The Smart One and the Pretty One (8 page)
“You fly back and forth a lot?”
“When I need to,” he said. “Stuff comes up. But I don’t like to leave her alone, so it’s usually just a twenty-four-hour thing. I spend more time on the plane than I do in New York.”
“And did you always know you wanted to play with money?” Lauren asked.
“Well, not
always
,” he said. “I mean, when I was five, I didn’t walk around saying I wanted to work for Morgan Stanley. But I’ve been on a pretty steady track since college.”
“What
did
you walk around saying you wanted to be? I mean, when you were five?”
He grinned with a sudden and surprising charm. “A professional poker player.”
Lauren pushed her chair back. “That does it. I’m not playing with you
now
. You’ll beat the pants off me.”
“I like the image,” he said. Their eyes met briefly. Then, almost as if in direct response to that shared look, he shifted away and looked across the hallway at his mother. You could see his eyes tracing the length of his mother’s arm and the tubing up to her IV.
“It’s got to be pretty scary,” Lauren said. “What you’re going through.”
He looked at her with a sudden savage embarrassment, then settled back in his seat and rapped the cards loudly on the stool. “Are we playing or not?” he said.
“We’ll need something to bet with.”
“They have M&Ms in the vending machine. Go get some.” He started to deal the cards. “You need change?”
“I’m good.” Lauren stood up. “Hey, hold off on that dealing until I get back. I don’t trust anyone who deals when my back is turned.”
“Nor should you,” he said, gathering the cards he had dealt back up. “I was planning on cheating.”
“Really?”
“Nah, I’m just joking,” he said in a tone that made her wonder.
He was a much better poker player than Lauren, and the discrepancy between their abilities seemed to bother him.
“Why the hell did you keep betting?” he said after winning a particularly huge pot. “You knew I wasn’t going to fold and you had a crappy hand.”
“They’re just M&Ms,” Lauren said. “Why not take a risk or two?”
“You’ve got to think like they’re twenty-dollar chips.”
“Why?”
“Because otherwise there’s no point to playing at all.”
“I thought we were playing to pass the time.”
“We are,” he said. “But it’s more fun and more interesting if you take it seriously.”
“It’s more fun if you have fun.” Lauren stretched her arms, arching her back a little and surreptitiously watching his reaction. The move—a classic, and usually effective—was wasted on him: he was looking across the hallway, checking on his mother again. She let her arms drop to her sides. “Want to play something else?”
“Let’s take a break.” He threw the cards on the table. “Your mother’s bag is almost through.”
“Should I go over there?” Lauren started to rise, but he shook his head.
“The nurses will take care of it. It’ll be a while yet—they’ll flush her out with some extra liquids first.”
“Oh.” She fidgeted. “You want to grab a cup of coffee?”
They went back to the snack area. Lauren pushed a button on the coffee machine that dispensed exactly one cup’s worth of coffee into a Styrofoam cup. She handed it to the guy, who stared at it absently. “My mother always drank a ton of coffee,” he said. “Cups and cups, all day long. Then, months ago, she stopped suddenly. She said it made her stomach feel funny. She thought it was because she was getting older—just couldn’t handle the acid anymore. But it was the cancer. It was already affecting her, only no one knew it. Not until the real pain started.”
“So it’s stomach cancer?” Lauren punched at the coffee machine again and filled up a cup for herself.
“No. Pancreatic. Stage four. Inoperable.”
“I’m sorry,” Lauren said, turning with her cup of coffee. She didn’t know much about cancer, but the little she had read online had made it clear that stage four was bad. “All of this must be so overwhelming.”
He looked around and past her. “You see milk anywhere?”
“How’s this?” She fished a little plastic container of creamer out of a bowl full of them and tossed it to him.
He made a face as he caught it. “You know what this stuff is made of? Corn syrup and partially hydrogenated oils. Not a drop of real milk in it.”
“Maybe there’s some in the fridge.” Lauren put her coffee on the counter, squatted down, and peered into the refrigerator. “So are you some kind of health food nut? That’s twice you’ve complained about bad fats.”
He dropped the creamer onto the counter. “Years ago, a friend of mine read an article about how bad partially hydrogenated oils are for you and wouldn’t stop talking about it—this was way before everyone else started worrying about them. She convinced me my blood would just stop flowing if I ate any. So I try to avoid them. But it’s not like I eat tofu and broccoli every day. I enjoy my hamburger and fries as much as the next guy.”
