S.D. Youngren - Rowena 5 - Rowena Moves Closer.txt

by Rowena Moves Closer

  "Mother--"

  "It's not my place. I know it isn't."

  "Mom--"

  "I'm not one of those mothers who doesn't understand her children's needs; you know the type, just completely--"

  "Why don't you tell me anyway?"

  Her mother sighed again. "Your sister is getting a big raise and a promotion."

  "Is she really?"

  "She just called to tell me. She hasn't called you?"

  "No, she hasn't." Rowena thought of telling her mother that Maralynne's raise was not such an emergency that it couldn't wait until after work, but realized that Maralynne would not be impressed by this distinction either.

  "Well, I can't understand it. Unless she had an accident or something."

  "She's probably just busy." Rowena looked at her pile of papers, then at Lorraine and Berna, still talking by her desk and watching her out of the corners of their eyes.

  "She was so excited," Rowena's mother moaned. "Oh, something's happened; I know it has."

  "If you're so worried, why don't you call her and find out?" Rowena hoped this would get rid of her for at least a couple of minutes.

  "I'm sorry," said her mother, "but I have to go now. She needs me; I know she does." There was a click, and she was gone.

  Rowena looked a moment at the phone. Then she hung up.

  "I told her, `If those suits came here for Leslie Campbell, it wasn't to give him a prize; it was to arrest him for sexual harassment,'" Carla was saying. Where had she come from? "Besides, they don't award the lottery that way anyhow."

  "Sexual harassment! You hear that, Rowena? Your lucky day!"

  Rowena took a breath. "I'll celebrate later. Listen, I've got lots of work to do, so if you don't mind--"

  Her phone rang. Rowena picked it up, not without misgivings. "Rorschach & Schmed."

  "I'm getting a raise!" Maralynne squealed.

  "Wonderful," Rowena said. She glanced up to see Carla slap Berna lightly on the arm.

  "Told you so," Carla said.

  Rowena ignored them. "So, your boss is pleased with your work?" There was a slight, very slight pause. "Maralynne," she said, "did you hear this wonderful news of yours from your boss, or from Madame Zelda?"

  "Oh, don't worry," Maralynne said. "It's all set. Madame Zelda says--"

  "You're doing it again!"

  "What? No; I haven't had a raise for--"

  Rowena covered her eyes. "Maralynne, listen. Take some responsibility for yourself."

  "You're supposed to be happy for me! Here I've got this raise and--"

  "Maralynne, have you completely lost touch with reality? Maybe you--maybe that stuff makes you feel better or something, but you're ruining your life. You're--"

  "Do me a favor," Maralynne said. "Butt out."

  "You want me to do you a favor? You want--" Rowena realized her sister was no longer on the line. She hung up.

  "What was that all about?" Somehow Sara had joined the group. Rowena shut her eyes.

  "Don't even ask," she said. She opened her eyes again and looked at her clock. Ten minutes to lunchtime.

  "Oh, God," Berna said. "More of them."

  They all watched the group--there were a couple of women this time--wait just a minute until the elevator arrived and took them away.

  Carla broke the silence. "So, what'd she say?"

  "If you don't mind," Rowena said, "I'd rather not talk about it."

  "C'mon," Berna said. "Everybody'll find out about it anyway."

  "I hope not."

  "You know what this place is like. It's only a matter of time."

  "We have a right to know," Lorraine objected.

  "So how come she called you and not me?" Sara asked.

  "What?"

  "You're not at your desk, silly." Berna shot Sara one of her looks. "She probably tried."

  "What are we talking about?" Rowena demanded. "She's my--"

  "You called her `Marilyn.' As in, Marilyn from Accounting."

  "I--no, wait--"

  "She's getting busted, isn't she? For drugs?"

  "What? No. That was just--"

  "Wonder what she took," Berna mused. "I figure--I guess an accountant would take either a mood enhancer or a hallucinogen. Am I right?"

  "No. If you must know, my--"

  "Uh-oh. Eloise." They scattered.

  Rowena returned from lunch with an eye out for Berna, but the first person to pounce on her was Jim.

  "Hey," he said. "What's this about the entire Accounting Department getting busted?"

  "What? She's up to the whole department now?"

  He looked at her quizzically. "Yeah. The whole Accounting Department is in jail for using LSD. And for some reason Marilyn called you for bail but you wouldn't help."

  "Oh, no."

  "You said, `I won't do you any favors,' or something like that." Rowena covered her face. "Hey," Jim said. "I don't blame you. She's a pain in the ass."

  "Jim--"

  "Why would she call you, anyway? I mean, she gets one phone call, wouldn't she call Mr. Rorschach's lawyers, or her husband, or something? Actually, you'd think that if they were all arrested here like Lorraine said, Mr. Rorschach's lawyers would already know."

  "Jim--Jim, it's all a mistake."

  "What mistake? Like I said, she's a pain in the ass. I wouldn't do her any favors either."

