“So why didn’t you say anything when I was talking about my students?” I said to Joelle over the grinding of her garbage disposal.
“Guess I zoned out. Did you think the salmon was too dry?”
“It was fine,” I said, even though it tasted like fishy sawdust. Joelle was obviously not used to preparing bland preppy cuisine. Most of the stuff she usually made was deep-fried or cooked with ham hocks. “Were you afraid you’d offend Trey?”
“Of course not,” Joelle said, a shade too quickly. She was scraping food leavings into the trash. “And the reason I didn’t defend you is because I hoped the topic would die a natural death. I hate to agree with Baby, but she’s right; it’s depressing. To be honest I’m getting a little burned out working with patients who have one baby after another. I’m thinking about trying a different field.”
“But you love the baby floor.”
“And I’ve been grinding away at it since I graduated nursing school. Just wait. If you have to keep this job for any length of time you’ll get tired of it too.”
Before I could respond Baby returned from the bathroom, and asked Joelle if she wanted to come to a Spinsters’ Club meeting with her. Spinsters’ was an exclusive club that young wealthy Rose Hill women joined to kill time between the cotillion and the Junior League.
I was hoping Joelle would say, “I’d rather eat a live chipmunk,” but no, her eyes got shiny and she said, “Why, I would just love to be a part of that. Thank you, Baby.”
After that, Joelle was lost to me, thoroughly sucked into Baby’s vortex. A couple of times she made some wimpy efforts to draw me into the conversation, but they never took. I was so bored I poured myself another glass of wine. A second one led to a third. That was more alcohol than I’d drunk in a good while. After about an hour, I decided it was time to call it a night. I hastily said my goodbye.
“You okay to drive?” Joelle said.
“I only had one glass of wine with dinner,” I said defensively. I refused to admit to the other two I’d poured down my throat; not that Baby or Joelle noticed.
The moon was so yellow and luminescent it looked like it was impersonating the sun. I decided to walk home. It wasn’t that far, and I didn’t want to risk a DUI. I wasn’t the least bit nervous about walking alone. Harry Potter had his cloak of invisibility, and I had my cloak of inebriation. I felt as if nothing could touch me when I was buzzed.
I was whistling “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” when a Jeep pulled up beside me.
“Need a ride?” said a male voice.
“I’m good,” I said, even though I was already getting a blister on my heel from my shoes. Not that it hurt much.
“Come on, Toni Lee. It’s dangerous for you to be walking out here alone.”
I squinted at the driver. It was Kirk. “Sorry. Didn’t know it was you. Why’d you leave Joelle’s?”
“It wasn’t any fun without you there.”
I hopped into his BMW and told him where I lived. He slowed the car as he approached the Club. “Want to go in for a drink?”
Twice a month on Saturdays after nine, the Club hosted evenings aimed at the under-thirty set. I hadn’t been inside since my father canceled my membership. In recent days I’d been missing some of the perks of my former privileged life.
“Maybe for one drink.” I couldn’t afford to get too tipsy, especially at a place where everybody knew me and could report any unladylike antics to Aunt Cornelia.
The Rose Hill Country Club’s main building was tucked behind a canopy of oak trees and looked like an Old South plantation, with six looming white columns out front and wraparound porches on all three levels. You could almost imagine Scarlett flouncing across the lush lawn, hoops skirt billowing behind her. One might wonder if the club founders were nostalgic for the antebellum days. All the employees, except Henry and a couple of others, were black, and there were no black members.
Inside the main dining room, I nearly collided with Henry. It was the first time I’d seen her since she’d told me my membership had been canceled.
“Don’t get any ideas about kicking me out, Henry,” I said. “I’m his guest.” I jerked my thumb in Kirk’s direction.
“Nice to see you again, Ms. Wells.” She was holding aloft a tray of martini glasses. “The place isn’t nearly as lively without you around.”
