The Ivory and the Horn

Whatever good I'm supposed to get out of doing the right thing still seems impossibly out of reach. Even though I haven't smoked in two days, my lungs seem more filled with phlegm than ever and my mouth still tastes terrible. All I had was popcorn again today, and a quarter of a head of lettuce. I'm losing weight, according to my bathroom scale, but I can feel the fat cells biding their time in my body, ready to multiply as soon as I stick a muffin or a piece of chocolate in my mouth. I'm worse than broke.

I guess the reason I haven't ever made a wish is that this is the only place I know where I don't feel so bad. If I make a wish it'll be like losing the genie in the bottle. You know, you've always got him in reserve— for company, if nothing else— until you make your final wish.

What would I wish for? To be happy? I'd have to become a completely different person for that to work. Maybe to be rich? But how long before I'd blow it all?

The only thing I'd really want to wish for is to see my dad again, but I know that's something that'll never happen.

12

Monday morning found Jilly sitting on the wooden bench in front of Amos & Cook's Arts Supplies, impatiently waiting for the store to open. She amused herself as she usually did in this sort of a situation by making up stories about the passersby, but it wasn't as much fun without somebody to share the stories with. She liked telling them to Geordie best, because she could invariably get the biggest rise out of him.

She'd been up all night working on the preliminary sketches for an album cover that the Broken Hearts had commissioned from her, only to discover when she finally started on the canvas that she'd used up all her blues the last time she'd worked with her oils. So here she sat, watching the minute, hand on the clock outside the delicatessen across the street slowly climb to twelve, dragging the slower hour hand up to the nine as it went.

Eventually Amos & Cook's opened and she darted inside to buy her paints. It was while she was heading back up Yoors Street to her studio that she ran into Brenda coming the other way.

'You're looking good,' she said when they came abreast of each other.

'Well, thanks a lot,' Brenda said sarcastically.

Jilly blinked in confusion. 'What's that supposed to mean?'

'You and Wendy are always telling me how I shouldn't worry about being fat—'

'We never said you were—'

'— but now as soon as I find a diet that's actually letting me lose some weight, I'm looking great.' '

'Whoa,' Jilly said. 'Time out. I have never said that you needed to lose weight.'

'No, but now that I have I look so much better, right?'

'I was just being—'

Friendly, Jilly had been about to say, but Brenda interrupted her.

'Honest for a change,' Brenda said. 'Well, thanks for nothings.'

She stalked off before Jilly could reply.

'You have a nice day, too,' Jilly said as she watched Brenda go.

Wow, talk about getting up on the wrong side of the bed this morning, she thought. She'd never seen Brenda running on such a short fuse.

She was a little hurt from the confrontation until she realized that besides Brenda's bad mood, there'd been something else different about her this morning: no cigarette in her hand, no smell of stale smoke on her clothes. Knowing that Brenda must have recently quit smoking made Jilly feel less hurt about the way Brenda had snapped at her. She'd quit herself years ago and knew just how hard it was— and how cranky it made you feel. Add that to yet another new diet...

Quitting cigarettes was a good thing, but Jilly wasn't so sure about the diet. Brenda didn't need to lose weight. She had a full figure, but everything was in its proper proportion and place. Truth was, she often felt envious of Brenda's fuller shape. It was so Italian Renaissance, all rounded and curved— and lovely to paint, though she had yet to get Brenda to sit for her. Perhaps if this latest diet helped raised Brenda's self-esteem enough, Brenda would finally agree to pose for some quick studies at the very least.

She knew Brenda needed a boost in the self-esteem department, so she supposed a diet that worked couldn't hurt. Just so long as she doesn't get too carried away with it, Jilly thought as she continued on home.

13

Even I'm getting tired of my bitchiness. I can't believe the way I jumped on Jilly this morning. Okay, I know why. I was not having a good morning. The ghosts kept me up all night, going through my head even when I wasn't asleep. By the time I ran into Jilly, I was feeling irritable and running late, and I didn't want to hear what she had to say.

Thinking it over, none of that seems like much of an excuse. It's just that, even though I knew she was just trying to be nice, I couldn't help feeling this rage toward her for being so two-faced. You'd think a friend would at least be honest right from the start.

Yes, Brenda, you are starting to seriously blimp on us. Do everybody a favor and lose some weight, would you?

Except nobody was going to say something like that to a friend. I wouldn't even say it to an enemy. It's bad enough when you've got to haul that fat body around with you, never mind having somebody rub your face in the fact of its existence.

I think the best thing I could do right now is just to avoid everybody I know so that I'll have some friends to come back to if I ever make it through this period of my life.

I wonder how long I can put Jim off. He called me three times this past weekend. I played sick on Friday and Saturday. When he called on Sunday, I told him I was going out of town. Maybe I really should go out of town except I can't afford to travel. I don't even have transit fare this week. Too bad the paper won't pay my parking the way it does Rob's. Of course, I'm not the editor.

When it comes right down to it, I don't even know why I'm working at a newspaper— even a weekly entertainment rag like In the City. How did I get here?

I was going to be a serious writer like Christy, but somehow I got sidetracked into journalism— because it offered the safety of a regular paycheck, I suppose. I'm still not sure how I ended up as an advertising manager. I don't even write anymore— except for memos.

The girl I was in college wouldn't even recognize me now.

14

Jim looked up to find Scotty approaching his desk. Scotty sat down on a corner and started to play with Jim's crystal hall paperweight, tossing it from hand to hand.

'So,' Scotty said. 'How goes the romance?'

Jim grabbed the paperweight and replaced it on his desk. 'One of these days you're going to break that,' he said.

'Yeah, right. It wasn't me that missed the pop fly at the last game.'

'Wasn't me who struck out.'

'Ouch. I guess I deserved that.' Scotty started to reach for the paperweight again, then settled for a ballpoint pen instead. He flipped it into the air, caught it again. 'But seriously,' he went on. 'Was Brenda feeling better on Sunday?'

Jim nodded. 'Except she said she's going to be out of town for a few weeks. She had to pack, so we couldn't get together.'

'Too bad. Hey, did Roger tell you about the party he's throwing on Friday? He told me he's invited some seriously good-looking, single women.'

'I think I'll pass.'

Scotty raised his eyebrows. 'How serious is this thing?' he asked. 'She's out of town, so that means you have to stay in?'

'It's not like that.'

'When do I get to meet her, anyway?'

Jim shrugged. 'When she gets back, I guess.'

Scotty gave him a long considering look, the pen still in his hands for a moment.