door.

"I can take you back to get your car tomorrow, if you want."

Donna felt her eyes misting up, seemingly for no reason, and said, "I... yes, thank you."

The truce between them felt fragile. They got out of the car and eyed each other over the roof.

Magda said, "You know, Donna, I..." She sounded rushed, like she wanted to get it out quickly, before she'd change her mind. "I have a key to your house, too. Ollie gave it to me years ago. I can give it back, if you... "

Donna nodded slowly. Her mind was too drunk and tired to see all the implications, but it didn't stop trying. "No," she said, brain very fuzzy, "no. That's good. If I fell and hurt myself, who else would even notice?"

Magda just blinked, staring ahead in thought, and before she could say anything more Donna started toward her front door. Getting out of her dress and into bed was challenging, and she laid awake for hours afterwards.

***

The car ride, the following morning, was very quiet. For about eighty percent of the trip.

Magda had appeared at her doorstep at an hour that was both ungodly and probably wise. Donna surely wasn't the only one who'd needed to leave her car at the Millers'. Every year there was a veritable parade back to the edge of town for everyone who'd left a vehicle behind and caught a ride home. Getting there early enough to sneak back out without being noticed would save her from being gossipped about just that little bit extra.

Or, at least, she was pretty sure she wouldn't be gossipped about. She couldn't really remember much of the very end of the night. For all she knew, she might have made a complete fool of herself, and no amount of getting there early would change what people said. She didn't think she had, but it was possible.

She didn't know what to make of Magda bringing her coffee. It felt like a peace offering. She had fuzzy memories of the two of them talking... about dinners maybe, but she couldn't be sure it had been as... cordial... as she remembered. Surely not, right? But then, the drive to be snarky toward Magda felt like it was entirely in her brain and not in her gut, regardless of how early the other woman had shown up. Donna had already been awake, as part of an effort to get her internal clock back under control. She'd had to set alarms for everything on her tablet. Alarms to wake up. Alarms to cook. Alarms to start winding down. It was dull and boring, but it was the start of putting herself back together.

So, not being entirely sure of where she stood, but definitely being sure that she was at least somewhat in Magda's debt, Donna sat in the passenger seat and sipped her coffee while periodically casting furtive glances at her chauffeur.

For her part, Magda seemed content to just drive. It wasn't until they hit the bridge over the interstate that something seemed to break loose.

"I wasn't sure if you heard me last night," Magda said, as she shifted uncomfortably in the driver's seat. Donna just blinked at her as the pause dragged on, but the other woman seemed focused in the distance. Eventually, she added, "I, uh... I have a key to your garage. The side door, there."

This time, it only took a couple seconds for Donna's now-sober mind to get there. "Oh," she said, coloring quickly. She couldn't quite summon the indignation to ask why that information was being shared with her like she didn't already know. She knew. "Um..."

"Yeah, so... uh..."

Donna cleared her throat. "I see."

"I don't," Magda said, rushing, "I don't mean to, like... like I'm not trying to threaten you with—"

"No," she replied, "I know, I just—"

"What I'm trying to say is, like, it's okay that you have one for my—"

"I found it in the drawer," Donna said, babbling. "Ollie had it."

The taller woman nodded, frowning, and said, "Leo gave him one forever ago, but then I had to change the locks about ten years ago, and I don't know why but I couldn't imagine not giving Ollie a copy."

"Why did you have to change your locks?"

Magda slumped and sighed, explosively. "There was this guy, at work, and he..."

***

"—wanted me to cut the whole thing down!"

"What?!" Donna cried. "Why would they send that to you? I thought everyone knew I was the one who butchered it!"

"They never liked me," she said, staring bitterly into the distance, "and they love you. You've always been the gold standard for the neighborhood, and this was just the excuse they were looking for. One more step on the paper trail."

"Wait, what paper trail? Like, to get you kicked out? But that's—"

***

"—and I've just been exploding in every direction, and I hate it," Donna cried. "I hate it! I'm so sick of being tired, and sad, and miserable, and having my kids look at me like I'm not the adult anymore? It's awful! I hate the way I've been acting! God, I hate myself sometimes!"