[What's Luck Got To Do With It 02.0] Down on Her Luck

by Carmen DeSousa

  Markus reached his hand back and patted the box. “It’s okay, Buddy. Laina’s going to let you play in her yard. You’ll like Laina’s yard. It’s pretty … lots of flowering trees and shrubs, so it smells nice too.”

  I gulped, then stole a peek at Markus, who had his eyes trained on the road, but I was certain I’d seen one side of his mouth quirk up.

  Cheater. How could he act like just my friend and then make subtle comments like that? Of course, the yard was beautiful, but I wasn’t so naïve as to not recognize he was being sly with his words, especially after his earlier comment about nectar.

  Who talked like that? Then it hit me: Markus was a writer. He must sit around thinking up lines like that. My stomach seemed to drop a notch inside of me, wondering if that had been all it was, a line. Maybe to get me to finish what we’d started twenty years ago, the sleeping-with-him part.

  I jerked the car to the left, pulling into my driveway, making Markus grab the bar above the door at the same time he steadied the pizza box on his lap. “Jeeze, Lain. You in a hurry?” He looked in the back seat, but I knew the box was fine, since it was on the floorboard.

  “Just hungry.” As soon as the car came to a stop, I hopped out, grabbing the box of wine. “Here, hand me the pizza.” I reached for the box in his hands so he could get the pup.

  Pizza in one hand and wine in the other, I hurried to the door leading to the mudroom, the only door we ever used. Only visitors were allowed to enter the house through the front door. I dropped the pizza and wine on the counter, and then went looking for my mother and sister. Chaperones were a must tonight. Without my mother or sister standing guard, I was likely to either kill Markus or sleep with him. One would get me sent away for life, the other … I didn’t even want to consider that outcome.

  As I entered the foyer, I saw my sister at the top of the stairs. Although she’d said we’d catch up over the weekend, I hadn’t seen her for more than a few minutes. Since I’d been home, she had either been at work, going to work, or tired after work and planning to turn in early.

  “Hey, Ray,” I said to her retreating backside. “Markus and I brought pizza and a box of wine. You hungry?”

  Raylene turned and smiled. “Thanks, but it’s been a long day. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Did she just not want to be a third-wheel? I wondered. “Is Mom home?”

  “She just left. Tuesday night is five-dollar-movie night, so she normally goes out with her friends.”

  Friends? I didn’t know my mom had started hanging out with friends. She never had before. She’d never even dated after Dad died. Like Zayde, she’d just concentrated on the store.

  “Night, Laina!” Raylene blew me a kiss and disappeared behind the wall.

  “Night, Ray!” Markus called behind me.

  “Night, Markus!” The sound of my sister’s voice faded as she made her way up the stairs.

  The way Raylene had said goodnight to Markus, but hadn’t bothered to come back, made it clear that she and Markus were more familiar with each other than the boy and girl who’d lived next to each other for thirty-plus years but had never spoken to each other much. Raylene was three years older than Markus and me, so she’d never wanted to hang out with us in high school. Even when we did cross paths in the cafeteria, sporting events, or local hangouts, she’d always treated Markus as an acquaintance more than a friend. Had something changed now that he worked for our mother?

  I turned to voice something — I wasn’t sure exactly what — to Markus, but he was already walking back to the kitchen, as familiar in my house as he’d been when he was a kid. His father and mother had both worked nearly ’round-the-clock hours at their real estate office, which they’d grown to a large group of agencies in Pennsylvania, so Markus had spent a lot of time at our house.

  “Come on, Buddy,” Markus said to the box as he walked toward the back door. “Let’s go play.”

  That was the second time he’d called the pup “Buddy.” Had he already named him? I couldn’t help but smile as I watched Markus stoop and lift the ball of fur out of the box and set him on the grass. The pup immediately squatted. That was a good sign. Markus had been right; Mom wouldn’t be too happy if the puppy relieved himself on her antique Oriental rugs or original wood floors. Maybe that was why Markus hadn’t pressed me to take Buddy full time yet. Maybe he’d wanted to train him first so my mother — who’d always been a stickler about keeping a pristine home — wouldn’t get upset if Buddy had any accidents.

