Hip to Be Square

by Hope Lyda

  “Okay, I have a dilemma,” Angelica begins as she adds sugar to her coffee. She doesn’t even look around to measure our interest. She just starts in. “I’m wondering if it is okay to break up…”

  “I do too,” I say, determined to not let Angelica always rule this portion of our breakfast. “I have a dilemma. I’d like to start with mine this time.” I do take the time to measure the interest of others, and there is very little, but I forge ahead anyway. “I need a new apartment that suits my new life.” I watch them nod “no big deal” nods. “And…a new name.”

  “What?” Angelica is now adequately surprised.

  “Are you still getting calls and emails from the blog?” Caitlin asks while scratching her legs again.

  “No, that seems resolved for now. This is for work. It turns out that those people with cool names—Halo, Amie, Siena, Petal, and Earl Gray—” I run down the list of fellow coworkers I have met over the past few days, “have fake names.”

  “You are surprised by this?” Sadie deadpans in typical Old Mari fashion.

  “Well, yeah. Sort of. I mean, I wouldn’t figure the clientele at Majestic Vista would require workers to remain anonymous. Don’t you think it is a bit…odd?”

  “You cannot be disillusioned with your new life so soon, Mari. That would be Old Mari behavior. I’m still waiting for you to start picking apart Beau, who is, I believe, a great match for you.” Angelica reveals my demons.

  She is right, but I don’t like the idea of Angelica speaking truth into my life. “I need a name, please.” I make designs in my whipped topping and long for the old breakfast choice. Maybe I am an eternal “grass is greener” gal.

  “Chi-Chi,” Angelica volunteers after a sigh of resignation. “Or Goddess. Kate Moss?”

  “You just are mad about the event photo and that it referenced that you were looking to me for fashion ideas.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. I was thrilled just to be in a Kevin Milano shot, Miss Too Big for Her Britches.”

  I shut up. I am too big for my Majestic Vista Lycra britches. How’d she know?

  Time to create a diversion. I’ll focus on other people’s problems. “I need to use the restroom. Sadie, come with?”

  I can tell she doesn’t want to join anyone who says “come with” to the bathroom, but she is too nice to leave me hanging there alone with my debutante wording.

  “Don’t tell me you do want to pick Beau apart,” she challenges me as soon as we are in the black-and-white checkered ladies’ facilities.

  Now that I am face-to-face with her, I am not sure I want to tell her that she is not perfect. “It’s about your event, which was lovely.” I start off friendly.

  “Thanks. It turned out great. I think that even though I was hoping for more people, the number was just right. And Carson and I did a lot to advance the awareness of the gardens…”

  “It’s not about the event, actually,” I interrupt. She stares at me baffled and a bit impatient. I continue while staring at the soap dispenser. “It’s how you responded to Caitlin when you found out who her parents were. You hurt her, Sadie. She looks up to you so much. We all do, but it was obvious that you were suddenly impressed with Caitlin when you found out she comes from money.” I want to add, “Which you would have known if you ever spent time one-on-one with her,” but I leave this for another time.

  A manicured hand waves in front of my face. Sadie’s eyes are closed and she is shaking her head back and forth. Mad? Confused? In denial? “You are mistaken.” She looks away, but other than the framed print of ketchup and mustard bottles dancing together, there is nothing to focus on. She continues. “I…at first I was impressed, I’ll admit. But not as you think. It was respect for Caitlin because she is who she is in spite of coming from money. I understand now that all her craziness and eccentricity is about courage…not…”

  “Laziness? Lack of direction?”

  Sadie looks up convicted. “Yes.”

  I’m so glad she isn’t mad at me for bringing this up. “You need to let her know this, Sadie. It would mean so much.”

  “I do. I do. You are right.” She stomps her foot and the sound echoes. “I can be so hard on people. I have such high standards for myself, and then I try to force everyone else into this ridiculous shape of perfection. I push people away. I’ll end up with regrets if I don’t…”

  I realize she is not talking about “people” in general but Carson in particular.

