Julie Ortolon - Almost Perfect

"You love your mother," Christine said.

"Of course I do. That doesn't mean I always like her. And I sure don't respect her. She's an intelligent, talented, personable woman with incredible organizational skills. She ran our house so smoothly it was amazing. But it was all done behind my dad's back, with her dismissing everything she did as no big deal while praising anything Dad did, no matter how stupid. Like 'Oh wonder be, the man managed to lift his own butt out of his armchair and walk into the dining room all on his own power to eat this little oP meal I fixed. Isn't he a miracle? Oh no, dear, don't get up to fetch another beer. You've been driving around in your squad car all day while all I did was grocery shopping, cleaning, mending, cooking, and running ten thousand errands for your five ungrateful kids. Let me wait on you.' Gag, gag. gag-"

"You shouldn't be so hard on her," Amy said gently. "That's the way a lot of marriages from that generation work."

"Actually," Christine put in, "a lot of marriages are still that way. I guess it works for some people."

"I'm talking about an extreme case here," Maddy insisted. "One that's sickening to watch.

Mom sang in the church choir but laughed off any suggestion that she sing a solo. She worked in a department store for a while but turned down a promotion into management. She belonged to a garden club and refused to be president all three times she was asked. I grew up blaming all that on my dad and vowing that I would never, never let a man do that to me."

"Are you saying now it wasn't your dad's fault?"

"Yes and no. I'm getting to that. First, the part that's easier to understand. The reason I freaked when Joe asked me to marry him way back when is because I refused to get married right out of high school and spend my life subjugating myself to any man. I was going to work my tail off, go to college, be an independent woman. A successful artist. My own person. So in my head the two things became connected. Marrying Joe equaled having to become like my mother."

"So"-Christine held up a hand-"since you changed your mind about marrying Joe, you had to change your mind about the other."

"Yes!"

Amy frowned. "Then how come you weren't that way with Nigel?"

"I don't know." Maddy massaged her temple. "Maybe because he was so completely opposite from my father, while Joe is much more masculine, so not so opposite. Not that he's like my father, because he's not."

"Oo, I just had a thought." Christine pursed her lips. "One I don't think you'll like."

"What?" Maddy frowned when her friend hesitated. "You might as well tell me. I can't possibly lose any more respect for myself today."

"You did do it with Nigel." Christine shrugged apologetically. "It just wasn't as noticeable. He was very successful professionally, and he came from a reasonably well-off family. That gave you a pretty high ceiling to hit before your success topped his. Then he got sick, which jeopardized his professional status. Some women would have reacted to that by becoming more aggressive in their own careers to replace their husband's income. But you poured all your energy into guarding his success by running his business for him. That may be the real reason you stopped pursuing an art career. The ceiling got too low."

"Oh crap, you're right." Maddy hid her face behind her hand. "And this is where it all gets more complicated. I don't do it just with men. I do it with women too. Which is something Joe pointed out, but I didn't see just how bad I am about it until I was driving up here."

She lowered her hand. "So now, I feel like someone ripped a blindfold off my eyes and suddenly I'm looking at my mother and really seeing her for the first time. Maybe Mom can't let herself do all the things I know she's capable of for the same reasons I get all sick at my stomach when I do well. My success might hurt someone's feelings or make people not like me. Maybe that's the real reason she won't sing solo in the church choir. And that's why a marriage that looks completely unfair on the outside works for those two people. Dad gets a slave and a verbal whipping post to make him feel manly, and Mom gets a convenient excuse to hold herself back. How warped is that?"

"True," Christine agreed, "but like you said, it works for them."

"I hate that, though." Disgust sat sourly in Mad-dy's stomach. "And I don't want to be like that."

"You don't have to be." Christine unwrapped another candy bar. "The first step to breaking a pattern is recognizing it. Or, as Jane said in her book, face your inner fear."

"Except she was wrong. I'm not afraid of rejection."

"You're afraid of success." Christine held out the chocolate.

"What kind of a fear is that?" Maddy broke off a bite.

"A fairly common one, I think," Amy said.

"But why?" Maddy asked. "It's so stupid."

"Success changes things." Christine shrugged. "Sometimes in ways that aren't so comfortable. It requires responsibility and sacrifice and can open you up for undeserved criticism. It also changes how you see yourself and how others see you."

"Yeah." Maddy popped the bite of chocolate into her mouth. "It makes some people hate you."

"Only petty, selfish, insecure people. The trick is to realize that your success doesn't rob anyone of anything."

"But it can rob you ," Maddy said. "Look at Jane. She was willing to sacrifice anything, which turned out to include us, to achieve her dream."

"She didn't have to," Amy said.

"You know"-Christine munched thoughtfully- "I've been thinking about her book a lot. Hidden among a lot of nonsense it has some pretty good gems of wisdom about how hard life can be. That makes me wonder if she's really as 'outrageously happy' as she would have the world believe."

"See?" Maddy gestured with her glass. "There you go, right there. Success doesn't automatically equal happiness."

"Yet surely it doesn't automatically exclude it either," Amy argued. "I have to believe that happiness comes from finding the right balance. Maybe your balance is accepting that success can empower you without consuming you or diminishing others. Mostly, though, you don't have to sacrifice friendship to reach for your dream. The people who love you will be happy for you, and even get a vicarious thrill watching you."

"God, I love this woman," Christine said. "She's so damn wise. And she's right, Mad. Those of us who love you will be nothing but thrilled."

"Which I guess brings us back to Joe." Maddy stared at her nearly empty glass. "What am I going to do? I really insulted him."

Amy squeezed her hand. "Then apologize."

Christine shuddered. "Don't you just hate that?"

"Not when I've been this stupid." Maddy sighed. "I just hope we can work past this."

"If he loves you, you will." Christine swiveled on the coffee table to survey their supplies. "In the meantime, we have wine, chocolate, and Johnny Depp."

"Orlando Bloom," Amy countered. "He has the sweetest eyes."

"Okay, you get sweet, I get bad, and Maddy gets the cucumber."

"Christine!" Amy blushed.

"For her eyes." Christine blinked, the picture of pure innocence. "That is why you got it, right?"

Maddy smiled at both her friends, loving them so much she thought she might start crying again. Good thing Amy got that cucumber.

The evening of the show, Maddy stood in the middle of the Taos gallery, feeling stunned. The crowd filled the place to overflowing, bodies bumping as people maneuvered from the food table to the bar. Voices bubbled as brightly as the champagne while the track lighting glinted off enough jewelry to stock Tiffany's.

They'd come because of Rick-the beautiful, the rich, and even the famous-not knowing or caring a thing about "Madeline." All that was changing right before her eyes.