“What’s in the bag? It smells great.”
“Spring, Dylan said you love squid…”
Spring mouthed the word “squid” and made a disgusted face under the nose and glasses.
“Well, I didn’t believe him. Do you like chicken gyro sandwiches?”
“If she doesn’t,” I said, “I can make her something. Do you want some wine?”
“Another Côte de Beaune?”
“How did you guess?” I said. It was not the ‘69 bottle, of course.
“I’m lucky. I’m always lucky.”
Laurel leaned against the countertop in front of me. This was a critical signal in the world of dating. While a little ambiguous between come and get it and simple exhibitionism, the trick for the man is to stare deep into the cleavage without becoming mesmerized and perceived as a pervert. Men figure if a woman is going to wear a cleavage-bearing shirt, then we are supposed to stare to a degree. This was the difference between a 22-year-old and me: years of experience had allowed me to perfect my technique.
“Spring,” I said, “would you…” She was gone and I looked around the place. “She can’t go far and we’d have heard if she ran out the door.”
“Maybe we should let her play for a while? Hmm?”
“Okay,” I said, removing two glasses and a corkscrew. “It’s been a long day for Spring. This was her first time back to daycare.”
Laurel tucked her elbows closer, as she leaned in. She wasn’t interested in Spring’s day. “It’s been too long, Dylan.”
I looked away. “A lot has happened.”
“Maybe we can try this again?” she said. She reached over the counter and ran a finger down my tie. “This is kind of formal, isn’t it?”
“I came from work and picked Spring up on the way. We just got…”
To Laurel, it didn’t matter where we were, what I was wearing, or what planet I was on. I saw little eyes watching, as I headed to the opposite side of the counter.
“I didn’t take you for a Gyro girl. You look like more of a Szechwan chicken girl.”
“Sometimes I do both.”
“Both?”
She whispered, “Yes, both.”
“Both, yes.” I checked the countertop for the corkscrew. “May I pour you some wine?”
The corkscrew was missing.
I checked where I thought I had put it, and then by the glasses. But with Laurel at my controls, it was possible that I had forgotten it altogether and I checked the drawer again. About the same time I completed the rotation, I saw a little hand reach onto the countertop and swipe the one remaining wineglass. I pointed to the little hand to show Laurel.
“I don’t know where the corkscrew went… or the wineglasses. Did you see where I put them?”
“No,” Laurel said, winking.
“Well, we could always go over to the squid place. They have great wine.”
Giving Laurel the just a moment hand signal, I squatted down and padded to the other side of the kitchen.
“Pssst. Spring. What are you doing?”
“I don’t like her,” she said, attempting an unsuccessful whisper.
“Is everything all right down there?” Laurel said.
I popped my head up and then back down to Spring. “Yes, we’re just having a little, well, discussion or something…” I looked at Spring. “Shhh. She’s just a friend here to give me some company.”
“What about me? I’m company.”
“You’re not company.”
Spring frowned. “So, why can’t Billie be company?” The fake nose and glasses made it difficult to know if Spring was serious.
“Is there anything I can do?” Laurel said.
I popped up again. “No, no. I’ll be right back,” I said before dropping down again.
“Billie’s not coming over tonight because Laurel brought us dinner,” I whispered. “She’s being nice to us.”
“I don’t like… that chicken.”
“When have you ever had chicken gyros?”
“Lots of times.”
“Then I’ll make you a hot dog.”
“Are you sure I can’t help? Laurel said, leaning down next to us.
“Spring and I were just discussing dinner. Weren’t we, Spring?”
Laurel took my hand. “Why don’t we go into the living room with the wine and the corkscrew and let little Spring play?”
With Laurel leading me away, Spring stuck out her tongue. Apparently, this was a mano-a-mano thing for women and it looked dangerous. As I removed the cork and poured the wine, I could feel a little pair of Groucho eyes watching me from under the furniture. Although I wanted to sit and talk with Laurel, if I didn’t get Spring’s hot dog started, she would continue to prowl.
“Excuse me, I need to make something else for Spring’s dinner,” I whispered to Laurel. “That should keep her occupied for a while.”
“Okay. Hurry?”
“Spring, do you want to help me in the kitchen?”
“No,” she said and walked over to Laurel.
“I love your glasses, Spring.”
“I have another pair.” She dug into her pocket and removed a second set of Groucho glasses. “Do you want to wear them?”
“No thanks. They clash with my outfit.” Laurel leaned close to Spring and I could barely make out what she was whispering. It sounded like she wanted to impress me.
“Spring, your hot dog will be ready in a minute. Do you want a bun?”
She ignored me and understandably so. I was not qualified to understand what was going on here.
“Spring, I have some OJ for you.”
Laurel leaned closer to Spring and whispered something else. Then she came into the kitchen with Spring at her heels.
“You forgot your wine, Dylan.”
“Thanks.”
She smiled at me.
“Spring, juice?”
Spring grabbed at the juice and sent it into Laurel’s lap.
“Dylan! We have a spill. Towel?”
I turned around. “Juice or wine?”
