Mourning Becomes Cassandra (13 page)

“Hey, Phyl,” I greeted her, holding tight to Benny’s leash so he wouldn’t topple her in his eagerness. “Need help?”

“Nah, it’s all done,” she replied, taking the unrecyclable lids she’d removed from the gallon milk containers and tossing them in the trash. “Come talk to me while I finish dinner, though.” I went, feeling slightly guilty because I knew Joanie and I were planning to ambush Phyl tonight at dinner.

As we had feared, Phyl’s predictable attraction to Daniel had blossomed with time into a full-blown infatuation. Although she hadn’t yet progressed beyond mooning over him, it had not escaped his notice. Joanie told me confidentially that Daniel had finally asked her what the hell Phyl’s problem was.

“I told him she always fell for bad boys, including her ex-husband, and he should just ignore her till it blew over,” Joanie reported to me late one evening when we were holed up in my room. “He said it was bugging the hell out of him how he couldn’t be in the Palace without her gawking at him and dropping dishes and acting like they were in junior high.”

“Isn’t he used to it, by now?” I asked in exasperation. “I thought all women react to him that way.”

“Yeah, but he can get away from other women when they act like that. He hates clinginess and possessiveness and adulation. It’s hard for him to have to live with Phyl. Didn’t you notice how much more time he’s spending in the Lean-To lately?”

I hadn’t, since I only saw Daniel occasionally anyhow, and when he found only me in the kitchen he would sit and eat dinner there, as often as not.

“What does he want us to do?” I asked. “He’s a grown man. I think he should buck up and ignore her, or if he’s too scared, tell him to bring in a girlfriend as a human shield.” Nevertheless, we agreed to try to talk sense into Phyl at the next opportunity, which is how she now found herself cornered.

“Phyl,” I began, “We need to talk.”

She had been pushing around her Caesar salad absent-mindedly, her soft blue eyes thoughtful. “Did Jason tell you, when he picked up Benny?”

“Tell me what?” I asked.

Phyl made a face. “He and this Jessica are engaged now—can you believe it? And he’s always telling me how she’s so good with Benny. I hope Benny is peeing in his car as we speak.”

Joanie and I always laughed when Phyl griped about Jason because the contrast between her gentle voice and mean words was so comical, and we wondered who, if not for Jason, Phyl would ever have pictured when Jesus told us to “love our enemies.”

“He didn’t mention it, and Jason never usually passes up an opportunity to brag,” I marveled.

“That’s because impending tragedy is nothing to brag about,” sniffed Joanie. “I give it eighteen months. That marriage will have everything going for it except that Jason is in it.”

“Oh, I don’t care,” Phyl said dismissively, “And I don’t even much mind if the marriage works—it’s just frustrating that I don’t have any wonderful news to counter with. I’m not even dating anyone.”

“You’ve been gone the last several Friday nights on dates,” I pointed out.

“I mean I’m not dating anyone I’m interested in,” she clarified.

When Phyl didn’t continue, Joanie bugged her eyes out at me significantly, and I started in again. “So are you interested in anyone, Phyl?”

She stabbed a crouton with her fork, causing it to explode into little crouton bits. “You guys will kill me if I tell you.” We waited. “I—I kind of like Daniel.”

It was worse hearing it said aloud. “Phyl,” I said, “Honestly, have you played the scenario to its conclusion? What do you think would happen if tomorrow, say, Daniel asked you out? How long do you think it would last?”

“Especially if you wouldn’t sleep with him,” put in Joanie. “Daniel needs lots of sex, not to mention variety. You’d have to wear different wigs and disguises to hold him more than a couple weeks. Do you still have your old high school cheerleader outfit?”

Phyl got a stubborn set to her jaw. “I wouldn’t sleep with him, of course, but if he did ask me out, it would be because he recognized that there’s more to life than those meaningless encounters. Don’t you think sometimes he looks at our lives enviously? He sees we have people we know and really love and who know and really love us.”

“I’ve caught a few expressions on his face, and I don’t think any of them were envy,” I said dryly. “More likely he thinks we’re prudes who don’t have sex because we can’t get any.” Phyl’s lips compressed mutinously, and I pressed ahead. “But never mind what Daniel thinks—we can’t do a thing about him. Phyl, if you marry a guy who sleeps around, you get a guy who sleeps around. I thought you learned this. Marriage wouldn’t change him.”

“Jesus could,” she rallied.

“Exactly,” I said. “The only one who could change Daniel is God Almighty, not Phyllida Levert, so why don’t you just pray for Daniel while you think about someone else? Someone who wouldn’t require an act of God to become a suitable husband.”

“Besides,” Joanie spoke up again, “Daniel said he’d have to kick you out if you keep staring at him and breaking the china.”

“He noticed?” gasped Phyl, blanching.

“Everyone noticed, Phyl. Why do you think we’re talking to you?” Joanie reasoned. “Be a good girl and say yes to the next nice and boring guy who asks you out. We like having you in the house. You don’t want to end up with another Jason, do you?”

“And try to get some guy to come on Thursday,” I urged, “so you can show Daniel you’re over him. What about that Wayne who you went out with last week?”

