Hell no?
I don’t think the Wizard of Oz was quite that fierce whenhe gave it up for Dorothy and the gang.
“So…what does all this ‘freedom’ of yours mean for me?”
Georgie smiles, her dark eyes warm and encouraging. “Ithink you know the answer to that.”
I hate to look weak in front of such greatness, but thisdiscussion is not going the way I had expected, right? So I might as well beperfectly honest, like Georgie. “Um. Pretty sure I don’t.”
“It will come to you. Just open yourself to thepossibility that things can be different. That maybe you are not the master ofyour so-called master plan.”
I’m totally not sure what that means, but I’m not about toargue.
“Don’t look at me like that, little lost puppy!” shejokes.
I continue looking at her like a little lost puppy.
“Okay, fine,” she sighs. “I may have an idea for aproject that could involve you. I have to sort through some notes, first. I amswitching gears, too, you see. I’m feeling a bit stale after spendingtwenty-five years on one cause. It’s fun to mix it up! So, now I’m thinkingabout researching women instead of children. Still looking at empowerment. Butnow focusing on midlife issues. I have to sort through some notes first. Nopromises.”
“Ooh! I’m a woman! I’m in midlife! I have issues! Plus,I’ve been taking some notes about a similar topic!” I stop to take a breath.“What’s it—”
Georgie’s palm silences me. “Enough for now. Did I or didI not just say that I am tired of being responsible for other people’s lives?”
I nod my head like an obedient puppy.
Georgie comes back to the table and sits. “Lauren, I havealways thought of you as one of my best students—particularly when it came toresearch—but you lacked your own voice, and your own passion and drive. Inclass, you hung on my every word, reciting me back to me. I worry now that whatI saw in you was just a mirror of myself. So. Before I give you thisopportunity, I need to know that it really is your promise I was seeing, andnot merely my own. Prove to me that you can accomplish something meaningful onyour own, and then we’ll talk.”
I think about what she’s saying and I crack a half smile,an idea forming. “Would you like me to bring the Wicked Witch’s broom to you asproof of my bravery?”
“Girl,” Georgie says with a wink, “you do whatever ittakes.”
Chapter 12
“Champagne?”
A very cute young man in a tux is standing next to me atthe Chanel makeup counter, silver tray in hand. When I’m stressed out, trying onexpensive makeup that I’m never going to buy, and/or painting my nails alldifferent colors, makes me feel enormously better. In the last ten minutes, Ihave applied bronzer, liquid eyeliner, two different eye shadow colors, and afew other products to my face. I’ve fibbed to salespeople left and right,telling them that, yes, I’d love to buy their products. Next to one register,there’s a pile of small boxes with my name—Dorothy Gale—attached on a yellowPost-it.
Georgie has driven me to the cosmetological brink.
I put down the newest limited-edition nail polish I havebeen trying and delicately pick up a glass flute.
“Thanks!” I say. “You read my mind!”
I didn’t even know that you could drink alcohol atNeiman Marcus, much less for free, but I’m not going to question it. I down oneglass and reach out for another, before you can even say “Bobby Brown.”
I amble the main floor and collect my thoughts.
Maybe Georgie is dying.
She looked really healthy, though. No loss of hair,weight, energy, or bravado, that’s for sure.
I remove the strawberry perched on the edge of thechampagne flute and take a bite.
Sparkly jewels stare back at me from under locked glasscases. They seem sad, unreachable like that. I imagine them calling out to melike puppies in a shelter, Take me home! It’s so cold in here! or I’mthe one you want! I put my face up against the case, listening.
No one can hear diamond-encrusted distress calls fromunder the protective glass.
I pull back, considering Georgie again.
Maybe I’m losing my hearing.
Or maybe she just means what she said.
Maybe everyone’s just tired of working so hard.
Maybe being a full-time grown-up just sucks that way.
Even if you’re Georgina Parks, professor emeritus atHarvard University and head of your own educational think tank.
I do think I’ve learned at least one thing today. Perhapswe need to cut ourselves—and each other—some slack. Perhaps I have to figureout what’s real and what’s hiding behind the metaphorical curtain.
I finish the second drink and place it on a passing tray.The waiter hands me a postcard announcing the Christian Louboutin shoe event.Buy a pair today and receive a gorgeous faux-gold cuff bracelet, as shown inthe picture. Also, if you purchase a pair, your name will be entered into a$5,000 Neiman Marcus shopping spree.
Well.
That just sounds too good to be true.
I wander over to the shoe department, you know, just tohave a look.
On the train ride home, I’m feeling a little bit headachyand a little bit remorseful. But then I peek into the large shopping bag seatednext to me and smile. Those black Louboutin spiky heels with the red soles arereally hot. And now they are really mine.
I’ve never spent so much on a pair of shoes in my life. Ifeel simultaneously nauseated and empowered. Not in the way Georgie would usethe word, but still. Like I could kick someone’s ass in those heels. I’mstarting to see why women have shoe addictions. I’m just not sure how they payfor this bad habit.
Unless they use