  “What’s up, Sadie?” I try the soft tone I learned from Amie and Halo.

  Without her usual reluctance to reveal details, she opens up. “Well, you know Carson is older, but what you don’t know is that he is divorced. He has a kid, Mari. A ten-year-old…Harry…who lives with his mother in New York.”

  She has been carrying this around all this time. “Sadie, people go on to create good, whole lives after divorce. Are you afraid it means he isn’t marrying material?”

  “It’s a lot to contend with, you know? I mean, relationships are hard enough without the idea or the reality of your significant other having had this other life. I don’t know if I can get past it. Maybe I’m scared he won’t be able to get past it. It’s the ultimate ‘been there, done that’ situation.” She sits down on the very short bench. Her knees are almost up to her chest and she looks defeated.

  “Oh, honey.” An endearment I usually despise seems to be a comforting choice. I sit next to her in silence in the midst of a room resembling NASCAR purgatory. “Is this what he is telling you?”

  “No. He seems to want to move forward. These are just the thoughts that consume me. I woke up last night at three o’clock in a cold sweat, certain that I have to break things off before he does. I have never been out of control this way, Mari.”

  I pretend to crack my knuckles. “Well, welcome to my world, little lady. I am always out of control. Let me guide you through this time of emotional upheaval. It’s not so bad once you get used to it. There are lots of unknown benefits.” I see her smile out of the corner of my eye and keep up the routine. “You get to have a massage while passed out. You can go on dates with men who just want their picture in the paper. Umm…Oh, you might even be lucky enough to have a website created in your honor. Or…or you could have your friends gather round and reveal your pathetic lifestyle…or…”

  “Thanks. You sold me.” She laughs, and I realize how tired she looks. We all think nothing can get to Sadie, and yet she has been quietly suffering.

  “Let’s get back out there. He adores you, Sadie. Pray about it…and let all of us pray about it too. Who says you have to have the answer right now?”

  “True.” She dabs her eyes with a tissue and then grabs onto my shirt and pulls me back before I can exit. Apparently, when you get Sadie talking, the girl won’t quit. “You know my philosophy about only having one great thing in your life at a time?”

  “Yeah, but I’m personally hoping that isn’t true. There is too much potential in my life right now.”

  “It’s as if there was a domino effect of backlash when I decided to believe otherwise. I found out more about Carson’s background, I started doubting everything, and now I think I’m sabotaging what could be a really good thing.”

  “Maybe the dominos are going in the right direction. Maybe all of this is leading you toward good things. Did you think of that?”

  As soon as we are back to the table, Caitlin and Angelica try to read our faces.

  “How about Chanel? It’s classic, sophisticated, and associated with fashion and style,” Caitlin suggests while recrossing her legs. A few tufts of fake fur that look an awful lot like ceiling insulation swirl about her.

  I like it. Although rich, old women throughout Manhattan probably have poodles named Coco or Chanel, I still like it. “Thanks, Caitlin. Good thought.”

  “Now, my turn. Please?” Angelica raises her hand in submission. “Is it okay to break up with your manicurist if you have heard of someone far superior…”

 
“Yes,” we say. Such an easy one.

  “I didn’t finish. What if it is a manicurist I have been witnessing to?” She lowers her voice at the end of the confession, but we all understand exactly what it means.

  Angelica is back among the professing Christians.

  We take in her admission but give her the grace she requires.

  “Is she bad? Like, does she choose cherry red nail color instead of crimson red or tear off your skin when she redoes your nails?” Caitlin offers a way to a decision.

  “No. She’s good. I just heard about Fidel Gray, who is supposed to be incredible. Maybe I will give it more time. Usually the initial buzz is all publicity hype.”

  “Yeah,” I agree. “Give it more time.”

  “Yes. More time,” Caitlin repeats and raises her eyebrows at me with a hint of pleasant surprise at our friend’s new leaf.

