All sewn up?

By Beth Bear Shields

The girls from Seamless are back, and things seem to be going so, well… seamlessly! Becca and the boys were making their way in their little home, Dana was finally dating the man of her dreams, Elle was madly in love with Bobby Fweidman, and Allie's belly was growing quickly. Sure, Becca's book, Seamless, had flopped, but she was still enjoying her classes at the art museum and still finding peace as she drove past the beautiful historic homes along Wee Street.
Becca had almost had to pinch herself that morning as she looked over to the other side of the bed to where Jay was sleeping. She gave the blanket a little yank to cover herself and found a small thread sticking out from the beige rectangle embroidered on the duvet. She played with it and tried to break it off, but, instead, the string began to unravel, becoming longer and longer. As she wrapped it around her finger to rip it off, it only became tighter around it, making her fingertip bulge and turn red. Becca unwrapped it slowly and stared at the string, now several inches long, the embroidered rectangle now fraying on the edge. One loose string, one tiny pull, can make things come apart, she thought. If a seam opens, that's it. It is no longer smooth, it is no longer continuous, and all it takes is one tiny pull on one loose thread…
Isn't that always the formula? Just when you think you have things all sewn up, the monsters and bumps, crooks and lumps appear. Maybe things weren't so seamless after all…

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Dec 20, 2019
• ISBN: 9781543996814

Book preview

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Thank you to Sandra Haven for helping me get my girls on track and to Elisa Drake and Shana Guthman for catching my many chemo-brain moments.

Thank you once again to Jodi Joffe of Jodi Joffe Designs for another incredible cover and to Mindy Garfinkle Photography for our renewed friendship and these beautiful pics.

Copyright 2020

Print ISBN: 978-1-54399-680-7

eBook ISBN: 978-1-54399-681-4

Contents

I always keep some next to my bed…

One day in November…

And she was only halfway through her salad, too...

So, this is Dubuffet…

A view from a window…

The navy-blue rain sicker…

Someone who makes me feel something…

So, this is Guston…

Who’s Jay?

The pretty girl on the bench…

Those three little words…

But she’ll settle for half…

The monster around the corner, down the street and over the tracks...

Historically Speaking…

Look, it’s a thin line…

A face in the crowd?...

The pretty girl in the window (part deux)…

The little white dress…

It’s not a riddle…

Elle goes dark…

A lump in the road…

Princess Elle and the pea…

Well, it was a novel idea anyway…

Elle, in lights…

Testing, testing, one…two…three!

And the results are in!

Elle, in the woods…

The only game in town…

Look! Up in the sky! It’s a… Elle, is that you?

Yes, that’s very fucking disappointing… (on a positive node…)

Cocktails at sunrise…

Pick your poison…

Elle, day four…

‘Cuz Meadow walks at 9:15

Catch!

Cassidy returns…

That girl! (part deux)

It’s a sign!

Say yes to the tress…

A thump-thump at the door…

But you’re not invited…

The query

The girl in the cloud…

Look out ladies! She’s wearing a hat!

A much more accurate picture…

Fried chicken and an epiphany…

Kinda like Audrey…

The plan of all plans, a plan that…oh, whatever it was that Elle said…

Now, to put the plan of all plans in motion…

Not even a week later…

Blame it on the goobie…

Stick to the changed plan…

Bye-Bye, Boobies…

And now PooF! They’re gone!

So, this is Albright!

Becca, Historically Speaking too much…

Those other three little words…

Write your own damn story!

So, this is Warhol!

Well, of course Dana would have done it perfectly…

OK, if you really want to come to the party…

So, this is Matisse…

If the shoe fits…

Growing Up Elle…

Over the bump…

You glow, girl!

So, this is Calder!

Well, I wasn’t exactly alone…

The cancer pussy…

Someone who makes me feel safe…

Dye, shoes! Dye!

I want one!

The odds are good…

The monster in my closet…

Woohoo! An interview!

