Second Time Around

by Christine L'Amour

  Valerie Dawkins did not grow roots, but somewhere in those fifteen years, Monica had a son.

  “Go back to your desk,” Jerry said evenly, sitting down again. He had shown his hand, but at least he had won.

  Valerie stood there, quiet and fuming, and then went.

  ***

  Valerie caught Monica as she left for lunch, and this time, she didn’t let Monica push her away. Monica looked at her with bright eyes, looking around to see if people were paying attention to the fact that they were together, and Valerie hated it with such a passion that she felt infected with it, like if someone cut her she would bleed poison.

  They were past thirty years old, but they were not past being afraid about this.

  “We need to talk,” she told Monica.

  ***

  Monica sat them down in that same table of that same restaurant they had gone some time ago, in the very corner by the window, somewhat secluded. She looked out at the street instead of at Valerie and Valerie knew, she just knew, that if push came to shove Monica wasn’t going to choose her. Valerie hadn’t chosen her, once; Monica was probably glad for this revenge.

  “Jerry talked to you too,” Monica said. It wasn’t a question, because the whole damn office had seen him asking her into his office.

  “Yes, and I’m going to kill him,” Valerie hissed, staring holes into the menu in her hands. “Can you believe this? Can you believe the man fucking threatened to fire us because we’re—not dating, sort of dating? We’re thirty-fucking-four, when are we going to stop suffering with this?”

  “He didn’t threaten to fire me,” Monica told her, eyes wide, finally looking at her.

  “Well, he threatened it when I said some choice words,” Valerie muttered. “If I could, I’d sue him until he didn’t have a single damn penny to his name. I swear!”

  “What did you say to him?” Monica asked, angry. “Are you saying you mouthed off to our boss and got him to threaten to fire both of us?”

  “I told him he’s full of shit, in kinder words, like he deserves!” Valerie exclaimed, and if they were at home and not in a busy restaurant, she would have slammed a fist onto the table. “How dare he come to us and tell us to stop this nonsense, that we’re all good and proper people, that it’ll be a scandal—Jesus, Monica, doesn’t it make your blood boil?”

  “It makes me able to pay my fucking bills, Valerie,” Monica told her, nearly yelling. “You can’t just say whatever you want! He’s not our high school teacher or our parents, he’s our boss and—you got him to want to fire me!”

  “It’s not on me if he’s a homophobic asshole,” Valerie snapped, even as guilt rose in her like a tide. She had known this was coming.

  “You are unbelievable,” Monica hissed, standing up at once. She snatched her bag from the table. “I don’t know what I expected, it’s not like you ever fucking cared about what consequences your actions had on me. I expect you to fix this, Valerie, because if you get me fired, I’m going to kill you.”

  She marched out of the restaurant. Valerie sat alone at that fucking table and felt, for the first time in years, like crying.

  ***

  Valerie gulped down the shitty instant coffee they had available in their break room while Clarice slowly stirred sugar into her own mug and looked at her. Clarice still hadn’t pushed, hadn’t say anything about anything. She was a good friend, but most of her patience, Valerie thought to herself, was born of the fact that she knew Valerie was going to crack.

  “So, Jerry talked to us,” Valerie said, the words escaping her mouth even though she didn’t want them to, not really. Valerie was tired of being alone, and now Monica was pushing her away.

  “I know,” Clarice said evenly, though she was giving Valerie a knowing look.

  Valerie turned to pour herself more coffee.

  “Clarice,” she said, then sighed. “Clarice, what do I do? Jerry’s being a huge homophobic twat and Monica’s one second away from breaking up with me over it, even when I’m not really sure we’re even dating in the first place, and what am I going to do if he fires us?”

  Clarice stared at her, then went: “Oh. Oh… Huh. I see. Well.”

  Valerie stared at her over the rim of her cup, half ready to throw it at her if needed.

  Clarice nodded to herself. “All right. I can see that. Wow. How did I miss that? I thought you two were—I don’t know. Bitter rivals. Maybe you liked the same boy in high school, I don’t know.”

  “Clarice,” Valerie tried.

  “I don’t think there’s anything you can do,” she said, putting a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry about all this, though I’m not surprised he found out. Jerry’s got a bunch of cameras hidden around the office; you know?”

  Valerie boggled. “What?”

  Clarice scratched at her cheek and nodded. “Yep. He probably caught you two, um, doing something around here.”

  “What does he have cameras around here for?” Valerie asked, baffled.

  She shrugged. “He’s keeping an eye on something. My point is, I think if you two lay low for some time, this could blow over?”

  “It never blows over, Clarice,” Valerie muttered. “It only ever gets worse.” Clarice winced, but didn’t know how to answer that, and Valerie went on: “I just need a way to fix this. If I don’t, Monica will never forgive me. Not after—everything. I need to find a way to make him listen, to make him stand down.”

  “Stranger things have happened,” Clarice said with a shrug. “As I said, if you lay low…”

  Valerie crossed her arms and pondered; mostly, she thought about what it was Jerry could be so paranoid about keeping an eye on.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Let’s go to the park!” David bellowed directly into her eardrums.

