Car Pool (12 page)

They dropped him at a shopping center just off the freeway in Fremont, and Shay transferred to the

passenger seat. Anthea lost no time putting as much distance between Shay and Martin as possible.

“Cover your ears,” Shay said when they stopped at a light.

“Why?”

“Just do it.”

Anthea covered her ears and still plainly heard Shay’s scream, a mixture of anger and exasperation.

“Okay, I’m through.”

“I’ve done that myself on more than one occasion,” Anthea said. She was wondering if Shay sounded like that during — “I don’t know what it is about him, but I can’t wait for the day he’s promoted. He’s so… stupid!”

Shay shook her head. “This is unbelievable. Don’t they give managers any sort of sensitivity training?”

Anthea shrugged. “It’s mandatory but only a few hours every two years. Obviously, it isn’t sinking in.”

“You’d have thought I was the kitchen help… the kind of person you can say anything to because they can’t talk back.”

“I’m sorry,” Anthea said.

“It’s not your fault. You can’t control the man’s arrogance. You have no idea how many times in my life I’ve been complimented on my command of English.” She stared out the window while her hands twisted and flexed in her lap.

“I really want his job.” Anthea didn’t know what else to say. She felt horribly guilty for having exposed Shay to Martin’s racist comments.

“If there’s anything I can do to help you get it, just say the word.”

They spent the remainder of the drive mainly in

silence. Anthea brooded later about how different the drive home had been from the drive to work. She hoped Shay wouldn’t hold Martin’s crass racism against her. And though Shay had hardly needed it, she chided herself for not having come to Shay’s defense.

Shay slid out of the car quietly when they reached Luciano’s. She was seething with undiluted rage, but if she vented a little she’d let it all out on Anthea when what she really wanted was to hit Martin, hit him very hard. She wanted to shove a photograph under his nose, the one of her father at the age of 2, picking flowers. It had been taken by a government official, who had claimed it proved Japanese families were happy in their internment camps.

She wasn’t paying attention to her footing as she murmured a halfhearted goodnight to Anthea and suddenly, she was on her hands and knees, shaking her head. She sat back, making sure which way was up first. She rubbed the door of Anthea’s car where her head had hit it. Fortunately, neither the door nor her head seemed dented. Stars danced before her for a moment, then an arm circled her shoulders.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Shay said. She started to get to her feet and Anthea pulled her up, her arm now most firmly around Shay’s waist. All the anger she was directing at Martin fused into heat and the heat turned to Anthea. She wanted to ask Anthea if she thought of her as Japanese or American or foreign or a friend?

Did she think of Shay as a woman — the way that Shay knew she was beginning to think of Anthea? Their bodies were so close, and Shay felt seared and confused by flaming desire. She trembled violently.

“You aren’t okay.” It was a statement.

“No, really, I’m fine. Just shook up.” She stepped away from Anthea. It felt as if she left her skin behind. She brushed at the knees of her slacks. “I’m lucky I didn’t rip these pants. They’re my favorites.” She looked up at Anthea.

“You’re sure you’re okay?”

Shay lied. “I’m fine.”

Her head had a small bump Shay didn’t tell Anthea about, but it didn’t cause the incessant headache she had for the next three days. The headache started when she decided to ignore Scott’s instructions and work on an idea for remediation of the xylene.

She plugged in data that correlated rainfall, her estimate of the groundwater velocity — based on the permeability of the clayey soil — and the increase in xylene at well B-B-146. With a spate of research into the refinery maps, she plotted the direction of the water movement. Much to her surprise, however, she wasn’t able to determine a source of the xylene leak. The xylene process wasn’t on this side of the refinery. There shouldn’t be xylene there at all, but there was and had been for the last two years. And it was increasing. She set aside for now the fact that she couldn’t determine the source. It was a mystery she would eventually solve.

Her mind was already grappling with the remediation possibilities. How could they remove the xylene and leave the soil and water table intact? At the rate of movement there was as much as seven years’ grace before the flow reached the open water channel that led to the San Francisco Bay. Plenty of time for a relatively inexpensive and thorough remediation. A 200-foot channel with forced pumping of groundwater through a bioreactor might work. And it would screen out other substances which, while not hazardous, wouldn’t do the marine life any good.