Well, you really should have seen this coming…

I’m too busy to die…

Becca and the self-portrait…

Dana and the bump and ding…

Bitch stole my book…

A peace to the puzzle…

There are no more Nancys…

Now, where have I heard that before?

Texting, texting, 1-2-3!

Getting to know her monster…

Just like looking in the mirror, only 5 years ago… but not really…

Face to face with Trevor Fern!

And now, let me introduce myself…

Lashing out…

Someone who makes me feel beautiful…

It’s in the bag!

April showers bring lots of insight…

Two sacks of s......

A little online shopping…

Another one of her little games…

Get ready! It’s almost time for the big wedding scene! (you’ve been waiting so patiently)

A sweet nothing whispered in her ear…

Bustle to it…

He knows something you don’t know…

Wow! The formula really works!

590 ccs of fun…

So, this is Paschke…

I know something you don’t know…

And O is for outlet store…

Rolling! The girl on page 60! Take one!

A moment of reflection…

Someone who gets me… Check!

Now, that’s our girl on page 60!

A story, painted…

Brooke, this is Becca. Becca, this is Brooke…

Another girl, another bench…

Another sign!

That’s a wrap! Elle keeps it together…

We need more Elles…

Feel something, say something…

Just a little bit of Audrey…

30 minutes of observation…

But don’t say that!

Someone who makes me feel loved…

You can’t judge a pop star by their pop!

Rolling! The girl on pages 67-68! Action!

Becca, finally speaking…

No bump, no lump, but everywhere a thump-thump…

The pop(ped) star returns…

The wrong girl?

Finally…

Well, it was a novel idea, anyway (part deux)…

Thank you

Thank you to my incredible teams at Northwest Community Hospital and Good Shephard Hospital. My doctors, nurses and technicians not only made me well, but always made me feel safe and cared for. My sister, Shana, who promised me that day she would never leave me. She never did and I always felt a little safer because of that. To my mom and aunt Lynne for their many hours in the chairs with me. My wonderful friends who stuck by me and, yes, even danced to Hey, Deanie with me. To Cooper, Asher, Nicole and Megan. You make me laugh, you make me feel loved. And to Jon, the love of my life. I’m not sure what I did to deserve you. I am blessed.

Dedication

Mom, when I stood there before you that Sunday, I wasn’t sure how to tell you. You know me so well, that I didn’t need to. At just about 5’ tall and 90 pounds, you are just about the scrappiest lady I know. You can move my furniture anytime as long as we can have a cup of coffee, too.

This one’s for you, Mom.

Look out, ladies!

She’s wearing a hat!

Because it is. Those are the three little words that changed my life. August 11, 2018. The it was my tumor. The is was cancer. The original story for All sewn up? actually started and ended quite differently, but stick to the changed plan, right? I write what I know and until that day at around 12:20, I knew nothing about cancer at all. Fifteen months and many treatments later, I know quite a bit more and am cancer free. It is a term I am not quite comfortable with, but am getting used to. All the girls in Seamless return as that is exactly what girls do. They hold your hand, they bring you milk shakes and yes, dance with you to Shaun Cassidy. I am blessed with the many women in my life who helped me to walk in my own shoes, regardless of how tired I was, how uncomfortable they were and how much I really didn’t want to. Some reading this book may find my cancerous adventure to be a horror story, a tear-jerker, a comedy, a love story or a mix of them all. Well, that’s because it is.

I always keep some next to my bed…

It wasn’t one of Becca’s wittiest lines, but in that moment, texting with Jay, it’s what she had come up with.

After he had texted her,

dinner?

lunch?

coffee?

those three weeks without response, he had finally resorted to

gum?

Be witty, she had told herself. Remember when you used to be so witty?