  That is what looks different about Angelica. With her tough outer shell gone, she is softer, warmer. We take a moment to observe her changes. This one push toward a kinder direction changes the course of the rest of our morning together. Our individual conflicts fall down, one right after the other. Sadie says a few words to Caitlin privately and they embrace. Angelica seems relieved to have outed herself. And I don’t try to convince everyone and myself that I don’t belong in this new life.

  After listening to Sadie’s struggle with Carson’s past and witnessing Angelica’s change of direction toward faith, I am tempted to bring up Amie’s Buddhist monk friend’s idea about the past and future for discussion among Christians.

  But I’m afraid Angelica would want to get her own Buddhist monk friend.

  And then break up with him.

  Phone Dating

  Guggle. Guggle. Urch.”

  “Guggle. Guggle. Urch?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “It might be your carburetor,” Beau offers, though I suspect it is his version of my rotator cuff answer. Something you have heard that sounds worth repeating.

  “Do you know anything about cars?” I laugh.

  “Not a bit.” He laughs.

  “And I was going to ask you to look at a car with me this weekend. I might really buy it. Guess I will need to get a date with a car guy.”

  We laugh.

  This is me talking to a boyfriend. The boyfriend. He qualifies as a boyfriend because he asks me about the most boring details of my life with interest. He is the only person to know about my Castaways viewing pleasure and the word “pathetic” did not leave his lips.

  “How do you feel about the job? It’s been a couple months now. Have you adjusted?”

  “It’s good. A bit strange. All that money and attitude…it is so different from Golden Horizon days.”

  “That’s what you were hoping, right?”

  “Yes.” I guess.

  “I understand. I had such big expectations when I moved to Phoenix and took this management position,” he says. “Eventually the realities of the fantasy emerge.”

  “Exactly.” He gets me. This makes me feel better. Unless…what if the fantasy he is talking about is our dating relationship?

  “Do you think I should go blond?”

  “Not if that means you will have to date your own kind.”

  “It’s really more of a honey blond…the signature color developed for Majestic Vista employees only. Don’t you think that is a bit strange? And how sad that I didn’t even catch on that they had dyed their hair to match. I don’t know what I thought. Inbreeding, I guess.”

  “Or pod people?”

  “Yes. Pretty On Demand people. That would be appropriate.”

  “Give it time, Mari. You are an anthropologist in a new culture. Or a missionary. Think of it that way.”

  “I’m not offering much in the way of spiritual wisdom to these folks. I am, however, teaching ten people how to knit. Can you believe that is a coveted hobby?”

  “See? You are popular on your own terms. That’s not so bad. Have you survived the probation period?”

  “The first one. At six months they make an even bigger decision. If Lionel likes me…correction, loves me…enough to invest in my future with Majestic, he sends me to his spa in Mexico so I can observe the best of the best in action.”

  “You’ll make it to Mexico. How could anyone not love you?”

  Pause.

  How could anyone not love you. Beau is a someone, which means he is part of “anyone” status. I rephrase the sentence: How could Beau not love you…me.

  “Oh, my gosh! I forgot I have to meet up with Angelica downtown. I’m so sorry.” I stammer a bit and write “meet Angelica” on my Mexico wall calendar so it isn’t an unprovable lie. A few days over I see a note about Tess’ bypass surgery. “I will call you as soon as I hear how Tess did in surgery this week. I’ll be seeing her tomorrow just to check on her.”

  “I will be up for your walk-a-thon this weekend; maybe we can go see her at the hospital afterward. Tell her I am praying for her full recovery. I expect her to dance with me at the sixtieth anniversary dance.”

  “Who says I will share you?” Uh-oh, that was a reference to future ownership. “Gotta run. Talk with you soon.”

  We hang up. Leaving me alone with my hang-ups.

  Did Beau really intend to link me to the word “love”? Could someone make this leap in affection after only a few months? Am I the guy in this relationship, so afraid of the next step that I won’t be honest about my feelings?

