Roommates

by Whitney Lyles

  “Really, I just want to figure out his password for his new e-mail account.”

  “All right. Well, see you later.”

  A gold Jaguar and a silver Bentley were parked next to Stan’s Honda Accord in her parents’ driveway. Who drove a Bentley? And what did the Yackrells do for a living? Elise had been under the impression that her mother had invited a couple of people, but there were two cars. She sort of wished she’d gotten a better background of who exactly these people were, but her mother hadn’t been available for comment.

  She was glad to see Stan’s car. She hadn’t been able to get a hold of him all weekend, and he still had no idea that she had dropped in unexpectedly. She was kind of curious to see his reaction.

  She let herself in and immediately felt underdressed. Her father was wearing a sport coat and slacks. Her mother, a gold monochramatic outfit, and even Melissa had a dressy maternity frock on. Elise thought her mother had said it was a BBQ, and she’d imagined them in the backyard, her father flipping burgers while her mother arranged condiments while wearing a pair of shorts and a nice summer blouse. Elise was dressed in jeans and a white wife beater.

  “Elise, darling,” her mother said. Darling? Something was up. She never called anyone “darling.” “Let me introduce you to June and Bud Yackrell, and their son Thomas.” Silence fell over the room when Thomas stepped forward to shake Elise’s hand. Something told her this was a moment they had all been waiting for.

  The whole point of this event had been to introduce Elise to Thomas Yackrell, who looked as if he were going yachting. A sly move on her mother’s part. Elise politely extended a hand. Be a good sport, she silently told herself. Be polite. He’s probably a nice person. “I’ve heard so much about you,” he said through pale lips.

  Great. I’ve never heard of you. As she gazed up at his lanky frame she resisted the urge to ask if he had the same hairdresser as Sam Donaldson. “So, you’re the author?” Mrs. Yackrell said from behind.

  “Yes, I am.”

  “That is just wonderful. Romance novels?”

  “Actually mysteries.”

  “Mysteries!” she exclaimed. “That’s amazing. I love mysteries. Do you ever read anything by Mary Higgins Clark? Or what about James Patterson? They are both so successful.”

  “Yes, I have read their work.”

  “So does your character carry a magnifying glass and wear a plaid cape?” Thomas asked in a low, chortling tone. Elise sensed he was trying to be funny, and while they all laughed she sincerely wondered if his glasses were as thick as a car windshield. She had never seen anything like them, and for a moment she imagined a small piece of asphalt flying into his lenses, or a fly splatting across his frames.

  “Elise just got signed with the biggest film agency in Los Angeles, and they’re marketing her book to all the huge production companies and several big-name actors. Aren’t they, Elise?” her father said.

  She was glad her parents were proud of her, but she felt as if a terrible jinx were being cast over her career. When she’d told them about the latest development with her book, she’d forgotten that her parents had no idea what the meaning of secret was. Two years earlier when her agent had begun submitting the book to publishers, her mother had told everyone, even though Elise had asked her not to. When she came home for Thanksgiving, even the bag boy and checker at Vons knew. And what’s worse? Her mother had exaggerated, telling them all the book was going to be published before she ever even had a deal. Thank goodness the book was published, because if it hadn’t been, she probably would’ve had to go into seclusion and change her identity after the shame she’d endure.

  “Her book is going to be a movie!” her mother added.

  “Wow!” The Yackrells said at once. “Who is going to star in it? Maybe Britney Spears?” The odd thing was that Mr. Yackrell was sincere when he said this.

  “Oh! She would be good,” June Yackrell chimed in, nodding.

  At this point she couldn’t be picky about who played Ashley Trent. She just wanted her book to be on the big screen. But Britney Spears? They might as well cast Paris Hilton in the movie as well.

  “Well, we’d be happy with Sandra Bullock. Maybe Ashley Judd, wouldn’t we?” Her father’s elbow felt like a spear in her ribs.

