Office Girl (14 page)

Odile glances down at her pancakes and frowns. “Why did you tell me that?”

“I don't know,” he says.

Odile sets down her fork and knife. Jack shrugs and finishes his.

“What were you like when you were a kid?” he asks.

“I guess I was weird,” she says. “I used to try to break my arm all the time.”

“Really? Why?”

“I don't know. It's probably because I have five brothers. Almost all of them are older. So the only way anyone ever got any attention was to break an arm or a leg or something. And I guess my brother Dave broke his leg one summer and he got to sit in this lawn chair and ask for things and my mother would bring them to him, and so the rest of that summer I tried to break my arm on things. I would like fall out of trees or like slam it in a door or something.”

Jack smiles. “That's so weird. It's perfect.”

“Yeah.”

“That's what you remember from being a kid?”

“No. I mean there's other things,” she says. “It seemed like it had something to do with your story but I guess it really doesn't.”

“That's cool.”

“It's funny though. It's like part of the problem I still have. Even when I was a kid, I wanted everyone to notice me. To like me. People really don't change all that much, do they?”

“Maybe only every so often. Or if something really big happens. I still think I'm pretty much the same I was when I was ten years old. I still like the same stuff. Books and music and movies. It's weird to think about.”

And she nods. “I'm totally that kid still trying to break her arm.”

And then the bill comes, and each of them pays exactly half.

And then they are walking down Damen Avenue, Jack pushing his bicycle, Odile tromping ahead with her own bike, following a narrow path through the ankle-deep snow which has been stamped down by other people, and Odile is about a foot ahead of him and he just then notices she has her funny white hat on, with a small ball at the end, and it looks like it might be something she crocheted herself, and then she is leaping over a murky gray puddle, and pausing before a poster announcing some new brand of jeans. And Odile already has her silver paint marker out and is writing,
ALPHONSE F. IS NOT INTERESTED,
and then she has capped the pen and is walking on again. Jack glances at what she has written and then follows her, feeling the cold attack his hands, and so he curls them up into his pockets. Is he following her back home? He doesn't really know. She isn't talking and they are walking in the cold and Jack can see his own breath and finally he says, “So are you heading back home now?”

And Odile turns, and her wide cheeks are pinkish, and she gives him an annoyed look and says, “I thought you were coming with,” but when she says this, he notices she is not looking at him, and his heart is choking him all of a sudden, and she is skipping over another puddle and then she asks, “Is that cool?” And then he says yes. Most definitely.

 

 

 

 

 

 

BACK AT HER APARTMENT.

Before they get their bicycles in the door, Jack is already thinking of how he can try to put his tongue in her ear. The apartment is quiet but full of light and it appears that her roommate has gone to work but has left a half-eaten bowl of cereal sitting there on the sofa, and Odile looks at it and shakes her head and says, “You can see why I'm moving out,” putting the dish in the sink which, hearing her mention moving again, makes Jack feel slightly bad. Odile unzips her coat and kicks off her boots and Jack doffs his winter hat and the two of them sit beside each other on the couch. And then Odile leaps up and puts a record on and it's a band he's never heard of, King Missile, and he asks who it is, and she tells him, and he nods like he knows, and they sit beside each other again, Jack staring at his wet socks and then hers, and she is singing along and Jack thinks that if he doesn't try to kiss her something in him might explode, but instead he reaches into his coat and takes out his silver tape recorder and hits play and record and holds it before their mouths and asks, “Question Number One: what is your favorite song of all time?”

And she says, “I don't know. I don't think I have one. I like a lot of different types of music. It kinda depends on my mood. What about you?”

And he holds the microphone under his chin and says, “I guess I would have to say ‘The Umbrella Man' by Dizzy Gillespie.”

“I don't know that song.”

“Do you know who Dizzy Gillespie is?”

“Yeah, I know who he is. I just don't know that song.”

“My stepdad, David, he loves music. He's like an amateur record collector. He'd always play a different record during dinner: jazz, Motown, folk. We used to do this crazy dance together to that song ‘Umbrella Man.' And then at night, he'd play a record for us as we were going to sleep, my older sister and me. Sometimes it would be a doo-wop record or maybe some jazz. But I used to love it, it made me feel safe, you know? It's funny. Everything I know about music I learned from my stepdad.”

“That's great.”

“Well, what about you?” he asks. “Did you come up with a song yet?”

She squints and says, “How about ‘After Hours'? By the Velvet Underground.”

“Very nice. You must have gone to art school.”

“I did. For a while anyway.”

“What did you go to school for?”

“I was in painting. And then a video major. And then painting again. I couldn't make up my mind. I wanted to try everything. But I wasn't really good at any of it.”

“I was the same way. I still haven't figured out what I want to do.”

“I'm pretty sure it's not working in an office,” she says. “I don't think I could live with myself, doing the same thing every day. It's okay for now. But I really think I need to move at the end of the month and try something new. I feel like if I don't do it now, I never will.”

“I don't know,” Jack says. “I kind of like it. Working in the office, I mean.”

“You do?”

“I really do. It's the first time I don't have to think at work, you know. It's really simple. You just answer the phone and put in people's orders. It's pretty laid back. You don't like it?”

“No. I feel like it's killing my brain.”

