C.A. Haddad's Blog

Time to Meet the Parents

“Yes, I figured your parents were Jewish because of your last name,” Eden said.  She was comfortably seated in his Mercedes S Class and wondering why he didn’t understand that she needed two bags of varying sizes for a weekend stay.  “One bag is for body care and make up, the other is for clothes,” she explained what should have been obvious.

“The biggest bag is the heaviest,” he said pointedly.

“Let’s forget my skin care regimen for the moment and talk about your parents.  Give me a few pertinent details.  You know I don’t like offending people.”

“Leaving that aside, tonight we’ll probably eat in, as they like to have a Sabbath meal.  Not that they’re Orthodox or anything.  It’s just a tradition.”

“Steve—you’re talking to a girl who grew up in Scarsdale, the Jewish Mecca.”

“Shouldn’t that be the Jewish Jerusalem?”

“Whatever, face east and pray.  I cried when I found out I wasn’t having a bat mitzvah like all my friends.  My sweet sixteen sucked in comparison.”

“You must have been confirmed or something.”

“Are you kidding?  The only time I went to religious services was when I was in summer camp because we had them with the boys’ camp across the lake.  I’ve never felt the need for a mystical experience.”  Except in bed, she didn’t add.

She didn’t think Steve was into mysticism either, at least judging from his apartment.  It was situated in a Georgetown brick building with three other condos and looked so charming on the outside.  Inside, it was like the deck on a starship.  Well, perhaps that was an exaggeration but everything was computerized.  He even programmed the blinds so they adjusted to the sun.  “Learned that in Zurich,” he said proudly, as she jumped when they moved, thinking it was a peeping tom.

He had nothing on his walls, no art work or anything.  He said the blankness helped him think.  But she told him she couldn’t go into a bedroom as sparse as his and really enjoy herself. The next time she came, she was laden with prints of her favorite paintings and he grudgingly helped her tact them to the bedroom walls.  “So much more conducive,” she assured him.

“I was enjoying myself before.”

“Of course.  You were,” she said grimly.

Oh, the choices she had to make with Steve.  Like the first time they had sex.  Blushing, he suggested that they have a nice dinner and then maybe, if she would like, they could go back to his place.  “If going back to your place means you want to have sex, then I must warn you I don’t have sex on a full stomach.  It would have to be before dinner.”

“Eden, you’re— “  Obviously he was stunned for words.  Until, “So—does that mean you’re willing?”

“To see where you live?  Of course.  You saw where I live.  Your place couldn’t be worse than that.”

And of course it wasn’t.  Later, she had checked the price on Zillow and had to wonder why she wasn’t born a whiz at computers.

Because of his blushing, Eden had to wonder if maybe Steve was a virgin.  Despite heavy petting in high school, Eden had waited for her sophomore year in college before she had sex.  It was—not romantic, not anything swoon-worthy.  Once with that guy was more than enough.  But junior year she hooked up with an archaeology major who was not only interesting but experienced and that carried her right through to his graduation.

D.C. had been a sexual desert, not that there weren’t plenty of opportunities—for the men.  As she had learned to her cost with one of them, such a prick and not in a good sense.  And now Steve?

Okay, she soon learned that, despite the blushing, he wasn’t a virgin—unless he had read a technical manual on how to please a woman.  She actually came with him the first time and the second.  They ended up starved and had to settle for breakfast the next day.  After that was digested—wow, what a weekend that was!

Unfortunately, that Monday he had to fly off to Bahrain.  She wondered if it was safe for him, but he told her he had several passports, not to worry.  But she did worry, and not because she wouldn’t get any more lavish meals if anything happened to him.  She liked Steve.  He was very—different.

“What are you thinking about?” Steve asked, as the car crossed into Pennsylvania.

“Sex.”

Laughing, he said, “Should I pull over?”

“Not in this car.”

“Well, you know my parents will put us into separate rooms.”

“I can abstain for a weekend, Steve.”

“But maybe I can’t.”  Then more soberly, “I’m flying to Kenya next week.”

“For how long?” she asked grumpily.

“Until the job’s done.”

“Steveeee—“

“Edennnnn—“

“Sometimes I miss you.”

“Only sometimes?  Like when you’re hungry?”

She placed her hand on his thigh.  “Don’t,” he warned.

“I wasn’t going to,” she said, shocked.  “What kind of girl do you think I am?”

“My kind of girl,” he replied.

Yeah.  Steve was sweet.  She could only hope his parents liked her.  Although, why wouldn’t they?

Heidi Takes a Trip

Money being an object, Heidi Fairfax Franklin had to decide where to best put her assets, so to speak.  Finally, her contest-entering had paid off; and she won an all-expense-paid cruise of the Mediterranean.  All-expense didn’t include airfare to Athens or “spirits,” which she assumed meant anything good to drink.  Of course, she’d be on board with three thousand other souls, but she would have her own cabin.  Being a people person, she was hoping to find a suitable companion perhaps to dine with, someone who might pay for a glass of wine, for gods sake.

Gillian wasn’t happy about her taking “off.”  “I had great hopes for you,” Gillian said rather meanly.

“I had great hopes for me too, Gillian, but my career here is going nowhere.  And it’s not for lack of trying.  You’ve handed me nothing but dreck.”

“Then perhaps you’re not right for this firm.”

“Perhaps not.”

Burnt bridges, and Heidi chided herself because she usually found another bridge to be on when the first one burnt.  Oh well.  On with the cruise and she’d think about tomorrow tomorrow.

Before embarking, she decided on a facial and highlights.  She didn’t want to look overly processed, but she did want to show that she was desirable.

“Desirable” wasn’t the word she would use when she left the airplane in Athens.  Unlike traveling with Harold Fairfax, she was the one paying and she was in economy with all the riff raff.  At least she had an aisle, but she was sitting next to someone who had knee problems and had to get up constantly.  Oh well, perhaps by the end of the cruise, she’d be flying home on a private jet?

And yet—  The second day at sea a brawl broke out over deck chairs.  How charming.  Then for meals she was placed at a table with an old couple, he in diapers, and two married couples who were traveling together and complained at every meal that they should have had a table for four.  This was a sign to Heidi that she should eat up at the buffet and leave the dining room to the masses.

She tried to find areas of the ship in which to relax, but it seemed every time she set her fanny down some place a wait staff person would rush over and ask for her drink order.  When she would say, “Nothing right now, thank you,” she got a look as if she was taking up space that belonged to a paying customer.  Now she knew why the cruise was free.  It wasn’t.

There existed a more genteel section of the ship for those who paid for an all-inclusive cruise.  From some portions of the deck where she was allowed to roam, she could view them, their dining room, their lounge.  That was where she belonged.  That’s where the money was.  Heidi, how far you have fallen, she bemoaned.

However, let’s not forget the bright spots, i.e. when she left the ship.  That in itself was a process, but then she was free of the ship’s rabble.  The weather was glorious, the sights were still as marvelous as when she had visited them with Harold, and she thought at several of the stops she could have picked up a gigolo—if she had the spare cash for him and a hotel room.  She laughed at herself.  Where were the men of yore—her yore anyway.

She especially was looking forward to Valletta, the Maltese port.  Glory days with Harold, where he knew someone who owned a yacht. They spent a day swimming in the sea, drinks and a seafood lunch on board.  Oh, Heidi, she warned herself.  You are living way too much in the past.

Yup, the yachts were still there.  Well, away from the cruise ships.  Memory grabbed hold of her and she set her sights on them instead of going into the town.