“Are you the sort of girl who gets tossed out of clubs?” Kirk said.
“Only the most exclusive ones.”
At the table he ordered a bottle of Pinot Noir, and he asked me why I left the dinner party so early. The wine loosened me up and I foolishly confessed that I thought Trey was far too vanilla for Joelle, but begged him not to tell a soul. I also told Kirk far more than he probably cared to know about the history of my friendship with Joelle.
I’d been in kindergarten when we met, and Joelle was in second grade. Initially it was Joelle’s mom who’d gotten us together. She had carpool duty and had seen me go through three nannies in one year. At some point she said “enough,” and informally adopted me, inviting me to gatherings in the family’s modest stucco bungalow, always strewn with her son’s footballs, basketballs, skateboards, and oversized sneakers.
The first few years we were acquainted, Joelle occasionally called me a baby and battered me with her My Little Pony. By the time I was in third grade, we were best friends and had been that way ever since. I spent countless nights in Joelle’s childhood bedroom, a tiny pocket of femininity in a house musky with testosterone. The walls were painted hot pink, and Joelle had the entire collection of Sweet Valley High books on a rickety metal shelf, books she bought herself doing odd jobs in the neighborhood, starting at the age of eight. There was never any extra money in the Posey house.
“I’m more like a sister than a friend to Joelle,” I slurred to Kirk. “And I’d hate to see her hook up with some guy who’s all wrong for her just because she wants financial security.”
I’d said too much. Essentially I was suggesting to Trey’s friend that Joelle might be a gold-digger. Not the smartest move in the world. If she knew, Joelle would do much worse than pummel me with a My Little Pony.
“Let’s dance,” I said, hoping to distract Kirk from my last statement. A fast song gave way to the drowsy tune “Three Times a Lady.” As usual, the club band’s playlist was from the Jurassic era.
“Love to.” Kirk led my stumbling self up to the cramped dance floor, where three other couples were already shuffling about.
He had mountainous shoulders and smelled pleasantly earthy. I liked the way he swayed his body to the music and the weight of his strong guiding hand on the small of my back.
“Sorry,” I said to him. “I didn’t mean to chew your ear off.”
“My pleasure,” he said. “You’re the sexiest ear chewer I’ve met in a long time.”
He leaned in for a kiss, and instead of pushing him away, I let him press his lips against mine.
Looking back at my actions, I realized I was simply operating on automatic pilot. Kissing Kirk seemed perfectly natural, what with the sultry music, the dim lights, and my red wine high.
The second I came to my senses, I immediately pulled away. A couple of months ago my bra and undies would have definitely ended up in a heap on his bedroom floor, but those days were gone. Carl was all I needed.
“What’s wrong?” Kirk said. He ran a finger down my cheekbone.
I knotted my fingers together. “You should take me home.”
“Why?
“I’m in a relationship. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come here with you.”
I thought of Carl and was instantly lonely for him, wishing I could drive over and give him a big, grateful kiss for being so amazing.
Sixteen
I woke up the next morning thinking who sandpapered my tongue? Also I hea
rd an insistent ringing sound that made me wonder if I was suffering from tinnitus. Oh. The phone.
“Hello,” I said. Only it came out Rhe-ro. I sounded like the Cookie Monster with bronchitis.
Carl said, “I think I have the wrong number.”
“It’s me, Toni Lee. I was just…uh…clearing my throat. What’s up?” I said. He didn’t usually call me when he had Katherine.
“Deena’s just announced she might move to Atlanta; she’s got an interview for a teaching job there.”
I sat up in bed, scrubbing the sleep out of my eyes. “I’m so sorry. This is my fault.”
“It is not. Deena has been threatening a move since our divorce, and she can do it too, so long as she doesn’t move more than two hundred miles away. That’s what the custody agreement says. But that’s not why I’m calling. I have a huge favor to ask.”
