by Cook, Claire
Chapter
Eleven
John wasn't waiting for me on the sidewalk in front of the Necrogamiac building holding two coffees from Starbucks. He wasn't even in the lobby.
When the elevator door opened, I expected him to magically appear and tell me that he'd come in early so he could get enough work done to spend the rest of the day with me. He'd say he was sorry he lost track of time. I'd respond that it could happen to anyone and assure him that I completely understood. I'd apologize again for forgetting to call him back last night. Apologies out of the way, we'd gaze at each other longingly as we rode the elevator back upstairs together.
It didn't happen. The only other passenger on the elevator was a youngish woman with light hair. And dark roots that appeared to be intentional as opposed to sloppy. She was sitting on the cushioned bench like she owned the place.
I smiled at her.
She smiled back. "Do we know each other?"
I squinted. She did look vaguely familiar. Or maybe she just looked like someone I wished I looked like. Long legs, tight black pencil skirt, high heels, short jacket, cute haircut, a smile that said I'm sexy and I know it.
The jacket and pants I'd thought were appropriately businesslike as well as moderately stylish when I put them on this morning turned dowdy on the spot. I resisted an urge to tell this perfect stranger that I had better clothes at home. And then to beg her to take me shopping immediately.
"Don't tell me," she said. "Tennis, right?"
"Um," I said. "Actually, I don't—"
She laughed an adorable laugh. "I know, Zumba! Back row, I see you when we turn around?"
A muffled buzzer went off. It sounded like a test of the Emergency Broadcast System. She dug her phone out of her purse and pushed a button. "Mom, listen, I can't talk about it right now. I'm in the middle of an important meeting."
I held up one hand and said, "It's fine," as if we really were in a meeting.
She ignored me. "Mom, listen, I mean it. Stop calling me at work. I'll call you one night this week. Or as soon as I can."
She hung up and rolled her eyes. "Mothers."
"Nice ring," I said, mostly to change the subject.
"It's called 'Mom Alert.' I'll email you the link if you want."
"That's okay," I said. A bell rang. For a moment I thought she had a call from someone else, but it was only the elevator stopping. The crisscross of brass doors opened.
"My floor already," she said. "I hate that." She reached out to keep the door from closing. "In my next life I'm going to be an elevator operator so I can ride this elevator all day long."
I took a quick glance around. It still looked like a five-star hotel room to me.
"It's pretty amazing," I said.
"I know, huh?" She stepped out of the elevator and leaned back in again. "It's my happy place. I like it so much I even use elevator as my password." She opened her eyes wide. "Oops, you're not an identity thief or anything, are you?"
I laughed. "Nope. Sometimes I'm not even sure I have an identity."
"Good to hear. Oh, if you ever get the chance to practically spend the night in there, totally do it. It's like the most romantic place ever."
We were seated in a circle on a brick courtyard tucked behind the Necrogamiac building. Freshly planted petunias and salvia and feathery asparagus ferns filled ancient-looking urns and gave the courtyard a stately, formal feel. A distressed wooden coffin filled with daylilies was an unmistakable holdover from the building's funeral parlor days. A huge ultra-modern fountain, cement and square, was all sleek contrast and took over one corner of the courtyard. Water poured down the side of the fountain and crashed onto a river rock base, muffling the sound of traffic.
I'd strategically seated us as far away from the fountain as possible, and hoped none of the Gamiacs happened to be packing squirt guns.
I pulled a red drawstring pouch out of my enormous shoulder bag, careful not to dislodge any of the items I'd packed for an overnight with John Anderson. Last night, after finally dragging Michael away from harassing Phoebe, I'd put down my foot and insisted he get a quick haircut. Then we'd rushed back to our family home for Sunday dinner.
On the way back to my house after dinner I stopped by Bayberry Preschool to borrow a few things from my classroom for today. By the time I'd helped Michael get Annie and Lainie and Mother Teresa settled in on the air mattress in my former master bedroom-slash-office, picked out an outfit to wear, and brushed my teeth, I was exhausted. I conked out almost as soon as I crawled into bed.