  “Well, I just got signed with an agent.” She felt a desperate need to clear things up for them—to really downplay the situation, banish the jinx they had just set upon her career. “I haven’t gotten the deal yet, and the way the film industry is, who knows what will happen? It’s very difficult, so I don’t want to get my hopes up, and I try not to even think about it that much. I mean, the odds are so slim. It’s really like winning the lotto.” She could feel her armpits sweating, and she wished someone would change the subject.

  Thankfully Stan emerged from the kitchen. He obviously wasn’t aware of the dress code either, with his backward baseball cap and flip-flops. Brice trailed behind wearing a tie. Jeffrey squirmed in his arms, and the red and blue stains that covered the entire perimeter of his mouth were signs of “condy.”

  “Look who is here,” Melissa said to Jeffrey. “It’s Aunt Lise. Do you remember Aunt Lise?”

  “No,” he said promptly without so much as glancing at Elise.

  “You had so much fun with her that day when she stayed with you.”

  “No. I did not.”

  Marge and Melissa hooted with laughter. “Isn’t he such a little character?”

  Marge said. “He’s just so honest and you have to love that about him.”

  “Just sharp as a whip,” Grandpa added.

  “Elise, why don’t you show Thomas your book? I left a copy on the coffee table in the living room,” her mother said.

  What she really wanted to do was raid the liquor cabinet before scheduling an appointment to have her tubes tied. But she had to be polite. It wasn’t Thomas’s fault that her parents were exaggerating schemers.

  She found her book on the coffee table and felt lamer than she had in ages as she stood there showing it to this stranger.

  “So does the detective have a cap and smoke a pipe?”

  Would you please get off the Sherlock Holmes thing, you jackass? “My detective is actually a woman.”

  He raised an eyebrow, and she sensed another ridiculous attempt at humor coming on. “So does she live in Cabot Cove?”

  “No. Ha. She is not Angela Lansbury on Murder She Wrote.”

  “Then does she speak with—”

  “No.”

  “Oh.” He seemed a little stung by her abrupt response and took a sip of his Coke. “You’re famous, then?”

  “So what do you do, Thomas?” Changing the subject seemed like the best way to handle him.

  “I run a financial software company that deals with international relations.”

  “Oh.” She nodded. “Neat.”

  “Yeah, most of our clients are in international trade and marketing, so we focus primarily on . . .”

  She found her thoughts drifting to the cheese platter that sat on the coffee table behind her while Thomas described things that could lull a crack addict to sleep. She could see a hunk of Havarti just waiting for her. This was one of the best things about coming to her parents’ house. There were always good appetizers and snacks and a refrigerator stocked with gourmet food. Her mother really did know how to put out a good spread, and Elise hoped that she’d be able to host events the way she did one day. She watched with envy as Stan dipped a buttery cracker in a warm block of brie with cranberry sauce spilling over the edges.

  “So do you use a Mac or a PC when you write your book?”

  She snapped out of it, realizing he was addressing her. “Oh. Um. I don’t know.” This was probably an easy question, and she knew that at some point she might have known the answer, but she really didn’t care about these things. She knew how to check her e-mail and work on her book. Anything beyond that was meaningless.

  “Well, is your computer upright?”

&nb
sp; “Yeah. It looks like that.”

  “Interesting. What kind of program do you use?”

  She felt like a total idiot. Was this something she should know? “Uh, Windows? Or no. Maybe it’s Word?”

  “Word. Yes. Do you know what year?”

  Look dude, she wanted to say. I don’t know! It works. I type. It prints. That’s all I know. She endured another twenty minutes of this kind of conversation. Then she listened to Thomas talk about some kind of something he was developing for his company. What was really interesting was watching Jeffrey in the background as he fed her parents’ fourteen-year-old cocker spaniel, Maxine, pastel-colored pillow mints from a bowl on an end table.

  Thomas finally excused himself to use the bathroom, and Elise immediately went to her brother. “I’ve been trying to call you all weekend.”

  “Oh yeah? My battery is dead on my cell phone.”