How—she was going to say “pleasant,” but she stopped abruptly and sheer fury enveloped her at who she suddenly spotted.  Fear also, she would admit to that.  She remembered all too clearly that film Harold made her watch, the dentist pulling out Dustin Hoffman’s teeth.  Yes, “Marathon Man,” Lawrence Olivier always asking, “Is it safe?”  Heidi felt like that woman who had recognized the Nazi and followed him down the street, yelling because here standing on the dock before her was the criminal that ruined her life.

Or—  Was he?  She thought so, but—  Did all Russian criminals look alike?

She stood. Stunned.  If what she believed to be was true—   Then what was this man doing, walking freely around Europe while she was practically bankrupt!  Name, name, name, recall the name, damn it!  Oh, if only she had internet but roaming charges would bankrupt her.

He was with several men, laughing, ho ho ho, up the gangplank they went—setting sail?  NO!

Without a thought to her own safely, overtaken by her anger, she rushed forward, chasing after them, but was stopped at the bottom of the gangplank by a very hard body, which she would have admired, if her mind wasn’t engaged elsewhere.  “Whose yacht is this?” she demanded to know.

He ignored her.  But she wasn’t going away.  She stood, arms crossed, her face contorted in anger.

Finally, he said, “It’s Mr. Karnofsky’s.  Please move along.”

Smiling and nodding, Heidi said, “Oleg.”  Oh, yes, now she remembered.  Oleg Karnofsky and Vladimir something and—was it Boris?  When Will Stanton had been arrested, she had devoured the details of his crimes and his criminal associates.  Were they all here on this yacht?  Enjoying her spoils!  “Would you please tell Oleg that I would like seven hundred thousand dollars to be deposited into my bank account.”

He scoffed and turned his head away from her.  But she had no intention whatsoever of going away.

“Perhaps you’d like to mention Will Stanton and Allgate Reality to him?  Does the FBI know where he’s located?”

At that the thug, although the well-developed thug, took out his cell and made a call. She had no understanding of what he was saying because it was in some language that wasn’t English. Should she assume Russian?

It didn’t take long for Oleg to appear at the yacht’s railing.  She stood staring coldly back at him.  With a nod to Mr. Hardbody, he signaled that she should be let on board.

But—should she go?  What if he set out to sea and dumped her in the Med?  Would anyone noticed?  Would Celebrity Cruise care enough to alert authorities before they sailed on?  However, what was life without money, money she had earned?

Decision made, however foolhardy it might be, she walked the gangplank.  To her doom?

Riley Begins to Thrive

Riley Franklin had no intention of being fired.  Therefore, she stayed well away from the cabal in the superintendent’s office who tended to make what would be considered inappropriate comments about her boss, Richard Wu.  She didn’t call them on it, but she also didn’t participate either positively or negatively.  “Chairman Wu” was not as offensive as “Fu Man Wu,” or, when there was a problem calling it, “Big Trouble in Little China.”  Let’s not forget “Dr. Inscrutable.”

Her first month as Dr. Wu’s executive assistant had been rough because she had to set down ground rules.  Like he asked her to bring him a cup of coffee.  Hell no.  She told him it was self serve.  Then it was a request to pick up his dry cleaning.  Really?  “I’m sorry.  That’s an impossibility.”  When he asked her why, she told him, “It’s inappropriate and could get us both into trouble.”  She thought that was diplomatic enough.

It took a while to find the right balance with Dr. Wu.  Unlike her friend Dotty, who recruited her, Riley didn’t have her own fiefdom.  Yet.  Also, to be empathetic, she thought Dr. Wu was still trying to find his own footing in Pittsburgh, dealing with the politics of the city and the various school boards.  It would be a step in the right direction if he had a stake in the community schools, but both his children were attending the Falk Laboratory School, run by the University of Pittsburgh school of education.  Not a glowing endorsement of his belief in the schools he oversaw.

In a way, she found herself in the same sort of situation she was in at Thomas Jefferson, dealing with calls Dr. Wu didn’t want to take.  She began to fashion a persona as the human face of the superintendent’s office, pleasant, engaging, happy to hear from everyone and listen to their problems.  While Dr. Wu spent most of his time schmoozing with the city’s top officials, she found herself out of the office so much of the time, which actually saved her from any more confrontations about dry cleaning and the like.  Part of her job was visiting on a rotating basis all the schools the office oversaw.  And it wasn’t just eight to five.  A lot of the meetings took place at night.  But she felt invigorated by the work, sensed she could really make a difference—if there was money enough, and of course for public schools there was never enough money.

Crisscrossing the district she frequently came in contact with Mary Ahern from the mayor’s office, who had the education portfolio.  They took an instant liking to one another.  Perhaps it was similar eye rolls at some of the statements they had to listen to, or the surreptitious passing of notes when an eye roll might be noticed.

Mary was about her age, married with two kids—“Stopping there,” she assured Riley.  Her husband was actually a high school math teacher, so he could take care of the kids when she had to attend these evening meetings.  “But not without complaint,” Mary stressed.  “Still, he’s a good Joe, although his name is Sven.  Yep, mixed marriage.  But he’s not as dour as most of his family.  Don’t get me started.”

Often after evening meetings, she and Mary would escape for a late night sandwich at one of the Primanti Brothers restaurants.  It seemed at every location they’d run into one of Mary’s brothers, cousins, nephews, whatever.  “Big Irish family and we keep growing,” Mary explained.  They were pleasant company and always good for a laugh.  Soon they were calling Riley their adopted sister, cousin, aunt.  After all, her name was Riley, so there must be some Irish somewhere.  It felt like being part of a family, even if she wasn’t.

But then, to spoil it all, Mike Ahern, Mary’s brother, asked her out.   On a date.  To see a band that came in from Ireland.  “It’ll be great fun,” he assured her.

Riley had met Mike a few times, very casually.  She knew he had gone to Carnegie Mellon and was a civil engineer, working for the department of public works.  While Mary could be a picture postcard for Ireland, Mike was what Mary called black Irish, adding, “We have no idea where he came from and my mother’s not talking.”  But this was said with a laugh, sort of.

Riley was doubtful about going on a date with Mike.  Oh, she knew, as he said, it would be great fun, but—  She didn’t want any awkwardness between her and Mary and the rest of the family because she had an official date with one of them.  But then she imagined that maybe a lot of the Aherns would be there to see the band anyway.  So she said, “Okay.”

And to be sure, not Mary, but a bunch of the Aherns were there.  It was what once was called a rollicking good time.  She spent most of the evening laughing, singing along, and, when the musicians were on a break, throwing darts.

Mike drove her home very late at night—for her—in his extremely comfortable Audi.  They sat in front of her new townhouse; and she listened while he told her a story of the time his mother tried to keep chickens in the backyard and how fortunate it was that his uncle was on the police force when the neighbors complained.  She laughed and said, “This has been a great night.”

“Shall we do it again?” he asked.

She still wondered but, hey, if he wanted to and she wanted to, where’s the harm?  “Why not?”

He looked at her then and said, “With the new rules, I must ask—may I kiss you?”

She bit her lip, then leaned closer to him.

The kiss lingered, his hand went to her breast and she didn’t push it away.  But she sure as hell wasn’t going to invite him into her townhouse.  At least not tonight.  He pulled away.  “Do you play trivia?” he wondered.

That was a puzzling response to a kiss.  “When I was a kid.”

“Our team’s down one.  Monday nights.  At the Erie.”

“Oh, Mike.  I can’t make any time commitments because of my job.  It sounds tempting and fun, but what if I couldn’t be there?  It would be unfair to the team.”

He shrugged.  “So show up when you can.  Mondays at six.  We all come straight from work, eat greasy food and viciously see who’s going to score the highest.  I gotta warn you.  We’re usually near the bottom.”