  Monica moaned in pain and turned around on the bed, pulling on her blankets until they covered her head.

  “Let’s go to the park!” David screamed, scaling her body and hitting her soft parts with his five knees and twelve elbows.

  “We went to the park yesterday,” she murmured, staunchly holding onto as much of sleep as she could.

  “You were weird yesterday,” he accused in his baby voice, trying to shove his hands inside her blankets, probably to do something like poke her in the eyes. “You were quiet and you wouldn’t play with me and then we came home and you fell asleep and now you’re still asleep even though I’m hungry and where’s breakfast?”

  “Baby, Mommy can’t hear you if you talk so quickly. I’ve told you this.”

  “Mommy needs to go to the park,” he said imperiously, finally managed to get hold of her blankets with enough strength to rip them from her.

  Monica squeezed her eyes shut, hands clamped over them. She didn’t want to get up. She didn’t want David here, and the thought made her choke with guilt. He was her son and she loved him more than anything and she wanted just one moment of rest.

  “Mommy,” he repeated, voice creeping dangerously close to genuine upset, and Monica dragged her eyes open.

  She sat up. David tumbled onto her lap and latched onto her like he thought she was going to disappear under the blankets again if he let go. She hugged him close and tried not to sigh, or to be so fucking tired.

  “Do you want the sugary cereal and milk or plain toast and very limited amounts of coffee?” she asked swinging him up in her arms as she stood up from her bed. He laughed as she threw him, effectively distracted from park thoughts, and Monica counted a victory.

  ***

  She watched as her son had breakfast, sipping on her own coffee, and thought about work as he blabbed about some thing or other. She knew she should pay attention to him, but she didn’t.

  She wanted to go back to bed. She didn’t want to think about work or Valerie or Jerry or how much she wanted to punch him, but she had to, didn’t she? She was way past the age to run from her problems. She had to think about this, about how to fix it, because she didn’t think Valerie would even
try. Valerie was the sort to run; she ran from Monica, why wouldn’t she run from her problems?

  Monica stared at her son as he shoved cereal into his mouth and told her about the weird dream he had had.

  She wanted that promotion. She wanted not to be afraid of losing her job when she had a small son to provide for. She wanted to prove to Jerry and every single person like him that he had no cause to think the way he did.

  She had to show him that her relationship with Valerie, whatever it was, wasn’t affecting her work in any way.

  She straightened up, eyes away. She could do that. She could make the best project in the world—they were going to give short presentations of the work they had done so far this Tuesday and she had something arranged, but she could make it better. She could show him just how awesome her project was.

  She was going to rub this in his face and make it impossible for him to refuse her what she was due.

  “Mom,” David said, “you’re not listening.”

  “Sorry, baby,” she said, shaking her head, snapped away from her thoughts.

  “Mom,” David said, intense, “when’s Val visiting again? You said she wouldn’t come back and she hasn’t and it’s been forever.”

  Monica felt something close itself around her heart and squeeze. “Not now,” she said. “Look, I have a lot of work to do. Why don’t you go to the living room and I’ll put your favorite movie on? I’ll make you popcorn if you don’t come bother me during the entire movie. Okay?”

  David narrowed his eyes suspiciously at her like he thought there was a trap in her words but relented.

  ***

  Monica spent the next few days working so much she wanted to sleep for a fucking week. She ironed out every single issue she could think of, slimming down costs as far as they would go and sending so many emails that she could see them on the backs of her eyelids when she blinked. She stroke a deal with a manufacturer to get her as much paint as she could want, arranged meetings with three potential schools that could do the project with them, and prepared the first three classes on history of art they planned on giving the children, organizing the material and preparing the slide presentation.

  It could not be more ready. If Jerry turned to her and asked her to start right now, she would be able to turn to him and tell him she was ready to do it yesterday.

  ***

  She avoided Valerie, too tired to think of her, and smiled at Jerry whenever he passed her by. When Tuesday came, Monica was the third to give her presentation, and she sat very still in her chair and felt better and better as other people spoke. They couldn’t compare with what she had prepared. Jerry had a pensive expression on his face and she could nearly see it turning elated when he realized what a goldmine she was throwing in his hands.

  When it was her turn and she stood up, her make-up masked the bags under her eyes and her smile was genuine.

  She started to speak, and people started to stand straighter.

  When she finished, people clapped, their eyes filled with envy, and Jerry had both his eyebrows raised to his hairline.

  ***

  After all presentations were done—Monica tried not to pay too much attention to Valerie’s—Jerry called her aside to talk to her and Monica felt something in her grow loose and relieved. He was sure to have forgotten everything about the last time they spoke. He would forget it all and tell her how much of a good job she had done.

  “First of all,” Jerry said, sitting behind his desk in his too-empty office, “I wanted to tell you how good your presentation was. That was next-level. I know you probably worked three times as much as everyone else to polish things so much, and I definitely want to hear more about it.”

  Monica smiled, not widely but genuinely. “Thank you.”

  “But I also wanted to talk to you about something else.”

  She tensed. “Oh?”