I'd completely forgotten about John's call until I woke up this morning. I called him right away to apologize, but his cell rang four times and then went to voicemail. "Hey," I said, "I'm really sorry I forgot to call you back last night. I'll tell you all about it when I see you. Okay, well, bye."
The glint of sunlight on a cell phone caught my eye, bringing me back to the courtyard. One of the students, his hoodie pulled low over his forehead to block the sun, had pulled the sleeves of his sweatshirt down over his hands to camouflage his phone. His thumbs were going a mile a minute.
"Excuse me," I said. "Timothy?"
"That's Timmy," the boy who needed to brush said. "I'm Timothy."
"And that's Tim," the girl next to me said, pointing to the nose picker. I handed him a tissue.
I made a mental note to bring nametags next time. I'd posted a simple assignment for them (go outside once a day with someone else in the group) in a private work chat room after our first meeting and found it much easier to tell them all apart by their IDs: RavenSureSong, ObscureEssence, DarkShadow, ObsidianDream . . ..
Timmy's thumbs were still dancing away. I cleared my throat and held out my hand. "I'll take that. You can pick it up at the end of the session, Timmy. And let me remind you all that this is an electronics-free zone."
"Well, that sucks," Timmy said, but he handed over his phone.
I tucked it under a corner of my shoulder bag, hoping out of sight would, in fact, be out of mind. I rolled down the sides of the drawstring pouch so the contents were revealed.
The chorus of cool and dude and off the hinges that followed was music to my ears.
I gestured to the contents. "Choose a finger puppet."
They were like new Gamiacs. As soon as their index fingers were covered, they all started actually socializing. The girl with a blank stare and a magenta streak in her hair, who was either Megan or one of the Caitlins, put on a Bo-Peep puppet with a big lacy bonnet and a long wooden shepherd's staff.
"Boohoo," she said in a girly voice. "Has anybody seen my littlest lamb? She's lost and doesn't know how to find her way home."
The nose picker, who was seated next to her, slid his picking finger into a bright green tortoise puppet. I made a mental note to spray all the puppets thoroughly with Lysol before I returned them to Bayberry. "I'll help you, Bo-Peep," he said in a deep, manly voice. "I might be slow, but I won't give up until your littlest lamb is home safe and sound."
A good teacher knows when to stay out of things.
Cinderella and Pinocchio perched on index fingers and faced each other.
"I hate my nose," Pinocchio said.
"It's not that bad," Cinderella said. "Hey, do these rags make my stomach look fat?"
"Not really," Pinocchio said. "Plus all that sweeping probably works practically as good as iFit."
I felt a tap on my shoulder. When I turned around, a tiny Prince Charming handed me a pink petunia. Above the prince, Timothy's eyes met mine.
"Why, thank you so much, kind sir," I said. "But I think you might want to give that to another puppet."
A cloud of hurt passed over his face. "It was for you," he mumbled.
This was a new wrinkle, and yet not so new. As a preschool teacher, I'd had my share of marriage proposals from three-year-old boys, as well as the occasional three-year-old girl.
I reached for the flower and smiled a teachery smile at Timothy, warm and nurturing, but not at all crush-wor
thy. He turned and stomped off in the direction of Cinderella, still holding the flower.
"Quack-quack-quack." Across the courtyard, the ugly duckling ruffled its feathers.
"Breakfast!" the red fox yelled as it lunged for the ugly duckling's neck.
The ugly duckling's puppeteer jerked the ugly duckling away. "You frackin' ass quack," the ugly duckling said. The red fox dove for its neck again.
It was time to redirect. I held up one hand. "Freeze," I said.
They froze.
I waited a moment to make sure I had their attention.
"I want you to go around the circle and count off by twos." I nodded at the girl holding Bo-Peep.
"One," she said.
"Two," Bo-Peep said.
