S.D. Youngren - Rowena 6 - Rowena Moves In.txt

by Rowena Moves In

  "So was this movie more important than Candace?"

  "What?"

  "Well, that's how it's going to look to her, isn't it?" He stared at her.

  "A movie?" He picked Rowena's paper clip holder off the desk and began to fiddle with it. "It was just a movie," he said.

  "Well, then, maybe you shouldn't have gone. Or--"

  "Rowena!" Jim objected. The paper clip holder went sideways and paper clips scattered everywhere. Jim stared at them a moment, as if unsure as to how they got there, and then bent to pick them up.

  "You want my advice?" Rowena asked. "You go apologize to her and don't do anything like that again. Okay? That's my advice."

  From somewhere on the other side of the desk came Jim's voice, aggrieved. "Rowena!"

  "Jim, I have work to do. Okay? You did a bad thing and now you have to apologize. Right?"

  Jim got up and poured Rowena's paper clips back into their cup. "That's what I get for finding your paper clips for you," he said, and left.

  Rowena took a deep breath and went back to work. This time she got through three paragraphs. "Rowena, could you look this over for me?"

  This obviously was not going to be a day for getting her project done. She sighed, took Janet's papers, and looked them over.

  "Well," she began, "what's the--"

  "Hey, Rowena, could you do mine next?"

  "What?"

  "And ours after that."

  "I've got a personal problem," said Sara. "You can do mine last, after everybody else leaves."

  "My problem's more personal than yours," said Leslie Campbell.

  "What is going on here?" demanded Rowena. There were seven people around her desk. She looked at them all in turn. There was a brief silence.

  "We, um . . . we heard you were good with problems--"

  "And . . . people stuff . . ."

  "So . . . here we are."

  Rowena put her forehead on the palm of her hand. She wondered when or if this would ever end. "Listen," she said. "There are too many of you."

  "I was here first!" said Janet.

  "No," said Rowena, "you were here third. And I have a project of my own."

  "But I only--"

  "It's okay, Janet. Leslie, get out of here."

  "But I have this problem that--"

  "Is it the same problem you always have?" Rowena asked. Everybody knew about Leslie, how he was continually chasing Rowena around. There were snickers, and Leslie slunk off muttering to himself.

  "Sara," Rowena continued, "could you wait until after lunch?"

  "How 'bout during lunch? Noon?"

  "Sorry," said Rowena, not sorry at all. "I'm one o'clock today."

  That left five people and only three problems; two problems really, as it turned out that one of the people just wanted to complain. Rowena did what she could for them, wondering all the while whether this was Eloise's fault. And if not Eloise's--whose?

  It seemed to take forever for the hands of Rowena's clock to turn to one o'clock and lunchtime. She left promptly, before anybody else could pounce on her. An hour; a whole hour by herself.

  Just Rowena and her barely-touched report.

  When Rowena returned she brought not only her report, rather less pathetic-looking than it had been, but also a cup of carry-out tea, to fortify her for the afternoon. Sara, as she had expected, was waiting for her.

  "He won't notice me! What do I do?"

  "Hang on," Rowena said. She sat down, arranged her things, and took a sip of tea. "Is this Boris you're talking about?"

  "Of course it's Boris! Who else?" Sara tried to sit on Rowena's desk but there were too many papers on it and Rowena waved her away. "I smile at him, I tell him jokes, I wore my blazer that matches my eyes . . . He doesn't even know I'm alive!"

  "Well," said Rowena, "he is a computer nerd."

  "And what is that supposed to mean?"

  "My sister's boyfriend is a nerd," Rowena said. This was not quite the answer to Sara's question, but she thought it would get her attention. "He noticed her right off. She was wearing a miniskirt with a low-cut--"

  "I can't dress like that here!"

  "So ask him out. Or--"

  "I hinted and hinted--"

  "So be blunt. Ask him right out. Or come here dressed like a tart some day you're off and he's working. Or show him a picture of yourself and tell him you have a `technical' question about it. Ask him what he thinks of--of the exposure."

  "Rowena!" Sara's eyes were enormous. But Rowena thought she looked a little pleased.

  "Remember," Rowena said, "Boris is a hard guy to influence or intimidate or, I suspect, impress. You can't just hint."

  After Sara left, Rowena tried again to get back to work. But after a while she saw a movement and looked up to see Lorraine bearing down on her with paper in her hand. Well, Rowena thought resignedly, as long as it's work and not some personal loopiness. Lorraine came and stood at attention by her desk, holding the paper or papers up in front of her chest like a shield. "Hey, Rowena. Could you help me with something?"

  "If it's important," Rowena said, "then maybe I can."

  "Oh, thanks," said Lorraine. She reverently placed a form of some kind on top of Rowena's own paperwork.

  Rowena scanned over it. "What the hell is this?"

  "Rowena! Watch your language!" Lorraine, who was not old enough to say things like that to anyone Rowena's age without looking very foolish, picked the papers up reverently, as if to save them from contagion. "It's the entry form for the Beautiful Baby Contest."