  “I figured it was something like that. I also stopped by on Friday afternoon, around four.” She thought the words would land on him like a bomb, but he didn’t seem fazed in the least.

  He shrugged. “Really? I must’ve been surfing or something.”

  “Hmmmm. I thought for sure you were home. I saw your car and your surfboard in front of the building.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe I was in the shower.” He gave no indication that he was nervous or hiding anything. She decided to ask him, point-blank.

  “So, have you been seeing anyone lately?”

  “No.” He shook his head.

  Obviously, he’d been having a fleeting sexual affair that he didn’t feel was worth mentioning, and on that note she decided to drop it. She didn’t want to know.

  “Thanks for saving me over there with ol’ T. Yackrell,” she mumbled. “You could’ve come over.”

  “And interrupt the start of something beautiful?” He grinned.

  “Did you know that Mom was trying to set me up?”

  “No idea. But they mentioned they have a daughter that was supposed to come but backed out at the last minute. I don’t think you were intended to be the only victim. I’m going to say I’m coming down with something, and I don’t want to get Jeffrey or Melissa sick while she’s pregnant. Excuse me.”

  “You can’t leave,” she called after him. “Please.”

  “See ya.”

  She’d never felt more envious and wished she had come up with a brilliant excuse, too. They couldn’t both be sick. She watched as Melissa grabbed Jeffrey and moved quickly to another room as if her brother were oozing germs. The Yackrells all stepped away as well. “You definitely should not be around Melissa and Jeffrey if you’re sick,” her mother said. “Now hurry and go.”

  Dinner was just as droll. Elise scooted into a corner chair at the table next to Jeffrey’s high chair and pretended to play with him while everyone else took their seats. If her plan worked, she’d end up at the end of the table and nowhere near Thomas. But when Jeffrey took a dinner roll and rammed it into her forehead, her plan fell apart. “I, uh, better sit there, Elise,” Brice said.

  “Oh, yes,” Marge nodded. “Elise, let Brice and Melissa sit with Jeffrey, and you can sit here.” She patted the back of a chair. “Right next to Thomas.”

  She dusted the crumbs from her forehead and slowly moved to her seat.

  Dinner was like attending a really boring lecture in college. It moved slowly, and she couldn’t wait for it to be over with. Fortunately, most of the conversation centered on Thomas’s company, and Elise didn’t have to endure any more jokes about her book.

  However, when the conversation turned to real estate, Elise knew she hadn’t escaped yet. “Thomas just bought a house in Rancho Santa Fe,” June said. “It’s great for him because he just loves tennis so much, and it has two tennis courts.”

  “It must be beautiful,” Marge said. “Elise plays tennis, too.”

  The last time she had picked up a racket had been in seventh grade PE.

  “Oh, wonderful,” Thomas said. “Do you have tennis courts in the area where you live?”

  “No.” She thought of Casa de Paradiso, Glorious D rapping in the parking lot while pedaling stolen knockoff bags. “There are no tennis courts there.”

  “And where do you live?” he asked.

  She thought she saw a small amount of shame pass her mother’s eyes, and for some reason this made her feel better about answering. “City Heights. Right in the heart.”

  “Oh!” June laughed until she realized Elise was serious. They all stared at her, and she felt like telling them that she wished she could afford her own place in Rancho Santa Fe and that she was tired of renting and having roommates. And if they thought she lived there because she loved the area, they were all dead wrong. No, she didn’t drive a Jaguar, but she worked hard and she was determined to buy her own place someday, and could someone please pass the wine? “It’s just temporary though. I’m moving to Mission Beach soon.”

  “Oh yes. That’s an interesting area,” Bud said.

  Sorry they don’t play polo there, but it was the best I can do right now, she felt like shouting.

  “Shall we move to the living room for dessert?” her mother said, making the best move she had made all night.

  While her mother served up tiramisu, Elise thought of excuses to leave. She was considering using Justine. Her roommate needed consoling, as her boyfriend had just left on a long business trip, and Elise was worried about her.

