Such a Pretty Face (43 page)

Portland, Oregon

“Y
ou know I’m leaving for Venice soon,” Jake said. “I know.”

“Stevie, I wouldn’t go if I didn’t have to. I signed this contract a year ago. I’ve been tied up since then, I’ve committed….”

“I understand.”

“I’ll be gone for six weeks, at least.”

I smiled, tried to be brave, tried not to carry on like a banshee stuck in menopause for ten years.

“Stevie, you could come with me.”

“I could come with you, to Venice?”

“Yes, you’d love it. I’d have to work during the day, but we’d have nights and weekends.”

“You have to be kidding.”

“No, honey, I’m not. Come with me to Venice.”

“Oh, I couldn’t.”

“Why?
Why not?
”

“Eileen,” I said, surprised. I held the phone close to my ear, then decided to hang up. “I don’t want to talk—”

“Don’t hang up,” she said. “Please. Please, Stevie.”

I waited, struggling with myself.

I could hear her crying. “Stevie, I’m sorry.”

I was silent.

“I am. I’m sorry. I know I embarrassed you in front of Jake.”

“Well, thank you for apologizing.” Even listening to her voice exhausted me.

“I was hurt because you don’t spend time with me, you didn’t tell me about Jake, you were being secretive, you didn’t defend me at the teahouse, but still. That was wrong of me to make fun of you for being a chicken.”

“And?”

“And making fun of your boobs and your operations, but you flaunt that you lost all that weight, and the way you dress now, so young. I’m worried about you….”

I didn’t say anything but,
my goodness,
as my grandma would say, all was clear: I didn’t want to be friends with her anymore, and felt no more obligation to do so. “No, Eileen, you’re not worried about me, and this isn’t only about what you said last time, which was unbelievably hurtful and vindictive and immature. It’s how you treat me altogether.”

She sniffled. “I know. I know.”

“Eileen, why do you treat me the way you do?”

She took a wobbly breath. “I know it’s because I’m jealous of you. I know that.”

“It’s something else, though, too.” I wasn’t going to waste much time on this phone call. I needed all negative out of my life, and she was a negative.

“What?”

“Think. You’re jealous of me, and I get that, I do. But there’s something else, too. You’re an angry person. You don’t like yourself at all.”

“I do. I make $250,000 a year. I’m a successful business person, I—”

“Are you?”

Silence. Deep, fraught silence.

“No, I’m not,” she sobbed. “They all hate me. All of my dad’s employees hate me. My stepmother hates me. Her kids and grandkids hate me. I don’t have any friends except you.”

“Have you asked yourself why?”

“Yes, I have.”

“And what’s your answer?”

“People don’t like me because I’m fat.”

“No, that isn’t it.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No, it’s not. It has nothing to do with it.”

“I want to be friends with you, Stevie,” she cried.

“Eileen, I’m sorry. I can’t. This relationship has been toxic for me for way too long. Find another friend.” I hung up.

Was I proud of that conversation? No. Was I glad that I was finally able to take a stand and remove myself from that situation? Yes.

You know how you houseclean to get rid of dust and dirt? Sometimes I think you have to people clean, too.

“I keep getting calls from this number, but no one says anything when I pick up. The name says Private Caller,” Zena said, staring at her cell phone. She hadn’t had to borrow any of my clothes for two weeks because, she said, “I’m totally sick of clubbing. Last night I drank lemonade with my neighbor. Tonight a group of us are playing Scrabble. You’re welcome to come.”

“I’m hoping that it’s that guy from the party, but I don’t think it is….”

“Hmmm…let me see.” I about choked on my epiglottis.

As soon as Zena left our cubicle area, I called Lance. “Quit prank calling Zena,” I hissed.

He moaned. Groaned. “Honey, I’m not prank calling her. I call her and then I want to say hello and I can’t, the word gets stuck and I feel so
scared,
and last time she said, ‘Moron, you psychotic freak, whoever this is, quit calling me.’ I’m so embarrassed. Dad was right. I will never make a good husband…. I’m huge, I’m clumsy, I’m not very bright….”

I assured him he would make an outstanding husband. “You are huge. You are not clumsy. You are brilliant.”