She laughed.  “Well, I’ll see if I can make it. At least once.  I don’t even know if I could help you out.  I’m not a font of esoteric knowledge.”

“So you’d fit right in.”  He got out of the car and went around to open the door for her.  Then he watched as she climbed the steps to her front door.

She stood inside her hallway and wondered.  Could she even hazard a dream of romance—but no.  It was a date at a pub, where there were tons of people Mike knew.  She was just one of them.  No more, no less.

Bernice Worries

Not that she was a suspicious person, knock wood, but all her children seemed to be happy.  At the moment.  This was unheard of, so Bernice knew something was going on.  But with which one of them?  Or—all?

Riley had given up her career as an educator and was working as a secretary.  Well, Riley called it executive assistant because no one has a secretary anymore.  She’s working for someone everyone in the office seemed to call Chairman Wu.  Riley wrote that his birth name was Wu Huang Liu.  But now he was officially “Richard” and none dare care him “Dick,” at least to his face.  In fact, his preference was Dr. Wu.  And she wouldn’t think of calling him anything else.

Dr. Wu was a transfer from Seattle and still getting the hang of Pittsburgh, its weather, its sports teams.  Part of her job was to prepare a brief on all sports action and have it on his desk first thing every morning.  For this she got an education, Bernice wondered.

But Riley seemed happy.  “Not a moment to breathe,” she told her mother when she called on Sunday.  And then, “I was at a reception with our congressman last night.”  “I spend most of my days out of the office, representing Dr. Wu.”  Also, “I’m making so many connections.”

Bernice wondered what the connections were for.  On the other hand, the bump in pay was very nice, and Riley was on the verge of buying a townhouse, where she could finally have a garden.

Speaking of houses, what’s with Frank?  Bernice had suggested several times that she visit and see what progress he was making on his house.  But he kept putting her off, saying he didn’t want her to see it until it was finished.  Was he afraid she would object to his decor or something?  Very weird.  At least he drove over to visit her once a month, which was in itself unusual, as he hadn’t been doing that before he bought the house.  You’d think he’d use the weekends to work on the renovation.

At least he wasn’t complaining about his work so much, just seemed to take it in stride.  That in itself was a relief.  But why had he stopped complaining?  Had he accepted this was his fate in life, instead of feeling pushed into lawyering by his father?

And then there’s Eden.  It appears she has a friend of the opposite sex.  “It’s a great relationship,” Eden said, when she called.  “I hardly ever see him.”

“What’s great about that?” Bernice asked.

“If you knew him, you’d understand.  We’re at different levels—intellectually.”

Well, what did that mean!  Bernice insisted on knowing.  Was he an electrician or a plumber or—and Eden an intellectual?  Something Bernice never considered in regards to Eden.  “Please explain.”

“He’s, like, some sort of computer genius or something and works for a security firm.  While I’m very much involved in the arts.  Obviously.  But only some arts.  He likes chamber music.  Says it’s mathematical.  As you know, math was never my subject.  I keep having to make excuses not to go with him when he has tickets.  He finally confronted me and said, if I don’t like chamber music, just say so and we’ll do something else.  So I took him at his word and told him.  In what I suspect as retaliation, he took me to a concert of electronic music.  Then I had free tickets to Swan Lake.  Who doesn’t like Swan Lake?  I always cry at the end.  All he did was hand me his handkerchief and looked at me as if I was weird.   Also, we like different tv shows.  I love a good mystery, but he always spoils it by telling me the ending ten minutes into the show.  He likes all those reality contests.  Boring!”

“Can’t you just get two tv’s?” Bernice asked in a rather deadly fashion.”

“We’re not living together, Mom,” Eden retorted.  “He travels a lot, but we get together when we’re both available.

“So in other words, you’re not exactly taken with him.”

“Well, I can’t say that—exactly.  He’s generous and fun in his way.  He wants me to meet his parents.”

“Eden!  My goodness.  So this is serious?”

“No.  I think he just wants his parents to know he’s dating someone.  He says they’ve had problems adjusting to his personality.  Like, you’re telling me.”

“So are you going to meet his parents?”

“Might as well.  They live near Chads Ford so we’ll be able to go to the Brandywine and see the Wyeths.”

Bernice loved her daughter’s priorities.  But Eden was still in her twenties and now people aren’t even getting married until maybe forty, if they get married at all.  There was time.

As far as her own life, Bernice had been put in charge of moderating “Past and Present,” a discussion group held at the library every other Thursday night at seven.   It was allegedly cultural enrichment, but sometimes turned into a slug fest, depending on which “scholar” was leading the discussion.  While the topics were announced ahead of time, there was no real required reading.  Some of the discussions were easygoing like “Inside Greenhouses, You Can Do It,” or, “Crafting in America/Bring Your Own Examples.”  A jolly time was had by all.  But then—history?

For this all-embracing subject, Carla, the head of the library, brought in Professor Thad Dunkirk from the SUNY system as the alleged expert.  This invitation was continuously issued despite the fact that every time Dunkirk led the discussion, everything turned chaotic quite quickly.  People left early, some in tears.  Take the topic of the French and Indian wars.  Professor Dunkirk insisted they be called the Seven Years War, as the American continent was only a small part of the total action, which spread across Europe, most notably England and Prussia against France and Spain.  Confusion reigned, as some people conflated this with Bernard Cornwell’s Sharp and the Napoleonic wars, while others assumed the French and Indian wars were part of the American Revolution, including one woman who was a member of the Daughters of the American Revolution.  This caused Dunkirk to digress and proclaim the DAR a racist organization.  At which point the DAR member wondered threateningly if Dunkirk had tenure.

Every time Dunkirk was invited, Bernice felt she knew what having an ulcer must feel like.  But here he was, again on the schedule, this time to discuss Manifest Destiny.  Dare she hope the library patrons would boycott Dunkirk?  Or would she once again have to sit there as a moderator and try to—moderate?

She appealed to Carla once again.  They had to drop Dunkirk.  But Carla remarked that the same people who were upset by Dunkirk’s views were the same people who wanted to ban books.  “But this was supposed to be bringing members of the community together, not tearing them apart,” Bernice stressed.

“We do not give in to the masses,” Carla replied briskly.

In which case, why did they always order twenty copies of every new Danielle Steel book?  After the first two weeks everyone who wanted to read them had, and then they were left to molder on the shelf.

But hers not to reason why.  Part time job.  All she had to do was put in the hours.  At least it was better than sitting alone in her apartment, trying to find something to watch on the tv, despite five streaming channels.

Although she had to wonder why Carla was so intent on bringing Dunkirk in.  Was there something going on between the two of them?  Carla had been head of the library for years now, even kept the position when her husband was transferred to South Carolina. Marriage woes?  Of which Bernice knew quite a bit.  Now that would be a good subject of discussion—but perhaps not in the library.

Bernice decided she would catch Professor Dunkirk this time as he came into the library and warn him to be more civil.  If he was offended, so much the better.  Maybe he’d turn and walk away, and then they could discuss something else, like the latest best sellers and perhaps why they were on the list.

Lily Leaves Home

After last night, when the cops were called once again, there was no way Lily Stanton could stay in that house for another minute.  The neighbors, the calls where there was silence at the other end, the endless tension of what was going to happen when, it was all too much.  Her parents’ nightmare couldn’t be her nightmare any longer.  She had discussed the situation with her brother Sloan, and he told her, “Get out.  You’re not the criminal.  You shouldn’t be imprisoned by the circumstances.”

In the brief moments when her parents weren’t in the house, she had brought down two of her suitcases from college.  At night she packed, then eased the cases under her bed.  Today was the day when they would both be out, meeting her father’s lawyer.  She would text her mother when she was well away from Scarsdale and could breathe again.  Wherever she ended up would be fine, as she could work remotely and probably would always be able to with this medical billing job.