“Juice!”
When I reached for the towel, I saw Spring bump into the wineglass sending it into Laurel’s clothes.
“Now wine! Dylan!”
Laurel moved the glass and I began to blot her shirt. Then I noticed I wasn’t really blotting her shirt, but her breasts instead. Although I hadn’t meant to, it didn’t really matter. I stopped blotting.
“Maybe I should just go.”
“No, it’s okay, stay.”
“I’m sorry, Dylan.”
“Please? It’s early.”
“I’m gonna leave. Where’d you put my coat?”
Laurel rushed out, as though she were a member of Jim’s old profession. I was not looking forward to seeing her at the office tomorrow. As soon as she left, I realized how foolish the entire exercise had been. It was ludicrous for me to have someone like Laurel here especially on a transition day like this one. I took a deep breath and then turned to deal with Spring. “Spring, what was that all about?”
She was still wearing the fake nose and had that look that said you think I’m cute. “Knock, knock,” she said.
“What?”
“Knock, knock.”
I rolled my eyes. “Who’s there.”
“Billie.”
“Billie who?”
“What do you mean ‘Billie who?’” Billie was standing behind me and I jumped. “What’s the matter? I was in the neighborhood and got here as fast as I could.”
Now I was as confused as Billie.
“Spring called me. Said you needed help. Did it have something to do with a certain soggy sweater girl I passed in the hall?”
I looked at the miniature Groucho. “Spring?”
It didn’t matter that she hadn’t turned four yet, and it didn’t matter if we ever figured out her birthday. I was still outplayed. The sooner I understood this as a fact, the better off I’d be. She wasn’t a kid. She was a small woman in a k
id suit, but a woman just the same. She had called Billie for backup, but had disposed of Laurel on her own.
“Why did you call Billie?”
“Is that Spring?” Billie said, looking down at her. “I didn’t recognize her.”
Spring removed the glasses. “Ta daa.”
“He doesn’t really need help, does he?”
Spring shook her head.
“She said she didn’t like Laurel,” Billie said to me.
“Hmmm. So you made her go away?”
Spring nodded, careful to watch me to see if I was about to get angry.
“How did you get Billie’s number?”
“You always press #2.”
“Spring, tell Billie you’re sorry for making her come over.”
Spring just stared.
“Tell her you’re sorry. ”
Spring stared at her empty cup of orange juice still lying on its side. “I’m sorry.” she said and then began to cry. She reached to hug Billie’s leg, which stunned me and I think caused Billie to age four years.
For the second time in five minutes, a child had shut me down. Had I been at the Magenta Martini, there would have been nothing anyone there could have said to make me feel worse. This was a major crash and burn, and I had been embarrassed in front of Laurel and now Billie, while making Spring cry again.
Yes, I looked like a fool, but that wasn’t important. She was making it as clear to me as she possibly could that she wasn’t ready for me to have lady friends over. Billie was different because Billie was somewhat familiar and we were just friends. Spring was making it very obvious that she needed me to be there for her. Her mother was dead and I was the only person in the world who really cared about her.
I was all she had and yet she cried on someone else’s leg.
Chapter 12
How’s the Turkey?
Spring wasn’t interested in the full bedtime treatment and agreed to wash extra hard tomorrow night. She passed on the story, the song and the animal noises. I set the glass of water on her bed stand. When I kissed her, I kissed the top of her head and not her little face, as I was still feeling guilty about everything that had happened earlier.
When I left Spring, I found Billie standing in the living room looking at the pictures of Diane. Her fingers traced the lines of the urn. When she discovered the top opened, she looked inside. I had done the same after bringing it home.
“Wine or scotch?” I said, pretending not to notice what she was doing.
“Scotch. Thanks. So what was up with the kid?”
I removed the Glenlivet and two rocks glasses, filling them halfway. We both drank our scotch straight up without ice.
“She went to daycare today for the first time since the accident. She seemed to be doing okay, but I know she misses her mom. I think that’s why she called you. She misses having a woman in her life and Laurel is definitely not the woman she has in mind. Sorry she grabbed hold of your leg. I think the novelty of Dylan is wearing off.”
“Hey, we all wear off eventually.”
I sipped the scotch. “I always wait outside of her room after bedtime. She talks to Diane…tells her what happened. Tonight, she apologized.”
“Why?”
“She apologized for hugging your leg. I don’t know. Maybe she’s afraid her mother is going to get angry with her for showing emotion to another woman. She didn’t say that, but that’s what I think she means.”
“What else did she say?”
“She said she misses her mom, and… It pulled at my heart to repeat this. Spring had shared it with her mother in confidence as I eavesdropped, and now I was going to tell Billie. “She said she’s scared because she’s forgetting what her mom looks like.” I sipped the scotch. “She has pictures of Diane, but that’s it. Even I’m forgetting the little things like her voice. I check the pictures, too, so I know it isn’t the same.”
“You really miss her.”