  "The what?" Rowena demanded.

  "The Beautiful Baby Contest. We're entering Macky. See--"

  "You're entering your baby in a beauty contest? Lorraine, that's--"

  "You can't start too young to make a name for yourself. And the prize money will go to her education."

  "Ah," Rowena said. "I was wondering why Ms. Progressive Mother would get involved in something like that."

  "Rowena! That's not fair."

  "Lorraine, get somebody else to help you. I don't have time for this. I've had people coming up all--"

  "You don't have time! I've got to get this mailed today!" Lorraine waved her arms in a manner clearly designed to instill a sense of urgency in the observer. "This is my daughter's future we're talking about!"

  "Not me," said Rowena. "I'm talking about my job." She picked up her pen and tried to look engrossed in her report. But Lorraine was not discouraged.

  "Is that the most important thing in your life, your stupid job?" she asked. "I feel sorry for you. I really do."

  "My stupid job is not the most important thing in my life, but it's definitely more important than some stupid beauty contest. Especially when the contestant is too young to even know she's in a contest at all!"

  "Well!" said Lorraine. "Just wait'll you have children of your own, that's all I can say. Just wait! See if I give you any help with them!" And she marched off, but stopped after two or three steps and turned back. "And they said you're good with people's problems," she said, and flounced off.

  Rowena felt she would not mind being ignored by Lorraine, but she suspected she had not escaped that easily. She allowed herself a quick glance at her clock, then returned to her report.

  Her coworkers kept coming: She sent Larry to his supervisor and Berna, who didn't have a problem but had heard that everybody else was pestering Rowena and thought it sounded like a good idea, back to her desk. She was just thinking how glad she was that Marjorie was out all day when Eloise reappeared. Rowena, who was really afraid of Eloise only when her projects weren't going well, greeted her a bit nervously. "Here," Eloise said, setting a folder on her desk. "The Macavity Report."

  "I'm not done with my--"

  "Don't worry; finish what you've got first. We're trying an experiment in Empowerment. We give the Macavity Report to you, and you get to choose the rest of your team."

  "Oh," said Rowena. She supposed it might be an honor, of a sort, but she didn't really want to
work with a team.

  "Once you get your team selected, you can divide up the work however you like; whatever you and your teammates feel most comfortable with." She gave Rowena her rare, rather worrisome smile. "It's all there, in the top sheet. For now, just finish your other project and start thinking about who you want on your team."

  "Thanks," Rowena said. She didn't know what else to say. Eloise patted her back, or, more accurately, the back of her chair.

  "Keep up the good work," she said, and left.

  Rowena looked over the instruction sheet Eloise had left. It seemed pretty straightforward. She was leafing through the report, just to get an idea of what was involved, when Steve walked up.

  She didn't give him a chance to tell her what his problem was. "Hi, Steve. Eloise just gave me the Macavity Report. I'm supposed to assemble a team to work on it," she continued casually. "Whoever I want, and I get to divide up the workload, too." She smiled at him, very sweetly. "What was it you wanted from me?"

  "Nothing," he said, backing away. "I didn't want anything. Just--to say hello." He almost backed into Marjorie's desk. He turned and made his escape as Rowena continued to smile as though nothing were wrong.

  Which was one way to describe her mood. Rowena picked up her original report and went back to work. Let them come, she thought; let them come. I dare them.

  Rowena Makes An Introduction

  Fiction by S. D. Youngren

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

  Rowena held the door open as Sammy and Mike carefully climbed the stairs, bearing between them Sammy's coffee table. "Okay," said Sammy, who was walking backwards, "let me know when I run out of steps."

  Rowena edged out so she could see. "Two more after this one," she said. "One . . . two. You're there."

  "Hear that?" asked Mike, down in the stairwell. "I knew you would come out on top."

  "Ha, ha. Swing over a bit so I can make this turn." Rowena watched him shuffle into position. "Let's tip it. This way . . . here we go . . ." And he came, backwards, into the room, the coffee table sideways with its legs sticking out. "This way," Sammy repeated. "Against the bookcase." And they set the table down, right side up, out of the way of the other things they were going to move and the paths they would have to take.

  "Funny place for a coffee table," Mike said. He straightened up, smiled at Rowena. "Hello," he said. "How you doing?"

  "Not too bad," Rowena said. "A little nervous."

  "You're nervous? We're the ones risking hernias here."

  "She's afraid her dog is gonna eat my cat," Sammy said. Rowena wouldn't have put it quite that way. Mike shook his head.

  "Might take a little patience on your part," he said, "but I wouldn't worry too much. Caesar can take care of himself."

  "It's just that . . . if Linus . . ."

  "Caesar's pretty self-reliant." Mike said. "You'll be okay. All of you."

  Rowena decided to keep her doubts to herself. She smiled. "Anyway," she said, "thanks for the help. Would you like something to drink?"