“Maybe that's why I like it. I don't mind not having to think.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he says, looking down at the tape recorder. “So. Okay. Question Number Two: if someone you loved was disfigured in a car accident, would you still love them?”

“Yes, but I would hope they would leave me.”

“What?”

“I think it would be too hard on the other person, the normal person. If I was in love with someone who got disfigured, I'd hope they'd leave me.”

“Wow. All right,” he says. “Okay. Question Number Three: what's the worst thing you ever did?”

“What?” she asks, grinning at him.

“What's the worst thing you ever did?”

“I don't know if I want to answer that,” she says.

“It's part of the interview. Don't be a chicken.”

“I don't think I really want to talk about it,” Odile says again.

“No?”

“You go first,” she says. “Then maybe I will.”

“Okay. I was maybe eight years old. I pushed this boy into a pool and he couldn't swim. I mean, I didn't know he couldn't swim. I was there with my sister and my stepfather at this club. It was just before my mother divorced him. And my stepdad was excited that we'd be allowed to join the club, because he's part Jewish, and there weren't any Jewish people in the club. He's only half Jewish but he considers himself Jewish because his mom was. I dunno. Anyway, we were at the pool. And this boy I didn't know was pushing my older sister, and then he pushed me and so I pushed him back and he fell in. But he couldn't swim because he was retarded. I didn't know he was, I just thought he was big and mean. And I didn't figure out what happened until after it was over. The lifeguard got him out but he was really screaming. I'll never forget the sound of him screaming. It sounded like a baby crying. Then we were asked to leave the club. My stepdad was mad at me for the rest of the summer. And then they got divorced. I know it didn't, but I always felt like that had something to do with that.”

“That's pretty bad.”

“Yeah, I know. It is pretty awful.” Jack scratches his nose. “What about you?”

“What is the worst thing I ever did? I don't know. I cheated on this really nice guy a few years ago. When I was a freshman. And then, a few months ago, I gave a handjob to this guy I worked with and he went and told everyone in the office, and so I had to quit. I don't know. I keep doing weird stuff like that. It's gross. I don't really know what's wrong with me.”

“Oh.”

“I don't even know why I do it. I mean, I didn't even really like the one guy. I just do dumb things sometimes so people like me.”

“Oh.”

“Don't get excited or whatever. I'm not gonna give you a handjob or anything.”

“What? No. I didn't think that.”

“Yeah right.” Odile blushes a little and then looks back at him with a slight frown.

“Okay,” he says, tilting the tape recorder toward her. “Question Number Four: do you ever get depressed?”

Odile smiles. “I don't know. I guess so. I think it's natural. I think you'd have to be an idiot not to. I mean, it's pretty weird out there. I'm pretty sure the world is going to end in a year and everything.”

“It is,” he says in full agreement. “It really is.”

“And even if it doesn't,” she says. “It's only a matter of time anyway.”

“That's how I feel. I get depressed sometimes.”

“I get depressed because I haven't made anything I'm really proud of in a long time. So that gets me upset. Other things too. I don't know.”

“I know what you mean,” he says.

“Everything I've ever made seems so useless. Or small. Or insignificant. But I go to these gallery shows and make fun of other people's stuff anyway. I think I'm pretty mean-spirited when it comes down to it. That's why I stopped going to art school. I just felt so mean all the time. It was frustrating. I didn't like what anybody else was doing and they didn't like what I did. I made this painting for my class one time and I worked my ass off on it and everyone kind of ignored it. If they hated it, that would be one thing. But the professor, well, he just ignored it, like it wasn't even worth discussing. So it stopped being fun. And then I didn't want to go to class. I only have like two or three classes left to take. That's it. I could still graduate but I don't think I will. It just seems, I don't know … Everything people made just seemed so mediocre. Like it was supposed to be shocking or something but it wasn't. I mean, like there's all these movies and TV shows and books now and it all seems so dumb, you know? Like don't you think it's weird that everything has to be a movie now? Like that's all people can understand. Like that's the greatest thing in the world, a big loud movie. But it isn't. Because most movies are pretty dumb, like they mostly make them for dumb people now. Because people are too ignorant to read or go to a museum or something. And it's exactly like what's wrong with the radio. It's like … anything that tries to appeal to everybody always ends up sounding so cheap. Like pop music or blockbuster movies. And I don't know. I get discouraged. Because I don't make things that could be turned into pop songs or blockbuster movies. I like to make things that are weird or small. I like things that don't make a whole lot of sense to anyone but me. At the same time, I get depressed if everyone doesn't like what I make. It's weird.”

Jack nods, switching off the tape recorder.

Odile stands, brushing her bangs with the fingers of her left hand, and walks over to the window. “It's still snowing. It's been snowing for practically two days straight. I think I'm going to have to take the bus to work tonight.”

Jack rises to his feet and stands beside her, parting the shades with his hand. “Wow,” he says, seeing the parked cars on the street slowly losing their shapes. Below there is only a field of soft white.

“It's like being on the moon,” Odile says.

And they stand there like that, watching the snow for a few moments, not moving. And then he can feel Odile looking at him, staring at the left side of his face.

“What is it? What's wrong?” he finally asks.

“Did you know your one ear is smaller than the other?”

He nods and smiles, touching his left ear. “Yeah. It's weird. I had an infection in my left ear when I was younger and it stopped growing. That's the same size as it was when I was four.”

“It's one of the best things I have ever seen.”