Thursdays At Eight (13 page)

KAREN CURTIS

February 23rd

G
len Trnavski, the high-school chemistry teacher I met in the parking lot a few weeks ago, called me after school yesterday. I guess he knew I needed some emotional support after eight-plus hours with fifth-graders. Despite what my mother thinks, I was never cut out to be a teacher. However, one bonus has been working with Peter Murchison, Julia's husband. I really like him and he's wonderful with the children.

Glen is actually kind of like Peter. Quiet, calm, a good sense of humor. He's different from the guys I know through drama—like Jeff. But quiet as he is, he's one of the most comfortable men I've ever met and when I analyzed why, I discovered it's because he
listens.
Not only does he listen, he seems to appreciate what I have to say. One thing I particularly like
about him is his laugh—it comes from deep in his chest. He's
NOT
my type, though. Too even-tempered. Not bland, I don't mean that, but predictable. There's no fire in his belly, no all-consuming zeal…. Maybe I have enough for both of us?

I like his company and he understands that we're only friends, although he seems to want more. With all the rejection I've had lately, I need a man who's obviously falling in love with me—even if I can't return his feelings. I crave the attention. I'm not proud to admit it, but unfortunately it's true.

Speaking of rejection… I tried out for another commercial on Monday. This one was for hair spray and I should hear soon. I think I did well. I might not fit the role of meticulous housewife, but I can play an airhead to a tee. I've got real hopes this time. My agent said I should know what's up by the end of next week at the latest.

I haven't heard from my mother. That doesn't bother me, and I consider it a gift that she's decided to stay out of my life. Who needs the constant criticism? I'm always falling short of her expectations. Why can't she just accept me for who I am? Isn't that what every child needs? Love and acceptance. Mother wants me to do what
she
considers acceptable, so she can brag about me to her friends—and
then
she'll love me. That's completely backward! And it isn't fair and… Obviously this is still a big issue with me, otherwise I wouldn't continue to write about it. And I wouldn't have chosen “acceptance” as my word for the year. (Well, also I'd like to be accepted for an acting job! Positive thinking or what?)

Getting back to Glen. We're going to a movie tomorrow night. I probably shouldn't have agreed. I hate to string him along, but he did ask and it isn't like I've got hordes of men clamoring at my door. More's the pity. I love movies, and I don't mean to complain, but I find Glen…unexciting. Comfortable but unexciting.

I see as I review this journal entry that I've stayed away from the subject of my sister. She's been creeping into my Thursday morning conversations lately. Liz noticed. Nothing escapes her. Julia said she did, too.

When I asked them what they were talking about, Liz said I've spent my entire life competing with Victoria for my mother's attention. Well, duh! I knew that. Although Liz did say something that made me think. It annoyed me, too. She suggested I dress outrageously, (according to whom?) in order to provoke my mother. To get negative attention, in other words. I disagree. I don't do
anything
to get a reaction out of my mother. I dress the way I dress, which is stylish and unique (in my humble opinion, anyway). Because that's who I am. I'm me and nobody else.

Now that was profound!

Anyway, I hate to tell my friends they're wrong. My relationship with my mother has practically nothing to do with my older sister. Yes, I'm competitive with Victoria, but
she's
the one responsible for that.

She didn't have to be so perfect. She's always done everything according to form. The classic good girl. It was like she set me up to fail because there was no way I was going to be prettier or smarter or more successful than she is. Enough said. The subject is closed and I'm going to bed.

 

By the time six o'clock arrived on Saturday night, Karen had serious doubts about her seven o'clock date with Glen Trnavski. She worried that she was using him to flatter her sagging ego, and worse, that he might read more into their date than he should. Friday night, she hadn't felt too concerned about this prospect, but in the light of day, her behaviour didn't seem fair. She'd stressed the “just friends” stipulation, but still…

She'd halfway decided to phone and beg off when she got a call. If luck was with her, it would be Glen and he'd be the one canceling. That way, the problem would be solved without any action on her part.

“Hello,” she said cheerfully.

No response.

“Hello,” she said again, more loudly this time. “Is that you, Jeff?” she snapped. She hadn't heard from him since their spat and couldn't help wondering—and hoping….

Silence.

“You're really sick, you know that? If this is Jeff, then you already know what I think. If this is someone else, all I can say is
get a life.
” With that, she banged down the receiver emphatically enough to make the person on the other end regret phoning.

Glen Trnavski arrived five minutes early with a bouquet of pink carnations.

Karen instantly felt guilty for wanting to cancel.

“How thoughtful,” she said, holding the flowers to her nose. Pink carnations might not be original, but it'd been a long time since any man had done anything so sweet and, yes, traditional. Karen was touched, although she reminded herself that this first date was supposed to be a non-date, more of an outing between two friends.

“Have you decided on a movie?” he asked, following her inside the studio apartment.

“You're letting me choose?” Other guys she dated generally decided in advance what movie they'd see. Or it was a decision they made together. “There's a new Julia Roberts film I wouldn't mind going to,” she suggested. A “chick flick.” Most guys were more interested in high adventure, blood and guts, gasoline explosions.

“Fine with me.” He was so agreeable; she liked that and she
didn't. This was not a man who was likely to argue anything to the wall. Or generate any fireworks.

After setting the carnations inside an empty mayonnaise bottle, one she'd saved for just such an occasion, Karen reached for her jacket and purse. Just as they were about to leave, the phone rang again.

“I'd better get that,” she said hurrying across the room to pick up the receiver. She wasn't expecting to hear from her agent on a Saturday night, but she didn't want to miss anything important, either. Her cheap answering machine wasn't always reliable.

“Hello?”

Nothing.