At ten o’clock in the morning, she wheeled the suitcases through the hallway and into their four-car garage.  Her Honda was sitting there, waiting for her, tank full, she was free.  But where to go?

She headed east, crossing over into Connecticut.  It was, she later considered, a subliminal move.  She could have gone north or west, not south, as that would take her into the tangle that was New York traffic.  But—yeah—east was where Frank Franklin lived.  How stupid was she, but she had come to depend on Frank’s support, even if he didn’t realize how much she needed to hear from him.  Why would he?  His life was going along just great.  But for her their nonsensical exchanges and the silly, stupid things they shared had been a balm.  Still, she wondered.  Would she dare to reach out to him now?

When she hit New Britain, she decided to take a chance and call him.  His cell of course.  She knew he was probably busy, and she was imposing, but—  Oh, hell, she had to talk to someone.  Of course, she could call her college roommate in Texas, but doubted Annilee would be able to come to her rescue from this great distance.  Then Annilee would press for the whole story of why Lily was leaving the comfort of her rent-free abode.  Like, Lily was going to tell anyone who didn’t already know about her father’s misdeeds?  Or, more bluntly, criminal activity?

When Frank answered his cell, Lily said, “I’m imposing.”

“Of course.  But don’t worry. I’ll charge you by the hour,” he joked.  Then wondered at the silence at the other end of the line.

“I’ve left.  Finally.”  Her sigh almost turned into a sob.

“Wow.  What are you going to do?”

“Don’t know.  I’m—  Do you think we could meet for lunch?”

“You’re in Hartford?”

“New Britain.”

Frank gave that some thought.  His silence made Lily nervous, until he spoke again.  “You don’t want to stop in downtown Hartford.  Traffic’s a mess, as is parking.  Just continue on 84 until it joins 91.  Take 91 to the first exit, cross over the highway, and there’s a restaurant in that strip mall called Peacock.  If I leave now, we should get there about the same time.”

“But your work?”

“No appointments.  Nothing that can’t wait.”

When Frank got out of his car, he heard another car door opening and saw Lily, dressed in jeans and an Aran sweater.  Smiling, he waited for her.  He could see that she was not in good shape.  When he first met her at Trader Joe’s, there was still a glow about her. An angry glow but still a glow.  Now she looked pale and defeated.  All he could do was shake his head.  Poor kid.

She came to him with tears in her eyes.  He held out his arms.  The embrace lasted until it began to feel awkward, but he let her pull away.  “I needed that hug,” she said.  “I’ve just been so—“

“I can see.”

“I look like shit?”

“You look—distressed.  Let’s go eat and you can tell me all about it.”

Despite the name, the Peacock was unpretentious, serving soup and fries—substitute salad for a dollar extra—with every meal ordered.  At least one wouldn’t go hungry.  But why was the soup of the day cream of broccoli?  They both ordered the tomato bisque instead, Lily had the Caesar salad wrap, while Frank chose the buffalo chicken on a pretzel bun.  It was a bit late for lunch so service was swift.

“Tell me,” was all he had to say, encouraging Lily to fill him in in excruciating detail about Chez Stanton’s.

“The police coming because the neighbors were complaining, the phone calls, the Treasury agents calling Dad in, my mother trying to ignore Dad’s situation, which has also become hers.  And mine.  I talked it over with my brother Sloan, and he encouraged me to leave.  Well gave his blessing when I said I had to leave.  I haven’t texted them yet.  I’ll do that sometime late this afternoon before my mother begins to worry.  How do people survive situations like this?”

“Fortunately, I only deal in real estate and that’s fraught enough with all the money involved.  But it’s only money.  I don’t think I could ever do criminal law.  Dealing people at their worst moment.  Which is, of course, when they need a lawyer most.  But—not this lawyer.”

The sandwiches and fries were huge enough to take half home, should either of them be going home.  Lily wasn’t and Frank supposed he could take his back to the office.  There was a fridge, and this meant he wouldn’t have to worry about dinner.  “So what will you do now?” he asked.

Lily shrugged.  “Keep driving I suppose.  Maybe New Hampshire.  Vermont.  Find a hotel for the night.  After that, I just don’t know.”

Frank sat there, remembering his mother’s warning in stark detail.  And yet—  And yet.  “You know, there’s my house up in Massachusetts.  It’s semi-furnished, as the widow I bought it from couldn’t take most of her pieces when she moved to assisted living.  There’s construction going on, the kitchen and bathrooms are being remodeled, but there’s a half bath and no one’s touched the bedrooms.  It’s close by and you look exhausted.  You can stay there tonight until you figure out what you want to do, where you want to go.”

“Oh, Frank, that’s so generous, but—“  She sighed.  “I don’t know.”  She looked into his eyes to see if he was being sincere or if he just felt extra special sorry for her.  But the offer seemed real.  And heartfelt.  “Maybe?”

They had their leftovers boxed up and Frank paid for lunch. Lily offered to pay half, but he said, “Don’t be silly.”  Then he had her follow him up 91, told her what exit to take, then waited for her so that she could follow him to his farmhouse.  Trucks were on the street and in the driveway, but he could pull around them and so could Lily.  Then they had to walk back around to the front as the kitchen door would lead them into the construction zone.

Lily upon being ushered in said, “Wow. This is old.  You have a sun room!”

“Yeah, I loved that too.  In the parlor, as I don’t know what else to call it, they’ve set up a microwave and a mini fridge. The half bath is right here off the hallway. He then showed her upstairs to the bedrooms.

“It’s so—and yet it has character,” Lily concluded.  “Do you ever watch ‘House Hunters’ and all those programs?  I love them.  I love the projects they undertake.”

Walking around, taking in all the bedrooms, the hallway, the window views, Lily was smiling.  That smile made Frank happy. “Look, I’ve got to get back to the office.  You make yourself at home.  Fair warning, the guys arrive at eight to start work.”

Lily walked him out to his car.  “Thank you.  You can have no idea what this means to me.”

Shrugging, Frank asked, “What are friends for?”

He would not feel guilty as he drove back toward Hartford and the office.  Lily would be gone in the morning, and his mother would never know.  So, no harm, no foul.  Or something like that.

A Gallery Evening

How apropos, Eden thought.  An invitation to an opening at Glazé Galleria.  Most likely all connected with the Renwick’s latest display of ceramics for which she got partial credit—and blame for that allegedly broken piece.  For her career it was good to be seen, so it was a welcomed invitation.  One never knew what connections could be made at these events.  Still, they could be such a drag.  Also, this was the type of event Tomas would attend.  Well, his real name was Tom, but the artiste in him demanded more.  They had dated for about four months until Eden realized what he saw in her was a glorification of himself.  Boy, did he misread the situation.

She didn’t want to show up at an event like this alone, so she asked her roommates. You would think they’d be up for bad wine and a few nibbles, but no. They all pretended they were busy, perhaps because they had come to one of these events with her before.  Maybe she should skip it?  But, if you’re not seen, you’re not seen.   And women curators were already invisible.  Professionally, she felt she had to go.  But alone?  Circumnavigating the gallery, looking for someone to impart her brilliant observations to?  Oh well.

But then Eden thought, she knew someone weird.  If he dressed right and kept his mouth shut, he might just pass for someone who circled around the vortex of her world.  Of course, he was probably overseas or “busy.”  But what the hell.  So she texted Steve Applebaum.  “Any plans for Thursday night, 6 p.m.?”

An hour later she got a text back.  “Why?”

“Gallery opening.  Wine, nibbles.  No cost to either of us, except psychically.  Also, meet you there, so no transportation issues.”

