To: Lillian Berry [email protected]
Subject: Helloooooo!
Hi Lily,How's it going? Same old here. The kids have vacation Bible school this week so I am taking time to sort through Mom's Christmas ornaments. Sue vacated Dad's house long enough for me to go through some things last weekend. It was heartbreaking and only the tip of the iceberg. What I really need is a kid-free week and a truck. Wish you were here to help since I'm afraid Sue will take it upon herself to dispose of our inheritance. I'm dividing the ornaments equally, giving you all the ones you made in preschool, of course. I'll store them here for you.
Met Mr. Darcy yet?
Don't forget, I love you.
Karen
From: Lillian Berry [email protected]
Sent: June 10, 7:58 P.M.
To: Karen Adams [email protected]
Subject: Re: Helloooooo!
Karen,
I may be coming home. I can't believe I came all the way over here to find out they only take professional actors...or large donations. You were right about quick moves. I am so disappointed. I'm also rooming with a punked-out kleptomaniac who took my necklace. I'll explain later. I may need a place to live until I can find a job, etc. Kiss your babies for me. Funny, when I was in preschool laminating my face into angel ornaments, I thought I was making them for both of my parents.
Love,
Lily
Six
The Literature Live offices in the east wing of Newton Priors included a room full of books called the library, furnished with two mismatched hand-me-down tables. I was in the library affixing address labels to invitations on the morning Bets was scheduled for her costume fitting.
Vera had given me some administrative donkeywork, including mailings for the Founder's Night Dinner and Follies, and reminded me to get started on the business plan. I'd written a business plan in college. If I could only remember how I did it. Vera said she would pay me something. Omar, my new best friend, leaned back on two legs of the library chair—his feet perched on his toes—chatting about the national mood toward historic preservation. Wagging a pen, Omar said, 'Politicians are campaigning to respect
'And what does that have to do with us?' I removed ten labels and stuck them on the table's edge.
'The national mood matters to us to the degree tax policy is influenced.'
'Oh?'
'Whoever is steward of Newton Priors will care about tax policy.'
'I see.' I thought of Randolph's receding hairline and how it would look furrowed over tax policy as I slapped the ten labels on envelopes in rapid succession.
Tax policy sounded like something to address in a business plan, which I would know if I had paid more attention in school. When I had asked Vera if not having a part meant I would eventually have to go home, she assumed her impatient tone and told me to 'write my own part.' She warned me not to be hasty. With my future tied to the bottom line, I'd better generate some persuasive ideas to employ myself if I wanted to stay. As in: the Business Plan.
'Actually,' Omar said, 'Lord Weston and his sister are cozying up with the Architecture League these days. Parties to save car parks.'
'Car parks?' I imagined Randolph's picture in the paper, published in black and white society pages, laughing over wineglasses in a greenbelt for cars.
'Parking garages, to you.'
Then, with no warning Magda blew in. We both flinched and Omar fell off his toes. Magda had spent two solid days in the ballroom fussing at actors, writers, and conservationists, bangles making a racket, her own personal Middle Eastern turmoil. Now she scanned the library as Omar made a hasty exit. I could rest in peace knowing she wasn't seeking me; I'd already been cast off by her. I cringed anyway.
'Lily,' she said.
I wondered if her toes were as long as her fingers and what she could possibly want with me. 'Yes?' I said.
'Where is Bets?' she asked, looking at my stack of invitations.
'I don't know,' I said, sticking the last label. 'Probably London.'
'Are you aware she missed her fitting appointment?'
I stacked the pile of envelopes on Claire's desk, angry that Bets had taken my necklace to her London repair shop even though I'd told her not to. She'd smiled and asked me not to be mad, a pretty good indication of how she interacted with the Wallet. I glared at Magda. 'I haven't seen her.'
The next day, I was folding Founder's Night invitations, stuffing them into the envelopes I'd already labeled for Claire.
Omar was tipped back in his chair holding forth on one scholar's suggestion that Jane Austen was an incestuous lesbian, when Sixby entered wearing a cap turned rakishly backward. 'Have you seen Bets?' Sixby asked as My Jane Austen yawned.
'No.' We both shook our heads.
Sixby nodded toward the conference room. 'We're getting ready to start a read-through,' he said. 'She's missed each one.'
I felt a secret thrill, another step in the right direction.
Omar asked, trembling theatrically, 'Is Magda coming?'
'No, she's at the visa office with her brother; I'm running the read-through.' Sixby started for the conference room and then hesitated, remembering to ask Omar, 'Are the scripts ready?'
'Oops.' Omar's chair returned to ground level and he jumped up to complete his task at the copier.
In light of Bets's irresponsible behavior, Vera's remark about not being hasty began to make sense. 'Sixby,' I said, 'if Bets doesn't show, can I read her part?'
'Absolutely,' he said.
Bets didn't show and I joined the cast, sitting next to Sixby at Nigel's conference table where everyone waited for Omar to finish copying scripts. Nikki the actress demonstrated plummy diction for me. 'Like your mouth is full of plums and you have to talk around them.'
I tried to copy her, imagining big balls of fruit displacing my jaw; the actor next to Nikki laughed.
'No, actually that's much better,' Nikki said.
Enjoying my place in this group, I felt hope revive. Omar arrived panting; his arms full of paper, his glasses sliding down his nose as he circled the table distributing the scripts, running out before Sixby got one. 'I thought