I didn't have to be a math whiz to know counting off wasn't going to work if the ones and the twos were attached to each another. "Okay," I said, "let's try this. You and your puppet will share a number. I'll tap you on the head and give it to you, so all you have to remember is whether you and your puppet are a one or a two. Got it?"
Nobody said otherwise, so I walked around the circle and tapped the students on the head, alternating ones and twos. If this didn't work, I figured we could just segue into a quick game of duck-duck-goose.
"Now," I continued, "I want all the ones to stand up and take three giant steps to an unoccupied space on this courtyard."
A hand shot up. "Us or the puppets?"
"Both of you," I said.
"So, that's like six steps, right?" somebody said.
And I'd thought preschoolers had their challenges. I let out a puff of air. "Sure. Six steps—three big ones and three tiny puppet ones."
They took their steps. I redirected a couple of them away from the fountain.
"Okay, when you hear this . . .." I pulled a tambourine out of my shoulder bag and shook it. "I want the twos to walk your puppet over to stand in front of a one puppet and ask it three questions."
"Can I play the tambourine instead?" the nose picker asked.
"Not today," I said.
"Okay, the first question is: If you had three wishes, what would they be? The second question is: If you could be any kind of dog, what kind would you be and why? And the third question is: Where would you like to go for lunch today?"
I jangled the tambourine. I watched as their puppets all partnered up with new puppets and asked their questions.
Even though a couple of them seemed to be speaking in accents straight from Downton Abbey, they made eye contact. They laughed. They took turns speaking.
I shook my tambourine. "Okay, now ones, it's your turn to ask the twos the same questions."
When they finished, I shook my tambourine again. "Twos, stay where you are. Ones, find a new puppet," I yelled.
They found new partners without a hitch. They were fully engaged now, and as a teacher there is nothing better than seeing an activity take on a life of its own. The buzz of laughter and conversation blended with the crashing of the water in the fountain and the background roar of the traffic.
Scratch the surface and the Gamiacs were like lumps of clay, soft and malleable. Maybe deep down inside we were all still in our formative years. Maybe it was never too late for any of us to change.
Chapter
Twelve
The door to John's office was closed.
I slipped a dog puppet over my index finger and knocked.
There was a beat of silence, followed by a businesslike "come in."
I opened the door a crack and wiggled my finger puppet through it. "Ruh-oh," I said in my best imitation of Scooby Doo. "You're mad at me because I didn't call you back last night, right?"
I jumped as the door swung open to reveal the woman from the elevator smiling at me from about a foot away. Her teeth were flawless.
"Hey," she said. "You again. I'm Keli. With one l. And an i."
"Sarah. One r. One h." I shook my hand like a tambourine. "And one puppet."
"I love puppets. Except for the kind with the strings."
"Marionettes," I said.
"That's a cute name," she said. "Mine was Flossie. Like dental floss. But I think I gave her the name after I got rid of her." She turned to look over her shoulder. "What year was dental floss invented, Johnny?"
She flipped her hair as she turned to him. John Anderson shrugged and shook his head.
"He'll think of it. He knows everything." Keli giggled. "He reads every big boring book he can get his hands on. And don't ever get him talking about old pinball machines." She crossed her eyes and somehow managed to still look adorable.
I didn't know where to look, so I focused on the puppet. You knew what you were getting with a puppet.
"Hey," Keli with one l and an i said. "I've got an idea. Let's go out to lunch. Or we could work first and then have drinks. There's a new bistro down the street with super cute guys."
When I realized she was talking to me, I gave John a quick glance, but he was busy rearranging some mechanical pencils in a holder on his desk. "Thanks so much," I said, "but I think I might already have plans."
Keli flipped her hair and looked over her shoulder again. "Johnny?"
He glanced up. "Thanks, but I've already met my quota of super cute guys for the week."
Keli giggled. "Actually, I think I might already have plans, too. Maybe they're the same plans and we'll see each other there. Or we can do it next time."