  Sean approached from around the corner. "Hey," he said. "You see Eloise's spies?"

  "Her what?"

  "Spies. You know. The guys in suits who were here. Real sneaky."

  "Are they spying for her or on her?"

  Sean laughed. "Hey, that would be something, wouldn't it--get our own spies and check her out."

  "You're nuts," said a new voice. "They're from the EPA. We got violations up the gazoo."

  "Violations? What violations?"

  Rowena took advantage of the commotion and fled. She was almost to her desk before somebody else stopped her.

  "Rowena?" It was Molly. "What's all this nonsense I'm hearing about you and the Accounting Department?"

  "My sister called. And her name is Maralynne. And she's not in jail; she's just lost her mind. Like everyone else around here."

  Molly put her hand over her mouth. "You were talking to your sister," she said, her voice only slightly muffled, "and those gossips . . ."

  "They got all excited about some men in suits who turned up, and they've spent the whole day coming up with wild explanations. I just hope they haven't called the newspaper yet." Rowena looked at the ceiling. "You know, you'd think eventually somebody would actually go to Accounting and--"

  She stopped. Sylvia from upstairs was approaching, and she looked purposeful. Rowena waited. But as Sylvia drew nearer, she smiled.

  "There's some leftover food in the break room," she said. "Help yourselves--just don't stay long."

  "Leftovers? From what?"

  "From Mr. Schmed's birthday party upstairs."

  They looked at each other. "What birthday party would that be?" Molly asked carefully.

  "A surprise party upstairs. Attended by members of Mr. Schmed's service organization, the party--"

  Rowena didn't want to hear the entire press release. "So those, um, people in suits who were here . . ."

  "Yes; that was them." Sylvia gave her an odd look. "Well--enjoy." And she left.

  Rowena looked at Molly. "Suppose anyone from Accounting will be there? And maybe a gossip or two?"

  "Wouldn't be surprised," Molly said.

  "Come on," Rowena said. "Let's go get some food."

  Rowena Plays Nurse

  Fiction by S. D. Youngren

  --------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  Rowena finished her dishes, rinsed the sink, wiped the counter, the table, and her hands, and seated herself in the chair by her phone. Linus looked up from his paw-cleaning, cocked his head at her, and trotted over. Rowena scooped him into her lap. "What a lapdog you are," she said, and ruffle
d his fur. In answer he wagged his tail and attacked her with his tongue. Rowena gave him another ruffle, picked up the phone, and dialed.

  "Hello?" Sammy said.

  "Hi. How goes it?"

  "Better now," he said. "Glad you called."

  "Better? What's wrong?"

  Sammy paused just slightly. "Stomach flu, I think."

  "Oh, Sammy."

  "At least I was okay for the big lunch meeting," Sammy said. "Not that it was all that productive or anything, but at least I wasn't sick for it. Actually I was fine until I got home."

  "That's handy, I guess."

  "I didn't do it on purpose, believe me," Sammy said. "Though I'm afraid you'll probably have to go to your sister's party without me tomorrow night."

  "Sammy, that's--"

  "I'm sorry," he said, though she wasn't annoyed at him. "I know it's a--it's not much fun." He sounded strained, as if his stomach felt suddenly worse.

  Rowena asked, "How--" but he interrupted her.

  "'Scuse me," he said, and put the phone down. Rowena covered her eyes with her hand. She had yogurt in the fridge; she could bring him some of that. She had--she had several things, and anything she didn't have she could get.

  She waited for his return, waited it seemed forever, waited and worried just a bit.

  "Here we go," Rowena said. She set Sammy's soup before him--carry-out chicken noodle from a local restaurant. "I'd have made some myself if you'd warned me." His toast popped up and she bustled off to tend to it, careful not to step on Caesar, his suddenly-vigilant cat. "I wish I'd brought some jam; you seem to be out." She dropped the toast onto a plate and buttered it. "And I brought you some yogurt for whenever, and a milkshake for dessert--kind of cold, maybe, but nice and creamy, you know?"

  "Thank you. That's--thanks." He picked up a piece of toast and took a deliberate bite. Rowena sat down.

  "Too bad you don't drink tea," she said. He smiled with some effort.

  "You and your tea," he said fondly. And then he bent forward, wincing. "Excuse me," he said again, and hastily he pushed back his chair and left for the bathroom. Rowena stared a while at the table, at the just-started meal. Sammy had told her he had diarrhea, nausea, and stomach pains. He was dizzy and weak. But he seemed to have no fever and did not want to see a doctor. Nor did he want her to stay with him the next day instead of going to work. "It's just the flu," he'd said. "I might be going to work myself tomorrow. You get your Finkler Project done; don't worry about me."

  Stupid Finkler Project. She sat and waited for Sammy to return, Caesar in front of her on the floor with his ears up, alert and ready.

  Rowena wished she felt so competent.

  She did manage to get some work done the next day, though Molly thought she looked unwell.