  Markus and Buddy seemed to be getting along fine, so I headed back to the kitchen and went to work on opening the box of wine. As a starving — or rather, thirsty — actress, I’d come to appreciate wine in a box. It was cheaper, and it stayed fresh longer, which meant it was available when I needed it most. I broke apart the cardboard along the perforated lines and pulled out the spout, then poured two generous portions. Next, I grabbed two paper plates off the shelf, adding two slices to each.

  With the plates lined up my left arm and the two wine glasses threaded between my fingers, I headed to the back porch. Markus darted up the stairs as I approached the storm door, and pulled it open just as I started to back my way through it. Years of waiting on tables had made me proficient when it came to balancing plates and glasses. Balancing my emotions, on the other hand, I still needed to practice, it seemed, as just the act of Markus racing to help me open the door sent a bubbling sensation up my chest, and I hadn’t even had a sip of wine yet.

  I knew Markus was sweet, but since we’d never been in a boyfriend-girlfriend relationship, and he’d never dated anyone I’d known, I had no idea how he’d treat a woman. I knew how Markus kissed a woman, though … I sighed at the memory, then lowered my head as though I were watching what I was doing so he couldn’t see my face, which I was certain was as red as it felt.

  Markus accepted a plate and a glass and took a seat on one side of the wicker loveseat. The pup yipped as he tried to climb the steps. “Oh,” Markus said, jumping up to get the pup, but I waved him off, another means to keep my face out of his view.

  I set my plate and glass next to his, then went for the pup. “Hey, Buddy. Legs too short? I know the feeling.” Since performing on stage always focused on bigger-than-life actions, I had always wondered if I would have landed more roles if I were taller. Unlike in film, where the camera followed an actor’s every move, stage performers had to make sure that the audience all the way in the back of the auditorium could see their actions. I reached for the pup and set him on the porch, but then realized I needed to wash my hands. I walked back into the house and came out with my travel-size bottle of antibacterial liquid from my purse. I wasn’t a germ freak, but I didn’t know where the pup had been before he ended up behind the store. Since I planned to eat with my hands, I didn’t want doggie germs on my pizza, even as clean as he looked and smelled.

  “Want some?” I held out the bottle to Markus and he nodded and accepted a squirt.

  “Probably a good idea.”

  He lifted his wine glass to me as I sat down on the opposite side of the loveseat. “To old friends.”

  I picked up my glass and tapped it to his. “To best friends.”

  Markus smiled. “We really were, weren’t we?”

  “Yes …”

  He sighed, which I took as a Why haven’t you called me in twenty years,then? question, but he said nothing and took a sip.

  Why hadn’t I tried? I knew where he worked. Where he lived. Well, where his parents worked and lived. But I could have reached him.

  I took a sip, then picked up a piece of the pizza. One bite in, I moaned. “Oh, this is so good.” I’d been on a diet since I was in high school, but not anymore. If I didn’t get this part, I planned to gain twenty pounds. “It takes me back.”

  “Ahhh … yes. Junior high birthday parties, when we were still ignorant of the differences between boys and girls.”

  I giggled. “True. Why are birthday and holiday parties co-ed until age thirteen,
and then they’re ‘girls or boys’ only until seventeen? What happens in those three years?”

  “Because they’d be just like those dances our parents sent us to. Where all the boys lined up on one side of the gym, and all the girls lined up on the other, waiting for the boys to grow up and ask one of them to dance. Then when one boy braved crossing the gym floor, the girl would turn him down. Co-ed parties between the ages of thirteen and sixteen would have been boring. Instead, we boys played laser tag, and you girls played Truth-or-Dare at slumber parties.”

  I laughed, imagining Markus as the scrawny boy sitting across the gym, having to walk back to the other side after a girl rejected him. And worse, the stupid dares I had to perform because I wouldn’t confess to my friends whom I wanted to marry when I grew up, since the only boy I ever imagined marrying was Markus, and they didn’t see what I saw in him. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” I took another bite, then searched for a topic change, as I was starting to feel a lot like the girl waiting on the other side of the gym right now. As much as my head was afraid of what would happen if Markus made a move on me, my body wasn’t getting the message. Only two sips of wine, and my insides were already heating up as my brain flashed back to a petting scene behind steamed-up windows of a truck. “So … how did you end up working for my mother?”