“I haven’t had a real date in years. I can sniff out the women who are interested in me only because of my money, I’m not that dumb. But not Zena. She’s strong willed and a fighter and funny and so sincere! So earthy and honest! But she scares me. My stomach bubbled all around at the Lance’s Lucky Ladies party, my hands sweated, and my ankle’s twitching! Hasn’t stopped twitching…. I can barely walk, barely walk!”

“I’ll figure this out, Lance. I will.”

“You will?” Hope returned to his voice. Honestly, the man’s a millionaire, and he’s a baby.

“Yes, I will. Hang tight.”

“Thank you,” he breathed.

Should I tell Zena that he was my cousin? Not quite yet. Not quite.

I called Lance back. “This is what we’re going to do….”

The next afternoon the most exotic, tropical bouquet of flowers I have ever laid eyes on arrived for Zena. It was huge and flowing. Hawaii had arrived in our office. Lance had clearly overdone it. It was about four feet high and three feet wide, resembling something you would see in the entry of some fancy hotel. The attorneys and staff were oohing and aahing.

Zena, clad in her black knee-high boots, tights, and an African-style tunic, was utterly stunned as she stared at those flowers.

“I have never gotten flowers,” she said, her voice small and young.

“Open the card,” I urged her.

She did with shaking hands. There was the invitation for dinner the night after tomorrow. A yummy restaurant, intimate but not intimidating. He was friends with the owner. Lance had signed his first name and left his e-mail, as I instructed. Then he didn’t have to talk on the phone before the date.

“Holy shit,” Cherie said, grabbing the note. “Honey, if you don’t go out with this guy, I will. In fact, how about if I take your place? I’ll give you two pairs of my designer heels and you can be first out on the raceway in the race cars at the firm party in three months.”

Another woman took the note. “Forget it, Cherie. Man, I might kill over this one….”

Another woman. “Zena, he’s not your type. He’s my type.”

My uncle called and left a message to call him back immediately.

I did not call.

Aunt Janet had called Cherie before she left, and Cherie talked to me about the divorce. I explained the situation, including the grand slam at the wedding, which she’d read about.

“He’s a peach,” she told me, biting into an apple.

“A true gentleman,” I deadpanned.

“Don’t worry, I’ll decimate him.” She took another bite of apple. “I love decimating assholes. It’s my favorite hobby.”

“Enjoy yourself.”

“My pleasure.”

Me and Zena saw Crystal.

She was working in her parents’ Chinese food kiosk in Pioneer Courthouse Square.

We exchanged looks, then ordered lunch from her.

She was snobby, but I saw the tears, the embarrassment.

“Hi, Crystal,” we said.

“Laugh your hearts out. I know that’s what you want to do.”

I shook my head. “I don’t want to laugh.”

“Me, neither,” Zena said.

Crystal swallowed hard. “I know you don’t like me.”

“I didn’t like you because you made me feel like ant drool,” I said. “And you tried to annihilate the Athertons.”

Crystal stared at the floor. “I did. I’m ashamed of myself. I really am.”

And I could tell she was. She wiped the tears on both cheeks.

“She good girl,” her mother said, hugging Crystal. “She learn humility now. Humility good. Pride, no good. We tell her, we tell her.”

“Yes, we tell her,” Crystal’s father said. “You think you more than everybody else and you lose everything. Bad karma. God take it. But she not lose everything. She has us.”

That was the truth. They loved their mean daughter.

“And our daughter, she try again. She go back to school. Be teacher. More nicer this time,” her mother said. “Better. Good karma.”

“Yes, she be teacher. She good teacher!” her father said, smiling.

I would rather have a barracuda for a teacher than Crystal, but I took my rice and shut up.

“You can do it, Lance,” I said over the phone two days later. I stopped cutting the boards for the deck I was going to build under the arbor. Jake was right beside me. Now and then we had to stop and kiss over the sawdust.

“I’m hyperventilating. Me and Polly are the same,” he said, panting. “I even have a bag.”

“Lance, ask Zena questions about herself over dinner….”

“I know, I will. I have a list.”

“A list?”

“Yes, I’ve memorized the questions to ask and put a list in my pocket. For reassurance. I also put in my pocket a red ball of yarn from my knitting for reassurance, too.” He breathed hard. “I need reassurance.”