  "Men," Molly said when Rowena explained. "They never take care of themselves."

  "Um," said Rowena. She didn't want Sammy criticized, even over something like this. Even by someone like Molly.

  "Listen," Molly said. "Give him my regards, okay? And I hope he's better soon."

  "Thanks," Rowena said.

  She spent her workday as best she could on the Finkler Project, and she spent half her lunch hour in a bookstore, buying Sammy a get-well card and a gift--a copy of The Phantom Tollbooth, which he'd once told her he'd never read. She was pretty sure he wouldn't mind her giving him a children's book, especially when he was sick. Then a sandwich at her desk and a phone call to Sammy. She was glad to find that he had taken her advice and stayed home, and also that she had not awakened him. She was not so glad to hear that he felt, if anything, worse than before.

  "Oh, Sammy. Are you okay there by yourself?"

  "Yeah. I can get to the fridge and the bathroom and so on. I'm fine."

  "Hang in there," Rowena said. "I'll be by tonight; let me know if you need me sooner."

  "I'll be fine. Don't worry." He paused. "Tell your sister Happy Birthday for me."

  "Sure," said Rowena. She twiddled the phone cord between her fingers. "I'll tell her."

  After she hung up she glanced at the clock, picked up the phone again and dialed her sister. She found herself wishing she hadn't had The Phantom Tollbooth giftwrapped; the Feiffer illustrations would have helped her stay cheerful. "Hello," mumbled Maralynne, her mouth full.

  "Hi," Rowena said. "Happy Birthday,"

  Maralynne swallowed. "Thanks."

  "Sammy says Happy Birthday too."

  Maralynne was briefly silent. "You're not coming," she said.

  "Sammy's sick. I'll see you as soon as I can, but I'm going to have to look after him tonight and I can't promise--"

  "It's my birthday."

  "I know. I'm very sorry. I--"

  "I'm getting older," Maralynne said. "By myself."

  Rowena had been afraid of this. "You've got Chester," she pointed out. "And all your friends."

  "And one sister," Maralynne said, "who doesn't care."

  "Maralynne--"

  "My one special day out of the whole year!"

  "Maralynne, I promise..."

  It was actually a relief to get back to the Finkler Project.

  After work she first went home to take care of Linus. He ate with his usual heedless joy, but she kept thinking of Sammy, of how unwell he had sounded over the phone. If he needed to be looked after all night but kept insisting he didn't . . . She would not give him any excuses to send her away. She put a breakfast-sized portion of puppy food in her purse and on the way back from Linus' walk stopped by her landlord's apartment to see if Mrs. Masters would be willing to dogsit for her. The Masters' dog, Wilburette, was delighted to see her and Linus both; Mrs. Masters, luckily, was on the phone and unable to detain Rowena for more than a few minutes--or to demand much of an explanation. Rowena thanked her and petted a puzzled Linus goodbye. "Be a good boy," she told him. "Have fun." Because Mrs. Masters was there, she did not say, "Poor puppy," but she did promise him a special treat when she came to take him home.

  Back to her apartment. She fetched The Phantom Tollbooth and the card, hesitated, decided against digging up anything else to bring, and left. In the car she changed the radio from news to music. After a couple of minutes of music the top-of-the-hour news came on. It was less than ten minutes to Sammy's building; the music barely had a chance to begin again before she was there. She parked, got out, hurried to his door, tapped softly, and let herself in with her copy of his key.

  He was sitting on the couch, rocking back and forth with his arms crossed low on his stomach and his cat by his knees. "Hi," he said shortly, as she hurried over. His temperature was still normal, and, pain or no pain, he still did not want to see a doctor or even lie down. She fixed him some hot chocolate, which he drank, and he seemed to feel better.

  For a little while.

  "Oh, Sammy," she said, as he doubled over again. She set down, again, his unopened gift.

  "It'll pass."

  "Sammy--"

  "It's just the flu."

  "Sammy, let me stay with you tonight. Just tonight; I'll go to work in the morning, if you're well enough. Okay?" He leaned against her, his head down. Caesar inserted himself into his master's lap, insistently. For the moment, Sammy ignored him.

  "Your sister's birthday . . ."

  "Sammy. Please." She put her hand in his hair. "You come first. You know that."

  He reached across to grasp her other hand. "I'm probably contagious," he said. "I don't want you to catch this."

  "It's a little late for that," Rowena told him. "Anyway, I want to help. You really think I can just leave you like this? You think I--" He was crying. "Sammy," she said gently. "Sammy . . ."

  "I love you," Sammy said.

  "I know," Rowena began, but he didn't let her continue.

  "I love you. I want everything to be nice for you."

  "Sammy--"

  "I'm supposed to take care of you!"

  "You do take care of me. Remember when I was sick, how you--"

  "I'm supposed to take
care of you all the time!" Sammy said. Rowena closed her eyes.

  "Hey," she said. "Ease up, okay?"