Knitting Under the Influence

James laughed. “That's a date, not a girlfriend. And after she spends an evening enduring the famous David Lee sense of humor, she'll be running for the hills.” He shifted against the wall, then reached into his pocket and started rattling his change.

Bored already, Lucy guessed. “You want to watch TV while I finish this up?” she asked, as she turned back to the refrigerator for the margarine.

“Sure.” He was gone.

By the time the eggs were done, he had already moved on from watching TV to checking his e-mail on her computer.

“Anything interesting?” she asked, putting the plate down at his elbow and resting her hand on his shoulder.

“Just the usual hate mail about how I’m some kind of crazy serial killer.”

“I think it's sweet your mother keeps in touch.”

“Seriously, look at this.” He gestured at the screen. “Apparently I’m going to hell because I don't know that animals have souls.”

“That's only one of the reasons you're going to hell,” Lucy said.

“Do you think they'd feel differently if I told them I don't think humans have souls, either?”

“Probably not.”

He signed off and turned toward her. “I keep changing my screen name, but they find me every time. It's got to be someone with university access. I’m sending this to the police, see if they can trace it.”

“Is it really worth all that?” she said. “It's just a stupid e-mail.”

“It's a hate crime. Punishable by law.”

“Poor baby,” she said, ruffling his hair. “The object of hatred wherever he goes. What is it about you that makes people hate you so much?”

He trapped her hand in his, and pressed it against his cheek. “I don't know. I think I’m pretty lovable. How about you? Do you think I’m lovable?” He pulled her down onto his lap. “Give me a kiss, Luce. I need someone to be nice to me.”

She struggled to sit up. “Eat your eggs before they get cold.”

“Yeah, all right, I’ll eat the eggs. But after that…”

She slid off his lap. “After that, what?”

And there was that grin again, the grin that made her face turn hot and her hands cold.

Fortunately, he was a fast eater.

VII

What, no wedding band?” Lucy said when Kathleen finally swept in the next morning, over an hour late, to Sari's apartment. “When you didn't show up, I figured you were off in Vegas sealing the deal.”

“I sealed the deal,” Kathleen said. “It just depends on how you define the deal.”

“There was sealing?” Sari said, looking up from her knitting.

“Lots of sealing,” Kathleen said. “We had a blissful night of nonstop sealing.”

“You guys are too cute for words,” Lucy said.

“Clearly, someone here needs a good sealing,” Kathleen said to Sari, who laughed.

“If you're referring to sex,” Lucy said, “I’ve been there, done that. Very recently, in fact.”

“Just rub it in, why don't you both?” Sari said.

“Sorry, Sar,” Kathleen said. “So what is there to eat? I’m starved.” She pounced on the dining room table. “Oh, good- muffins. Are these banana? I love banana.” She bit directly into the top of the muffin without even peeling off the paper. “Yum. Sealing makes me hungry. So how is everyone? What'd I miss?”

“Do you talk with your mouth full when you're with your millionaire?” Lucy asked.

“Sure,” Kathleen said. “But not when it's full of food.”

It took a moment and then Sari dropped her knitting so she could throw a sofa cushion at Kathleen. “You're disgusting.”

Kathleen blocked the pillow with her right arm. “She asked.”

“There's something seriously wrong with her,” Lucy said. “Hey, Sari, can you help here? I’m finally starting on the front of the sweater, but the pattern's not coming out right.”

“Let me see.” Sari put her own knitting down on the sofa and went over to squat by Lucy. Kathleen wandered over, unwrapping her muffin, and looked at the knitting Sari had just put down. “I love this,” she said. “This shade of blue. That's going to be one lucky baby.” She stuck another piece of muffin in her mouth.

“Don't get crumbs on it,” Sari said, looking over her shoulder. “Where's your knitting?”

“I don't have it with me. I came straight from… not home.”

“You should keep it in the car so you always have it,” Lucy said. “That's what I do. You never know when you're going to have to waste time waiting for someone at a restaurant or something.”

“Kevin drove,” Kathleen said. “He dropped me off here, so I don't have my car, anyway. But, you know, you're right-I should have just brought it to dinner last night and knitted all through dinner and then taken it with me to Kevin's house. I could have kept it right there on the night table when we were having sex. That way, if I got bored while he was, you know, pounding away-”

“You don't think Kevin might have taken offense?” Lucy said.

“Probably wouldn't even have noticed. He's a guy, isn't he?”

Sari was still looking back and forth between the instructions and Lucy's knitting, trying to figure out what was going on. “You know, Luce, as far as I can tell, you are doing this right.”

“It looks weird.”

“Yeah, but maybe it will look right after a few more rows. Sometimes it takes a while for the pattern to make sense.”

“Or to see that you've been doing it all wrong from the start,” Kathleen said.

“Right,” Lucy said. “That's what I’m afraid of.”

“Have faith,” Sari said. She sat back down and picked up her own knitting. “Sometimes you just have to keep going and hope it's all going to come out right.”

“Sounds like a philosophy for life,” Lucy said.

“Nah,” Sari said. “In knitting, you know someone made the pattern, so a little faith is justified. In life”-she shrugged-“not so much.”

VIII

You ever wonder what it would be like to have that much money?” Kathleen asked. She let the Sunday New York Times Magazine slide from her hands to the floor and stretched out full-length on the sofa.

Sam peered over the top of the Business Section at her and said, “I know where you're going with this and you might as well stop right there.”

“Why? Nothing wrong with a little harmless daydreaming, is there?”

“There's nothing harmless in what you're doing. You're thinking maybe you really could snag Kevin Porter and his bank account, and I don't see any good coming out of that train of thought.”

“I am not,” Kathleen said. She reached down and picked up the magazine again but only flipped through it idly, looking at the pictures. Sam's sofas were exceptionally comfortable, and Sunday afternoons, after the knitting circle, she often made her way up to his den, where she could leaf through the Times and doze comfortably on some real furniture. Sometimes she even brought her knitting with her and settled in for a good long stay. Sam had a large flat screen TV and a satellite feed. “A nice guy with a lot of money is not a bad thing,” she said after a moment.