She went back to her report and wrote up the suggested remediation, including her estimates and plot of the water movement. She worked through lunch, munching distractedly on her peanut butter and jelly sandwich. When she finally copied her report to a floppy disk to take to word processing for formatting, she realized she didn’t remember eating her sandwich at all. She was exhausted and considered long and hard calling in sick at the pizza parlor. The thought was appealing, but when she finally quit she would get her sick leave in pay. She was counting on it as a little nest egg so she could quit a bit sooner. She couldn’t afford to miss a day.

She credited her exhaustion with the fact that she spent the entire drive home — without the presence of any racist S.O.B.s from the refinery — excruciatingly aware that she wanted to put her head down in Anthea’s lap and go to sleep. Since sleep occurred to her before anything else she might do with her head in Anthea’s lap, she knew she was tired. Too tired to fight the breathless ache she felt as she examined Anthea’s shapely calves, caressed by

taupe hose. They were the epitome of femininity. The epitome of the kind of calves that normally did not attract her. She wondered why she had only admired muscled, taut calves before. She wondered when she would get a full night’s sleep.

She wondered if this was what it felt like to be on the edge of a breakdown. She let her gaze travel up the back of Anthea’s calves to the soft area behind her knees. She got a warm glow in her stomach and then felt as if she’d just eaten a couple of chocolate bars. If this was a mental breakdown, she could live with it.

“Takes all kinds,” Martin said.

His sudden appearance startled Anthea. She turned to face him as he leaned nonchalantly against her cube wall. She shook her head. “Come again?”

“Your car pool mate. A real militant, isn’t she?”

“No, not really. I think you brought out her … opinions.”

“Well, you’re certainly tolerant. Beggars can’t be choosers, I suppose.”

Anthea started to speak, but she was stopped by a wave of nausea, followed by a hot flash and cold sweat. “I’m more…” she stuttered. “I’m. …” Her phone rang.

She answered in a shaken voice, then began rattling off the cost data for yet another anxious product manager. Martin gave a wave and disappeared in the direction of his office. When Anthea finished her call she couldn’t recall what column of data she had read. She hoped it was the

right one or the no-brand all-purpose oil profit estimates would be in sorry shape.

She took a deep breath. She had almost said it. Almost. But lord, who would have thought mere words really could stick in your throat? For a moment she had thought she was going to be sick. Over saying a few words!

What was she thinking of… she knew that coming out at work would cost her any hope of Martin’s job. Not that she’d be able to prove discrimination. What was motivating her to give it up? Nothing had changed. A tiny voice reminded her that something was different — her body still felt the imprint of Shay’s. Her arms tingled from being around Shay. It had only been for a moment, but she had felt electrified. She didn’t want to feel this way. She was just going to get hurt again.

She shivered and fought down the queasy roil in her stomach and gradually the sounds around her invaded again. Over the hum of air-conditioning and her hard drive she could hear Adrian on the phone, speaking in an unusually low voice. Anthea had learned that when Adrian was quiet on the phone, he usually needed to talk afterward — if only to exult over a date with a new guy or a weekend trip to wine country for the sunshine.

His voice rose slightly and she could make out the words. “I thought he was stable… shit. Oh shit.” Adrian’s words took on a breathy, choked, quality. “He loves that car — always joked that he wanted to be buried in it. I know, I know, that was before this, but… okay. I’ll ask around. I’d buy it myself if I could, but I couldn’t pay him what it’s worth, and certainly not in time.”

After Adrian had hung up, Anthea could tell he was sitting very still. She picked up the thickest report she could find and a pencil, then assumed an air of nonchalance. She sat down next to his desk, not looking at him yet, and opened the report. She let lots of green and white striped computer paper ruffle to the ground. No one — particularly Martin — would come within a mile. Adrian finally said, “What the hell are you doing?”

“Faking it. So what’s new?”

Adrian sat back in his chair, eyes closed. “Goddam paper-thin walls.”

“They’re not walls in case you hadn’t noticed. Can I help?”

