HARMONY

Part 17: The Phonies

Michelle discovers she's totally broke, but she's still more concerned about keeping up appearances with the neighbors.  She's locked herself in a prison of appearances and material values.  Both Drew and Claire absolutely hate these phony parties and can barely bring themselves to go through the motions.  Sadly, when the family needs each other the most in this time of crisis, they wedge further and further apart...  

What started as an organized search for financial truth—turned into a panicked two a.m. frenzy. 

Michelle lay in an exhausted heap on the Cherrywood floor surrounded by the litter of bank statements, financial reports and balance sheets. The more she dug, the deeper became the hole. After anger came pity, after rage came sadness; and after resentment came the crushing fear. 

We have no money. 

****

And now they go to the neighbor's backyard BBQ...

Flanking Michelle, Drew and Claire moved with robotic clarity as they approached the grand oak doors of Felicia's home. Claire's short dark fingernails appeared like little pebbles as she clutched the Lenox salad bowl. With his permanent scowl, Drew shoved his hands into his pockets.

Michelle's smile twisted tight. "Remember, if anyone should ask," she said, pulling her silk Cami snug atop her jeans. "Your father is on an unexpected business trip up North."

"I'm not staying long enough for anyone to talk to me," Drew said and reached for the doorbell. But Michelle's attention centered on the wildcard, Claire.

Claire stared straight ahead, clutched the bowl and blew her bangs aside with a forced breath. Sensing her mother's exhaustion and bucking against her mom's insistence of the phony persona, Claire had dug deep into her closet. Her faded torn jeans, black stripped T-shirt, and rainbow bracelets displeased her mother and therefore delighted her. Claire welcomed the bright sun—it would bring out her hair's amethyst highlights.

"Sure mom," Claire said, and then with a glance from side to side. "Places everybody. Phony family—take one."

"That's not fair," Michelle snapped. "There are things about our family that are none of our friends' business and we just need to—"

Ding Dong! Drew pressed the door bell to blast into Michelle's plea. With a huff, Claire opened the door and marched through.

"Claire darling!" Felicia said as she clicked across the marble floor toward the family. "Of course, please come in." The bejeweled hands reached to take the bowl. "You silly girl," she said to Michelle. "I said no schlepping!"

"I just know Grant would miss my famous walnut and cranberry salad," Michelle said as she leaned in to kiss Felicia on each cheek with an exaggerated muah! "He seems to really crave something natural."

"Aren't you a doll?" Felicia said. "And speaking of, where is that handsome husband of yours? Not working I hope."

In a decidedly rehearsed voice, Claire answered, "My father is on an unexpected business trip up North. The family remains intact."

With unholy speed, Michelle drove eye-lasers into Claire's skull.

Drew shook his head at his sister and charged through the French doors into the palm tree laden backyard.

"Oh my," Felicia said looking at Michelle to catch the smoldering embers. "Your Claire," she paused and gave Claire and exaggerated stare up and down, "sure has a sense of style and grace all her own."

Michelle reached out and smoothed Claire's purple hair with an embellished softness. "She'll be nobody's wilting violet," she said, almost to herself.

"Okay, so weird," Claire said. "My hair's purple, but I'm not like some flower."

"Darling," Felicia said. "Not a flower, just not somebody who will get thrown to her back and taken advantage of." She winked at Michelle. "I'll have to show you the new ruby red ceiling in my bedroom. Tony is just so good with his hands. Wouldn't you agree?" With a tart twist of her shoulders, Felicia strutted into the sprawling granite kitchen.

Michelle stood cemented to the floor, her breath frozen. Time and space whirled around her and she reached a hand to Claire's shoulder.

"Oh my god, mom. She says weird shit like that all the time."

Still staring straight ahead, "Don't say shit, dear," Michelle mumbled.

"Are you going to puke?"

Michelle squeezed her eyes closed and gave her head a little shake. "No, I'm fine. Let's go say hi to our friends and neighbors." Michelle took two unsteady steps forward.

"If they didn't like invite Jim and Peter this year, I'm so going to make a scene."

Mother and daughter approached the party. Designer clad 40 somethings gathered in proper conversation clusters. The men, in stripped polos or logo embossed T-shirts, stood holding a frosty dark beer in the Rolex hand while explaining the mysteries of the contemporary world with the other. Matched with woman whose bronze flesh stretched across bubbling breasts, camouflaged faces and thighs afraid of menopause, the whole masquerade moved in a careful symphony of rehearsed steps. Michelle paused and plotted where to insert her mask.

"No scenes sweetheart," Michelle said in a low, practiced tone. "It's their home. They can invite who they want."

"Even though there's probably more botulism in the flesh here than in like a whole Ethiopian village," Claire said with her voice raising at each word. "God forbid there be a black girl and a gay couple."

Just as Michelle turned to Claire, a neighbor approached. "Michelle!" Muah. Muah. "So delightful to see you! And your ever spirited Claire." Her face cracked in a smile. "Tell me, where is that charming man who shares your name?"