“Good idea. Stay calm. Think of it as a get-to-know-you session.”

“Right. I also brought a tiny replica of a blow-up doll to put in my other pocket. You know, to remind me that I’m not a loser.”

“You’re not a loser.”

“I can’t get Dad’s voice out of my head.”

“You have to. You’re a true man, Lance. You’re a far better man than he can ever think of being. You’re a successful businessman. Your employees love you. You work hard, and you’re smart. You’re kind and gentle and tough, too.”

He sniffled. “I’m not tough.”

“Lance?”

“Yeah, honey?”

“Try not to cry during dinner.”

I could hear him trying to suck it up.

“I had dinner with your cousin last night, Stevie,” Zena told me.

I about choked on my slice of apple. Two businessmen, uptight and buttoned up, walked across Pioneer Courthouse Square, both on their cell phones ignoring life.

“Thanks for telling me about the relationship.” She eyed me.

“I’m sorry. I wanted you to get to know him. I thought it might be weird for you….” I ruffled my brown bag. Tried not to cringe. “How was it?”

She stared right at me with those huge eyes, her black wedge swinging around her face. “It was…interesting.”

“Interesting?” I squeaked. I handed her some cheese slices.

“I don’t need to tell you that your cousin is almost pathologically shy.”

“Only around women.”

She nodded. “That’s not a bad trait, though, is it? I sure wouldn’t want a boyfriend who wanted to flirt with anyone with a vagina.” She handed me granola in a Baggie.

A boyfriend? I dared to hope.

“He asked me a lot of questions, and I had the feeling that he had thought about them, which is a miracle. Most men think of two things. Sex. Food. Sports. More sex.”

“That’s three things.”

“Yeah, whatever. So he’s in a suit. I think it’s expensive but what do I know. I get almost all my clothes used. I’m in my silver slinky shirt and a gold scarf and my jeans and my black heels with the rhinestones.”

So. She was a gorgeous and sexy Tinkerbell. Lance would probably have choked on his own tongue.

“And I did most of the talking…. I tried to ask him questions, but he kept turning it back to me, plus he
listened.
It was strange to have a man listen to me in that way…. He sweated some…. I think there was something wrong with his ankle…. It seemed like he was having trouble breathing…put his hands in his pockets a lot…. He paid for the dinner…even bought me a takeout dinner for dinner tonight, which was odd but nice…. He’s a mammoth-sized guy, isn’t he, but…”

“But?” I squeaked.

“But I think…”

“Yes….”

She smiled at me, her smile huge, taking up half her face. “I think I might like him.”

I lay down on the steps of Pioneer Courthouse Square. This was a beautiful day.

I worked my chicken job that Friday night.

I danced and jigged. Two kids in a stroller watched me. One vomited.

Another teenager tried to take my head off. A woman asked me if I wanted a smoke, then stuck the cigarette in my beak.

In the middle of this carnage another chicken arrived. He was very tall with a brown chicken head and pointy yellow claws. He danced around with me for a while, then he pulled his head off.

It was Jake.

I pulled off my head and we kissed on the street corner. Cars tooted their horns.

My Jake, engineer and bridge builder, tall and strong, with soulful eyes I could swim in, was dancing on a corner with me, his chicken girlfriend.

Honestly, no one will ever do anything more romantic for me than that, I’m sure of it.

We went out for dinner later. “Stevie, I have never met a woman I admire as much as you.” He leaned over the table and kissed me, right in front of everybody.

I tried not to cry into my spaghetti.

Later I saw in the newspaper that the Athertons were donating most of their settlement money to create a new organization that would help other families whose kids were dealing with serious injuries or illnesses.

“We don’t want other parents to be as lost and frightened as we were,” Mr. Atherton said. “Our insurance company kicked us out. The state wouldn’t help. We were drowning in medical bills, and we were fighting a hospital that refused to take responsibility for what they did to our son.”

“We will always miss Danny, but our gift to him will be the gift of help to others,” Mrs. Atherton said.

Mr. Atherton was asked why they were doing it now, so close to the time of Danny’s death. His response: “I have to have something to focus on that will help other families or I think my grief will kill me.”

I thought of Grandma and Grandpa, how they had kept on keeping on even after losing their daughter and granddaughter.