Turned out Carl had an exam Monday and desperately needed to visit the library to study. Deena was supposed to pick up Katherine in the morning, but she woke up with a stomach flu and asked Carl if he could keep her for the day. He called his mother and a few other people, but nobody was home.
“Hate to ask you this, but I’ve run out of options,” he said. “Could you please, please help me out?”
My foot had fallen asleep, and I gave it a shake. “You want me to babysit?”
“Just for a couple of hours. I know it’s an enormous thing to ask.”
My head lolled on my neck, heavy as a medicine ball. I was in no condition to be responsible for a kid.
“I might be getting a cold myself.” I sniffed a couple of times to add authenticity to my claim. “I felt a tickle in my throat this morning.”
He didn’t respond, but his disappointment surged through the phone tower, rose out of my iPhone, and stared at me with big, sad puppy eyes.
“Okay. I’ll do it,” I said quickly.
“Thanks. Saved my life, babe. See ya soon.” He hung up.
How was I going to handle a five-year-old? I was at home with little children as a pacifist is with an Uzi. It’d been ages since I’d been around a child that age. Unlike Joelle, I’d never been one to babysit. What if Katherine stuck her finger in an electric plug or ate dishwashing soap? Carl would never forgive me, and I would never forgive myself.
I almost called him back to say I didn’t have enough experience, and that I needed to read a bunch of back issues of Parent magazine before I could be entrusted with his child. But I couldn’t let him down. If Carl and I were going to get any more serious, I needed to learn to get along with his daughter.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Carl said when I appeared at his door. He already had his briefcase in his hand and was so distracted he didn’t even notice that I looked like death warmed over. Worse. I was death left out in the desert for the buzzards to pick apart. I’d spackled a thin layer of makeup over my Lily Munster pallor but it hadn’t helped.
I peered over the top of my sunglasses. “Are children toilet-trained at five?” I was only half-joking. In these permissive times who knew when young kids said “so long” to their Pampers?
Carl ignored my question and herded me inside. On the sofa sat a big-eyed girl with sooty eyelashes and a pouty expression. Hastily, he implored Katherine to be a good girl, tossed a few instructions my way, and blew out the door, leaving me in complete charge. After he left, Katherine didn’t say a word. She remained on the couch, holding a Barbie doll by her long black hair and gaping at me.
“Your daddy says you’re five. Does that mean you’re in kindergarten?”
No reply. She continued to gawk. Her hair was pulled into pigtails, making her resemble an oversized mouse. She wore a poofy pink dress and matching shoes with an oversized purple bow.
“What’s the name of your doll? She’s pretty.”
The child’s gaze didn’t waver from my face; she almost looked stoned. Was she on medication? Or maybe she was staring deep into my soul and finding it lacking.
“Want to watch TV?”
More silence. More staring. And then she said, “Are you a princess?”
“Uh…not officially. Why do you ask?”
“Because you have fairy princess hair. Can I play with it?” She dropped to her knees like a little beggar. “Peeese? Peeese? Peeese?”
I raked my fingers through my long curls and said, “Fine by me.”
For the next thirty minutes Katherine’s busy little hands were in my hair, braiding, combing, and tangling. I noticed a piece of paper on the coffee table, in Ms. Sprague’s handwriting. It was a list of rules for Carl to follow:
Limit TV watching to one hour a day; educational programming only.
No sugary sweets, including gum.
No fast food ever.
Bedtime promptly at eight.
Never, ever let her be around that skank.
As if there was any doubt as to who “that skank” was.
When Katherine was done rooting around in my hair, she wanted to play Barbies. She had a whole slew of them; all were dark-skinned but still had the requisite long, swingy Barbie hair, except for Tonya Barbie who sported a crew cut courtesy of Katherine.
We played dolls for at least a half-hour. Katherine was a bossy companion, telling me how to dress my Barbie and fix her hair. A few times I warned her not to put any of the tiny shoes in her mouth lest she swallow one. Finally she said, “Only babies put toys in their mouths, silly lady.”