“So long as they’re not cooked in trans fats.”
“Exactly. Or so long as I don’t know that they are. When it comes to french fries, I observe a strict ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ policy. Especially if they’re hot and salty.”
Lauren stood up with a small carton of milk and knocked the fridge door shut with her knee. “I eat everything.”
“Everything?”
She handed him the milk. “Except flan. I have a deep-seated fear of flan.”
“It’s scary stuff,” he said. “I don’t blame you.” He opened the milk, sniffed it carefully, then poured a little into his coffee before offering the carton to Lauren.
She shook her head. “I like coffee creamer. Think I’ll die young?”
He gestured around him. “Nice joke to make
here
.”
“Oh, come on,” she said. “Give me a break. I didn’t mean—”
He put his hand up. “I was kidding. Make any joke you want. If you can’t laugh at this fucking shitty situation . . .” He didn’t bother to finish. Instead he said, “You know, the more time we spend together, the more awkward it’s going to be when I admit I have no idea what your name is.”
“I don’t know yours either,” she said. “But I heard your mother say it. Let me see if I can remember.” She sipped her coffee, frowning in thought. “Is it David?”
“Daniel.”
“Hey, I was pretty close. Want to guess mine?”
“I’m at a slight disadvantage,” he said. “Never having heard it at all.”
“So? You could still guess.”
“That’s stupid,” he said. “I could guess for hours and still not get it.”
“I could give you the first letter—”
He made an impatient noise. “Just tell me the name, will you?”
“It’s Lauren.”
“I never would have guessed that,” he said.
The coffee was old and sour, even with the creamer. Lauren gave up on it and tossed it into the plastic-lined trash can. The cup had been pretty full and coffee sloshed over all the garbage. “I better go check on my mom.”
“Do you know when her next appointment is?” Daniel asked as they made their way back to the chemo area.
“In a week, I think.”
“We’re back then too. We’re on a twice-a-week schedule for six straight weeks. Which doesn’t even include the checkups with her oncologist. I spend half my life on the freeway between Encino and here.” He stuck his hands in his pockets and then said, “Sounds like there’s a good chance we’ll run into each other again next week. Maybe we could play some more cards.”
“I’d like that,” Lauren said.
“You should practice playing poker until then,” he said, and she couldn’t tell if he meant it as a joke or not. “So I don’t keep beating you so easily.”
“I don’t mind.”
“I do,” he said. “It would be more fun with a challenging opponent.”
“Well, then, I’ll try to improve my skills,” Lauren said. “For your sake.”
“Hope to see you next week then,” he said and walked off, toward his mother’s chair. He sat down on the stool next to her. She opened her eyes briefly and managed a smile before closing them again. For a moment or two, Lauren just stood there watching Daniel watch his mother absorb the poison that would make her sicker for now and probably wouldn’t ever cure her.
A
va wasn’t the kind of boss who kept track of how many personal calls her assistant made on any given day or whether he was five minutes late coming back from his lunch break or anything like that, but right now her door was open and she could hear him talking on the phone, and it felt like the call had been going on forever. She was dying for a cup of coffee. She could have buzzed in and interrupted him at any time, of course, but a cup of coffee didn’t seem important enough to make him hang up—just important enough to make her aware he had been on the phone for at least half an hour.
Finally, she called out, “Jeremy? Got a sec?”
He immediately stuck his head around the doorway, phone clasped against his chest. “Sorry, Ava. I’m right here. What do you need?”
“I’d love a cup of coffee when you get a chance. No rush.”
“Sure. I’ll get it right now.” He held the phone up. “Can you talk? It’s your sister.”
“My sister? Is that who you’ve been talking to all this time?”
“Um, yeah?” he said uncertainly.
“Oh. Okay. Could you please shut the door, too?” As the door swung shut, she picked up the phone. “Lauren? What were you talking poor Jeremy’s ear off about?”
“I was just saying thank-you to him.”
“For what?”
“For tracking down Russell’s address.”
Ava sank into her desk chair. “Oh, God, Lauren. Tell me you didn’t tell my assistant about that stupid,
stupid
contract.”
