I will say that opening a credit card at Neiman’s wasgenius. It will allow me to acquire points toward future purchases while alsohiding the bill from Doug as I slowly pay it off.
Jeez. That’s some warped logic right there, is it not? I’msounding a bit too much like Jodi for my own liking.
I yawn and feel the champagne mellow me out. The calmingrock and roll of the train soothes me. Vacations are exhausting, Ithink, and expensive, my mind adds, before sliding into a gentle nap.
I wake to find a bunch of e-mails from Lenny, all of themasking about Georgie and hinting at jealousy.
From: [email protected]
Georgie Porgie, pudding and pie
Kissed Lauren and made me cry
When the boys came out to play,
Georgie Porgie pushed Lenny away.
And later:
I have searched through all your Facebook friends. Of the126 of them, there is no one named George, first or last. Not even a maidenname, like Alice George-Hamilton or something. Who is Georgie?
And later still:
Darn.
It just occurred to me that I may not be your one and onlyfling-relationship-flirting-guy thing.
The last one makes me smile, even though the others are cringe-worthyand slightly stalkerish. I write back and tell him so.
Then I find my headphones and listen to another new mix I’vemade. It takes him the length of about three songs to reply. Eleven minutes. Playinghard to get, I see, I think as I open up his response.
Ah, yes, flirtationship is the perfect word for what wehave. Sorry to have accused you of cheating on Doug and me. Still curious aboutwhy you won’t spill on the mysterious Georgie, though.
Now that I know we’re solid, I’ve got to join in on aconference call for the next hour or so. Will you be available again tonightfor some late-night witticisms?
From: [email protected]
Sorry. Can’t. Have a friend’s 40th birthday party to attend.
From: [email protected]
Perhaps it will be naughty nasty girl fun.
From: [email protected]
Only in your imagination will it be that. ;)
Now that he mentions it, the invitation did arrive with along red feather boa that I’ve been instructed to bring to the party. Not thatI’m going to admit this to Lenny.
Although, suddenly I’m curious, and more than justslightly worried about what this party might entail.
Kat’s been invited to Leslie’s party, too, and, eventhough she doesn’t want to go, I’m making her show up to keep me company.Leslie’s husband is Kat’s distant cousin (“From the drunk side of the family,not the alcoholic side,” Kat explained when we both showed up at Leslie’s 35th,surprised to see each other).
She’ll know the scoop on the party. I pull out my phoneand begin dialing. I don’t want to annoy my fellow train passengers, butsometimes e-mail just won’t do. Scanning the seats around me, I notice thatmost are empty. A few passengers are plugged into their iPods or have theireyes closed in a sleepy train trance. I think I’m okay for a few minutes ofchatting as long as I keep my voice low.
She’s not answering her cell, which means she’s still inher classroom, probably working with kids after school.
I should wait a half hour and try her cell again. I couldtext her, or send an e-mail.
I decide to call the school line.
I expect to hear the voice system, giving me prompts, like“If you know your extension, you can dial it at any time.” Instead, I get areal live human on the phone.
“Hadley Elementary School, this is Dara speaking,” theoffice secretary answers.
“Damn—Hi!” I bark out, overly loud in my surprise,startling a neighboring dozer on the train. “Sorry,” I whisper across the row.He makes a frowny face and then closes his eyes again.
“Dara, it’s Lauren,” I say in as low a voice as possible.I hunch down into my seat and move even closer to the window.
“Are you okay?” she asks. Which is weird.
“Yeah, why?” I ask.
“Because you don’t sound like you,” she says, cracking gumthrough the phone. How fresh out of precalculus are school secretaries thesedays? Didn’t they used to have blue hair and dentures? “Are you sick orsomething?” she adds. “And how’s your trial or whatever?”
And are you a pain in my ass?
“Dara, can you please just connect me to Kat’s classroom?”
“Can’t.”
“Listen, I know the phone system seems complicated,but all you have to do is push three little buttons…” I begin.
“Ha!” she says, and I imagine a Bubblicious balloonprotruding from her lips before she sucks it back in. “No, I mean, she’s notthere. She was in the office a moment ago, and she seemed really upset aboutsomething. But she just left.”
“Oh,” I sigh.
“Wait!” she says, and I hear her hand the phone over tosomeone.
“Kitty-Kat!” I say, relief filling my tone.
“No.” It only takes one syllable to be sure: Martha. Whatis she doing in there? Martha never comes out of her office, even afterschool hours. She’s always tucked away in the far corner of the building,yelling at some prepubescent miscreant or his parents. “Hello, Mrs. Worthing.”
The sensation I have at this very moment is of riding on atrain while also being hit by that very same train. It’s meta, it’ssurreal, it’s awful.
My first inclination is to hang up. But then I improvise.
This train’s not stopping yet. Metaphorically speaking.
“So, Martha. How’s the teaching going?” I swallow.
“And how is your jury duty?” I decide that her non-answermeans she’s sucking at my job big-time.
“Not as boring as you might think,” I say.
“Same here.”
Touché.
“That was you I saw at Dr. Grossman’s yesterday,wasn’t it?” she prods.
“Why, yes!” I fake-laugh. “I thought it might have beenyou, but I was in such a rush to get home to my children after that long day incourt, I couldn’t stop to chat.”
Which does nothing to explain my presence in a medicalbuilding at 3:30, but whatever. I’m acting without a script here, people.
“Yes, but, that does not explain…” Martha begins.
“Oh shoot, Martha, my battery is dying. Gotta run!” I say,as cheerfully as I can, my voice on the verge of chipmunk, it’s so high-pitchedand strangled.
It’s an hour later and Kat has not responded to my texts,e-mails, or voice-mail messages. I send her one more text for good measure.