  “I spoke to you some time ago about a… sensitive topic,” he said, looking at her evenly. “I thought our conversation went well. I thought we understood each other. I don’t know if you’ve talked to her since then, if she’s told you, but… I talked to Valerie as well and the conversation did not go the same way.”

  Monica stared at him, a polite smile fixed on her face. She didn’t want to talk about this—she wanted him to go back to telling her how well she had done. They were supposed to be discussing the amazing things she had brought up during her presentation, like funding and propaganda and medium-term plans, not Valerie.

  “I haven’t spoken to her in a few days,” Monica told him, which was the truth, even though Valerie had told her about her conversation with their boss. That had been the problem.

  “Then speak to her,” Jerry said, calmly pushing up his glasses. “She said some things that have me pondering some extreme consequences, Monica, because they really have no place among us. I’ve told you that we don’t want a scandal. We’re all quiet people with quiet lives, aren’t we? Don’t we all just want to get on with our business? You have a son, don’t you, Monica?”

  Monica held one hand of hers with the other, tight enough to hurt.

  “I do,” she said blankly.

  “Then, you see, you’ve had a good, proper life, even if you’re divorced now,” Jerry said with a smile. “Let’s not make me ponder the extreme again, all right? I’d hate not to be able to see where you’ll go with this amazing project of yours. All right?”

  Monica stared at him, feeling cold. Bringing up her son, mentioning her project; he was threatening her, loud and clear, because Valerie hadn’t bent when pressed, but Monica had, and he knew threatening her would yield results. Monica hated him, then, and it rose up on her throat like bile, hot and choking her.

  “All right,” she said instead of cursing him, and stood up to leave.

  Of course, it wouldn’t work. Of course, the worst would always happen. Of course, Valerie would have done this to her.

  Chapter Twelve

  “I think what Jerry needs,” Valerie said solemnly, “is what every single mediocre white man needs in these times: to have his ego stroked.”

  Clarice sipped her coffee and nodded at her with her eyebrows high. She was looking at Valerie like a seventy-year-old woman might look at the final episode of her favorite soap opera. They were having brunch together on a café midway through both their houses, sitting at a little table outside and enjoying the sun.

  “I don’t think you meant it quite like it sounded,” Clarice told her.

  “I will apologize for saying things he definitely deserved to hear and act meek and do him a favor or two and he will feel superior and obeyed and things will go back to normal,” Valerie declared, gulping down her orange juice. “It’s obvious. The man just needs to feel like he’s got control of things, like he scared me and I’ll obey him.”

  “And that will stop him from firing you, if you don’t break up with Monica?”

  Valerie thought about Monica, who had been avoiding her for a full fucking week now.

  “It’ll make him go easy on her, if nothing else,” she muttered, looking down at the table. “She’s right that it’s not fair on her for my words to cause Jerry to threaten us both. If I can at least easy up the pressure on her…”

  “I noticed you two weren’t really talking on the office anymore, but I thought it was because you two were laying low.” Clarice said, sympathetic. “But things aren’t good between you two, are they?”

  “I guess she listened to him when he told her to break up with me,” Valerie said with a sigh. “What about you, Clarice? Christ, let’s stop talking about this, let’s talk about something happier. Have you got someone in your life? Tell me your gossip.”

  “Nah, no man,” she said. “But I recently found this super rare species of catfish I’d been looking for, for years, and got myself a shoal. They’re in quarantine right now, but I’m setting up this huge tank for them, it’s going to be great.”

  Valerie blinked, surprised. “Oh, you keep fish? Is th
at what you meant? For a second I thought you were talking about fish to eat.”

  “Yeah, I have about ten tanks in my house,” Clarice said brightly, then reached and set her hand above Valerie’s on the table. “It’s a nice hobby. You need hobbies, Valerie. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you mention anything aside from work and Monica, who works with you. Have you ever thought about, I don’t know, getting a cat?”

  Valerie scowled. “Are you trying to imply my life is empty? I have hobbies, you know.”

  Clarice lifted one eyebrow and didn’t say anything, which was just as well; if pressed, Valerie would have had to tell her that her main hobbies was ignoring her mother’s calls and pacing her empty, stupid apartment like a caged tiger in a particularly shitty zoo.

  “Whatever,” Valerie said. “Help me come up with a way to deal with Jerry.”

  ***

  “Jerry,” Valerie said brightly the next day she went to work, catching her boss before he fled into his office and didn’t show his face again until lunch time. Monica’s gaze snapped up to them, but she didn’t stand up and quickly averted her gaze again. “Could I chat with you for a second? There’s something very important I must talk to you about.”

  Jerry looked at her with an appraising look for a moment, then led her into his office. He sat and she did too, keeping her posture straight instead of slouching like she would be comfortable doing. She kept a smile on her face and told herself firmly that she could do this.

  “I wanted to,” she started, then stopped to swallow nothing, “to apologize.”

  “Oh?” Jerry said, something about him softening with surprise.

  “I was surprised and upset and dealt with things badly,” Valerie said, which was true. “And, um, I was wrong. You were totally right,” she said, which was a blatant lie. “I understand the company doesn’t need the trouble that this kind of thing would bring and that you totally don’t need the fuss that your own bosses would make. Right?”