“Of course not. You just need to get laid. Call my mother. She wasn’t kidding about that guy, whatever his name is, Baskin.”
“I don’t think so.” Your mouth is so incredible. I gnaw on my toast. “I think I’m interested in someone else.”
“Since when?” She looks up. “Since we got our food?”
“I thought I’d call that doctor. He seemed to like me. We talked for a while.”
“About what?”
I lick my lips. “How big your boobs are.” Abby opens her mouth but I cut her off. “Abby, please. We were talking about Shelly.”
“So what makes you think he wants you to call him?”
“He told me he thought I was beautiful. Or pretty. Something like that. I don’t know. It’s embarrassing.”
“Some great-looking doctor tells you that you’re beautiful and you’re embarrassed? Have you no sense? There’s a phone. Call him from here.”
“He may not have said beautiful. Maybe just pretty. Besides, you think he’s a pig.”
“Yeah, well, looking at my track record, I’m obviously not the best judge. And that was before I knew he said something nice to my best friend.” Humming the wedding march, Abby puts a napkin on my head so it sits like a veil. Then she pitches Everett’s bracelet at me. “Here, you cunning little vixen. Wear it with Dr. Dolittle. And ask him if he’s got a friend for me.”
I smile and thank her. Then I point to her plate. “Are you going to eat that?” I ask. “I should have ordered the tuna.”
I obsess about Bryan on the way home. I rent The Sound of Music and obsess through the movie. Then I obsess through The Mary Tyler Moore Show on Nick at Nite and the beginning of Saturday Night Live.
Before I go to bed, I sneak downstairs and pick up the phone. “What’s up?” I whisper to Shelly when she gets on the line. “Is everything all right?”
“Everything’s fine. How’s everything with you?” Shelly sounds annoyed.
“Fine.”
“Well then. We’ve established that we’re both fine. Is that it?”
“Shelly, I’m sorry about Bernadette. You could have told me.”
“I didn’t feel like talking about it. She is a good person.”
“So are you.”
“I feel awful that I freaked out on Abby. I didn’t mean it. Please tell her I’m sorry. I just couldn’t contain myself.” I try to focus on what Shelly is saying, but suddenly I find myself wondering when I’ll see Bryan again. “Frannie? What are you doing?” Shelly interrupts.
“I’m listening to you. Shelly, I know I’ve been distracted lately with the fact that I have no life and may never get one, but I want you to know that even though you think you’re fucked up, I think it takes a lot of courage to do what you’re doing.” I get up and walk with the cord. “I mean it. I’m proud of you for going into the hospital. I wouldn’t just say that. Don’t forget that you have everything ahead of you. You’re only twenty-four. I’m the one who’s in trouble here.”
Shelly starts to cry. “I can’t believe you just said that. That was so nice.”
“You’re my sister, Shelly.”
She starts to cry harder. Before I can say anything else, she tells me that she feels like such a loser. “Everyone asks me all fucking day how I feel. I don’t know how I feel. I hate all this attention. It makes me so tense. But I wish you were here with me, Frannie. Please don’t forget about me.” And she quickly hangs up.
It kills me to hear her cry. I want to call her back, but I’m all fucked up inside, so I sit alone with a carton of ice cream.
Hours later, I lie awake, still restless with fantasy, my blankets twisted around my legs like rope. I can’t stop thinking of Bryan. I replay our meeting over and over and over. For the first time in months, I have a glimmer of hope, but I’m also worried. It’s only been a day and he’s already in my head.
I go into my bathroom and stare at my face. I lean toward my head which looms large and distorted and get as close as I can to my cyclops eye. I run my fingers along my lips, studying them carefully, and wonder what it is about my mouth that makes it so incredible.
7
I’m worried about her, Marsha. She’s so mixed up.” Visiting for the weekend, Aunt Lillian sits at the kitchen table with my mother, sifting through old photographs. I’m standing in the hallway behind the door, watching them through the crack.
“I thought she was doing better,” my mother says. “Didn’t she just finish that program?” I relax when I realize they’re talking about my cousin Beth.
“She dropped out. Now she’s living with Monte and me.”