“It sounds—delightful?”

“If you can make it, can you leave your hair the usual mess and wear a turtleneck and tight jeans. Or a shirt with collar but top two buttons open, a blazer and jeans?”

“You didn’t say this was a costume party.”

“Life is a costume party.  Don’t you agree?”

“What will you be wearing?  Red sequined bra and harem pants?”

“You wish!”

“I have my doubts about this, but on the other hand would love to spend more time in your delightful company.”

There was something slightly insincere about that compound sentence, but Eden texted him the address and told him to be prompt as possible because she didn’t want to be alone when she met a certain person.

When Thursday night came, Eden went to the Glazé Galleria straight from work.  Before she left the Renwick, she redid her makeup, more blush, darker lipstick, dramatic eyes.  Then down into the Metro she went, and five stops and one switch later, up into the bright lights of Trendyville.

Glazé Galleria was ablaze.  People were already milling about inside, but she couldn’t catch sight of the Einstein hair until—oh, there he was, walking down the sidewalk toward her.  Dressed in a suit and tie.  She put her hand on her hip.  Couldn’t he follow a simple direction?  “Where’s the outfit?” she asked him.

“Don’t you think they’d be glad to see someone who has money?”

“The exhibit’s probably crap.”

“Then—why are we here?”

“For my work.”

“And you needed me for your work?”

“Just in case this guy I used to date shows up.”

“What should I do then?”

How dense was Steve?  “Pretend you like me.”

“Do I get an Actor’s Equity card?”

“Ha ha. Let’s go.”

She let him usher her inside, where she had to give up her coat.  “Don’t worry,” she whispered to him. “I have a couple of dollars for the tip.”

“Whew.”

Then somehow they got separated, as she spotted one of her former co-workers from the National Gallery.  They caught up on gossip, while Steve was left to wander around.  She later spotted him talking to a woman with a long black  braid down her back and wearing something slightly Incan.  Wandering over, Eden could hear them speaking Spanish to one another.  Eden had taken Spanish in high school for a year.  She knew how to say “cerveza.”

Joining their circle of two, Steve introduced Eden to Chasca, one name only, the artist.  “We were discussing the lengths Chasca took to locate the exact right clay for her work.  Eden has just curated a ceramics display for the Renwick,” Steve politely included Eden in the conversation.

“I heard about the broken piece,” Chasca said.

“Allegedly broken,” Eden corrected.

“Eden,” her name was called.  Damn it.  Tomas.

“Oh, hi,” she said, turning to him with bright smile, hoping there was no lipstick on her front teeth. “Steve, Chasca, this is Tom.”

“Tomas,” he corrected her.  Tomas at least was wearing a turtleneck and jeans, and loafers with no socks.  He’d added an earring since she last saw him.  Still looking good, tall, slender, curly blond hair.  “Chasca, marvelous work!  So inspiring! Indigenously speaking.”  He turned to Steve.  “And you?  An artist also?”

“Nope.  Just here with Eden.  She likes to enlighten me.”  He smiled and then rubbed the back of his hand down Eden’s cheek.

The owner of the gallery was calling for Chasca, who excused herself, leaving Tomas, Steve and Eden alone together, which gave Tomas time to direct his attention to Eden and fill her in on his new position as art critic for Gallery Times.”

“Isn’t that a throw-away,” Eden said, rather meanly.

“It’s delivered to every cultural institution in the city, also the Virginia suburbs.  So this is part of my work.  It does occasionally get tiresome, as you can imagine.  So many artists, so much dreck.”

It was on the tip of Eden’s tongue to make the appropriate response, but Steve gave her a warning look.  Did she really have to behave with an ex?  “Sounds like fascinating work to me,” Steve put in quickly, just in case Eden did decide to open her mouth.

“And you?” Tomas asked him.

Shrugging, Steve said, “Just a cog in an enormous wheel.”

“Yeah, well, that’s Washington for you.”  Then Tomas changed the subject rather abruptly.  “So how long has this—“  He waved his hand between the two of them.

Steve looked down at Eden from his great height seven inches taller than she and said, “It seems like forever, doesn’t it, Sweetie.”

Demurely she cast a glance upward.  “Yes, Sweet.  That’s what we call one another, Sweetie and Sweet.  Now I have got to look at Chasca’s pieces because I’ve been so busy networking—you know how it is, Tom—that I’ve neglected what I’m really here for.  Come along, Sweet.” She took Steve’s hand and pulled him lovingly away.

“I’m either going to burst out laughing or pee in my pants,” she whispered to Steve when they were far enough into the crowd.”

“Please stifle both,” he suggested.

They wandered the gallery, looking dutifully at all the pieces.  There was a figurine Eden especially liked.  “Primitive and yet abstract.  Really talented.”  She moved closer.  “And so expensive,” she noted grimly.

An hour and a half after they arrived, having had the requisite plastic glass of wine and two mini quiches each, Eden went to retrieve her coat while Steve said he’d just say goodbye to Chasca.

“I’m hungry,” Steve said, when they made it out onto the bustling sidewalk.

“There’s a Shake Shack up the street.  Sweet.”

“Perfect.  Sweetie.”

He paid, of course.

How was she to know then that two months later, when the exhibit closed, she’d receive an insured, padded box with the figurine she so admired inside.

Heidi, née Milena

Heidi was annoyed.  Gillian, her broker, had shoved this young couple off on her; and here she was showing them houses in Hartsdale.  This was a waste of her time.  They should just live in Yonkers and give her a break.  There was no commission here that she could see.  First off, the wife wanted Tudor and he wanted ranch like his parents had in Des Moines, Iowa.  What were they doing here anyway?  Why not go back to Iowa where everything was affordable?  With the way they bickered about every little item in every single house, nine so far, maybe they should put their money toward a divorce lawyer instead.

Being a real estate agent hadn’t turned out to be the dream Heidi envisioned. All of a sudden, with the rise in interest rates, everything was dead.  Houses that sold before they were listed now stayed on the market forever.  Prices were dropping at twenty thousand a pop.  True, so many properties had been overpriced, but still, she was working harder for less and frankly she was not a happy camper.  All her ecstatic dreams had faded into drudgery.

So far she had sold two condos and one house on the limits of Scarsdale for the high seven hundreds. A real fixer-upper.  She was simply not making a living in real estate.  Nor was she finding anyone to make a living for her.  Had she lost her allure?  It’s not as if she hadn’t read John Updike.  She knew adultery was rampant.  But so far, Jerry Franklin had been the only taker and Jerry was dead.  If only he hadn’t invested all that money in Allgate with Will Stanton, master deceiver.  Heidi remembered Stanton from the country club—and his wife Elinor, who snubbed her.  Probably a friend of Bernice’s.  And now look at them.  But look at her and what they had done to her.

There were whispers that the Stantons might put their house on the market.  It seems they were being regularly egged.  They had installed security lights and cameras. Now their neighbors were complaining that the lights went on at all hours and illuminated the entire street, despite their massive front lawns.

Heidi did have some sympathy for the Stantons.  She remembered one year their house in Erie being egged by a group of girls, due to her brother breaking up with one of them.  Those eggs were hard to scrape off.

Erie.  You can’t go home again.  See Thomas Wolfe.  Okay, true, she had belonged to a book club in Lexington, Kentucky.  She couldn’t just sit around waiting for Harold.  Yes, always Harold, never Harry.  Though he thought nothing of calling her Bunny.  Why Bunny?  Well, did it matter?  Those were the good years.  All that cruising they did and the foreign countries he took her to.  And then, the heart attack.  It wasn’t even during sex.  He just swam his twenty pool laps, got out, wrapped a towel around himself, then fell back into the water.  Dead.  So unfair!

