“Brandon, you’re in charge. I have to speak to Principal Bunny. Please behave. Work in pairs with your flash cards.”
Cricket didn’t want to go to the kitchen. She hadn’t wanted to set the table either. But she obeyed both requests. No one thought she did what she was told, but she was actually very obedient.
Halfway down the hall she heard her mother complaining. “If I don’t get Vivian’s picture in the New York Times looking fabulous at the gala, well, that is the last donation we will ever get from her.”
“Bunny, you will. And if you don’t, you’ll call that photographer from Avenue magazine and get them to do a feature on her. She owes you a favor, right?”
“Richard, you are so brilliant. I love you. Cricket! Guess what I just did?” Bunny asked, grinning ear to ear. “I will tell you. I just got three evil corporations to contribute matching funds! We are going to put the public back in public education after all. Your mother is hot stuff.”
Bunny did a hot-stuff dance around the kitchen table that made Cricket very uncomfortable. Sections of the newspaper were strewn about and Cricket looked under them. She hoped to find food.
“Your mother convinced these CEOs that if they weren’t going to stop polluting New York’s drinking water, they could at least give us money,” Richard said. “I was sitting in my kitchen, minding my own business, while your mother made the playing field a little bit more level. She made the world a little bit better.”
“Cool,” Cricket said. “Wait, I don’t get it. They still pollute the drinking water?”
“Yes! But honey, now they pollute the water and give kids a chance. Before today, all they did was pollute.”
Bunny’s phone rang and she seemed relieved by the distraction. “Carolyn Petty,” she whispered. Bunny always told everyone in the room who was on her caller ID. “Carolyn! How are you? How is Dick? How is Geneva?”
Cricket decided to pour herself a bowl of cereal while her mother’s fund-raising alter ego reached into Carolyn Petty’s pocket and took all the money out without Carolyn Petty even knowing.
“Oh, Carolyn, this is just, well, just tremendous. We are very grateful.” Bunny looked over at Richard and Cricket and gave them the thumbs-up. “Yes! So much pressure, we’re all going to crack up, I know! I don’t have any idea what I’m wearing yet either.” Bunny rolled her eyes and pretended to hang herself. “It is such a struggle, I know! Thank you so much, Carolyn. You, too.” Bunny hung up and took a gigantic breath of air.
“Do you have news?” Richard asked.
“Fifty thousand dollars! Which equals a hundred thousand now, thanks to the matching funds of the polluters.” Bunny did another hot-stuff dance. Cricket wanted to crawl inside her cereal bowl.
“Mom, you hate Carolyn Petty,” Cricket said.
“Please don’t speak with your mouth full. Hate is a pretty strong word, young lady. I don’t hate anyone.”
Hate might be a strong word, but it was the right word. “Okay, you really really really don’t like Carolyn Petty,” Cricket said.
“That’s right. I really don’t like her. But I do really like the things she and Dick support.”
Bunny and Richard shot each other a look.
“Cricket,” her father said, “your mother and I are philanthropists. Furthermore, the Pettys, the Deans, the Greenburgs, for example, they all have too much money. Giving money to our fund is a tax write-off. It’s good for them and it’s good for us. We’re all helping each other.”
“So no one actually gives you money because they want to put the public back in public education? They just want to look a little bit less awful?”
Richard and Bunny looked at each other again.
“First of all, I love it when you say ‘put the public back in public education,’” her mother said. “Second of all, I don’t think you’re ready to understand the nuances of fund-raising. Maybe when you’re older.” Bunny kissed Cricket and took her coffee down the hall to the converted linen closet that was her office.
Cricket wasn’t in the mood to let anyone off the hook. “You guys either like the Pettys or you don’t.”
“Cricket, come on. It’s not that simple,” Richard said.
“Really? ‘Cricket, either you went to Iceland or you didn’t.’”
Her father wouldn’t take the bait. “Did Mom tell you the theme for this year’s gala?” he asked.
“No. But I bet you’re going to.”
“Sass, Cricket. Tone it down. The theme of this summer’s gala is the circus. I think we have a really good chance of raising about thirty million with those matching funds.”
