The Sand Hill Review               http://www.sandhillreview.org 2011

Living Room

Eva Langston

Susan stood behind the front counter of her little shop, The Bel Enfant, watching as a woman in a purple windbreaker picked through a stack of turtlenecks at the front of the store.

Susan and her employees had just finished switching everything from Thanksgiving to Christmas. Green corduroy jumpers hung on racks next to a table of holiday turtlenecks. A T-stand held waterfalls of miniature red velvet dresses and smocked rompers with tiny embroidered accents: holly leaves, reindeer, Scottie dogs wearing red bows around their necks. She had dressed the front window with a large Christmas tree, circled at its trunk by a train set, and next to the tree stood two child-sized mannequins: the boy in a holiday sweater and corduroys, and the girl in a party dress with shiny black Mary-Janes.

The woman in the windbreaker dug inside the little neck of the shirt with a chubby finger and pulled out the price tag. She pressed her lips together and dropped the turtleneck onto the table.

“Have a great day!” Susan called as the woman headed towards the door. Susan walked to the table and picked up the crumpled turtleneck. She re-folded it carefully then went back behind the counter, pushing up the sleeves of her cream-colored cashmere sweater.

A moment later the door swung open, and the sash of bells hanging from the knob jangled loudly. Susan stood up straight as Tori burst into the shop in an old blue pea coat and earmuffs. Her eyes were bright above her flushed cheeks and pointed red nose.

“It’s freaking cold out there!” she said.

Susan smiled and held on to the edge of the counter with her fingertips. She always felt strangely off balance around Tori.

Tori pulled her arms out of her coat and walked past Susan to look at herself in the floor-to-ceiling mirror next to the dressing rooms.

Susan found it interesting, the things Tori considered professional clothing. Today she wore a stretched-out sweater, short plaid skirt, and a pair of black tights with a rip running up the back of her left calf. Her dark hair was unfashionably long, tapering off at the small of her back, and in the bright lights of the store it glinted with hundreds of split ends.

“My professor kept us late so I had to practically run here from class.” Tori pulled off the earmuffs and twisted her hair into a messy pile on top of her head. “I’m freezing cold, but I’m also sweating.” She secured the hair with a rubber band from around her wrist then swiped her hand along the back of her neck. “I feel disgusting.”

Susan watched as the girl’s long fingers grazed the stray fuzzy hairs at the nape of her neck. “Well.” She glanced at Tori’s reflection. Her long legs descended into a pair of scuffed black loafers that were both unflattering and out of style. “Good exercise, right?” Susan looked down at her own legs inside their nude-colored hose. She did aerobics and power-walked around the neighborhood, but she could feel her body slowly turning to jelly. Recently she had noticed a few spidery blue veins in the softness behind her knees.

“Let me go clock in.” Tori flung her coat over one arm and headed towards the back of the store.

Normally Susan hired college girls who wore pearl earrings and had pre-med boyfriends, but Tori was different. Yesterday, while she and Susan had stocked winter accessories, Tori had mentioned that she didn’t believe in marriage, and that after graduation she wanted to do the Peace Corps in Africa or travel around Latin America perfecting her Spanish.

Tori came back to the front of the store. “What needs to be done?” she asked. “Probably resizing the turtlenecks, huh?” She picked up a stack and brought them to the customer side of the counter, opposite where Susan stood. She pulled the folding board from its hiding place behind the register. “Susan, I don’t know how you fold so perfectly without the board.”

Susan smiled and shook her head. “Years of practice.”

“What are you doing up here instead of in the office doing boss-type stuff?”

“Robin felt sick and went home early.” With her fingernails, Susan picked up a tiny piece of lint from the top of the glass case and dropped it into the trash can. “I thought I’d stay on the floor until you came in.” Truthfully, she preferred helping customers to sitting in the small, windowless office at the back of the shop. She liked watching people admire the clothing she had picked out and so carefully displayed with the right accessories. Besides, she didn’t like all of the paperwork that came with being a small business owner. Her mother used to do it, but she had recently retired and moved to Florida, leaving Susan with sole responsibility of The Bel Enfant.

Susan watched Tori fold the tiny shirts and press the necks into position so their embroidered accents could be seen. Tori’s knuckles were chapped, and she wore chipped blue nail polish, but there was something graceful about the way her long fingers slid over the fabric. Tori looked up, and Susan glanced away quickly, pretending to consult the daily chore sheet posted next to the register. She could feel Tori looking at her.