Heart attacks.  Were they in fashion with men?  Look at Jerry.  Despite the whispers, bondage was all his idea.  She was to be his dominatrix.  Black mask and all.  At least no whip. All she really had to do was tell him he was a bad boy as she tied him to the bed.  He didn’t even need her to get it off.  Tying him up was enough.  Stupid, stupid man.

What no one understood was that she had tried to persuade him not to marry her, that things were fine just as they were.  He was part of her sales territory, and she saw him often enough, at least in her estimation.  Her job, dropping in to see doctors, pushing prescription drugs, allowed her to have a quickie whenever she felt like it.  There was no place she had to be, as long as she kept selling.

But then one of her drugs went generic.  There went half her sales.  And maybe her job?  So Jerry became her fallback position.  Who knew it was going to end too soon and cause such a mess in so many lives?

So now in a way she began to take after her mother.  On her down times, which were way too often in this real estate business, she entered contests and answered weird surveys on the off chance she would win something big that would get her out of this financial slough of despair.  Her mother won a casserole set once.  They had all been so delighted, opening the package.  “All for nothing,” her mother said with a gleam in her eye.

Sometimes Heidi missed the closeness of her family.  Not that she could ever return to that persona, Milena Wojcik.  Her family didn’t approve or even understand her name change.  Where was her Polish pride and who did she think she was?  Well, she wasn’t Milena from Erie anymore.  They should have realized that when she sent all those postcards from overseas.  But she kept the connection, sending baby gifts and communion gifts.  With her siblings’ growing families, this was not cheap.

She had visited once, after Harold died and before she moved to Poughkeepsie.  It had not gone well with her parents.  Her mother looked askance at her streaked hair and the way she dressed. “Too good for Kohl’s, are you?”  Oh, lordy.  She hadn’t been back to Erie since.

Life is so complicated, but she wouldn’t be smothered by her upbringing or her current lamentable condition.  There was no way to go except forward.

Bernice and Frank do Lunch

Bernice simply couldn’t trust the sat-nav in her car.  Not that it was totally unreliable, but it could take her on paths that were better left untrodden.  It had a preference for interstates instead of backroads, so often she would find herself doubling back to get where she wanted to go.  This is why she changed to Apple Maps.  It seemed to do the trick and also knew the most sensible way of getting someplace.  Like today.

Here she was, taking a delightful weekend drive up to Springfield, Massachusetts to see Frank’s new house.  She had the address on her phone and also instructions from Frank.  Would she get lost?  She had a propensity for that.  And Frank did warn her that the house was tucked away in the countryside, south and west of the city.  Oh well, nothing ventured.

She was excited to see the house.  She loved houses.  Her apartment complex was comforting in that she didn’t have to take care of outside maintenance.  And she liked her neighbors.  In fact, in her building there was a group of women her age who would get together for dinners and for the theater.  It was an easy life, not euphoric, but not depressing—except when she thought of what she used to have.

Oh, how she loved the house she and Jerry bought so many years before, brick with winding driveway, four bedrooms, two and a half baths, spring flowers, leaves falling in autumn, pushing the kids in the pram, then walking them to school.  Then empty nesting, where she and Jerry could—  Another lifetime. One that failed to materialize.

She was surprised that her son had bought a house.  Was there something going on that she didn’t know about?  Most likely.  The kids shared only what they wanted to.  Maybe the house would be a project for Frank, make him less stressed about being a lawyer—from which he was making a good living and thus could afford a house.

Mind wandering, she got lost.  Not unusual for her.  Maps were never her specialty.  She pulled to the side of the road and called her son and told him where he pone said she was.  He seemed to know that road and would would drive out to meet her.  Then she could follow him to the house.  And there he came.  She was only one turn off on a parallel road, his was much narrower with planted fields running behind several of the houses.

Not that she would tell him, but she didn’t think much of Frank’s purchase when she pulled into the driveway.  It was clapboard of all things.  But she would not be a Debbie Downer, especially since this was a day out with her son instead of sitting around her apartment wondering what to do with her life.  Bernice followed him around the house and listened while he excitingly told her all his plans for it.  She would not kill the buzz.  “A lot of work,” was all she said.

“A project.  It’ll be fun.  Some of it I’m going to do myself.”

Turning abruptly, she reminded him, “We always had people in to take care of any problem.”

He shrugged.  “So.  I can learn.  Like getting rid of the wallpaper so I can paint.”

She took in a deep breath and almost began, but he cut her off.  “Mom.  No.  I’m a big boy now.  If I fuck it up—“

“Language.”

“I can hire someone to correct my mistakes.”

Miraculously she held her tongue, and soon they were pulling out of his driveway, as he was taking her out to lunch.  Where she would quiz him further.  Like, “What possessed you to buy that house?”

They were in a gastro pub, with faux stained glass lamps and greenery placed strategically.  Everything on the menu looked delicious, which meant she was hungry.  Too bad she couldn’t have a glass of wine as she’d be driving later.  Oh well.

“I like it up here.  It’s away from work, away from the city, quiet, isolated.  Good wifi reception, despite the rustic nature of the road.  Another pandemic I can work remotely.”

“But to buy a house—  It’s such a big step.“

“What else should I do with my money?”

How could she put the question obliquely.  “Most people buy a house when they’re thinking of starting a family.”

Frank batted that away.  “People buy houses for all sorts of reasons.  Believe me.  I was in residential real estate for years before switching to commercial.  Some consider it investment property, others want more space, less space. Or they need a mother-in-law suite.  There’s no rhyme or reason for buying a house, except it’s part of the American dream.”

“Still—  Is—is there anyone you bought the house for?”

Laughing when he finally caught on to what she was digging for, Frank said, “No, Mom.  There’s no one in my life at the present with whom I would ever invite to share my house.  Except—“  He wondered.  “You know, when I went to see you for your birthday, I ran into Lily Stanton.”

“Eden’s former friend?”

“We got to talking and—-“

“Oh, no, Frank.  Stop right there.  The Stantons are poison right now and will be well into the future.  I know that much, even though I no longer belong to the country club.  Do we really need to be associated with another scandal?  Lily Stanton?  Honestly!”

“Wow.  Talk about jumping to conclusions.  I didn’t say anything about—“

Bernice cut him off.  “You know, Frank, I’m just recovering from the mess your father left.  Not that I see many of my former circle of friends, the ones I had with your father, but I’m sure the news that my son and the swindler’s daughter are taking up with one another would bring a few gossipmongers to the library to check out more than books.  So have some consideration.”

“Why are you exploding?  I’m not saying anything about a relationship.  It’s just she wants to get out from under the constant scrutiny, which you should be able to empathize with, given Dad and Heidi.  Also, she’s dealing with her parents every minute of every day, as she works remotely.  I have this house. She wants a bolt hole.”

“For a smart person, how can you be so dumb?”

“You don’t know anything about Lily.  Or my very, very platonic relationship with her.”

“Well, Frank, I used to know a lot about Lily.  She was always over at our house or Eden was over at hers.  She was a very polite young lady and I was fond of her.  Even after she and Eden had that silly, childish spat over some football player.  Oh that’s something else to consider, aside from the obvious.  How would Eden feel if she knew you were taking up with Lily Stanton?”

“I’m not taking up with her,” Frank protested.  “We’ve just been messaging back and forth, and I find her amusing and relatable, and we both have scandalous parents.”

“Dying during the sex act is not exactly the same as swindling everyone you’ve ever met, ruining people’s retirements, dealing with gangsters, at some point going to jail.  Let me just say those are not our kind of people.”

Frank laughed.  “But that’s just it, Mom.  They were exactly our kind of people.”