She had felt a bit flirty and had typed in,

I always keep some next to my bed…

Now, there she was, lying underneath the Pottery Barn duvet and looking at her sixth apothecary jar, the one that held the hot pink gumballs on her nightstand. The sun was starting to come in through the curtains and was bouncing off its glass. It could use a refill, she thought, counting the seven pieces at the bottom. She reached over and lifted the lid, quietly taking one out. The sweet taste replaced the yucky morning mouth she was sure she had and she rolled over onto her back to gaze at the ceiling with a small smile.

Seam-less: adjective

Smooth and continuous, with no apparent gaps or spaces between one part and the next.

It did seem that things were going rather seamlessly for her and her friends right now. Allie was a few weeks along already and felt great. She loved her work at the art museum, and her classes were still on Sunday afternoons, allowing for Becca to meet her and the girls for coffee before attending herself. The students seemed younger every year and this class, Allie explained, seemed to be the youngest yet. Or was Allie just feeling that way as she was about to become a mother herself? She was still living in Pilsen, in Jackson’s apartment. She had managed to create a space for herself there and only somewhat impinge on the space he called for himself. Her Boho-chic and his industrial bends had come together in an artistic way. His exposed brick and reclaimed wood furniture seemed to balance out her more colorful layers now in the living room. Her art books piled high in the corner with the exposed metal beam could have been a pin on Pinterest. And, although Jackson had put off his return a few times, it did seem he would be back from his art installation in Germany with plenty of time for her last trimester.

Elle had never looked better. She had been seeing less and less of the doctor all the girls wanted as she was feeling more beautiful on her own. No Botox or filler made her feel quite as beautiful as Bobby Fweidman. She was no longer talking to other men at bars. She simply wasn’t that girl anymore. She was still managing the clothing store, still telling women in their forties that they could still wear clothes for women in their twenties. Elle’s parents had moved to California, bringing her brother Max with them. She admitted that at times it was lonely with no family around, but was quietly thankful to not have the responsibility for caring for Max, as well. Her time was free for traveling with Bobby, if she could cleverly avoid doing that with his daughter. That had been their one sticking point. He had asked her to move in with her lease coming to an end in two months but she had said no, as she still had no desire for children.

Dana had finally met the man in her magical apartment building in apartment 7D, and he really did seem to check all the boxes she arranged so neatly on her spreadsheet. She hadn’t even written one slam about him in her little floral notebook before losing it. He was a hedge fund advisor, but, more importantly, he was loaded. His grandfather did something with scrap, Becca never clearly understood what it was, but it had afforded his family a mansion in the suburbs and a penthouse in the city. They dined at the most expensive restaurants in town and traveled to his place in Aspen on weekends. He checked every box but one, his blonde straight hair would never get wet and messy for her to run her fingers through, instead, they would get rather stuck in the gel he used to maintain his perfectly, groomed cut. Her apartment walls were covered in pictures she had ripped from her Restoration Hardware catalogues as she carefully planned out her living area and dining space. One did wonder, however, if it was pictured in her head here in 2A, 13 West Elm, or perhaps his penthouse, 7D, with better views of the lake.

Hillary’s life seemed a bit easier with Lucy no longer growling at her. After her stroke and resulting paralysis, the senior dog even enjoyed being pulled around in a wagon, and the two had finally found peace with each other. Although Barry was still unemployed, he was becoming a rather famous writer with his novel that he had always promised Hillary would be a big deal. Apparently, it was. And the bar is open… was being offered deals left and right. He had started the talk show circuit, with Hillary traveling as well. His most recent interview in New York was very early in the morning and had actually been cut short because of a hurricane alert. It had, however, given Hillary the opportunity of a lifetime to sign in ASL for the greater New York City area what to do should Hurricane Cindy reach land. Today, the girls were actually meeting for his book signing in the Gold Coast before their Sunday coffee date.