  The pup stood on his hind legs, his front paws scratching at the wicker settee. Markus nudged him away with the back of his hand as he softly disciplined him with a “No,” then turned to me. “After going back to college, I’d landed another great-paying job that I hated, and wasted another couple years of my life. When I finally decided to concentrate on writing full-time, I needed a cheaper place to stay. I remembered that old apartment above the shop. I told Belinda I’d fix it up and pull a few hours of work if she’d let me move in. The last few tenants she had were nothing but trouble, so she hadn’t rented it in years.”

  H ow had Markus known that, and I hadn’t?

  “Ray told me,” Markus said as if he’d heard my thoughts. Then I realized I’d furrowed my brow and tilted my head. He really was my best friend. He’d always sensed when I was upset. “Anyway, it’s working for both of us. Gives your mother some free time, and gives me a chance to actually finish writing something for once.”

  “When do you talk to Ray? I didn’t know you were friends.”

  Markus picked up his glass and took another sip before answering. “I bank where she works. If she’s not busy when I’m there, I pop into her office to see how she and your mother are getting along … and to enquire about you.”

  I reeled a bit. “Enquire about me? Like what?”

  Markus leaned back and pulled one of his legs up on the cushion so he was facing me. “The usual. Had you made it big on Broadway yet? Were you still single? And when were you coming home?”

  Home … The word traveled through me like magma through a lava tube, as if Markus himself were home. But Markus wasn’t home. I lived with another man. Well, sort of.

  “Markus,” I gulped, “I —”

  He leaned forward, lifting his hand to my lips. “You don’t have to respond, Laina. This is my hang-up, not yours. I’m just being honest with you, as I should have been years ago. If you don’t want to know, though, don’t ask.”

  I was almost certain my heart hadn’t just skipped a beat, but had actually stopped beating altogether, but I hadn’t even told Joe I’d left the apartment, left New York, because I hadn’t known for sure if I was going or staying.

  “I’m sorry, Markus, you know how much you’ve always meant to me, but I —” It wasn’t right not to tell Markus that I was in a relationship. Again, sort of in a relationship. After all, Joe was the one who’d left. Still … “Did my sister tell you I was living with someone?”

  His eyes shuttered, then opened, as if I’d hurt him. “Yes, but she also mentioned you weren’t married and that you didn’t love him.”

  “Raylene said I wasn’t in love with Joe?”

  “Yes …” Markus suddenly sat straighter. “Was she wrong?”

  My heart raced again, and my palms broke out into a sweat even though it was forty degrees outside. “It wouldn’t matter if Ray was right or wrong —” I shook my head. “Let’s talk about something else, please.”

  Markus lifted his head slowly, then lowered it, then rubbed his eyes as though he wasn’t quite sure how to respond. “So, how did today go?” he asked. “Did you get the part?”

  I shook my head and tried to suppress a smile at his willingness to change the topic, thankful that he wasn’t pressing me for an answer about Joe, forcing me to admit something that I didn’t want to think about right now. “I got another callback. Howard Edwards the Second, the producer —”

  Markus pressed his lips into a straight line, and attempted a smile, but it was short-lived. “I know who Howard is.”

  “Well, he was just as rude as the first day; he left before I could audition. But the reader, the guy who reads the lines of —”

  “I know what a reader does, Alaina. Remember, that was my contribution to the high school play.”

  “Oh, right. Sorry.”

  He shrugged.

  “Anyway, the reader said I’d be first up tomorrow, so hopefully, I’ll know one way or another.”

  “And if you get the part, you’ll be off to Hollywood, and if you don’t …” Markus looked hopeful, but it didn’t look as though he were hopeful I’d get the part. No, he only seemed to care about the question he hadn’t asked, the one he’d left dangling for me to finish.

  “I’m not sure.”

  His brows furrowed slightly, and I knew with almost certainty that his unasked question had been rhetorical.

  “Have my mother and sister been giving you a play-by-play of my life?” I demanded.

  “Not everything.” Markus shook his head. “Your mom’s just hoping that if you don’t get the part you’ll find a job as a teacher, and stay here instead of going back to New York.”