“Susan, I like your outfit today.”

“Really?” Susan pressed her hand just below her throat. “Thank you.”

“Yeah.” She placed the last turtleneck on top of the pile. “You always look so perfect and put together.”

Susan smiled. “That’s nice of you to say.”

Tori took the stack of turtlenecks to the table. Without turning around she said, “I bet you’re the type of person who wears matching underwear.”

“Well.” Susan blushed and pressed her hand even harder against her chest. Tori leaned over, reaching for another pile of shirts, and Susan found herself following the rip in Tori’s tights all the way up to where it disappeared under her short skirt. “Well, you always look very…” She hesitated. “Very fun.”

Tori turned around and laughed. Her crowded teeth gave her face a wild, child-like quality when she smiled. “Is that your nice way of saying I don’t match?” She headed back towards the counter with the second stack of turtlenecks. “Seriously, I can’t even match my clothes, much less my underwear.”

Susan thought about her own cream-colored satin panties and matching bra. She wondered if, somehow, Tori knew about them. Did Tori spend time thinking about Susan’s underwear? Her face felt hot. “Well.” Susan cleared her throat. “I should go get some work done.” She walked carefully through the racks of clothing towards the back of the store, wobbling slightly in her high heels.

*

At five Susan left the shop and went home to start dinner. She lived in a large brick colonial on a cul-de-sac road near the university where her husband, Chip, taught marketing classes. She had started dating Chip her junior year of high school, around the same time that her mother had opened The Bel Enfant. He was a year older, so she had never worried about which college to go to – she just went to his. They had both majored in business, but he’d gone on to get his M.B.A., while she had decided to help her mother run The Bel Enfant.

The house was quiet as she walked in through the front door. Chip was still working, Jonathon had soccer practice, and Lizzie had gone home after school with a friend. Susan entered the first floor master bedroom she shared with Chip and put her heels on the shoe rack in the closet. She pulled off her hose, tossing them into the little laundry basket reserved for delicates, and slipped her feet into a pair of moccasins. She padded out of the room, feeling restless, and wandered across the foyer. She hovered in the doorway of the living room for a moment, holding onto the wall with one hand. It was their “formal living room,” supposedly for entertaining guests, but she couldn’t even remember the last time she’d been in there except to vacuum.

Feeling almost like a trespasser, Susan walked silently across the plush carpet and sank into the very middle of the white sofa, which looked as pristine as the day she and Chip had bought it, nearly ten years ago. She reached towards the coffee table and picked up a coaster, examining the pressed flowers trapped inside the thick glass. Weighing it in her palm, she stared out the window at the front lawn. A few shriveled leaves clung to the skinny branches of the tree near the driveway, and below it the grass had faded into the solemn brown turf of winter. She set the coaster back down and went to the kitchen to make dinner.

That night, as Susan and her family sat at the kitchen table, she felt a nervous energy tightening inside her chest, like a rubber-band being pulled too tight. “I know!” she said suddenly, jumping from her chair. “Let’s have candles tonight.”

“What for?” Jonathon asked in his new, deep voice. He was a freshman in high school, and at some point over the summer he had grown taller than Susan. She remembered when she used to dress him in smocked rompers and knee socks and bring him into the store to be cooed over by the other employees. Now he wore baggy t-shirts and huge, smelly sneakers, and the dark fuzz above his upper lip made her feel vaguely frightened.

Susan placed two silver candlesticks on either end of the table. “Does there have to be a reason?” She struck a match against the side of the box and brought the flame towards the wick of the first candle. “You know, I was thinking, we should use the living room more often.”

“Why?” Lizzie asked. She was in the seventh grade and had just developed a rash of tiny whiteheads across her forehead.

“What do you mean, why? It’s a nice room. We could use it sometimes instead of the family room.” Susan looked at Chip, who was buttering a roll. “Don’t you think so, Honey?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“What about spilling on the couch?” Lizzie asked. “You always say we can’t go in there with food.”

“You guys are older now. I trust you.”

“But the family room has a TV,” Jonathon pointed out, his mouth full of mashed potatoes. “What would we even do in the living room?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Read. Have conversations.” Susan lit the second candle.

“Mom.” Lizzie rolled her eyes.

“We could play games. We haven’t played Pictionary in a long time.”

“I think I’ll pass,” Jonathon said.