“Wayne!” she moaned. “He’s an engineer who has dinner with his mom once a week.”

“You don’t gotta marry him,” said Joanie. “Ask Wayne. Your birthday’s coming up, and if you ask Wayne I’ll make you your favorite cake.”

Phyl slumped in defeat. “Fine, I’ll call Wayne. And you owe me one Red Velvet cake with cream cheese frosting. I know you two mean well, but I hate being ganged up on. Why should only Joanie get to like somebody gorgeous?”

“For all the good it does me,” Joanie said disgustedly. “I can’t believe how long it takes these big companies to do their hiring. Roy’s in, what, his fourth-round interviews with Cingular and Microsoft? At this rate, they should go straight to negotiating his retirement package.” True to form, Roy had continued to insist they only do things he could afford to treat, and Joanie was growing tired of dates limited to walks and open houses. “If he doesn’t relax and let me pay for something, I may have to trade him in for an ugly guy with a paycheck.”

Phyl got up to dish out the lemon pudding. “How about you, Cass? Are you thinking you may want to get out there again anytime soon?” Joanie’s eyes lit up over this question, and I sympathized with Phyl’s irritation at being “ganged up on.”

“My hands are full, for the time being,” I replied evasively. Briefly I told them about my afternoon with Nadina. “What do you think she uses? And what does she mean by ‘hard stuff’? And why do you think this repulsive Mike is getting bent out of shape about me?”

“I thought you said you get mentor training,” said Phyl. “Haven’t they covered the whole drug thing, if so many students struggle with it?”

“We’ve only done trust-building,” I said. “The big drug talk is up next.”

“Well, if she still has all her teeth and isn’t stealing catalytic converters I’m guessing she’s not doing meth,” said Joanie.

“Yeah, she’s got teeth. Maybe I can ask her if Mike has teeth.”

“Maybe she drinks and smokes some joints,” suggested Phyl.

“Or they raid Mike’s dad’s medicine cabinet,” said Joanie. “But what do we know? We’re church girls. You should ask that Director guy or Daniel. I bet Daniel tried half the stuff in college.”

After having already asked Daniel about felony vandalism, I wondered with amusement how he would respond to me now asking about hard drugs. “Well, I don’t want to ask Mark Henneman before that next training because it might get back to Nadina. I’ll give Daniel a try later. But what do you think about the dumb boyfriend? Why is he giving Nadina a hard time about me when I haven’t said a single thing?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” said Joanie. “Nadina must be talking about you a lot, so you must be making some impression. Since you came on the scene at the same time as all these changes in her behavior, he thinks it’s you reforming her. It may be the counselors talking to her about the drugs, but she probably doesn’t go on and on about school counselors. So it’s all your fault.” I hadn’t thought of this—I knew Nadina didn’t seem to mind spending her weekly time with me, but she never said anything to make me think she really felt strongly one way or the other.

“In for a penny, in for a pound,” said Phyl. “You may as well talk to her about the drugs now, since you’re already being blamed for it.”

“I guess so,” I agreed reluctantly, “Not that I have any idea what to say besides, ‘Drugs? Don’t do them.’ I’m glad I’ll be out of town next week, just in case Mike decides to off me for my supposed influence.”

Little did I know, when my first opportunity to weigh in on Nadina’s life choices came, it would almost end our relationship then and there.

Easy for him to say. When it came to job interviews, being told not to bother dressing up didn’t simplify matters. Should I wear jeans and a t-shirt? Corduroys and a sweater? Lederhosen?

Then there was the panic over how—come to think of it—I didn’t know the first thing about video games, and my
Star Wars
knowledge was a mile-wide and an inch deep, and how exactly did I think writing a few chapters of a chintzy novelization translated into a skill for which I would be paid?

Promptly at 2:45 on Monday, the express bus dropped me a block from the high-rise downtown where Free Universe rented a floor. I had opted for the corduroys and sweater, and Phyl had lent me a messenger bag to hold my few writing samples and a notebook. Going in the revolving door, I checked my watch: 2:46. Too early.

Across the atrium I spotted a Starbucks, however, and headed over to kill ten minutes. It would never do to arrive with coffee breath or even to go in carrying a drink, but I could get a bottled water and slip it in my bag when the time came.

“Frak me!” exclaimed the tubby guy two people ahead of me in line. “Lewis, that’s why I won’t come down and order your Starbucks drinks—you drink girl coffee. Guys don’t do flavored syrups.”

“God, Riley,” said the thin, rather monotone girl in front of me, “would you quit with the
Battlestar Galactica
cusswords and the sexual harassment. I take black, drip coffee just like you do.”

“My point exactly,” said Riley, earning an exasperated huff from her. “You’re a guy with the best of them, Jer, not like Lewis here with his sugar-free vanilla.”

Lewis was not an undersized guy, and Riley’s attacks on his manhood didn’t seem to faze him. “Don’t knock it till you try it, Ri.”

“Are we going to get James or Murray anything?” the girl spoke up again after she and Riley had ordered their tall drips.

“No way,” declared Riley. “If we get them something, then everyone sits there with a drink except new girl.”