She smacks her shiny lips together in satisfaction.
“Wait a minute,” I begin, trying to get my mind to catchup with her story. “You just gave me so much to think about!”
“I know!” she agrees.
“I don’t think you do, since I’m being sarcastic. But, firstoff, what money do you get from Claudine?”
“Oh, I tell Lee that I pay her four hundred dollars a weekfor babysitting and housework, but I actually only pay her three hundred.” Shetakes out her phone and scrolls through e-mails while talking.
“And the rest?”
“Is for me. My salary, for making sure thatClaudine does what she’s supposed to do, for driving carpool, for, you know,being a mommy.”
“That is so twisted.” I laugh at the absurdity of it.
“No, it isn’t.”
“It’s wrong, Jo,” I try to emphasize. “You’re stealingfrom Lee. From yourself!”
“Nu-huh!” she responds, sounding like one of my students.“Plus, remember, I was doing this for Lee. To throw him a party!”
“Only, I don’t recall a fortieth birthday party for Lee,”I counter.
“Well.” Here she pauses and puts her phone down on thecountertop. “Turns out, he didn’t want one.” We let that sit between us for amoment. “So, suddenly I found myself with, like, a thousand dollars in cashthat Lee didn’t know about. And I couldn’t tell him, because he’d be furious.”
“Why would he be mad?” I ask pseudo-innocently. “Youweren’t stealing, after all. You were doing it for him.”
“It’s hard to explain,” she says, trying to look serious.“You wouldn’t understand.”
“That you’re full of shit? Oh, I understand, Jo. I loveyou dearly, but I know you’re completely full of shit.”
Just then, the saleswoman emerges with some shopping bagsand tissue paper in hand. As the items are wrapped, Jodi explains the rest ofher sordid tale. You see, she decided, the best thing to do with the money wasto get rid of it. By spending it. On herself. And then, she got used to havingthat money and spending it on herself. So, now, almost a full year later, sheroutinely asks for cash back pretty much everywhere she goes. And then she takesthat money and shops. Like right this minute, at Neiman Marcus.
“That’s stealing!” I call to her from a pile of jeans thatI’m flipping through. “Why don’t they ever have my size?”
“I prefer to think of it as embezzlement,” Jodi saysmatter-of-factly. “Which I learned from an expert named Lee Moncrieff.”
See? So hard to argue with her logic.
“Not to mention, you’re involved now, too,” Jodi adds.
“Me?” I ask, looking through a pile of short-sleeved T-shirtsfor a white scoop-necked Splendid in medium.
“How did we pay for lunch?” she asks, coming closer.
I stop what I’m doing to give her craziness my fullattention. “Um. You paid with a credit card and I gave you my half in cash.” Asthe words leave my mouth, I realize what I’ve done. “Ohmigod! I’ve just contributedto your cash-back program!”
Her full smile flashes its perfect white teeth at me. “Seehow easy? I’m always the one to collect for someone’s birthday. I canmake a cool two hundred at least, every time one of my good friendspasses another milestone!”
“And what, you charge the gift on Lee’s credit cardinstead of using all the collected cash?”
She nods. “I’m like my very own rewards program.”
“That’s intense.”
Jodi merely shrugs like it’s no big deal and saunters backtoward the register.
You think you know someone, and meanwhile, they are lying,cheating and stealing right under your nose. The thought makes me shudderslightly, like I did yesterday at the bus stop, as if a cool breeze just blewthrough the climate-controlled mall.
While Jodi is finishing her transaction, I meander aroundand try to process the amorality and simultaneous brilliance of Jodi’s cash-backprogram.
Something shimmery catches my attention and I walk towardit, almost possessed. I grab this gorgeous Missoni sweater from the rack andsee that it’s on sale, but of course it’s not the right size.
I’ve never worn anything like it, but suddenly I must haveit.
Thoughts of Jodi’s thievery fade into the background as Italk to the saleswoman about my conundrum.
“Let me see if I can locate that for you in anotherstore,” she offers, taking the item from my hand and moving to the computer tostart searching.
“It’s not like you to pick that.” Jodi nods toward thetop. “It’s see-through!”
“That’s only because of the knit. It’s the whole point ofMissoni stuff! You wear a tank top under it, and then it won’t be see-throughanymore.”
“Duh,” she says, like she knew this all along.
“Excuse me, miss?” The saleslady interrupts. “I found thatsweater in a size six in our Boston store. Would you like me to have it sent toyour home?”
“Um, yeah, I guess so.” I say, walking back up to thecounter. She asks for my home address, which we locate in the computer.
“It should arrive in five-to-seven business days,” sheadds, ready to complete the transaction. That’s kind of a bummer. It would benice to wear that sweater tomorrow night, to Leslie’s fortieth birthday party.
“W-wait!” I stammer. She lifts her hand from the computer.“How much does overnight shipping cost?”
“From Boston? Let’s see…fifty-nine dollars, plus tax.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I say, mentally erasing the sweaterfrom my wardrobe for the time being.
But then I think again.
Boston.
It’s not like Boston is all that far away. People travelthere and back in a single day all the time, for business. There’s the Acelatrain. I could get there pretty fast.
Georgie’s in Boston.
And I have nothing to do tomorrow.
Everyone thinks I’m on jury duty.
What’s more ridiculous? Overnight shipping or a random daytrip?
I look over at Jodi, who seems perfectly content to lie toher husband, to get one over on him and do as she pleases.
But come on, Lauren, I think. You’re no Jodi.You can’t just lie to everyone around you and have a good time while doing it.You have a conscience and morals. Besides, you