It would be so satisfying if her parents rolled around in piles of money after a fund-raiser. If they raked it in like autumn leaves. But they didn’t. They got checks in the mail and collected donations online.
“I thought the goal was five million.”
“It was,” her father said. “But with matching funds, we can go a lot higher. We could really do great things with that kind of money. Cricket, do you know why we do this?”
“To put the public back in public education?”
“Well, yes. But how do we know the public school system needs this? From you. From you going to public school. We do this for you.”
“Well, thanks. I guess.” But Cricket didn’t see what their fund had to do with her.
“One day you’ll be proud of what we do,” Richard said. “I hope.”
“One day you’ll be proud of me, too,” Cricket said. “I hope.”
But she was doubtful.
12
ABBY QUITS
The doorbell rang. Cricket looked through the peephole and saw part of Abby’s arm. Unlocking the rigmarole of bolts and chains and opening the door revealed the rest of Abby. Dodo, too. Dodo had an especially sweet look on her face. She winked at Cricket.
“After you, Mrs. Fabricant,” Abby said.
“I told you to call me Dodo, nobody calls me Mrs. Anything,” Dodo said.
“Maybe when you behave we can try that,” Abby said. Abby loomed over Dodo. They faced each other like cowboys in a standoff at high noon.
“After you, Mrs. Fabricant,” Abby said again. Dodo made the face Cricket made when she got in trouble with a teacher who had no sense of humor. It was a look of proud indifference. She may have gotten in trouble, but it didn’t count because it was with the uncool, no-sense-of-humor teacher.
“Mrs. Cohen?” Abby called.
“She’s in her office,” Richard said. “What’s the problem?”
“I am needed but not wanted; that is something I am used to. But I have never been treated with so little respect. In my life. You saw my references. You saw what the man from the bank said. I told you how much of a gratuity that family left me. They were very pleased with me. It says so right on my credentials.”
Dodo and Cricket hovered in the doorway.
“Dodo, what did you do?” Cricket whispered.
“I gave her the slip,” Dodo said.
“Where?”
“In the park,” Dodo said, obviously proud of herself. “I gave her the slip.”
Cricket high-fived her grandmother.
“Abby, don’t quit. Let’s try and figure this out.”
“I’m needed but not wanted,” Abby said.
“You are needed and we do want you,” Richard said. Then he yelled for Bunny.
“I don’t want her,” Dodo said as her daughter stepped into the kitchen. “Bunny, you hired her. Let her follow you around.” Bunny moved closer to Richard.
Cricket made herself comfortable. This was going to be better than anything else that would happen today, probably.
“Richard,” Dodo said, “may I please have a cup of your coffee? Abby refuses to make me a cup of coffee worth drinking.”
Cricket felt like she had front-row seats at Wimbledon. Richard gave Bunny a helpless look and went to the machine and poured his mother-in-law the last cup of coffee.
“Abby, wh
at happened?” Bunny asked, then glanced at Dodo sternly. “Mother,” she instructed, “sit down. We have got to work this out. Sit, Mother.”
Dodo did what her daughter told her to do. Bunny had that effect on people. Abby gave Cricket a look that made Cricket nervous. She found herself moving closer to her father. To the place Dodo had occupied moments before.
“Mrs. Cohen,” Abby began, “I have been here for three weeks.”
“You have. Please, call me Bunny,” Bunny said.
Cricket would never understand how anyone, particularly her mother, the commander in chief and CEO of everyone’s life, could prefer being called Bunny. Was that supposed to take the sting out of her orders? The word Bunny coming out of giant Abby’s mouth would be hilarious.
“I told Mrs. Fabricant, and I will tell you, that as soon as I am treated with a little bit of respect I will call you whatever you like. But not until then. No.”
“Richard, I think I need another cup of coffee, too,” Bunny said, and Richard hopped to it. Cricket followed him to the sink. She measured out the coffee for him and got down mugs from the cabinet.
“Monday,” Abby continued, “your daughter helped your mother try and fool me. Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me.”