And for Becca, life had never been better. Mason was already getting ready for his fourth birthday party, loving preschool and playing soccer. Oliver was now walking and talking and was wonderful company for Becca on their long walks every day. Stevie was now a full-grown 8 pounds and 8 ounces, but still cute enough to snag cars to pay to park in her driveway for the music festival just a few blocks away. The house was finished, painted cloud cover, and the white-slipcovered furniture was even easy to clean after a Friday Night, Movie Night with the boys and their popcorn. Although Becca’s attempt at a first novel, Seamless, had been an embarrassment—a measly 14 books sold on Amazon, mostly to family and friends—she was pleased with the accomplishment of finishing and had found writing was something she enjoyed, besides yoga and playing guitar. She had almost completed her 16 hours of court-ordered community service for the day she had been arrested for running inside the Adler that day. That house had been knocked down several weeks ago and, as usual, the framing had begun for the newest atrocity on Wee Street. She and Josh had even found co-parenting to be easy so far. In fact, like many had told her, she did finally have some time to recoup and rest, spend time with the girls, date.

When Becca’s life had fallen to pieces, she had hoped that someday, someone would look at her and maybe, if they did notice something different, they would think it had all turned out OK anyway—and someone had. Becca looked over to the other side of the bed to where Jay was sleeping. He was on his back with just enough room under his arm for her to snuggle into. She felt safe lying there with him in the now sun-filled room and kept an ear out for the boys’ footsteps coming down the hall.

Becca gave the blanket a little yank to cover herself and found a small thread sticking out from the beige rectangle embroidered on the duvet. She played with it, bending it back and forth. She pulled it a tiny bit to break it off, but, instead, the string began to unravel, becoming longer and longer. As she wrapped it around her finger to rip it off, it only became tighter around it, making her fingertip bulge and become red. Becca unwrapped it slowly and stared at the string, now several inches long, the embroidered rectangle now fraying on the edge. One loose string, one tiny pull, can make things come apart, she thought. If a seam opens, that’s it. It is no longer smooth, it is no longer continuous, and all it takes is one tiny pull on one loose thread…

All sewn up?

The Great American Novel, about a guy trying to write the Great American Novel…

Her cheeks were so big that she looked like a squirrel gathering enough nuts to get her through a Chicago winter, Elle read aloud, holding the book with both hands in front of her face. Her blouse struggled to remain closed as the three buttons could barely hold on…

"Leaving the door opened on her armoire would have looked messy, if not for her color coordinated piles of shirts…" Dana read aloud. How could he have even known about that?

Becca bit her lip and flipped through the pages of her own hardcover copy that was resting on her knees half hidden under the table.

It really is a great hat. I should wear it more often, Allie said, rubbing her ever-growing belly, picking at her scone. God, Andie’s, like, perfect.

You’re awfully quiet, Bex, Dana said. The great American novel? Written about a guy trying to write the great American novel? This is what people want to read about?

They did.

In fact, just a short while ago, the line had wrapped around the corner on Michigan Avenue. The four of them had had to stand two hours waiting where the horse carriages line up. The smell of the poop hadn’t even scared the people away as they waited patiently for their turn to finally get through the heavy glass doors and get a chance for a picture. Apparently, everyone wanted to meet Barry Singer, the new hot author, author of And the bar is open…, as of this morning number one on the New York Times Best Seller List.

You don’t need to come to the book signing, Hillary had told Becca just the day before. It’s no big deal. I don’t think you would like it anyway…

She didn’t. Becca was quiet. She had just found page 297:

The petite girl with the oversized bag and small shoes to fill sat with her tiny dog drinking a martini while she waited for the bulldozer that sunny day….

I mean, it really could be about just about anybody, Becca thought, as she turned to page 298:

As she tipped the bottle of wine towards the construction worker. ‘Thank you.’