“How could you marry a guy named Monte? It is so Las Vegas.”
“Marsha, please. I don’t know what to do and all Monte cares about is taking pictures of cactus now that we’re in the Great Southwest.”
“She’ll find herself. I’m going through the same thing. Although, you’ll be proud to know that despite everything, I’ve cut down on my medication.”
“Well, that’s positive.”
My mother shrugs. Whenever my aunt visits, she and my mother pull out the pictures. My father’s parents died before I was born so we don’t have many pictures of them, but we do have a ton from my mother’s side of the family. She and my aunt can spend an entire afternoon shuffling through the photographs and pointing out people who have since died. It’s their favorite pastime.
“Look at Mommy here,” my mother says, brightening. “This was taken right before Frannie was born. Look, she didn’t have that birthmark on her cheek. Remember? The one she had removed?” She looks up. “Actually, Frannie’s been great, especially with Shelly. She goes to the hospital practically every day.”
“Is she getting better?”
“Who knows? Her doctors think she’s making progress although it’s hard for me to tell. One day she’s talkative, the next day, she won’t even pick up the phone.”
“She’s a kid, Marsha. She’ll grow out of it.”
“I just think she’s getting too comfortable in that hospital. I tried to talk to her about leaving, maybe seeing Marilyn again as an outpatient, but she wants to stay. End of discussion. Once Shelly makes up her mind, there’s no talking to her.”
“And we’re so different? She’s rigid. It’s not like we don’t know from rigidity.” Aunt Lillian changes the subject. “So what are you going to do about this guy in your office?” Startled, I lean closer.
My mother lowers her voice, mumbling so I can’t hear. “…he says he wants me to…but I don’t know…” COME ON! I silently scream, Give it UP!!
“Maybe you don’t believe him because you’re afraid to,” my aunt says quietly.
“I don’t think it’s that simple.”
“By the way, is Frannie any closer to finding a job?” Aunt Lillian asks. I stiffen. Fuck you. Waitressing’s a job. Not wanting to hear anything else, I walk into the kitchen.
“Hi, Frannie.” My aunt smooths my hair. I kiss her and hold up a grainy picture of my grandparents wearing evening clothes. “When was this taken?” I ask her.
My aunt studies it. “At Ruby’s wedding. Right before Uncle Bert died.” She looks up at me. “Coronary. Beth was named for him.”
“It’s weird that Jews name their kids for someone who died.”
“It’s not weird to carry on a name. It’s how someone who dies is remembered. Here.” She hands me a picture of my grandmother. “Look at this. Don’t you see Shelly?”
“No. Grandma and Shelly don’t look anything alike.”
“Look at her smile,” Aunt Lillian instructs me. “It’s Shelly’s. You don’t have to see a resemblance to know it’s there. When I look at that picture, I don’t see Shelly, but I feel her.” She flips through the pictures and slides one toward me. “This is you.”
I squint at an old black-and-white photograph of my mother taken when she first married my father, years ago when he was in the service and they lived in Rome. She is hugging a statue with one arm, he
r head flung back, her long hair blowing behind her like a scarf. Her other arm and leg are extended as if she’s about to take flight. “Sorry, Mom. It doesn’t look like either one of us. You look too happy.” But the picture gives me a weird rush, and when they look away, I slide it into the pocket of my jeans.
“Daddy’s worse,” my aunt tells my mother. “We have to get him out of Florida.”
“I know, Lillian. We’ve been through this.” She glances at me, then back at her sister. “I told you I don’t have the money right now.”
“It’s not about money, Marsha. I have money. You have Frannie here to help out.”
“Must you always remind me how much money you have? That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? To talk me into moving Daddy up here?”
“Of course not. But since I’m here, we may as well talk about it.”
My grandfather only has 30 percent of his vision because of bad cataracts. When my grandmother died, my aunt hired a nurse to care for him. Her name is Tilly and according to my grandfather, she’s “black as the ace of spades,” which is really ironic because Tilly is white. Tilly is very tan so she looks dark, and she has a thick Mississippi drawl. My grandfather can only see images and he assumed she was black. In fact, when she said she wasn’t, he said he didn’t believe her. As far as I’m concerned, Tilly must be a saint. I can’t bear to be around my grandfather. He calls the bank for his balance three times a day, he counts his pills ten times before swallowing, and he constantly asks me what line of work I’m in and why I can’t find a husband. He’s me magnified one hundred times.
