Easily Amused (11 page)

The third girl noticed the way my eyes darted toward the school door and said, “Don’t bother looking for help.” She dug her fingernails into my shoulder, and I cried out in pain. “No one is going to come.”

She was wrong, though, because suddenly the new kid in school was standing behind them saying, “Stop it,” in a clear, loud voice. He was in one of my classes, but all I knew about him was that his name was Hubert. The three girls turned their attention away from me to look at him.

Christina sized him up and decided he wasn’t a threat. “Just go away, you,” she said, making a shooing motion. “This is none of your business.” The one who’d squeezed my shoulder made a derisive snort.

“No,” he said, standing like he wasn’t going anywhere. “Just leave her alone.”

“Look,” Christina said impatiently, “this is between us girls. It has nothing to do with you. Just go away and let us settle this.”

“No,
you’re
the ones who need to go. Leave her alone.”

Christina drew herself up to her full height and took a step toward him. She was older, but Hubert was a good six inches taller. Even from my spot in the lion’s mouth I thought her brave. “And who’s going to make us? There’s three of us and only one of you.”

I heard the click before I saw the glint of metal. Christina took a step back—she was as shocked as I was by the switchblade in Hubert’s hand. He held it up like it was a sword. All wrong, I knew. I’d seen
West Side Story
and knew switchblades were supposed to be aimed directly at a person like you’re going to carve your initials on their gut. Christina and her friends didn’t seem to notice his handling faux pas, though. One of the girls let out a gasp.

Christina recovered quickly. She shrugged and said, “Come on, girls, let’s go.” She pointed at me like aiming a gun. “She’s not worth our time.” Once they rounded the corner of the building, I exhaled in relief. Hubert snapped his switchblade shut and offered to walk me home. On the way to my house, he told me the story of the switchblade. Over the summer he’d mowed a neighbor’s lawn just to be nice, and in return the old man gave him an old toolbox filled with odds and ends. The switchblade had been among the wrenches and needle-nose pliers. Hubert liked carrying it with him. “But I never thought I’d use it to save someone’s life,” he said. “That’s way cool!” He sounded so tickled I resisted the urge to remind him they were only a group of girls. And he hadn’t actually used it.

After that, Hubert walked me home every day. Christina and company eventually found another target, a boy with a lisp. His nightmare ended only when his mother started driving him home from school. I’m not sure who they picked on after that, but I know it wasn’t me.

For a long time the smell of rotting bananas reminded me of a switchblade and Hubert standing tall, but I hadn’t thought about that day for a long time now. I could clearly remember the determined look on his face when he said, “Leave her alone.” Seventeen years had passed, and we’d had a few disagreements since then, but I’d never seen Hubert really angry with anyone, let alone me. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t bother me.

Thinking about this now, I shifted beneath my comforter, waiting for the pull of sleep to move me to unconsciousness, but it was no use. I was wide awake.

I got up and padded down the dark hallway to Hubert’s room. The door was still closed. I rapped on it lightly. “Hubert?” Again, this time louder. “Hubert?” No answer. I debated going back to bed and talking to him in the morning, but we both had work, and there was the pesky matter of my car still parked at Sardino’s. And more importantly, I couldn’t sleep knowing he was still angry with me.

I opened the door and peered into the room. The venetian blinds on the opposite window let in slits of light from the street lamp below. Once my eyes adjusted, I could see his form on the bed, a blanket covering his body. He was face up, like a mummy in a sarcophagus. I tried again. “Hubert?”

“Yes, Lola.” He let out an exasperated sigh.

He
was
awake—and still upset with me. I sat on the edge of the bed like a parent about to tell a bedtime story. He’d been at my house for three days, and his bedding still smelled like fabric softener. “I couldn’t sleep. I hate that you’re mad at me.”

He didn’t say anything, just sighed again and pulled his hands out from under the covers. I thought he might touch me, but instead he folded his hands as if in prayer. “You have no idea how worried I was,” he said. “I was out of my mind thinking something terrible happened to you.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“It didn’t help that you came waltzing in from your date with a buzz on, not even caring how I felt.”

“I do care. I just—”

“I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you, Lola.”

“You mean, because of Kelly.”

He lifted his head to look at me. “What would Kelly have to do with it?”

“I just thought…” I knew I had to phrase this carefully. “Since you two aren’t together anymore, maybe your friends are more important now.”

“How can you say that? You’ve always been important to me. That didn’t change when I moved in with Kelly.” He rested his head back against the pillow.