  Her parents’ cocker spaniel jumped up onto the couch next to June Yackrell.

  “Get down from there!” her father yelled at the dog.

  “Oh, she’s fine.” June said. “I love dogs.”

  She was just starting to tell them about a Lhasa apso they once had when Maxine barfed a gigantic pastel blob on June Yackrell’s lap. Thank God for Jeffrey. The party moved quickly after that, and Elise found herself moving for the front door just as quickly as the Yackrells did.

  “Well, your parents told me you do quite a bit of public speaking,” Thomas said in the foyer.

  Whose parents was he talking about?

  “They mentioned you do quite a bit of speaking at your book signings.” Who did they think she was? Anne Rice? She had done two book signings, and both had produced a turnout of five. She had spoken to her small crowd briefly about the book and had read a few pages from the first chapter.

  “I’ve done a couple of book signings, and I’d hardly say—”

  “Well, the reason I ask is because I belong to a public speaking group, and I was wondering if you’d like to attend a meeting with me. It’s great fun, and a wonderful way to network. Then we could go to dinner afterward.”

  She couldn’t think of anything she wanted to do less, except hurt his feelings. She decided to give a vague noncommittal answer “Um. Let me know the details, and if I’m available, it might work out.”

  “Well, why don’t I take your phone number?”

  Maybe she should say her hand was broken and she was incapable of writing, or even getting a pen for him to use. However, Marge overheard their exchange and immediately shouted, “Oh! I’ll grab a pen.” She’d never seen her mother run so fast.

  Then she had a thought. She could always write down her number in City Heights. She’d be leaving there, and he’d never be able to track her down. It was genius. “Elise, make sure you write down your cell phone number. You’re moving,” Marge reminded as she handed her a pen.

  She wrote down her number in very poor handwriting.

  The Real I World: Iris and Megan

  15. Orientation

  On the eve of Elise’s big move she dreamt she would be residing with two friendly werewolves who were running against each other for a seat in Congress and who listened to Elton John. It was a bizarre yet vivid dream, the kind that stays with a person all day. She was humming “Daniel” when Carly arrived to help her load up the car.

  Seeing Carly made her realize how long they had gone without spending time with one another. She looked as if she
had lost a few pounds and gotten a tan.

  “Hey!” she said, arms agape, when Elise greeted her at the door. “I brought you a caramel latte.”

  Elise hugged her and felt a strand of Carly’s hair cross her cheek.

  “Stan flaked,” Elise said. “He called this morning and said he wasn’t feeling well.”

  “Translated: he’s hungover.”

  “You would think. But I tried to call him three times this week, and he didn’t answer. I really think he might be seeing someone.”

  “Really?” She looked at the pile of boxes stacked in Elise’s room.

  “Well, I told you what happened the other night. He was obviously with someone.”

  “I know. Did you ever ask him about it?”

  “I tried to, but he said he was in the shower or something like that.”

  She shrugged before setting down her coffee. “Speaking of love lives, how is yours? Did Max ever call you?”

  “No.” Elise picked up a box of shoes. Bella followed her to the door and waited with anticipation while she turned the handle. She’d been following Elise back and forth all day, sniffing every single box and wagging her tail each time the front door opened.

  “Jimmy probably didn’t give Max your number. Maybe you should say something to Justine before you leave,” Carly said as she slid Elise’s wall hangings into her trunk. “Have her remind Jimmy. Or just stop by his shop. You know he wants to talk to you.”

  “I feel weird doing that. I don’t know why. I just do. If it’s meant to be, it will work out. Somehow.”

  “That’s a bad attitude. You have to take charge of your life.”

  “So, what did you do last night?” Elise asked.

  “Oh, just went out to happy hour with some work friends, and it turned into an all-night thing.”

  Elise couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy. In the past two months she had asked Carly to go to happy hour at least a dozen times, and she always said she had to work on her ad campaign or meet with a client. Yet she seemed to have plenty of time to go out with her work friends. Why couldn’t she invite Elise? She wasn’t jealous. She felt left out.