  “So the three of you want me to fail? As if failing for the last twenty years wasn’t enough, you want me to fail and have to come crying home?” I slammed my glass down and stood. The pup, who had been sprawled out on the wood planks between our feet, jumped, but Markus remained where he was, his arm draped over the back of the seat cushion, and his wine glass clutched in his hand. “I think you should go, Markus. I’m sure my mother and sister will let you know what happens to me.”

  He just stared up at me, then shook his head. “Is it so wrong that we want you to come home, Laina?”

  “If it means you want me to fail, then, yes!” I nearly shouted. “And you don’t live here, Markus. This isn’t your home.”

  With that, Markus set down his glass and scooped up the pup. He headed for the steps, and I remembered I’d driven him here.

  “I’ll go get my keys,” I growled.

  He turned to me, and his face was unreadable. Not angry, as I thought it might be after my ill-mannered remark. Instead, his face appeared blank, empty of emotion. “Don’t bother. I know my way home.”

  7

  Life Isn’t Over

  My alarm went off and I jumped, even though I hadn’t been sleeping. I’d just been staring up at the swirled shapes in the plaster ceiling, replaying last night in my head.

  What was wrong with me? Why had I overreacted with Markus? I’d said he was my best friend, but then freaked out because he was talking with my mother and sister about me. Of course I was a topic of conversation between my family and him. What else would he discuss with my mother and sister? I was probably a conversation-filler while Markus and my mother traded shifts at the store, or when he did business at the bank. It didn’t mean they were planning my life behind my back. As if anyone could do that anyway.

  Clearly, I’d been the incompetent director of my life for the last twenty years. A knowledgeable producer would have fired me years ago instead of sending a once-in-a-lifetime major production like my life into bankruptcy.

 
; In order to clear my head, I hopped in the shower before heading downstairs. I needed to wash yesterday’s frustrations down the drain. Oddly enough, even though I’d been a struggling actress — most of the time — making a living waiting tables, and my love life had been lackluster at best, I hadn’t been as stressed in New York. Maybe because I’d kept myself so busy I’d been able to ignore reality.

  Since I’d come home, my nerves were on high alert, as if sensing an undercurrent of strain between my mother and Raylene. Heck, even Markus seemed to be pushing me, and he’d never pushed me in high school for anything. Was it just because we were about to turn forty? What difference did it make? It wasn’t as though my biological clock was ticking. I’d snoozed that alarm one too many times. Now it was forever on mute. So, what was the sudden pressure to tell me how he felt? Why couldn’t we just let things progress as they always had? If it happened, it happened.

  After a long hot shower, I slipped into my only remaining clean outfit, faded jeans and a NY Yankees sweatshirt that my mother and sister were sure to rag on me about, as would anyone else in Pittsburgh who saw me. At least it wasn’t a Browns shirt. Baseball fans seemed to be a lot more forgiving than football fans.

  When I reached the bottom step, I realized the house was utterly quiet again. I peeked into the kitchen, and then onto the back porch, but seeing neither of my housemates, I decided to leave earlier than I had the last two mornings so I would have ample time to pick up coffee, since I kept forgetting to pick some up on the way home.

  I had never imagined how busy my mother and sister were. Maybe I wouldn’t need to find another place once I got a job, since I was practically alone most of the time.

  My thoughts brought me to a stop on the stone walkway. Not, once I got a job … if I got a job. If I stayed. If I didn’t get the part. The odd thing was that my thoughts hadn’t even bothered me. For the first time since I could remember, the thought of not going back to New York didn’t leave me feeling anxious.

  Unlike that fateful morning twenty years ago when Markus and I had crossed the “just friends” line, and I’d begged Zayde to drive me to the train station. My mother had refused, stating she’d paid my way to spend the weekend home. My sister had said I was being selfish to leave over the holiday weekend. But Zayde had understood. He’d known I was lying, I was certain, when I’d told him I had an exam that I needed to study for and that I’d left my books in my dorm. My grandfather had known how emotional I was, and had driven me right to the station. As Markus had said, I’d left without a word to him, didn’t explain why I couldn’t stay, why I couldn’t allow myself to see him again.