Once we’d exhausted Barbies, she said she was so starving she could eat a goat. Just before he left, Carl had told me that Katherine’s lunch was in the fridge. I retrieved a brown bag decorated with a SpongeBob sticker; inside was an egg salad sandwich, an apple, carrot sticks, and a juice box. Very healthy stuff, if not boring. Poor little imp. What fun was childhood if you couldn’t stuff your face with things that were bad for you? At restaurants I used to open sugar packets and pour them in my mouth and Daddy never said boo.
Katherine folded her arms over her tiny chest. “I want a cheeseburger.”
“We don’t have a cheeseburger.” A shame, because I wouldn’t mind gnawing on some greasy red meat myself. I dangled the lunch in front of her. “Just this scrumptious sandwich. Made with prime goat meat.”
My goat tease backfired; she batted the bag away, and said, “Ewww. I don’t want it. Let’s go to the park.”
I glanced out at a sky that was growing increasingly grayer. “It’s going to rain.”
“That’s okay. We can go to the indoor park.”
“Where?”
“Mickey D’s,” she said, breathlessly. She jumped around the room like she had fire ants in her underwear. “They have bouncy balls, the crawly tube—”
“Your mom says you can’t have fast food.”
“She took me last week.”
“She did?”
Katherine bobbed her head. “She takes me every Saturday. We always meet my friend Lizzie and her mom.”
“Is that so?” I said softly. I wouldn’t be surprised if Deena held Carl to a higher standard than herself, and frankly the idea of thwarting her strict agenda was appealing.
“All right. We’re off to get a cheeseburger.”
McDonald’s was lit up like a football stadium on game night and crowded with shrieking children and howling babies. I couldn’t think of a worse place to nurse a hangover, except for maybe the tarmac at Hartsfield International Airport.
I ordered Katherine a Happy Meal. For myself I requested a super-sized order of French fries and a double cheeseburger, hoping to soak up the alcohol tainting my bloodstream. Katherine was more interested in the meal’s toy, a plastic gewgaw designed to promote a kid movie featuring a pink and purple dragon. Like a responsible babysitter, I insisted she eat all her nuggets. When she was done, she screamed, “
There’s Lizzie in the balls! Can I go?”
“I don’t know.” What if some kid jumped on her head and gave her brain damage? What if some pedophile spirited her away across the country in a van with dark tinted windows?
“Peese!” she screeched in my ear. “Peese. Peese. Peese!”
My jangled brain was no match for those high-pitched “peeses.”
“You can go. But don’t talk to strangers, and don’t let anyone jump on your head or any of your vital organs.”
She gave me a weird look and pranced off to the indoor playground. I continued to feed my face with fries, savoring each salty, grease-soaked bite.
“Toni Lee Wells.”
A tall, familiar woman stood beside my table. It was Henry from the Club. I was so used to seeing her in her uniform I almost didn’t recognize her. Today she wore a pink warm-up suit and her brown wavy hair hung loose on her shoulders. She held a plastic orange tray with a chicken sandwich wrapped in waxy yellow paper, a skimpy side salad that looked as if it was suffocating in its plastic globe, and an apple pie.
I gestured for her to join me, and she slid onto the bench across from me.
“You live on this side of town?” I said.
“A few blocks away. I come here every Saturday. My grandchild is generally here with her mother and I visit with them a bit.” She glanced about. “I don’t see them today. Maybe there was a last minute change of plans.”
“Grandchild? How old?” I said.
“Just started kindergarten. And what are you doing on this side of town?”
“I’m babysitting.”
“That so? Where’s the child? You haven’t misplaced the poor little dear, I hope,” she said in a teasing voice.
“Nah. I’ve been trying to shake the scamp but she keeps finding me.”
Just then I spotted Katherine skipping toward the table. “Look, here comes my charge now.”
Girl Meets Class Page 13