“It’s not likely.” He rubbed his eyes vigorously, then put his glasses back on. He looked at Anthea owlishly, hiding behind the lenses. “Not unless you want to buy a sixty-nine mint-condition fire-engine red VW bug ragtop last appraised at ten thousand. A friend is running out of time and needs all the money he can get for the duration — rent, AZT, food. Christ, he cleaned that car with a diaper and a baby’s toothbrush. Rebuilt every piece of the engine himself.”

Anthea could feel her heart accelerating. How many times? This would make five, she thought. Five of Adrian’s friends had “run out of time,” as he always put it. He was too young to have a suit specifically set aside for funerals. She felt helpless and selfish, and everything Lois had ever said about her started to replay in her head. She said, in a faint voice, “I’ll give him twelve thousand for it.

“Don’t kid around, Andy,” Adrian said.

“I’m not kidding. I can write a check.”

“You never told me you were rich.” He obviously still thought she was joking.

“I have no house payment. I don’t spend much on clothes. I’m satisfied with a mere five pairs of shoes. I clean my own house. I have no dependents. And God knows no one to travel with and I hate traveling alone. I only buy new things when old things break.” Anthea shrugged. She felt numb all over suddenly. “It’s only money. Lois said that giving away money was all I was good for and I suppose —”

“Now we’re getting at the truth,” Adrian said. “Lois was a bitch and that’s no reason to buy a car you don’t need.”

“I know that. It won’t even dent my money market balance.”

“Don’t you even have it invested in something with a better return?”

“It seems greedy when I already have enough. Besides, rates aren’t what they used to be. My parents believed in lots and lots of life insurance.” She shrugged again.

Adrian shook his head. “I think you need to spend a little of that nest egg on more therapy, my dear.”

“I suppose so. Except I can tell you word for word exactly what a therapist will say and then what I’ll say. So why bother? It would be a waste of money.” At that she laughed. “I don’t make any sense sometimes, least of all to me.”

“I noticed. I have no idea why you even work here.”

“It’s what I went to school for. I really went to

school to escape my parents, but the official story was I wanted to get my MBA.”

“That makes no sense whatsoever.”

“Yes, it does. I’m not ready to admit I spent six years in college and God knows how much money just to get away from my parents. Besides, coming to work every day is something to do —”

“And you do it well.” He stared at her as if he was only seeing her for the first time. “I’d go nuts if you went anywhere else. Tell you what.” Adrian reached over and patted her on the head. “Let Uncle Adrian have all your money and he’ll give you an allowance.”

“I’m not that stupid,” Anthea said. As the numb feeling faded she realized that it was how she used to feel all the time, ever since Lois’s first affair. “I’m serious about the car. I —” She stopped, about to say that she thought Shay would be totally shocked and pleased when she saw it. Shay had nothing to do with this. “I’ve always wanted something a little more outrageous. I would really like to have it and I’d take very good care of it. And… and you can tell your friend that if he ever wants to buy it back, it’s his.”

Adrian’s mocking expression disappeared. “He’s only got six months, maybe more, and it’s the car or move into a group home. His savings are long gone and he just got an eviction notice. I thought he had worked everything out with his family, but apparently they’ve faded away now that the really hard times have arrived.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Are you sure? Really sure?”

Anthea dumped the rest of the report on the

floor and went back to her cubicle. She came back with a checkbook. “Who do I make it out to?”

“You haven’t even seen the car!”

Anthea smiled archly. “If it’s not as you said it was, I’ll have you dropped in the oxidation ponds. You’d glow in the dark for the rest of your days.”

Adrian smirked. “Now that’s a new thought. You wouldn’t need a glow-in-the-dark condom if you had a glow-in-the-dark body.”

Anthea gaped and blushed. “Please, my tender years,” she managed to say. She waved the checkbook at him. “Name, please.”

Adrian took a deep breath and then a tremulous smile lit his face. “You’re a prince. And darling, you are going to look magnificent in that car.”

Shay thought Anthea looked excited about something. Her eyes were sparkling. Maybe another date with the Ferrari. The thought gave Shay a twinge of envy. “Another test drive,” she asked as she merged over from the 280 lanes to 880.