“No offense, Hubert, but until recently I hadn’t even seen you for months. I kind of wondered if we were even still friends.”

“Well, of course we’re still friends,” he said indignantly. “We’ll always be friends. I just didn’t see you much because, well frankly, Kelly had something against you. I’m not sure what. She hated when we talked on the phone and she heard me laughing. She hated all our joking around—she said you were trying to make her feel like an outsider. Kelly didn’t really understand how it is with old friends, so I tried to keep things separate. It didn’t help that my mom was always asking about you.”

“Really? How’s your mom doing?” I’d always liked her. She was the type of mom who put a hand on your forehead when you looked peaked. When we hung out at Hubert’s house during our high school years, she always kept the rec room fridge stocked with Dr. Pepper and brought us homemade cookies on a silver tray. Mrs. Holmes was friendly to both Piper and me, but I always felt like I was her favorite. She still sent cards on my birthday.

“She’s good. Real good. Last time I saw her, she said to say hello.”

“Tell her I said hi back.”

“You could stop in and see my folks sometime, you know. They’d like that.”

“Maybe I will.” A nice thought, but I knew I wouldn’t do it. My place in the Holmes’ house was a thing of the past. I used to ride there on my bike and knew I was always welcome for dinner. But that was then. Visiting at this point in my life, without Hubert, would just be weird. “Anyway, Hubert, it’s late and we should probably both get some sleep. I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am.”

He looked up at the ceiling. “So what’s the story with the guy you were out with? Anyone I know?”

“No, he’s someone Piper met at Mike’s work. A client. His name is Ryan Moriarty.”

He propped himself up on one elbow. “He’s a
client
of Mike’s firm? What are they having, some kind of deal—invest with us and get a date?”

It sounded like a joke, but there was
something
underneath the kidding. I just couldn’t put my finger on it. “No, he’s just a nice guy. Piper organized the whole thing. She thought he could be my date at Mindy’s wedding, so I wouldn’t have to show up alone and pathetic. I wasn’t so sure about the whole thing, but she practically begged me to go out with him. You know how she can be.”

“She’s persuasive, all right. But you know, Lola,” and here he stretched out my name like taffy, “I’d be glad to be your escort at the wedding. There’s no reason you’d have to go alone.”

“That’s good to know. I’ll keep it in mind.”

We were both silent for a minute, and he patted me absentmindedly on the leg. Self-consciously I shifted on the bed. “So are you still mad at me?” I asked.

“Well, a little,” he said. “For God’s sake, Lola, I was insane not being able to find you. Then all the neighbors came over, which was very nice of them. Monday is Myra’s favorite TV night, you know. She looks forward to it, but she gave it up when she thought you were in trouble. Then in you come, all loopy-doopy from your date and acting like I was making a big deal out of nothing.” He exhaled. “Yes, I am a little angry.”

Well, when he put it that way…

“I understand,” I said. “How about we make a deal? You forgive me for tonight, and I’ll forgive you for ignoring me during your Kelly period. Then we’ll be even and we can put it all behind us and start fresh tomorrow. No grudges.”

He considered it. “I can live with that. OK, it’s a deal. I forgive you.”

Relieved, I leaned over and kissed his forehead. “I forgive you too. And I promise to let you know where I am from now on.” I stood up and looked down on him.

“That would be good.”

I made my way to the door and was about to leave when I had another thought. “Hubert, my car is still at the restaurant. Sardino’s, right off of the highway on Cedar Road. Do you think you could drop me off on your way to work tomorrow?”

“No problem. Good night, Lola. Sweet dreams.”

“Good night, Hubert.”

A
s the week went on, Hubert and I fell into a morning routine. I was never sure what time he woke up, but by the time I came downstairs, coffee was made, breakfast was underway, and the daily newspaper was next to my place at the table. For my part, I gratefully ate whatever he prepared and took care of the dishes afterwards. A small price to pay.

The first time he did this, I marveled at all the trouble he’d gone to, making an omelet with sautéed onions and mushrooms, topped with a sprinkling of shredded cheese and chunky salsa. He’d toasted whole wheat bread and cut it into little triangles, artfully arranging them around the edges of the plate.

“Can’t run an engine without fuel,” he said, pouring my coffee with a flourish. “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”

I’d always heard that but never quite believed it. Previously, my engine had run just fine on cereal and milk. Still, I couldn’t deny his way seemed better. Especially since he was the one doing all the work.