“In ways I never would have thought before. Billie, no matter what happened between Diane and me, it’s different because of Spring. If she weren’t around, I’d have never known Diane had died. They never would have called me from daycare. It would have been like she just disappeared and didn’t want to see me again. And if I didn’t care to follow up, she would have been just another old friend I’d forgotten another person misplaced in the world. Spring is a reminder that Diane is gone and that there’s something more important than booze, babes, and season tickets. It even feels weird to say that. Do I miss her? Yes. But because I see Spring, I miss her more.”
Billie reached out for my hand. Her touch was warm and caring, yet foreign to me. As physical as we had always been with each other, we didn’t touch this way.
“I don’t know how to help her,” I said, stroking Billie’s hand. “You probably don’t know this, but I can be a real asshole sometimes.”
Billie laughed.
“No really. I can be. I can be a real asshole. That’s why I get paid so well, I guess.”
“Why we get paid so well.”
“I don’t see you that way,” I said. “I listen to clients complain, spill their troubles, and I know how to exploit them to my advantage or exploit the public to their advantage. You don’t do that. If I was an animal, I’d be a polar bear the kind that eats the penguins.”
She traced the outline of my fingers. “What would I be?” As she listened, her head of red hair tipped to the side.
“A lioness.” I said, touching her long locks. “Your hair is the mane, and you listen and wait.”
“And then strike?”
“I don’t know. That wasn’t really what I was getting at. You listen and wait.”
I could hear the cars on the street and a pigeon at the window. Somewhere, a guy was getting lucky. Somewhere, someone was saying, “I love you.” Somewhere, a family was laughing at a sitcom together in a den. Somewhere, an elderly couple held each other and thanked God for 50 years.
“I’m glad you came tonight,” I said. “I mean, I’m mortified that you came here tonight, but I’m glad you were here.”
She patted my hand. “I don’t know what I’d do if I was in your situation,” she said.
“It’s pretty much guaranteed that you’d do it more gracefully.”
“It’s early, Dylan.”
“Yeah, it’s early or it’s really late.”
On the day before Thanksgiving, I went to Mason Brand like I did every other day, only it wasn’t just another day. After the previous night, I knew that everything in my life would remain unstable unless I found someone to take care of Spring. I couldn’t stand the idea of Spring going to a foster home. But if I didn’t find a real guardian for her, I was going to have to take the gig and I was pretty convinced at this point that I wasn’t up to the task. It was later than usual and close to the old time I used to arrive at work, around 10:00 am. Mason had officially closed the office for the next three days, but I knew he would be in there doing whatever he did. I didn’t think he’d mind my coming in late. I knew Billie and Hank were staying home, and after what had happened the previous night, hopefully, Laurel had decided to take the day off, as well. Naturally, she was the first person I saw when I arrived. “Laurel, hi. Sorry about last… ”
She made eye contact and then turned before I could say anything more. She went into a break room and had nowhere to go if I followed, but apologizing to Laurel was the last thing on my agenda. I needed to get to my desk.
“Dylan, you’re here on a day we’re closed?” Mason sipped a cup of coffee. “You should be home with Spring.”
“I have a couple of things I need to get done.”
“Then go at it. Don’t let me stand in your way. Go at it and then get the hell out of here.”
On any other day, I would have had the courtesy to shoot the bull, but I needed to get this done to make my life the way it used to be before Spring.
I closed the door to my office and dug through my desk drawer for some backup disks.
Whenever I updated my phone or my computer, I cleaned out inactive contacts, but I kept all the old versions of my address book on disc. I found the disc from five years ago and slid it into my CD drive. I found the number for Ms. Diane Sommers, Challis Communications, Chicago and dialed.
“Good morning. My name is Dylan Hunter, and I’m with Mason, Brand and Partners, a P.R. firm in New York. I’m looking for, this is going to sound odd, someone who knows Diane Sommers. She used to work for you.”
The operator transferred my call.
A woman answered the phone. “Madelyn Morris.”
I told her who I was and confirmed that she knew Diane.
“How is Diane? I’ve been meaning to search for her on Facebook.”
“Madelyn, I hate to be the person to tell you this, but there was an accident a few weeks ago. Diane was killed in a car wreck.”
I waited as the woman on the other end drew in a quick breath and started to cry. I wished I hadn’t broken the news to her so matter-of-factly.
In the picture on my desk, Diane looked so happy a perfect day in her new home with her daughter. It was a picture that would have certainly brought her smiles for years.
I heard a sniffle.
“How is Spring?”
“Spring is fine. That’s why I’m calling, actually. I’m trying to locate any of Diane’s relatives, or Spring’s father…” I let my voice trail off. “I don’t know Spring’s birthday.”
“She was born in April. Let me check.”
I could hear her typing on the other end.
“April 6th. Chicago City Hospital. Diane… oh my God…” She cried again. “She didn’t have any family that I know of. Her parents died before she started working here.”
I drew a line through family on the list I had written down on the pad. Diane had no family.
She continued. “Diane was a loner.”
“A loner? How could she… what about Spring’s father?” I said.
“She really was. I was her best friend at work. She brought Spring to my place a lot. She helped me organize my apartment with some oriental thing.”
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