The Mom Alert buzzer went off on her phone. She sighed, reached into her purse, made it stop.
She turned back to me. "It could be the grocery store. Do you shop at the Trader Joe's down the street from my tennis lessons?"
"Possibly," I said. "Hey, don't you think you should have answered that? It might be important."
She rolled her eyes. "With my mother, it's never important. Wait, I completely forgot I brought a present for my boyfriend."
John Anderson and I looked at each other across the long expanse of quiet office. I swallowed back another ruh-oh.
Keli pulled a professionally wrapped present out of her purse, stretched sexily as she handed it to him.
"Thank you," John said.
"You're welcome. I hope the big guy likes it."
For a split second half of my brain thought Keli was referring to John's penis. This was the half that wasn't still trying to figure out boyfriend. In my defense, I'd grown up with three brothers who all had names for their penises. If you put the big guy next to Duckie or Mr. Murphy, it wouldn't even stand out all that much.
"Uh-oh," Keli said. "I just remembered I have lunch plans. Maybe I'll see you there."
"Thanks again," John said as he closed the door behind her.
Silence filled the room.
"The big guy?" I said casually.
John shrugged. "What can I say? The two of them have a bit of a love fest going on."
"Excuse me?"
"They've only met a few times, but she's always buying him little presents."
Presents? What do you even buy for a penis? A scarf? Or maybe some variation on those knitted nose warmers from the '80s?
John put the package next to his messenger bag. "I guess I'd better wait and let Horatio open it."
"Horatio," I repeated.
"Seriously?" John Anderson said as we strolled down the street. "You did speed dating with puppets?"
"Ha," I said. "Genius, if I do say so myself. But the finger puppets were your idea, so I'm willing to split the credit right down the middle. Anyway, we were a bit short on girls, but I don't think anybody really noticed. And it was actually more like speed pre-dating, though I'm happy to report that lunch plans were in fact made by the end of the session."
It was a gray murky day. The temperature was climbing and the air was sticky and getting stickier. John and I walked toward the restaurants that clumped around the square. We were going through all the conversational motions, but we didn't hold hands. Awkwardness hung over us like a rain cloud threatening to let loose any minute. Had my not ca
lling him back last night made him pull away from me? Or maybe it was Keli. I wasn't stupid. I mean, what woman buys presents for a guy's dog unless she has ulterior motives? She was too young for him. I hoped he knew that. And at the risk of being unkind, my first impression was that she wasn't the brightest crayon in the box.
I stopped to swing my shoulder bag up a little higher on my shoulder. It seemed way too big today, like a neon billboard flashing: Toiletries inside! And a fresh change of underwear! The thing about being in the city without a car was that you had to carry everything with you. If I were back in the 'burbs where I belonged, my car would be close by and my bag would be in it. That way if it turned out I didn't actually need it for an overnight, no one would have to know I'd even brought it with me. A car was a sidekick, always waiting nearby, Tonto to your Lone Ranger. A car was a security blanket. The city separated you from it, exposed you, made you vulnerable.
"Here, let me take that." When John reached for my shoulder bag, our hands touched and sparks flew. Whether the sparks were caused by static electricity or love or the uncertainty I'd been feeling since I watched Keli wiggle her butt out of John's office, I wasn't sure.
Our eyes met. He was such a nice guy. Sweet. Fun. Smart. Generous. Gainfully employed. Healthy as a horse. And far more patient than I had any right to expect him to be. I should have called him back last night. Actually, I shouldn't have. I should have talked to him when he called. I could have closed the door of Michael's 4Runner and had the conversation right there. Michael was a grown man. He could have messed up things with Phoebe all by himself. And then once John and I had finished our conversation, I could have picked up the pieces. It wasn't like I had to turn my back on my brother in his time of need. I just had to balance things a little better.
"Hey," I said. "Do you want to skip the restaurant and just grab a pizza and take it back to your place?"
"It tastes so much better this way," I said. I reached across John's naked body for another piece of pizza.