Cricket knew she was turning beet red. She also knew not to look at Dodo. If she did, she’d laugh, and then Abby might pick them both up and hurl them through the kitchen window.
She could feel her parents judging. They were never going to understand how mean Abby could be. What had equaled fun and justice a few days ago wasn’t going to be easy to explain today.
Abby turned on Cricket. “Look at her, she knows what she did was wrong,” she said.
Dodo looked at Cricket, her co-conspirator.
Richard turned the coffeepot on.
“What exactly did my daughter do?” Bunny asked.
What was Abby going to say? Not the truth about herself, which was that she was patronizing to Dodo. She would never say that all she did was talk about herself and the famous families she’d worked for and that she never wanted to know anything about Dodo. She’d never say that all she did was watch TV and bark orders at Dodo. She’d never admit that she was the kind of babysitter who acts very nice in front of the parents and then is impatient and disinterested with the child when the parents are gone. Except that Dodo wasn’t a child. She was a grown woman.
“The next day your daughter asked to take her grandmother for a walk. I was not invited. Then she refused to answer my calls. I told her I was off duty at five, I had to visit my grandson, and I told them to be back before then. I cannot leave the apartment until I have fed Mrs. Fabricant. And your daughter would not answer the phone and she did not come back until six and I was late to visit my grandson. I like to see him before he goes to bed. For all I know, she was probably involved in this morning’s antics as well.”
“I’m so sorry, Abby,” Bunny said. “That is awful. Will you be able to see your grandson tonight?”
“Yes, he lives with me.”
Typical Abby: exaggerate a story to suit her own needs.
“Cricket, why didn’t you answer your phone? That’s why you have it, so that you can be reached.”
“My phone was basically dead, so I texted her,” Cricket said, “and told her I had Dodo and that we’d be home later. I told her to leave, because Dodo was having dinner with us; it was on the calendar that we were having dinner together. You want to look at my phone?”
“Abby, did she?”
“Yes, she did, but I texted her back and I said that I couldn’t leave till I had given Mrs. Fabricant her dinner. That is my job. To feed Mrs. Fabricant. My job is to cook for and feed Mrs. Fabricant. I am hired to do a job that no one wants me to do. In my business you are as good as your references. I have excellent references. You know that. You read them. That is why you hired me. No one in my care ever had bedsores. No one in my care ever had dry skin. Mr. Rothstein adored my cooking; he wanted to bottle my corn chowder. You know that the banker took very good care of me. I told you he died three weeks after I was hired but the family loved me so much they left me a very nice gratuity. They took very good care of me. Very good care of me. That is how I know I am very good at my job. My references and my gratuities when the job ends.”
There was an awkward silence, which Dodo broke. “Well, I don’t know about anybody else, but I don’t think your corn soup is so hot and I’m tired of hearing about your references and gratuities. Abby, maybe you would be happier working with someone closer to their funeral so you could get your gratuity faster. But I am not dead yet.”
Dodo then got up from the table and walked out of the apartment. But first she gave everyone the finger.
“I am a churchgoing woman,” Abby said. “This is the rudest family I’ve ever met. I quit. You have my address; I will expect to see my final paycheck in the mail. Goodbye.”
Cricket went after Dodo. What a morning. What a summer this was shaping up to be!
Dodo was halfway down the hall to her apartment when Cricket caught up.
“Hi, Poopsie! Did she quit?”
“She did,” Cricket said. “Congratulations.”
They walked into the apartment, which had the unique smell of Dodo. Lemons, cedar, and lavender.
“I don’t want an Abby, I want a life. I told your mother that.”
“Well, my mother doesn’t always listen to what other people want,” Cricket said. She thought Dodo should know that. She was older than Cricket was.
“Come, sit. What’s the hot gossip?”
“I have to rewrite my memoir for school,” Cricket said.
“Why?”
“Because I made up a story that I wished was true, but wasn’t.”
“Well, that doesn’t seem like a crime. Remember when we used to make up stories? We haven’t done that in a while. We should do it some more.”