Impatient, she slammed the receiver down and complained, “That happened earlier. I answer the phone and there's no one there. Well, there is, but they aren't speaking.”

“Do you have any idea who it might be?”

“Not a clue.” She certainly wasn't going to mention Jeff.

“What about caller ID?” Glen asked.

“Don't have it.” She hated to admit she pinched her pennies to the point that she'd never enjoyed the luxury of caller ID. It was difficult enough paying her phone bill without all the extras. Her one extravagance was call waiting. Heaven forbid she miss a call from her agent because she was chatting with a friend. Of course, she could always punch star 69. She decided to try that now. Naturally, the number was unlisted and she groaned in frustration.

“If they call again, you simply won't be here,” Glen said with such perfect logic she had no comeback. “They can leave a message—or not.”

He was right, of course; there was no reason to worry about it. She turned on the machine, and with a lighter heart, grabbed a woolen cape she sometimes liked to wear. Glen took it from
her and placed it around her shoulders. He was being traditional again, and she decided she rather liked it. This wasn't a gesture she was personally familiar with—except in old movies and period plays.

The movie was delightful, and they both laughed their way through it. Afterward they shared a gourmet veggie pizza and glasses of red wine at a popular Italian restaurant in the area. Despite her reservations about the wisdom of seeing Glen, Karen enjoyed herself and their time together. Her one disappointment was that she was home by eleven. When she invited him in for coffee, Glen politely declined.

As she entered her apartment, she couldn't help wondering if
she'd
passed muster. The first thing she noticed was the flashing light of her answering machine. In replaying the tape, she discovered there were no less than six hang-ups.
One
she could understand, even two, but six?

Whoever had called earlier and said nothing had obviously continued phoning. Karen was tempted to unplug the phone and be done with it.

She turned on the television for company, then stripped out of her jeans and vest. She'd just pulled on her pajamas when the phone rang again. Karen stared at it, certain that her caller was the jokester. The best thing to do was let the answering machine pick up, she told herself. However, seconds before the machine kicked in, Karen impulsively grabbed the receiver. She wasn't sure why, hadn't even known she was going to do it. One second she was staring at the phone, willing it to stop ringing, and the next she had the receiver in her hand.

“Hello,” she yelled, furious with herself as much as the anonymous fruitcake on the other end.

Silence.

Karen was about to slam down the receiver and unplug her
phone when she heard a soft, unrecognizable female voice say her name.

“Hello,” Karen tried again. “Who is this?

“It's me.”

Karen strained to make out the voice, but couldn't. “Who?” she demanded.

“It's Victoria.”

“What's the matter with you?” Karen asked aggressively. “Are you the one who's been calling and hanging up? Why? You scared me, dammit!”

“I…I can't talk any louder, Roger might hear me.”

Roger the twit, her brother-in-law. “You don't want him to know you're on the phone?”

“No…”

Karen thought she heard a soft intake of breath that might have been a sob. “What's wrong?” she asked more gently.

No response.

“Victoria? Are you still there?” The line hadn't been disconnected, but there was no further sound.

“I'm here,” Victoria finally whispered.

Karen guessed her sister was in some kind of trouble, otherwise she wouldn't be phoning her, especially this late. And all those hangups… A sense of urgency filled Karen. The kind that required action. Something was terribly wrong. “I'm coming for you and Bryce.”

“No.” Her sister's response was sharp and immediate.

“Tell me what happened.”

Victoria hesitated, sobbed once, then spoke again, her voice so low Karen had to concentrate in order to make out the words. “Roger and I had an argument.”

Karen couldn't understand why her sister was calling her. What did Victoria need her to do? Sympathize? Give advice?

That seemed unlikely, but just as she was about to ask, Victoria explained. “You were always so brave…” she said in a quavering voice. “You never let people get away with anything. I—I've always admired that. I…wanted to talk to you, tell you…” The words trailed off.

“Is everything all right between you and Roger now?” Karen asked.

Again the hesitation. “No.”

“Are you sure you don't want me to come and get you?”

“I'm sure.”

“Is there anything I can do to help you?” Karen asked, sitting down on the sofa and folding her legs beneath her. “Do you want to get away, talk, whatever?” She couldn't remember the last time she'd talked to her sister—
really
talked. Years ago, she guessed. Long before Karen had graduated from high school. Victoria was two years older, and Karen had looked up to her sister. Their real troubles had started when Victoria was away at college and Karen had gotten involved in the school acting ensemble.

“I don't think there's anything anyone can do,” Victoria whispered.

Her sister was sobbing quietly and trying not to let Karen know. Karen's heart went out to her. “Did I ever tell you I think Roger's a total twit?”

Victoria responded with a hiccuping sound that was half laugh and half sob. “No, but I guessed. And…he knows.”

“Good.” Karen was glad to hear it.

“Oh, Sis, sometimes I think…” She didn't finish.

“Think what?” Karen probed.

“Nothing,” Victoria said after a moment.

“Do you want to tell me about the argument?”

“It…. it isn't important. The reasons never are.”

“Victoria, listen. People don't always agree. We fought enough as kids, didn't we? It doesn't mean we don't love each other. We all say and do things we regret.” Karen wasn't taking sides, nor did she want to put herself in the middle of a disagreement between her sister and brother-in-law. What she wanted to do was present a mature option, and give them both some breathing room. “Why don't you hop in the car and come on over here with Bryce? We can sit up all night and have a gabfest the way we did when we were kids.”

“I can't.”

“Sure you can. If you prefer, I could drive over to your place.”

“No…no, that wouldn't work.”

Karen's hand tightened around the receiver as a horrifying thought occurred to her. “Is there a reason you don't want me to see you?”

A soft sob, then, “Yes.”

A chill ran down her spine. “The son of a bitch hit you, didn't he?”