The Ivory and the Horn

'Uh-huh. Well, it turns out he works at the Newford School of Art.'

'He's an artist?'

Jilly shook her head. 'No, he works in admin. I dropped by to see how the registration was coming along for that drawing class I'm going to be teaching next semester, and he started talking to me about Brenda.'

'How'd he I know you knew her?'

'She'd talked to him about us, I suppose. Anyway, he was wondering if I knew when she'd get back and I almost blew it by saying I'd just run into her on Yoors Street that week, but I caught myself time. Turns out, he thinks she's out of town on business. She calls him every few days— supposedly from this hotel where she's staying— but she's been very evasive about when she's due back.'

'That s so not like Brenda,' Wendy said.

'Ignoring a nice guy who's showing some interest in her?'

'That, too. But I meant lying.'

'I thought so, too, but who knows what's going on with her sometimes. Did you know she quit smoking?'

'Go on.'

'Really. And that last time at the restaurant— before you showed up— she was telling me how she was finally taking your advice, to heart and wasn't going to throw herself all over some guy anymore.'

'Yeah, but she always says that,' Wendy said. She swung her legs down to the floor and hopped down from the window seat. 'I'm going to give her a call,' she added.

Jilly watched her dial, wait a moment with the receiver to her ear, then frown and hang up.

'She didn't leave her answering machine on?' she asked as Wendy slowly walked back to the window seat.

'The number's not in service anymore,' Wendy said slowly. 'Her phone must be disconnected.'

'Really?'

Wendy nodded. 'I guess she didn't pay her phone bill. You know how she's always juggling her finances.'

'I don't get it,' Jilly said. 'If she was that short of cash, why didn't she just come to one of us? We're not rich, but we could've helped out.'

'Has she ever asked you for a loan?'

Jilly shook her head.

'Me, neither. I think she'd die before she did that.'

Wendy packed her notebook away in her knapsack. Turning from the window, she added, 'I think I'm going to go by her apartment to see how she's doing.'

'Let me clean my brushes,' Jilly said, 'and I'll come with you.'

17

Well, I didn't have to ask Rob if I could get a leave of absence from the paper for a couple of weeks. After I left work last night, it came out how I'd been using In the City's Visa card. Rob confronted me with it this morning, and since I couldn't tell him when, or even if, I'd be able to pay it back, he gave me my pink slip.

'You've been impossible to work with,' he told me. 'I realize you've just quit smoking—'

I hadn't told anybody, wanting to do it on my own without the pressure of feeling as though I were living in a fishbowl, but I suppose it was obvious.

'— and I can certainly empathize with you. I went through the same thing last year. But I've had complaints from everyone and this business with the Visa is just the final straw.'

'No one said anything to me.'

'Nobody felt like getting their head bitten off.'

'I'm sorry— about everything. I'll make it up to you. I promise.'

'It s not just about money,' Rob said. 'It's about trust.'

'I know.'

'If you needed a loan, why didn't you come talk to me about it?' he asked. 'We could've worked something out.'

'It... it just happened,' I said. 'Things have been getting out of control in my life lately.'

He gave me a long, considering look. 'Do you have a problem with drugs?' he asked.

'No!' That was one of the few areas of my life where I hadn't screwed up. 'God, how could you even think that?'

'Because frankly, Brenda, you're starting to look like a junkie.'

'I'm on a diet, that's all.'

The concern in his eyes seemed to say that he genuinely cared. The next thing he said killed that idea dead in the water.

'Brenda, you need help.'

Yeah, like he cared. If firing me was his idea of compassion, I'd hate to see what happened if he really started to be helpful. But I was smart this time and just kept my mouth shut.

'I'm sorry,' was all I said. 'I'll pay you back. It's just going to take some time.'

I got up and left then. He called after me, but I pretended I didn't hear him. I was afraid of what I might say if he kept pushing at me.

I was lucky, I guess. He could have pressed charges— misappropriation of the paper's funds— but he didn't. I should have felt grateful. But I didn't walk out of there thinking how lucky I'd been, I felt like dirt. I'd never been so embarrassed in all my life.

That was Friday. I'm trying to put it behind me and not think about it. That's easier said than done. I've been only partially successful, but by this morning I don't feel as bad as I did yesterday. I'm still a little light-headed, but I'm down another couple of pounds and I still haven't had a cigarette. Day twenty-nine into my new life and counting.

I've moved into The Wishing Well, in unit number twelve— that's the last one on the north wing. I didn't bring much with me— just a few necessities. A few changes of clothing. Some toiletries. A sleeping bag and pillow. A kazillion packages of popcorn, a couple of heads of lettuce and some bottled water. A box of miscellaneous herb teas and a Coleman stove to boil water on. A handful of books.

I also brought along my trusty old manual typewriter that I used all through college, because I think I might try to do some writing again— creative writing like I used to do before I got my first job on the paper. I would've brought my computer, but there's no electricity here, which is also why I've got a flashlight and an oil, lamp, though I wasn't sure I could use either until I checked if they could be seen from the highway at night. It turns out all I had to do was replace a couple of boards on the window facing the parking lot.

And of course I brought along my bathroom scale, so I can monitor my weight. This diet's proving to be one of the few successes of my life.

I've hidden my car by driving it across the overgrown lawn and parking it between the pool and my unit. After I got it there, I went back and did what I could with the grass and weeds the wheels had crushed to try and make it look as though no one had driven over them. A frontier woman I'm not, but I didn't do that bad a job. I doubted anybody would notice unless they really stopped to study the area.

Once I had the car stashed, I worked on cleaning up the unit. I had to keep resting because I didn't seem to have much stamina— I still don't— but by nine o'clock last night, I had my little hideaway all fixed up. It still has a musty smell, but either it's airing out, or I'm getting used to it by now. The trash is swept out and bagged in the unit next to mine, along with the mattress and a bundle of towels I found rotting in the bathroom. The plumbing doesn't work, so I'm going to have to figure out where I can get water to mop the floors— not to mention keep myself clean. I found an old ping-pong table in what must have been the motel's communal game room, and I laid that on top of the bed with my sleeping bag unrolled on top of it. It'll be hard, but at least it's off the floor.

I finally made myself a cup of tea, boiling the water on my Coleman stove, and settled down to do a little reading before I went to bed. That's when things got a little weird.

Now usually I'm asleep when the well's ghosts come visiting, but last night... last night...

I'm not really sure what she is, if you want to know the truth.

I was rereading my old journal— the one I kept when I was still a reporter— kind of enjoying all the little