“You are so manipulative, Lillian. Why do you always do this to me?”
I play with the pictures, suddenly reminded of Shelly’s graduation from Cornell. I was very complimentary until after the ceremony when Shelly announced that not only were they holding her diploma to engrave cum laude, but Lonny offered her a paralegal job and he wanted to pay for her LSAT preparation. Everyone danced around and told her a million times how great she was. I, on the other hand, having taken the weekend off from Tom and Susie’s Pet-O-Rama, asked if she was sure about law school. “What about being an anchorwoman?” I said, trying to act nonchalant. “Don’t give up your dreams.” When she answered, she sounded like she was about to cry. “Frannie, you always do this. I told you I switched out of communications.”
“Stop overreacting,” I told her. “I just didn’t realize.” I smiled fakely as my father pulled me into a picture. When Shelly threw her cap in the air, everyone clapped. I went to the hotel, claiming I was tired and afraid I might have mono.
Hating myself, I get up and grab an ice cream sandwich from the freezer. I tell my aunt that Shelly’s thinking of applying to Columbia. “So she can continue to work for Lonny. Isn’t that great?”
“Since when?” my mother cuts in. “I thought she had her heart set on Harvard.”
“Since I don’t know. I think you’re the one whose heart is set on Harvard. Anyway, I think it’s great. Can you believe Lonny’s still paying her while she’s in the hospital?”
“And why shouldn’t he?” Aunt Lillian asks. “Shelly’s a great investment.” She turns to my mother. “She’ll get through this. Everything’s going to be fine.”
“I know,” my mother barks at her. “Stop saying that. You sound like a goddamn broken record. Turn off the older sister bullshit.”
“Look at Grandma here,” I interrupt, hating when they fight. I hold up a photograph of my grandmother. My mother fingers the picture absently, a faraway look in her eyes. She was very close to her mother, much closer than Aunt Lillian was. It dawns on me that at one point, my mother considered herself close to Shelly, too. Suddenly feeling very alone, I announce that I’m going to watch television.
My mom clears her throat. “Your aunt wants to see Shelly,” she says. “I thought we’d take a ride into the city.”
“Mom, I’d love to.” I glance at my aunt. “But I have to work tonight.”
“Oh, that’s too bad.” She seems genuinely disappointed. “Can you call in sick?”
“Marsha, don’t ask her to do that,” Aunt Lillian cuts in. “You said before she can’t jeopardize this job.” I look at my mother suspiciously. I thought you said I was doing great.
“I know, but it’s not a real job. I’ll tell you what…” She leans forward. “I’ll call Paulie. How could he not believe me? Besides he adores you.” She picks up the phone and dials Rascals. “I don’t know,” I say, but I’m warmed to the idea and don’t want to break the spell of my mother’s mood.
“Paul DiMartino,” she says into the phone. “Hi, Paul? This is Marsha Hunter, Frannie’s mother. No emergency. It’s just that Frannie has a virus and it’s not such a good idea for her to work tonight. Yes, she’s sleeping. I know she’d feel terrible, but…Well, thank you so much, Paul. I’ll tell her.” She hangs up. “He’s so nice. It’s so nice to have a good relationship with people you work with.” And she looks at my aunt who smiles at her mysteriously, like they’re both in on a sisters-only secret they think I don’t know anything about.
A week later, I spend the day at a law firm. I signed up with a temp agency and this is my first assignment. I have to smile and be nice and type letters and make copies, and the entire time I want to look at the pathetic little man who needs his copies ASAP and say, “Did anyone ever tell you that you look like a gerbil?”
I’ve been on a few interviews, but nothing’s panned out. In fact, this Kelly Girl situation is forcing me to rethink my job search. As I was making the gerbil man’s copies this morning, which weren’t coming ASAP because the copier kept jamming and the pages kept sticking and it took me forty minutes to Xerox sixty pages, I wondered if, deep down, I am not a people-person. Lately, I seem to hate everyone.