At the office Mrs. Kinkaid asked me for details about Ryan on a daily basis, but I’d learned my lesson and wasn’t giving up much. Poor Drew had to hear the story of the vending machine more than once, how Ryan hit it with the side of his fist, disengaging the candy bar. Her version of the story made Ryan sound downright heroic. He was the man of the hour, a liberator of snack food. “And boy, was he easy on the eyes,” she exclaimed every time. Drew looked less than interested. He’d shown up for work on Tuesday, entirely forgetting he’d called in sick the day before. When Mrs. K. asked if he was feeling better, the question puzzled him. Later he let it slip that he’d been up north hiking with his girlfriend. After he realized his error, he changed the hiking story to a different day and dove into a fit of coughing to illustrate he wasn’t completely recovered. I gave him a cough drop.

On Thursday morning Piper called at her usual time—another new routine. She’d phoned me at the office every day since my outing with Ryan, always midmorning, when Brandon took what she called his mini-nap. It only lasted twenty to thirty minutes, but it was amazing, she said, how much a person could accomplish in that time. “I just hung a butt-load of laundry,” she said on one occasion. All this and she managed to talk to me too. I imagined her working with the phone wedged between her head and shoulder. Babies are the reason women are experts at multitasking. I’m sure of it.

This morning she asked again, “Have you heard from Ryan?”

I glanced over to the other side of the room where Mrs. Kinkaid and Drew were debating the outcome of some reality show involving an island or maybe a boardroom. Someplace where people got cast out, anyway. “No, he hasn’t called. I told you I’d let you know first thing.”

“But he said for sure he’d call, right?”

“We’ve been over this, Piper. He said later in the week, but I’m not holding my breath. If he calls, he calls.” As much as I hoped I’d hear from him, I also dreaded hearing from him. If he didn’t call, the whole Mindy’s wedding plan could be laid to rest. I was OK with letting it go; I knew the drill. She’d humiliate me, I’d pretend to let it roll off my back, and eventually the whole thing would fade to black. Until the next time. I was used to it, almost. If she had to be top dog, I could be a big enough person to let her—“big enough person” being the key phrase here, seeing as how Mindy prided herself on her petite size.

“I think he will call,” Piper said, as if reaching a decision. “I just have this feeling. A guy doesn’t spend hours talking in a restaurant if he’s not interested. If you bored the hell out of him, he could have cut it short instead of ordering dessert and coffee. And after all that, he offered to drive you home. That was really gentlemanly.”

Ahem. Well, it may have been that he didn’t want the liability of a drunk driver on his hands, but her take on it sounded better.

She continued enthusiastically. “And that double hug thing sounded cool. Hey, I have a thought. Why don’t you make up some kind of excuse and go over to his house?”

It was just the sort of thing Piper would have done in her single days, and she’d have been able to pull it off perfectly. For me, though, it was not a good idea. “I’m not going to be doing that.” I shuffled through some paperwork to give my coworkers the illusion of workplace busyness.

“You could say,” she went on, as if I hadn’t voiced an objection, “that you thought you left something in his car. Your sunglasses! That would be perfect. I’m always losing my sunglasses. Just go ask. What could it hurt? At best it will give him a chance to ask you out again. At worst he’ll say no he hasn’t seen them, and then you say thanks and go back home. No harm, no foul.”

“I can tell you right now—not going to happen.”

“Oh, Lola, live a little. Just promise me you’ll think about it, OK?”

Classic Piper. In an effort to persuade, she always tried going in the front and then the back. And if that didn’t work, she’d come at you from the side. “I’ll think about it, but it goes against my nature, Piper. If he wants to call, he will. You gave him my number, and he knows where I live. And where I work. It’s not like he can’t reach me.”

“Oh pooh, you’re no fun. Hey, I hear Brandon over the intercom. I have to go. Call me as soon as you hear from Mr. Smoking-Hot, OK?”

“Will do.” I hung up the phone and was startled to see Drew standing over my desk. “Yes?”

“There’s some dude wants to talk to you on line two.”

“OK. Thank you.” I started to reach for the phone and then stopped to return Drew’s stare. He got the hint and shuffled back to his desk. Honestly. I cleared my throat and put the receiver up to my ear. “Lola Watson speaking.”

“Hey, Lola.”

Oh drat, I’d hoped it might be Ryan. What a letdown. “Hi, Hubert.”

“Is this a good time?”

“It’s fine.” I glanced across the room, where Mrs. Kinkaid and Drew were both uncharacteristically silent. I knew they were hanging on my every word.