  My hands are clammy. I’ve got a bad case of Sadie’s fight-or-flight syndrome.

  Covert Operation

  Go! Go!” Lysa motions me into the back hallway of Golden Horizons. I am dressed in the volunteer uniform down to the white nurse’s shoes that stick to the linoleum as if it were freshly laid pavement.

  Tess insisted that I visit her prior to the surgery rather than come with her to the hospital. She said she wanted me with her before the drugs changed her “charming personality.”

  Once we are standing near the faint light of an exit sign, Lysa’s eyes take in the new me. “What did you do to your hair?”

  “Do you like it? It’s Sunrise Blond. All the rage at Majestic.” I pat the back of it in Britney Spears fashion, but I am not convincing my friend. Nor myself.

  “How do you say ‘I like the old you better’ in fancy spa lingo?” Lysa gives me a “get a load of her” sideways look. “Though I like the new look of your car.”

  I blush and make excuses for the things I want. “My car broke down, and repairing it was going to cost the equivalent of four times its actual blue book value. So I…went shopping. I know it’s a bit much. I’ve never had a new car.”

  Lysa raises her hands. “No explanation needed. I love it. I’ve been wanting a friend with a decent rig.”

  Her genuine acceptance of my choice almost relieves me of my self-judgment.

  “Here put this on. I got it in case Rae saw you, but now it serves an even greater purpose,” she says as she hands me a hairnet.

  “Oh, great.” I shove random strands of Sunrise Blond into the cap and start to giggle out of control. So does Lysa.

  We laugh silently and with convulsions as we walk through the hallway.

  There is a crack of light coming from beneath Rae’s door. People from the state are doing a location inspection tomorrow; otherwise the woman would not be here at eight o’clock at night. I know I am risking a confrontation with her, but for Tess, I’m willing to take the chance.

  “If Rae catches us, just look down at the floor and say you are Frieda, a substitute night nurse. Use an accent,” Lysa instructs as we make our way through the maze that I know like the back of my hand.

  I avoid looking at my old desk for reasons I don’t want to admit. I had thought that a return visit would be my chance to compare my two worlds. The ridiculously pathetic “before” contrasted with the spectacularly fabulous “after.” But now I won’t let my eyes take hold of the rickety chair and metal desk in case they will recognize them
and miss them.

  “Come in! Hurry, before you-know-who awakes,” Tess whispers with little girl joy beneath a serious look.

  Lysa and I are still both laughing hysterically.

  “Lysa, you stay too. You girls are my best young friends here.” Tess pats the side of her bed. She is looking pale and fatigued, and for a moment it is hard for me to see the Tess I know and love. But she is there. After a few familiar mannerisms…a wink, a smirk, a shrug…and I see her.

  “Tess, we are glad to be here to celebrate your upcoming surgery and your renewed strength.” I pretend to toast the health of this good woman.

  “That reminds me!” She raises her finger and points to her minifridge. Lysa obeys the direction and returns with two bottles of sparkling cider.

  “Hey, aren’t those from the…” I recognize the brand from my Golden Golden party order.

  “You didn’t want the leftovers to end up in Rae’s personal kitchen, did you?”

  “Here’s to health and the future!” We each sip just a little of the honey-colored liquid.

  “This cider almost matches Mari’s new hair. Did you see it, Tess?” Lysa wipes her hand over my head and removes the netting.

  “Well, I’ll be!” Tess says. She begins to laugh and we start up again. I am amazed and blessed to have a friendship with this woman who is more than two and a half times my age.

  “I miss you. This…” I motion around me, surprising even myself with the words I don’t let myself finish.

  “Did you hear that they aren’t going to replace you?” Tess asks me.

  “That’s impossible,” I respond with shock. I didn’t think I held the place together, but I certainly thought my role was significant to the quality of life of the residents. This news is devastating to me.

  “Is it because of the fund-raiser? Will it not happen?” I ask, not really wanting to know if my leaving has caused serious loss for the residents.