“Well, not anymore.  And don’t make me lose my appetite because everything looks delicious.”

“Okay, sorry.”

“So we’re agreed.  End of discussion.”

“I didn’t say I agreed with you.”

When does one lay down the burden of motherhood?  Never?  “Frank, listen to me.  Let’s say you do invite Lily to stay in your wilderness home.  Then what happens if at some point you ask her to leave?  What are the lawyerly complications of that?  Would she be your tenant?  Would she have a lease?  Would she be paying rent?  If not, what would she be?  Honestly, Frank, keep her at a distance.  You’re here, isolated from the Scarsdale scandals.  Leave it that way.”

Thankfully that conversation came to an end as their food arrived and they both turned to a more pleasant topic, renovating the house.  Well, pleasant for Frank.

Driving back home after lunch, Bernice hoped she had convinced her son to drop the idea of having Lily Stanton to stay.  She had nothing against the girl, but to have Frank involved with her, she couldn’t think of a single point of approval.  And what if Eden did hear about it?  Bernice shuddered.  The drama queen would never give any of them a break.

Riley’s Job Offer

Riley Franklin hadn’t had a restful evening ever since she learned she didn’t get the principal job at Mary Bethune elementary school.  And ever since she learned Bob Cody had screwed her over in his recommendation.  She was stymied as to what her next step would be.  Aside from murder.

Bob had dared to come into her office and commiserate with her about losing out.  All she could force herself to say was, “Well, something else will come along.  It’s probably best they gave it to a man given the demographics.”  How gracious was that, you creep!

While it was true there were a lot of job openings in so many fields, what did she really want?  To leave the field of education?  She had made it her life.  At night she spent way too much time on her computer, looking up fellowships for a Ph.D.  She thought something in curriculum development might be a good field.  Or there was also urban education.  Very hot right now and definitely job openings.  But the problem was money. And time!  She was thirty-three.  A Ph.D. would be a good investment as far as her career went, but would it be a good investment for her life.  What if—well, what if she found someone to love.  So far, slim pickings.  She felt almost nun-like.  Her twenties were mainly spent in groups of friends, men and women, traveling together during breaks, going to the same bars, playing in trivia teams.  But so many of them had paired off.  One of her friends had even said, “He’ll do.”  But Riley didn’t want anyone just to have someone. Did she?

And yet—here she was, long in the tooth.  But then look at Frank, married young, divorced young, and where did that leave him now?  However, at least he knew love.  Riley dismissed her younger sister.  Eden was too self-centered to fall in love with anything outside of a mirror.  But Riley knew she had a lot to give.  If only there were someone to give it to.  Or was she just kidding herself.  Was it time to go to a shelter and find a cat?

The following day was like so many others. She was dealing with the Bakers.  Their son received a C in chemistry and a D in intermediate algebra.  They were trying to explain to her that their darling couldn’t get into a premed program with those grades.  Something had to be done about it.  Not that they wanted to sue the school system for thwarting their child’s dreams, but—

Riley had Simon Baker’s records before her.  Nothing wrong with the kid—except maybe his parents.  “I note that Simon tests extremely high in English and Spanish. He’s been a member of our friendship group that tutors new immigrants in the English language.  We’re very proud of the work he’s doing.”

“What does that have to do with his chemistry marks?” his father asked.  “We want him in premed.”

“But what does Simon want?”

“Simon is sixteen.  He doesn’t know what he wants,” Simon’s mother assured Riley.

Riley checked Simon’s academic record again.  Until this year, it was mostly all A’s, including biology.  His PSAT score was great.  Could it be that Simon was deliberately getting low marks to spite his parents, because he didn’t want to go to premed or he just wanted them off his back? She could refer this to the guidance counselor, appropriately named Mr. Looney, but the buck had to stop, well, somewhere.

“Have you considered academic counseling for Simon?  Maybe see where his interests lie?”

“You don’t seem to understand.”

Oh, she understood all right.

“We’re here as concerned parents—concerned about his grades and why he’s being marked so low for courses he needs for college entrance.  I mean, we were fobbed off on you when we really wanted to discuss this with the principal,” the father added for good measure.  “We thought this school had a good reputation, which is why we didn’t put him in Adams Academy, but I guess we were wrong.”  He stood.  “Come on, Reston,” he said to his wife.

And so they left.  Another dissatisfied customer.  Riley made a note to herself to call Simon in and see his side of the story.  Maybe it wasn’t too late to become a lab technician or an insurance adjuster or, well—anything?

Her phone buzzed.  Of course.  What was she here for except to take calls Bob Cody wouldn’t.  “Riley Franklin,” she answered mellifluously.

“Riley, it’s Dotty.”

“Dotty!  Oh, the balm in Gilead.  I thought it might be another unhappy consumer of our educational system.”

Laughing, Dotty said, “Can you break for lunch?  I think I might have something you’d be interested in.”

“Really?”  Riley considered what that might be.  She knew Dotty, working in the superintendent’s office, had the inside gossip on all the schools in the district.

“Really.  Morton’s?  Twelve thirty?  Be there or be square?”

Oh, Dotty.  Gotta love her but maybe too square?

Despite being in a strip mall, Morton’s had white table cloths and black cloth napkins.  Wine glasses were also present on the table, but for the most part, at least at lunch, they were whisked away as soon as the order for ice tea or diet soda was given.  Dinner here would be extravagant, but for lunch the prices were reasonable and the atmosphere relaxing.

Dotty had arrived first and had already secured a booth when Riley joined her.  “Bad day?” Dotty asked, because, despite Riley’s smile, she looked defeated.

“At Thomas Jefferson we either have parents who care too little or parents who care too much.  Don’t you sometimes wonder how kids grow up to be decent human beings?  At least most of them?”

“Sometimes I fear it’s in spite of us instead of because of us,” Dotty admitted.

Since they both had to get back to work, they ordered quickly, Dotty had a salad but Riley needed the sirloin sliders.  Their conversation was easy, discussing Dotty’s husband’s back issues, where he couldn’t lift anything, including his socks off the floor, while Riley filled Dotty in on her father’s fiasco investments.  At least they both had a laugh.  “What can’t be mended is best endured,” Dotty concluded sententiously.  “But to business. After a refill on my ice tea.  Where do these waiters get to?”

All settled, Dotty wondered, “Have you thought about your next step.  I mean, after the Mary Bethune disappointment?”

“I’ve been thinking a lot about what to do next because right now I feel my position working under Bob Cody is untenable.  I’ve been checking out the sites, considering getting a Ph.D. to make me more marketable.  But that would eat up years—and money.”

“I thought you’d be thinking of moving on and I’d hate the lose you.  So, don’t shoot me.  But there’s an opening in the superintendent’s office.  It’s as his executive assistant.”

“Oh, Dotty—“

“Hear me out.  The pay is twenty thousand more than you’re making now.  Administration pays, Riley.  You’d be writing his speeches, showing up at committee meetings he wants to avoid, visiting schools as his representative, dealing with the entire district.  True, you wouldn’t be working directly with children, but you’re already one step up the ladder in administration.  You want to advance.  I think you should.  As assistant superintendent I know I can count on you to be a team player.  And the only recommendation you’ll need is mine.  Oh, of course you’ll have to meet Harlen, but I’ve already told him I have someone in mind.  His assistant now is leaving in a month because her husband got a transfer.  Also, if you take the job, it would leave Bob Cody in the lurch; and I know you would’t want to do that.”

Riley laughed.  “Wow,” she said.  “I never expected anything like this.”

