The tone was pitiful--- such sorrow, a dove crushed, desperate to seek flight to safety. She fell through the door, eyes twinkling with tears that were pure sadness, a drunkenness in her clumsy motions that were usually so graceful.
Her friend noticed it; her lips set hard, blue eyes icy. But there was a hint of genuine concern beneath it all. She didn’t block the other woman from entry, a hand that came up to support her before she stumbled into the umbrella stand.
“ Mary, what on earth-? What’s happened? ” Betty sputtered, bringing up her other hand to steady the other woman. Tears rolled free, watery streaks of mascara that tarnished the usually pristine and perfect face, a face Betty had often envied with quiet resentment. A perverse enjoyment nestled within Betty at seeing her friend, Mary, like this. But it was cloaked underneath her concern, which she played up in her expression that studied the other openly.
“ Oh, Betty... Oh, god... I--- ”
Mary, a beautiful, bubbly blonde with the demeanor of a doe, looked like a creature wounded, seeming to only be held up by the woman she came to visit. Betty was much like Mary, a beautiful, young blonde, and yet there was something icy underneath those eyes, something unsatisfied and angry. A crack in porcelain, as Mary often pondered to herself. Nothing in her had the strength to question her friend. She was so desperate for help that she would throw herself to anyone’s mercy for comfort. Betty was the first person she thought to seek out. Betty, who was beautiful, in control, with a perfect life and beautiful family. Betty would know what to do. Betty would help her.
“ Mary, what’s the matter? Here, come into the living room. I’ll get you some coffee. ”
Mary could’ve sobbed, knowing her friend realized she had been drinking. Mary was often so embarrassed when it was clear to her, didn’t try to make it apparent. She liked to think she had too much self respect, but she was such a mess that she had been drinking since the early morning. Had she even stopped from last night? She covered her face in shame. A pitiful, little noise left her throat, a whimper of agony.
Betty held to Mary’s biceps, loosened her grip as she could tell the other woman wasn’t going to fall out in the floor. That was the last thing she needed. She guided the crying woman into the living room, a colorful, sunny room freshly redecorated. She was glad the kids weren’t home. What a mess, she bitterly thought. She was sure Don wouldn’t be coming home soon, either. She didn’t like how Don smiled at Mary. It made her furious, yet she tried to calm her mind as she focused again on Mary in her current, sorrowful state.
“ Mary, what’s wrong? ” She implored, a bite to her voice that she tried to play to a firm, motherly concern.
Mary peered back at Betty with pools of vulnerable pain. The last several days shot through her drunken mind like a bolt of lightning. The cheating, the lying, the fighting. Fresh tears pooled up in her eyes, falling free as she covered her face again.
“ Oh, Betty... It’s.. Avery! God, he---! ”
Already, Betty knew it had something to do with Mary’s husband. Mary was a flirt. Mary was too pretty and stupid for her own good. Of course she encouraged her husband into cheating on her. That had to be it! She felt a strange relief knowing it wasn’t just her....
“ What, Mary? What did Avery do? ” Betty felt like she was coaxing a child into admitting a problem. While there was a part of her that understood Mary, another didn’t like to be forced into taking on the woman’s issues like this. Betty had her own problems. Couldn’t Mary keep all this to herself like everyone else did? A sense of superiority came to her from this. Betty, the stronger woman. Betty, the one who could stay in control, or at least appear like she was.
“ He- He...! God... He’s gone, Betty! He’s left me! ” A burst of sobs left Mary as she folded over herself. The whole world felt like it was ending for Mary. Maybe it was the vodka of Avery’s she had chugged like water before walking over in the early morning, but she felt like she was falling, twisting, in a cold, empty void. Dizzy, detached, like a bird falling out of the air. “ Betty! Oh, what do I do? He’s left me! ”
Betty remembered Avery Jones, Mary’s husband. A failed musician with a hard, intense face and broad shoulders, eyes that shined like a torch. He had sandy blonde hair that complimented his red-toned skin, always wore button-ups with his sleeves rolled up. Betty knew, from Mary’s own confession, how resentful he was that he never made it as a trumpet player, forced into an office job to support Mary in their cute, well-kept, little home down the street from Betty and her own family.
Avery wasn’t as good-looking as Mary was, despite her plain name. Mary was as beautiful as Marilyn Monroe or Grace Kelly, which filled Betty with her cruel, cold envy. If Betty was Grace, then Mary was certainly Marilyn. Betty, who used to be a model, was no longer the lone, beautiful blonde on the block. Betty, who wanted desperately to recall her worth in her beauty, felt threatened by Mary, who seemed oblivious to her own looks. At least, she acted like she didn’t own a mirror. Childless, she was a threat to every family in the neighborhood, her giggles and sugary words for everyone’s husbands that made many of the women dislike her. But Betty stuck by her. Why? Well, it made her look quite saintly at least.
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