Susan sighed and sat down. She glanced towards the darkened dining room where an armoire full of china dishes stood guard over the large table. Another room they rarely used. “I just think it’s silly,” she said, “having whole rooms that we don’t even use.”

That night, as Susan applied moisturizer to her face, she had an idea. She looked in her vanity mirror and saw Chip’s reflection in it. He lay propped up in bed behind her, wearing his glasses and working on a crossword puzzle. Susan tried to remember what things had been like in high school when they’d been on the swim team together. His wet hair and tight body, the acrid smell of chlorine as they steamed up the windows in the back seat of his car after practice. Now she could see pink scalp through his thinning hair, and his body was puffy and pale.

“Hey, Chip?” Susan said.

“Yeah?”

“I was thinking about having a Christmas party this year.” She rubbed the pink cream into the creases in her forehead, trying to smooth them away.

Chip looked up. “The Marshalls and the Donovans are already having parties.”

Susan didn’t mention that they were his friends, fellow professors, and that she never had any fun at their parties. “Maybe I’ll just have a little party for the girls at the shop.”

Chip studied his puzzle. “That’s a nice idea.”

“Although I guess we’ll have to call it a holiday party because Bethany’s Jewish.”

“Is she one of the college girls?” Chip always pretended like he remembered Susan’s employees, but she knew he didn’t.

“No, she’s older,” Susan answered shortly, twisting the black lid onto the night cream. “We could have a sit-down dinner and then drinks. And use the china.”

“For a party?”

“Isn’t that what it’s for?”

Chip filled in a word on his crossword. After a moment he looked up. “When did you want to have it? I’m so busy the next few weeks.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it.” Susan tossed her hand in his direction like she was flicking away an insect. “It’ll just be a girl thing.”

*

Susan wanted everything to be perfect for the party. She insisted on two Christmas trees: a pine for the family room which could be decorated with colored lights and the kids’ old homemade ornaments, and a Douglas Fir for the living room. For the formal tree she bought brand new strands of white lights and expensive ornaments: white balls, silky doves, delicate crystal icicles. She placed an electric candle in every window and bought strands of pine garlands, which she draped over the living room mantle and wrapped around the banister going up the stairs in the foyer. She put a basket of pinecones by the front door, placed cinnamon-scented candles in every room, and hung a ball of real mistletoe over the entranceway to the living room. She even bought a menorah for the coffee table so Bethany would feel comfortable.

The morning of the party, Susan went to the shop to work on inventory, but she couldn’t concentrate, so she went home at ten-thirty to start preparations. She made all the food ahead of time: a Greek salad with olives as big as eyeballs, creamy shrimp pasta, asparagus covered with a layer slivered almonds. She baked cookies, made gift bags, and cleaned until the house was spotless. Then she took a shower and got dressed.

At six-o’clock, Susan stood in front of the full-length mirror in her bedroom. She wore a new red silk dress she had bought from Ann Taylor just for the occasion. It had a deep V-neck in the front and back, which Susan thought was classic but sexy, and its high-waisted sash did a good job of hiding her mid-section. Susan sighed and thought about how Tori must see her: a middle-aged woman with a news reporter hair-cut and boring, conservative clothes. On a whim, she opened her make-up drawer and rummaged around until she found a tube of bright red lipstick she had never worn. She put it on carefully and blotted twice. She let the white tissue with the two lipstick kisses flutter into the wastebasket before going downstairs.

She went to the kitchen and tuned the radio to one of the stations that played Christmas carols, but the house still seemed too quiet. She had arranged for the kids to spend the night with the Marshalls, and Chip was staying late at the university to work on a paper.

Susan looked at the array of wine she’d bought for the party. She pulled the corkscrew out of a drawer and opened a bottle of white. She preferred red, but she couldn’t risk spilling on the couch, or having stained teeth when her guests arrived. She took a glass of wine to the living room and sat down, rubbing the lipstick off the side of her glass with her finger after every sip. It was already dark outside. Across the street, the neighbor’s house blinked colored lights spastically, and when she closed her eyes for a moment, she could still see them in yellow pulses on the insides of her eyelids.

A car drove slowly down the street, its headlights illuminating the naked tree next to her driveway. She sat poised on the edge of the couch cushions, watching. The car went past, and the tree fell back into darkness. She took a swallow of wine. Another car drove by, faster, and this time Susan noticed someone walking down the sidewalk. In the red glow of the taillights, she saw it was Tori, walking quickly with her arms folded against her chest and her hair whipping across her face.