One day in November…

Hillary remembered that day very well, just not what day it was. It was a Monday or Wednesday, that much she recalled because she had just gotten home from working with one of her clients, and they had been practicing the alphabet, signing different kinds of candy from his Halloween stash. He had gotten a bag full, his mom had told her, and this seemed like a great way to practice. S-N-I-C-K-E-R-S she had spelled out with her fingers, with her 8-year-old student following suit. Hillary had even begun signing them to herself in the car on the way home just for fun. T-W-I-Z-Z-L-A-H-S, she had signed, laughing about the story Becca had only just shared with her at coffee that afternoon as Becca had filled her in on her own experience working on her lisp with her speech therapist as a child. Hillary had still been smiling when she walked into the apartment, put her purse down and had found Barry, sitting at his computer writing his great American novel about an author writing the great American novel.

How was your day? she had asked, noticing the blank screen in front of him.

Not as good as yours, he had replied, without taking his eyes off the screen. I have nothing, Hill. Nothing…

That always won her over. Hill always gave her goose bumps. Barry was out of work, living with her, paying no bills and she would have reconsidered the whole thing but for the Hill aspect of it all. It made her feel beautiful and, as she would always admit, that was her biggest downfall. She had bent over to check on Lucy then, and, noting the gnashing of her teeth, knew she was still alive and well, sitting at Barry’s feet. So, what do you have so far? she had asked.

I have some ideas. Like a guy who can see the end of the world coming soon and wanting to change his life before the end… he started.

Anything else? she had asked hopefully.

A guy who is diagnosed with a terminal disease and wants to make peace with his family and first girlfriend… he said, looking at her for a reaction.

Anything else? she had asked again, this time, a little less hopefully.

He had looked at her blankly then, lacing his fingers behind his head and leaning back in his chair, lifting one shoe and then the other before crossing them and placing them on her kitchen table. How was your day, Hill? What was that big smile about?

She had gone on to share the funny story about her new petite friend who was getting divorced. How when she was younger, she had had a lisp and was in speech therapy with kids that had trouble with their Rs. She told the story with a lot of animation, Twizzlahs, Thkittles, Mrs. Seaguh, Mrs. Theager… Barry had smiled at her then and she said, Ya know, you should write about what you know. That should be easy.

You’re right, Hill, he had said, and had begun to type right away. Hillary had left the room with a huge smile on her face, not realizing that she had just helped to write page 73 of And the bar is open… When she shared stories each day, Barry would smile, call her Hill and then she would smile, too. It never occurred to her that what he knew was actually who she knew.

You don’t need to come to the book signing, Hillary had told Becca just the day before. It’s no big deal. I don’t think you would like it anyway…

Don’t be silly, we want to support you! Not to mention a pic with Barry. We wouldn’t miss it! Becca had said, then.

About the book, Hillary had started, You might find bits of it a little familiar.

Really? Becca had asked.

Yeah, Hillary had said, wiping some crumbs off the white, slipcovered sofa. It still looked pretty good, as long as Becca kept the cushion flipped over that was stained from Elle’s spilled Moscato. Just, just don’t get too mad…

Why would I be mad? Becca asked.

It’s like I said, bits of it might seem a little familiar. That’s all, Hillary answered. Look, you know what it’s about, right?

Four self-absorbed women and their friendships, or something like that, right? Becca asked.

Self-absorbed? Hillary asked. I don’t, I don’t think I would call them self-absorbed…

What would you call them? Becca asked.

Hillary looked out the window through the white canvas curtains. Becca flipped her newspaper over to the first review and read aloud, Four self-absorbed women find themselves, each other and their way through life in ‘And the bar is open,’ the debut novel by Barry Silver.

Hillary literally talked with her hands, so her nails were always meticulously manicured. It was kind of like the White House Press Secretary having sparkling white teeth. She would never go before the nation with spinach stuck between them anymore than Hillary would let her nail polish get chipped. That’s why, when she stuck her pointer finger in between her teeth, Becca became a bit concerned.

What would you call them? Becca had asked, again.

Hillary bit down hard, then, and ripped the nail right off. You, Becca, you, and Dana and Allie and Elle.

Becca looked out through the same opening in the curtains that Hillary was still looking through. Yup, Becca thought, it could be about four self-absorbed women finding themselves, each other and their