  "Thanks, but let's save that for when I really need it." He looked over at Sammy. "What next?"

  They had actually been moving, Rowena and Sammy, for several days; in the evenings and, in Rowena's case, also in the mornings. Today, with Mike helping, they were moving mainly the difficult things. The difficult things and the last-minute things.

  Including their pets. Their cat and dog who had never met.

  "Well," Sammy said, "before anything sizable goes in the living room, we ought to get the kitchen table in place."

  "And the things for the bedroom and the office," Rowena put in. "You'd better do my desk before you do the table; I put the drawers where the table goes."

  "Okay; let's get the stuff out of the car, and then do the desk." Mike, hearing this, groaned elaborately. Rowena said, "My desk isn't that bad. I could almost move it by myself, if Sammy would let me."

  "It's not your desk I'm worried about," Mike said, "it's Sammy's file cabinet. Sucker almost killed me. It looks so innocent, but there's nothing to grab hold of, and then you try to lift it . . ." He shook his head. "I think," he said, "that your boyfriend is leading a double life. Hate to have to tell you this, but I think you have a right to know. I think he's moonlighting as a geologist."

  "And that's where he keeps his specimens, huh?"

  "Gotta be. No other explanation."

  "Okay, you," Sammy said. "Back to the car." He went to the door, shaking his head. "Perfectly ordinary file cabinet," he complained.

  "Paper is heavy," said Rowena helpfully.

  Mike stopped a moment at Rowena's doorway. "Paper, ha!" he said. "I'd have a look at this `paper,' if I were you."

  "Well," Rowena began, but Sammy's voice floated up the stairwell to interrupt her.

  "Hey!" he said. "What an interesting rock!"

  Mike, straight-faced, gave Rowena a "told you so" look, and she couldn't help laughing.

  Linus watched them drag furnishings out of his mistress' old apartment, wagging his tail hopefully and looking only slightly puzzled. Rowena said very little, but she petted Linus when she had the chance. And she reminded him that he was a good dog, as if she really thought that would help.

  Sammy and Mike did not seem at all concerned. "Look at it from a cat's point of view," Mike said. "You're a cat. You can handle anything." Rowena was not convinced.

  They worked at a pretty good rate until they got to the couch. The couch, last and most intimidating of the non-pet items, put up a fight. It didn't want to make the turn out of Rowena's apartment and onto the steps, and when they finally got the front end onto the landing, it didn't want to make the turn into the new apartment. Mike, in charge of the back end, had to tip the thing nearly vertically to get it through. But they got it in place, and promptly collapsed onto it.

  Rowena went into the kitchen and brought out three glasses of lemonade and a pitcher. Only one hurdle left, she thought; it had come down, now, to Linus and Caesar. She handed a glass each to Sammy and Mike, then raised her own glass in a toast. A few minutes ago the couch had been Rowena's; now it belonged to her and Sammy both. Together. "Success," Rowena said.

  "Of course," Sammy said, sprawled at one end of the couch. "What'd you think?"

  "She thought we were gonna fall flat on our asses, with the couch on top of us," Mike said, slumped at the other end. "Just like I thought."

  "Nonsense," said Sammy. He closed his eyes. "Nevertheless, I intend to have my revenge on this couch. I intend to give it a sitting-on it won't soon forget."

  "Hear, hear," Mike said.

  Sammy took a deep breath, exhaled, opened his eyes. "This is the life," he said, gazing across at his entertainment center. The shelves had been reassembled and reloaded, but nothing was hooked up yet. "No commercials, no nothing. If only I had a coffee table to put my feet up on . . ."

  "It's over there," Mike said. "How long are your legs? You know what Lincoln said: They should be long enough to reach the coffee table."

  "You're acting like guys again," Rowena warned.

  "It's the heavy lifting," Mike told her, his eyes shut. "Kills the brain cells. Scientific fact."

  "Where would we all be," Sammy mused, "without science?"

  As he and Mike rested, Rowena went into the bedroom and made the bed. Her television set was in the bedroom now, as was her stereo, but they looked different here. Rowena had never had a television in her bedroom before; there was something a bit decadent about it, more so than having a second stereo there. The bed looked different, too; it was hers as well as Sammy's now. Their bed, for the two of them together.

  If only their pets get along . . .

  She returned to the living room, where she regaled Sammy and Mike with a description of her sister's visit the day before, when Maralynne had come by to pick up some duplicate items, mostly things used for cleaning. Maralynne now had her very own mop and broom, plus a bucket, a dustpan, a squeegee, and eve
n a cheap vacuum cleaner which had, until then, belonged to Sammy. She had not accepted these items very graciously.

  "You sure she's not gonna just ditch the stuff?" Sammy asked.

  "All I know is, I've done my part," Rowena told him. She was not worried about her sister's new mop.

  Eventually Sammy and Mike were rested. And they were ready.

  "Half an hour, tops," Sammy said, heading for the door.