Susan put her wine glass down on a coaster and went to open the front door. Tori came up the porch steps and into the foyer, already pulling her arms out of her coat. “Susan, your house is humongous!” Her face was red and wind-burned, and her hair hung in tangles down her shoulders. Susan resisted the urge to reach out and comb through it with her fingers.

“Here, let me take your coat,” Susan said. “Come on in.” She draped the old pea coat over one arm and glanced at Tori’s outfit. She wore a bulky red sweater, and her black skirt swirled just above the knees. Her bare legs looked purple and blotchy from the cold.

Susan walked into her bedroom and laid the coat carefully on top of her comforter.

“Am I the first person here?” Tori called from the foyer.

“Yes. I guess everyone’s running a bit late.” Susan emerged from her bedroom and motioned for Tori to follow her into the living room. “Can I get you something to drink? White wine?”

“Sure.” Tori walked across the room to the couch, her heavy black loafers leaving indentations in the carpet. “That would be great.”

In the kitchen, Susan’s hand shook so much she accidentally splashed wine onto the counter. She pressed her fingers against the countertop and felt the blood pulsing into them. She took a long sip of wine and headed back to the living room, cradling a glass in each hand.

Tori took the glass, curling her long fingers around the stem. Susan perched on a nearby chair.

“Your house is beautiful.” Tori’s eyes sparkled in the lights from the Christmas tree. “I mean it. Everything is so perfect.”

“Thank you,” Susan said. “I’m very lucky.”

“It’s so clean, too.” She ran her free hand across the couch cushion. “I could never have a white couch.”

“Well. It’s ten years old. Can you believe that?” Susan laughed loudly and took a sip of wine.

Tori turned to Susan suddenly. She crossed her legs and held her wine glass on top of her purple knee. “Susan?”

“Yes?”

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

“Of course.” Susan focused on the pointed tip of her own shoe, afraid to look at Tori and her bright eyes, her glowing pink face.

There was a barely audible noise from outside, and Tori turned her head towards the window. “I think I heard a car door,” she said.

Susan didn’t move. She sat in her chair, looking at Tori, waiting

Tori put her wine glass on the coffee table. She rose and walked to the window, cupping her hands onto the glass and peering through. “I think it’s Debbie.” She looked back at Susan.

After an awkward moment, Susan stood up. “Let me go see.” She walked to the foyer and opened the door. It was, in fact, Debbie, an older woman who worked once a week at The Bel Enfant, just to get the employee discount on clothes she bought for her grandchildren. Behind her, Susan could see Robin’s SUV parked on the street, and several of the college girl employees were climbing out. “Come in! Welcome!” Susan said to Debbie, louder than necessary.

When all of the guests had arrived, they sat down to eat at the dining room table. Susan kept herself busy, refilling drinks and offering seconds on salad and pasta. She cleared the plates, refusing all offers of help, and brought out cookies and two different types of pie.

When everyone had eaten dessert, Susan suggested they all go into the living room. She had planned out games to play and icebreaker questions to use as conversation starters, but, as it turned out, they were unnecessary. The college girls sat on the couch, sipping wine and giggling together, and Debbie, Bethany, and Tori talked about weird customers.

“What about that woman who comes in sometimes and buys hundreds of dollars of clothes for her doll?” Bethany fluffed her gelled curls. “I thought for the longest time she had a granddaughter who just wasn’t growing.”

Tori threw her head back and laughed, her chin pointing towards the ceiling.

“One time,” Bethany said, “she actually brought the doll in and took it into the dressing room. She was trying clothes on the doll.”

“No!” Tori’s voice was shrill with laughter.

Susan tried to think of some way to include herself in the conversation, but she felt like it wasn’t appropriate since she was their boss. Instead, she took another sip of wine and watched Tori talk. Her eyes were wide, and her lips could barely conceal her crowded overbite; her mouth broke open easily into uninhibited laughter. Susan reached a hand to her own cheek. Her face felt stiff.

After awhile Robin and the other college girls stood. “Susan,” Robin said, “thank you so much, but we have to go study for exams.”

Debbie stood up. “I should probably go, too. It’s getting late.”

Susan glanced at Bethany and Tori to see if they were going to leave, but they didn’t say anything. “Okay, ladies, let me get your gift bags.” She hurried to her bedroom.