“Because if it’s not good, I can call back.”

“No, this is fine.”

“OK, as long as I’m not interrupting anything.”

“What’s up, Hubert?”

“I was wondering if you’d go to this thing with me on Saturday night?” I heard him gulp. “It’s a show I want to go to. I’ve heard good things about it. We could go out to dinner before or after, if you want.”

I knew without looking that my social calendar was wide open. And I hadn’t been out to hear a band in eons. If Ryan called in the meantime, I just wouldn’t be available. That’s what you get when you wait too long to call a popular girl like me. “OK, sounds good.”

“So you can make it? That’s great! It’s kind of a dress-up thing, just so you know. They’re serving wine and cheese.”

Wine and cheese? Wait a minute. I switched the phone to my other ear and leaned over to fake looking through my lower desk drawer. “Hubert. Is this by any chance a show at an
art
gallery?”

He hesitated and then said, “The Michaels Gallery, downtown.”

“Let me guess. Kelly is having an exhibit.”

“Not just Kelly,” he said defensively. “A lot of artists, and I know most of them, too.”

“Hubert, I’m telling you as a friend, this is a very bad idea.”

The silence on his end was heartbreaking.

“She hasn’t answered your messages. If she wanted to talk to you, you’d have heard from her. You need to just let it go.”

“I can’t let it go,” he said quietly. “I have to see her. I can’t rest until I understand what happened.”

I paused to think of a good way to put this. “You know, Hubert,” I said, “you might never fully understand what happened. It seems like Kelly just wants a clean break.”

“Please, Lola, just come with me on Saturday night. I don’t want to have to do this alone.”

I looked up to see both Drew and Mrs. Kinkaid staring straight at me. I guess it didn’t take much to figure things out from my end of the conversation. Mrs. K. had her head tipped to one side in sympathy. She’d never met Hubert, but even through the phone she appeared to sense his sadness and desperation.

I sighed. “OK, I’ll go with you. But I can’t see any way this will turn out to be a good thing.”

“Oh thank you, Lola, you’re the best. And just think, if this leads to Kelly and me getting back together, I’ll be moving out and you’ll get your privacy back.”

“Oh, Hubert, don’t even worry about that. You’re welcome to stay as long as you want.”

He made a strange sound in his throat. “Well, thanks. I have to go now, Lola. My kids are coming back in from recess. I hear them out in the hall. I’ll see you tonight, OK?”

I hung up the phone and saw Mrs. Kinkaid and Drew were still gazing in my direction. “What?” I said, a little more sharply than I’d intended.

They exchanged a look, and then Drew spoke. “That was your friend, Hube?”

“Hubert,” I corrected.

“He’s the one who got booted out by his girlfriend?”

I never should have told them. Me and my big mouth. “Yes, that’s the one.”

“Man, he sounded all down,” Drew said.

“He’s going through a rough time right now.” Their faces were so serious; Hubert’s mood had somehow infected the whole office. We needed something to bring us back up, and I had just the ticket. “Why don’t we go over the entries for the contest?” I said brightly.
Parenting Today
was running a “cutest baby” photo contest. I’d been putting off going through the submissions—it was time consuming, not to mention hard to do. Babies are cute, all of them, even the ones with sticky-out ears and weird, patchy hair. Choosing
the
cutest was difficult, but I knew from last year that going through the photos was a joyful experience, which was just what we needed right now.

My suggestion had the desired effect. “I’ll get the folding table,” Drew said, hopping up to go to the janitor’s closet out in the hall.

Mrs. Kinkaid scooted her chair to the middle of the room to where she anticipated Drew would set up the table. “You know,” she said to me, “a good way to get over a heartbreak is to start dating again. I have the perfect girl for your friend Hubert: my niece Lindsey. She’s twenty-six and teaches grade school just like he does. Lovely, lovely girl. So pretty and talented and smart. We’re all amazed she hasn’t been snatched up already. If you like, I can set up the whole thing.”

I shook my head. Hubert and Lindsey? The two names didn’t even sound right together. Lindsey was a fussy-sounding name. She was probably one of those girls who wore high heels with everything, even blue jeans. “I don’t think Hubert would be interested in a blind date,” I said.

“You never know,” Mrs. K. said smugly. “Just ask him. You might be surprised.”

Thankfully the conversation was cut short by Drew, who came in the door with the collapsed table under his left arm. “Time for Babypalooza,” he said. “Bring on the pictures!”