13
CRICKET OFFERS TO HELP
When Cricket returned to her apartment she felt like they should all celebrate. But Bunny was a wreck. A shadow of her usual triumphant and accomplished self.
“Bun, life is full of things you can’t be prepared for,” Richard said to his wife.
“I’m not prepared for life, then. Between my mother and the gala and finding a house, I feel like I’m going to have a stroke. I feel like I’m being buried alive. Every summer I forget how hard pulling this off is. It’s like childbirth. I just block it right out of my mind. No one in their right mind would do what I do,” she said, walking to her calendar. All the little squares with tasks and times and lists seemed so soothing to her. “Oh my gosh! Richard, we’re supposed to spend the next two days with the Realtor!”
“Bun, I know that. So?”
“Abby! Abby was going to spend tomorrow night with my mother. Abby was the golden ticket.” Bunny traced over the writing on the calendar with her finger as though it could magically bring Abby back.
“I can stay with Dodo,” Cricket said.
Bunny and Richard looked at each other.
“Here’s the thing, Cricket,” Bunny said, “now that Abby’s quit, I need help with Dodo.”
“I just offered to help. You never notice!” Cricket said. “I like being with Dodo. You guys are the ones who act like she’s a big problem.”
“It’s different for your mom. Dodo is her mother,” Richard said, pouring another cup of coffee.
As mothers went, Cricket thought Bunny was way more problematic than Dodo.
“Let’s think this through, Richard. Maybe Cricket could stay with my mother. What if we played it by ear? Generally that kind of idea is like nails on a chalkboard, but what if we leave tomorrow, and dare I say, see how it goes?” Bunny pretended to hyperventilate. Sometimes she made fun of how controlling she was. “If Cricket needs us to come home we will. And if not, we’ll stay overnight like we planned.”
“Why don’t you call Dodo and see how she feels about it,” Richard suggested.
Bunny went to the phone.
“We’ll be fine,” Cricket said. “We’ll just watch old movies and play gin. And order out for pizza. We had sleepovers for weeks at a time in California.”
“Just write your darn essay and get it over with. Please. Do the right things. Be responsible about this. Okay?” her father asked. “And for the love of Pete, keep your phone charged. That’s why you have it. So we can reach you.”
Bunny came over and gave Cricket a hug. Finally Cricket was being appreciated for pitching in. Bunny looked over her daughter’s head to the dining area. Something was wrong over there. But Cricket wasn’t sure what.
She went over the usual infractions but couldn’t imagine the problem: her backpack was hung up, she’d made her bed this morning, she’d taken her shoes off by the front door …
“Cricket, I thought you said you set the table,” Bunny said as she walked to the table.
“I did,” Cricket said, joining her. Bunny was positioned at one end of the table.
“I’m confused,” Bunny said.
“By what?” Cricket asked.
“Forks,” Bunny said, “there are no forks. I don’t mind that you didn’t set the table, I mean I do mind, but what I mind more is you lying about setting the table.”
“What’s going on?” Richard asked, wandering in.
“Cricket told me she set the table. And she didn’t,” Bunny said.
“Oh, Cricket,” Richard said. “Mom asked you a simple thing, to set the table.”
“But I—” Cricket started to explain.
“Tables are either set or they aren’t,” Bunny said.
Humiliation gathered itself into a tight ball in Cricket’s throat. She was about to cry. What was their problem? She had obviously begun setting the table. That was why the table had napkins, water glasses, and plates on it.
She marched into the kitchen, opened the cutlery drawer, and returned to the dining room with three forks. She put them on top of the napkins. She had a fantasy about stabbing and scratching the polished tabletop with their modern three-tined forks that were impossible to eat with but would make really good vandalizing instruments.
“Thank you, honey,” her mother said. “I’ll tell you what, why don’t we have a race? I’ll try and line up something worth ten thousand dollars for the auction by dinner, and you finish your memoir,” Bunny said cheerfully. She went back to her closet, completely unaware that she’d hurt Cricket.
The Half-True Lies of Cricket Cohen Page 5