“It’s a go-go-go job, lots of politics involved.  Instead of disgruntled parents, you’ll have disgruntled administrators throughout the system, not to mention various board members.  Also there are the crazy right-wing parents who want us to teach nothing above the Dick and Jane level.  On the other hand, there’s the pay and the benefits.  And I’d love working with you again.”

Frowning, Riley said, “Can I think about this?  It means moving in a direction I hadn’t foreseen.”

“That’s what life’s all about, isn’t it?”

Riley smiled.  Maybe so.  On her way back to Thomas Jefferson her only thought was wouldn’t Bob Cody be pissed.  And that was no way to consider a job offer.  On the other hand, it did make her smile again.

Mama Bear—Riley’s Job Offer

Riley Franklin hadn’t had a restful evening ever since she learned she didn’t get the principal job at Mary Bethune elementary school.  And ever since she learned Bob Cody had screwed her over in his recommendation.  She was stymied as to what her next step would be.  Aside from murder.

Bob had dared to come into her office and commiserate with her about losing out.  All she could force herself to say was, “Well, something else will come along.  It’s probably best they gave it to a man given the demographics.”  How gracious was that, you creep!

While it was true there were a lot of job openings in so many fields, what did she really want?  To leave the field of education?  She had made it her life.  At night she spent way too much time on her computer, looking up fellowships for a Ph.D.  She thought something in curriculum development might be a good field.  Or there was also urban education.  Very hot right now and definitely job openings.  But the problem was money. And time!  She was thirty-three.  A Ph.D. would be a good investment as far as her career went, but would it be a good investment for her life.  What if—well, what if she found someone to love.  So far, slim pickings.  She felt almost nun-like.  Her twenties were mainly spent in groups of friends, men and women, traveling together during breaks, going to the same bars, playing in trivia teams.  But so many of them had paired off.  One of her friends had even said, “He’ll do.”  But Riley didn’t want anyone just to have someone. Did she?

And yet—here she was, long in the tooth.  But then look at Frank, married young, divorced young, and where did that leave him now?  However, at least he knew love.  Riley dismissed her younger sister.  Eden was too self-centered to fall in love with anything outside of a mirror.  But Riley knew she had a lot to give.  If only there were someone to give it to.  Or was she just kidding herself.  Was it time to go to a shelter and find a cat?

The following day was like so many others. She was dealing with the Bakers.  Their son received a C in chemistry and a D in intermediate algebra.  They were trying to explain to her that their darling couldn’t get into a premed program with those grades.  Something had to be done about it.  Not that they wanted to sue the school system for thwarting their child’s dreams, but—

Riley had Simon Baker’s records before her.  Nothing wrong with the kid—except maybe his parents.  “I note that Simon tests extremely high in English and Spanish. He’s been a member of our friendship group that tutors new immigrants in the English language.  We’re very proud of the work he’s doing.”

“What does that have to do with his chemistry marks?” his father asked.  “We want him in premed.”

“But what does Simon want?”

“Simon is sixteen.  He doesn’t know what he wants,” Simon’s mother assured Riley.

Riley checked Simon’s academic record again.  Until this year, it was mostly all A’s, including biology.  His PSAT score was great.  Could it be that Simon was deliberately getting low marks to spite his parents, because he didn’t want to go to premed or he just wanted them off his back? She could refer this to the guidance counselor, appropriately named Mr. Looney, but the buck had to stop, well, somewhere.

“Have you considered academic counseling for Simon?  Maybe see where his interests lie?”

“You don’t seem to understand.”

Oh, she understood all right.

“We’re here as concerned parents—concerned about his grades and why he’s being marked so low for courses he needs for college entrance.  I mean, we were fobbed off on you when we really wanted to discuss this with the principal,” the father added for good measure.  “We thought this school had a good reputation, which is why we didn’t put him in Adams Academy, but I guess we were wrong.”  He stood.  “Come on, Reston,” he said to his wife.

And so they left.  Another dissatisfied customer.  Riley made a note to herself to call Simon in and see his side of the story.  Maybe it wasn’t too late to become a lab technician or an insurance adjuster or, well—anything?

Her phone buzzed.  Of course.  What was she here for except to take calls Bob Cody wouldn’t.  “Riley Franklin,” she answered mellifluously.

“Riley, it’s Dotty.”

“Dotty!  Oh, the balm in Gilead.  I thought it might be another unhappy consumer of our educational system.”

Laughing, Dotty said, “Can you break for lunch?  I think I might have something you’d be interested in.”

“Really?”  Riley considered what that might be.  She knew Dotty, working in the superintendent’s office, had the inside gossip on all the schools in the district.

“Really.  Morton’s?  Twelve thirty?  Be there or be square?”

Oh, Dotty.  Gotta love her but maybe too square?

Despite being in a strip mall, Morton’s had white table cloths and black cloth napkins.  Wine glasses were also present on the table, but for the most part, at least at lunch, they were whisked away as soon as the order for ice tea or diet soda was given.  Dinner here would be extravagant, but for lunch the prices were reasonable and the atmosphere relaxing.

Dotty had arrived first and had already secured a booth when Riley joined her.  “Bad day?” Dotty asked, because, despite Riley’s smile, she looked defeated.

“At Thomas Jefferson we either have parents who care too little or parents who care too much.  Don’t you sometimes wonder how kids grow up to be decent human beings?  At least most of them?”

“Sometimes I fear it’s in spite of us instead of because of us,” Dotty admitted.

Since they both had to get back to work, they ordered quickly, Dotty had a salad but Riley needed the sirloin sliders.  Their conversation was easy, discussing Dotty’s husband’s back issues, where he couldn’t lift anything, including his socks off the floor, while Riley filled Dotty in on her father’s fiasco investments.  At least they both had a laugh.  “What can’t be mended is best endured,” Dotty concluded sententiously.  “But to business. After a refill on my ice tea.  Where do these waiters get to?”

All settled, Dotty wondered, “Have you thought about your next step.  I mean, after the Mary Bethune disappointment?”

“I’ve been thinking a lot about what to do next because right now I feel my position working under Bob Cody is untenable.  I’ve been checking out the sites, considering getting a Ph.D. to make me more marketable.  But that would eat up years—and money.”

“I thought you’d be thinking of moving on and I’d hate the lose you.  So, don’t shoot me.  But there’s an opening in the superintendent’s office.  It’s as his executive assistant.”

“Oh, Dotty—“

“Hear me out.  The pay is twenty thousand more than you’re making now.  Administration pays, Riley.  You’d be writing his speeches, showing up at committee meetings he wants to avoid, visiting schools as his representative, dealing with the entire district.  True, you wouldn’t be working directly with children, but you’re already one step up the ladder in administration.  You want to advance.  I think you should.  As assistant superintendent I know I can count on you to be a team player.  And the only recommendation you’ll need is mine.  Oh, of course you’ll have to meet Harlen, but I’ve already told him I have someone in mind.  His assistant now is leaving in a month because her husband got a transfer.  Also, if you take the job, it would leave Bob Cody in the lurch; and I know you would’t want to do that.”

Riley laughed.  “Wow,” she said.  “I never expected anything like this.”

“It’s a go-go-go job, lots of politics involved.  Instead of disgruntled parents, you’ll have disgruntled administrators throughout the system, not to mention various board members.  Also there are the crazy right-wing parents who want us to teach nothing above the Dick and Jane level.  On the other hand, there’s the pay and the benefits.  And I’d love working with you again.”

Frowning, Riley said, “Can I think about this?  It means moving in a direction I hadn’t foreseen.”

“That’s what life’s all about, isn’t it?”

Riley smiled.  Maybe so.  On her way back to Thomas Jefferson her only thought was wouldn’t Bob Cody be pissed.  And that was no way to consider a job offer.  On the other hand, it did make her smile again.