The gerbil man kept screaming at me, “I NEED my COPIES!” like it was my fault they use some lame-ass copier. I couldn’t stand it. So I slipped some papers from the garbage can into the final stack. I know it wasn’t a nice thing to do, but it made me feel so much better.
On my way home from what will be, I’m sure, the last day of the assignment, I stop by the hospital. The nurses have relaxed the visiting hours for me, so I can come and go as I please as long as Shelly is up to seeing me.
“I finished my application to the big H,” she says, walking toward me. “It took me three days.” She leans to kiss me. Surprised, I kiss her back. She models for me. “What do you think?” She’s wearing a silk blouse and black slacks. It’s the first time I’ve seen her dressed in months.
“You look great. What’s the occasion?” I try to appear nonchalant as I look around for Bryan. In a moment of weakness, I told Shelly about him, but she says she hasn’t seen him since the day I met him.
“He’s not here,” Shelly says, watching me. “I already checked. I’m sorry, Frannie, but I promise I’ll keep looking. Has he called you?”
I shake my head. “It’s no big deal. Just forget it.” I tug on her blouse. “How come you’re so dressed up?”
“Lonny stopped by to drop off a file.” As we walk into her room, I’m amazed to see her bed covered with open books, files, and legal pads. She starts to tell me about some case she’s working on and how there’s a possibility that they may try to publish a brief she’s writing. It will be under Lonny’s name of course, she says, but she’ll get acknowledged.
“Sounds interesting,” I say, hoping I appear enthusiastic. “Let me read your Harvard application.”
Shelly blinks and looks away. “I don’t want to jinx it. Mommy keeps asking about it. She’s so fucked up. I think she’s the one who wants to go to Harvard, not me.” I laugh and tell her that I said the same thing. “Remember when she lied about going there?” Shelly asks. “When I went to that Princeton alumni lunch and Mommy told a group of women she went to Harvard, not realizing I was standing behind her?”
“I forgot about that. How do you remember shit like that? What did you say?”
“I didn’t say anyt
hing. I wasn’t going to admit to those bitches that Mommy never finished NYU. They’re such fucking snots, anyway. I’m glad I didn’t go to fucking Princeton.” Her sudden hostility startles me, and I watch her closely. But then she brightens. “I’m drafting a letter for Mommy,” she says. “Actually it’s for Daniel. Let me ask you something, and I want you to be totally honest. Do you think I have a shot at Harvard? It’s really gonna piss me off if I wasted all that time on the application for nothing.”
“Of course you do,” I say tightly, my mood punctured. “What kind of letter?”
Shelly paces. “A few years ago, he got into this real estate deal. Now he needs a letter certifying he was bought out. It’s nothing major. Besides, Lonny checks everything I do.”
“Have you been speaking to Mommy a lot lately?” I try to read her face, but she won’t look at me. “Shelly, please sit down, you’re making me really tense.”
“I’m totally wired. I talk to Mommy every day. Hey, why did you tell her I was applying to Columbia?”
“I didn’t! She always gets in the middle! So she just asked you to write this letter, just like that? Did you talk to Daniel yourself?”
She nods. “Briefly. Frannie, I know you have this thing against him, but he’s harmless. Maybe too effusive, but he’s a salesman…Pia, Keisha, come here, meet my sister.” She waves to two girls in the doorway. The waifish girl is black, wearing boxers and a T-shirt. She looks like she’s a teenager, but when she moves into the light, I see that her skin is very wrinkled around her mouth and eyes. The taller girl is obese. She’s wearing tight purple leggings, a turtleneck, and a sweatshirt tied around her waist. As she peers into the room, she holds one of her arms diagonally across her body as if it is a shield.
“Girls,” Shelly sings, “this is Frannie. Frannie, this is Pia and Keisha. Pia’s my new roommate. She’s a poet.” I remember Bernadette, and how Shelly introduced her as a bulimic. I guess this is considered progress.
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