“Of course I didn’t. I just said that you and I were curious about an old friend and he offered to see if he could get any information about him online. Is Jeremy gay, by the way? He’s cute enough to be. And he’s just so darn
sweet
. But I can’t quite tell.”
“Hold on a second,” Ava said. “I’ll ask him. Or maybe I’ll just speculate on the phone about it really loudly so he can hear me.”
“It’s a perfectly reasonable question,” Lauren said. “Don’t get all huffy. I just thought the subject might have come up. He might have mentioned a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend. Either one would answer my question.”
“Jeremy and I have a professional relationship, Lauren, which means I don’t ask him questions about his personal life, and I don’t expect him to hunt down men’s addresses because my sister thinks I need a date.”
“You should,” Lauren said. “He’s very good at it. He sent me all of Russell’s contact info within a few hours.”
“Did you tell him what it was for?”
“Not exactly. Anyway, forget that for now. I was calling to ask you something.”
“What?”
“Would it be okay if I came to stay with you for a little while?”
Ava blinked a couple of times. Then she said, “Excuse me?”
“Hey, you’re the one who keeps saying, ‘Only losers live with their parents.’”
“What did Dad do this time?” Ava asked wearily. She settled against the back of her chair and crossed her legs.
“He won’t stop lecturing me,” Lauren said. “And not for the reasons you’d think. I mean, the guy should be lecturing me about finding a job and getting out of debt, right?”
“That’s certainly why
I
would lecture you.”
“I know! But guess what Dad’s deal is. He thinks I should go to
dental hygienist school
. Seriously. Last night, I was trying to watch TV and he turns it off and says, ‘I’ve been thinking. You’re never going to be the kind of professional success your sister is—’”
“Oh, God,” Ava said with loyal disgust, but deep down she felt a small rush of pleasure at hearing that her emotionally withholding father viewed her as the family success.
“It’s not like it’s the first time he’s pointed out how much smarter you are than me. Anyway, then he says, ‘So I’ve been thinking about it and you need to acquire some skills that will ultimately bring you in contact with the right kind of men. You’ll never make money, so you better marry it.’”
“That’s a little harsh.”
“No kidding. Then he says, ‘I’ve figured it out. You have nice thin fingers, so I think you’d make a decent dental hygienist. And dentists earn good money while working much more regular hours than doctors.’ Which I guess means better husband material. Anyway, he even said he’d pay for the whole thing.”
“That’s kind of nice of him.”
Lauren snorted. “Oh, please. Can you imagine me as a dental hygienist? Or even married to a dentist? Could the man know me any
less
? Anyway, you know how he is—if he gets an idea about something, that’s it, that’s the solution, nothing else will work. He’s figured out my future and he’s damned if I’m going to mess up his plans by, say, finding another job as a clothing buyer and actually doing what I
like
. He’s been researching dental schools on the Internet. I mean dental hygienist school—apparently I’m not smart enough to become an actual dentist.” She paused. “Or maybe no girl is—I’m not sure if it’s personal or sexist. Or which would be worse.”
“Tell him you don’t want to do it.”
“I intend to,” Lauren said, “but he’s not going to take it well. That’s why I need an escape route.”
“So either I let you move in with me or you have to become a dental hygienist?” Ava said.
“Exactly.”
“You do have those nice thin fingers.”
“Yeah,” Lauren said. “And they’re just itching to do a dance inside some stranger’s mouth.” She shuddered audibly. “Ew.”
“Ew,” Ava agreed.
“So can I? Please?”
“Let me think for a sec.” Ava chewed on the side of her thumb, trying to do the calculations in her head. Company in the evening might actually be nice. But Lauren could be messy. And it meant she’d have no privacy. But then again she had nothing to be private about. Out loud, she said, “You’d have to sleep on the living room sofa—I’m not sharing the bedroom.”
Lauren squealed with delight. “Oh, thank you, A! This is going to be great.”
“Hold on.” Ava had thought of something else. “You can’t move
all
your stuff in—I don’t have room.” The UPS truck had visited their parents’ house and deposited so many boxes of clothing and accessories that Nancy had insisted Lauren move most of them to the garage without unpacking them. “Just take what you need. No, better yet—take what
I
would need under similar circumstances.”