After escorting the women out the door, Susan went to the kitchen and opened another bottle of wine. “Anyone need a refill?” she asked, coming into the living room.

“Please,” Bethany said. “I told my husband to pick me up tonight, so I don’t have to worry about driving.” She held out her glass, and Susan filled it.

“Tori?”

“Sure. It’s not often I get to drink wine out of a bottle.”

Susan tilted her head. “What do you mean?”

“Instead of a box.” She smiled. “I usually drink it out of a box.”

“Oh!” Susan refilled Tori’s glass and then her own. She raised her glass. “Well. Here’s to wine from a bottle.”

“Cheers to that,” Tori said, knocking her glass against Susan’s and winking. Susan was so startled she nearly forgot to clink her glass against Bethany’s.

Twenty minutes later, Bethany’s cell phone began to ring in a loud succession of chimes. She pulled it clumsily out of her pocket. “My husband,” she said.

When Susan had sent Bethany out the door with her coat and a gift bag of butter toffee and truffles, she walked back to the living room to find Tori standing in front of the couch. “I should go now, too,” she said. “I don’t want to wear out my welcome.”

“Oh no, no, no,” Susan said, waving her hand in the air. “You’re welcome to stay.”

“Isn’t it rude to be the first to arrive and the last to leave?”

“No! Not at all.” Susan looked at Tori. At some point in the night she had pulled her messy hair back into a low ponytail, displaying her long neck and graceful collarbone. Her eyes were bright, and a single blushing pimple bloomed on her forehead. On Tori, the pimple almost looked beautiful: like a tiny berry bursting through her pale skin. She was so young and strangely beautiful that suddenly Susan wondered what it would be like to kiss her. She shook her head slightly, trying to dispel the thought.

“Thank you so much for everything,” Tori said. “Um, is my coat in your bedroom?”

As she said the word bedroom, Susan had an image of Tori naked on the bed she shared with Chip. Instead of his flabby, hairy body, hers would be tight and soft, pale skin and dark hair, like Snow White. She felt a trembling terror run through her stomach. She’d had way too much to drink.

“Let me go get your coat,” Susan said quickly, her heart racing.

She brought the pea coat and the last gold gift bag out from the bedroom and handed them to Tori, who was standing, Susan noticed, directly below the mistletoe.

Tori pulled her arms into the coat. “Thank you so much, Susan. This was fun, and the food was so good.”

Susan took a tiny step forward and nearly lost her balance. She held on to the doorframe for support. “Well. I’m glad you were able to make it.” Susan was so close she could smell the old wool of Tori’s coat and something else, something sugary, like birthday cake. Susan tilted her head, and, without really thinking, she pointed towards the ceiling. “Look! We’re standing under the mistletoe.”

Tori glanced up. “I didn’t even notice it.”

“Well.” Susan bit her lip. She felt like her entire body was being pricked with tiny needles. She laughed awkwardly and pressed her hand to her chest. “I…” She felt insane. The rubber band across her chest stretched even tighter.

Suddenly, Tori stood on her tiptoes, lunged forward, and kissed Susan’s cheek. “Merry Christmas!” She laughed and stepped past her into the foyer.

Susan put her finger to her cheek where Tori’s lips had touched her. “Wait!” she said. “What was it you wanted to ask me earlier – uh, before everyone got here?”

Tori turned around. “Thanks for reminding me.” The gift bag swung from her fingers. “I’m applying for an internship, and I was wondering if you’d write me a letter of recommendation.”

Susan’s hand fell from her face. “Oh, of course.”

“Great! I’ll just give you the paper about it tomorrow then.” Tori opened the door and stepped out onto the porch. “Bye, Susan.”

“Good night.” Susan closed the door slowly and kicked off her shoes, leaving them on their sides by the basket of pinecones. She stumbled into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of red wine. No need to worry about staining her teeth now. And why should she care about spilling red wine on the perfect white couch? No one ever sat on it anyway. She went into the living room and plopped herself down on the soft cushions, sipping wine and staring at the twinkling white lights on the Christmas tree. She set the half-empty glass on the coffee table and curled up on the couch in her fancy silk dress. Maybe she would just live in the living room from now on. She could sleep on the couch and eat sitting cross-legged in front of the coffee table. That’s what she’d do. From now on, she would live in her red silk dress and use the good china for every meal. ◊