So what's the apartment like?” Lucy asked, glancing up from her knitting. This morning was the first chance she'd had to start the sweater for James, and she was casting on stitches for the back.
“Big,” Kathleen said.
“What is it with you and big?” Sari asked. She lived in a tiny one-bedroom fourth-floor walk-up near Westwood Village and could barely afford the rent. Right now, the three of them were crammed around the one small round table that functioned as both her kitchen table and her desk-she'd had to move her computer and a bunch of papers onto the floor before setting up for brunch. Plates of half-eaten muffins and cups of tepid coffee were jammed in with knitting magazines and uncurling coils of measuring tape. Sari gestured around her. “How come you keep getting to live in these big beautiful places, and I’m stuck here?”
“I don't know,” Kathleen said. “Maybe I was nice to cows in a previous life and earned a lot of good karma.”
“I was a cow in a previous life,” Lucy said with a smirk. “Back in high school.”
“You weren't fat.” Sari squinted at her row counter and flicked another number forward. “You just thought you were. Is it furnished, Kath?”
“Nope.”
“Shit,” Lucy said, throwing down her needle with the cast-on stitches. “I’ve counted this three times and I’ve gotten a different number each time. I feel like I’m losing my mind.”
“Here.” Sari rested her own knitting on her lap and held out her hand. “Let me try.”
“Thanks.” Lucy handed it to her and watched as Sari slid the stitches along, one by one, her lips moving silently. “So when are you going furniture shopping, Kathleen?”
“I already bought a couple of airbeds and a few odds and ends. But I’m not going to buy any real furniture or anything. I mean, the guy could kick me out at any minute. No point getting too settled. Plus I’m short on cash.”
“How long can you live like that, though?” Lucy said. “It sounds like you'll have this place for at least a few months. You can rent furniture, you know.”
“Too much work.”
“Well, at least buy some kind of bed frame, so you're not sleeping on the floor with all the bugs.”
“There aren't any bugs in that place,” Kathleen said. “They can't afford the rent.”
“I got sixty-four,” Sari said, handing the needle and yarn back to Lucy.
“Good,” Lucy said. “I got that once, too.” She took her knitting back to her own seat. “You'll need a table and at least three chairs, Kath, for when it's your turn to host.”
“Can't we just sit on the floor?” Kathleen said. “Have we gotten so old we need to sit in chairs all the time?”
“I have,” Lucy said. “It's one thing to be all bohemian and stuff in college, but we're years out of college now. I’m over being uncomfortable.”
“But I like having the empty floor space,” Kathleen said. “I can run laps in my own apartment. And do push-ups and play soccer-”
“Play soccer?” Sari said. “Your neighbors must love the sound of balls thwacking against their walls night and day.”
“No one's complained yet. Except for one old lady but she's the type who'd complain about anything.” Kathleen stopped knitting to pull at a couple of strands of yarn that were all tangled up. “Hey, did I tell you guys I’ve got a job interview tomorrow?”
“You're kidding,” Sari said, searching through her bag. “That was fast.” She pulled out a skein of white wool, frowned at it, and shoved it back. “What's the job?”
“Nothing exciting. I’d be the assistant to some real estate guy. That's all I know.” She reached for her coffee mug and took a sip.
“What's his name?”
“Rats-Sam told me, but I don't remember. Something Porter, I think. Johnson Porter? Jackson Porter? Something like that.” She put the mug back down.
“You should probably try to get it right in the interview,” Lucy said.
Sari said, “Is he the Porter in those Porter and Wachtell signs you always see on big construction sites? That Porter?”
“I don't know. Maybe.”
“If he is, that's a huge company,” Sari said. “I see those signs everywhere. How did you get the interview?”
“Through the same guy who got me the apartment. Sam Kaplan.” She squinted down at the pattern she was using. “Does anyone know how to do a yarn-over at the beginning of a row? I can't figure it out. It doesn't make sense, does it? Doesn't it have to be in the middle of a row to work?”
“Hold on, let me take a look.” Sari put down her own knitting and came over to kneel in front of Kathleen. “Well, first of all, you've gotten it all tangled up,” she said.
“Like everything in my life,” Kathleen said, watching Sari's hands sort through the tangle. “But you'll fix it, won't you, Sari?
That's what you do-you fix everyone's messes.”
“This is the slipperiest yarn I’ve ever seen,” Sari said.
“Slipperiest?” Lucy repeated. “Is that even a word?” She looked over. “But I see what you mean. It's all shiny. You might even say blinding. What are you making, Kathleen?”
Kathleen held up her Vogue Knitting so they could see the picture. “A tank top.”
“A bright gold tank top,” Lucy said, shaking her head. “Subtle you're not.”
“I like bright colors,” Kathleen said. “We can't all be elegant and boring like you.”
“I’ll accept that as a compliment coming from a girl with bright green toenails.”
“They're not green,” Kathleen said, stretching out her bare feet so they could all see. “They're chartreuse. It's my new favorite color. When I finish this tank, I want to make a chartreuse tube top. Don't you think that would be cool?”
“If you wear a handknit tube top, don't your nipples poke through?” Lucy said.
“Not if you use a small enough needle and a really fine yarn,” Sari said. “I think I got it straightened out, Kath. Let me see the instructions.”
“Anyway,” Kathleen said, handing them to her. “What's wrong with a little nipple showing? Give ‘em what they want, I always say.
“And do, from what I’ve heard,” Lucy said.
“Plus I can always wear it over a T-shirt or tank top.”
Lucy wrinkled her nose. “That would look weird.”
“You need to experiment more,” Kathleen said. “In all kinds of ways.”
“I spend my life doing experiments,” Lucy said. “It's my job.”
“That's so not what I mean.”
“I think I’ve figured this out, Kath,” Sari said and, while she explained how to do the stitch to Kathleen, Lucy found her thoughts wandering to her rats and then on to her recent fight with James.
“Hey, Sar?” she said after a moment.
“What?” Sari stood up, took a bite of muffin, then wiped her fingers on a napkin and sat back down to her own knitting.
“Remember Daisy?”
“Who was Daisy?” Kathleen asked.
“Oh, just this incredible bitch we used to know,” Lucy said, and Sari laughed.
“You going to let me in on the joke?” Kathleen curled her feet up under her ass and attacked her knitting with renewed determination.
“She was my dog,” Lucy said. “When I was in middle and high school. She died like five years ago. She was a great dog, wasn't she, Sari?”
“Yeah, she was sweet,” Sari said.
“What kind of dog?” Kathleen asked.
“She was a mix. I think she had some Labrador in her, but she was smaller and furrier than a Lab. I used to pin her ears to the side of her head and say she was an otter.” Lucy finished a row and turned her knitting over. “I could do anything I wanted to that dog and she never got mad, just licked me harder.”
“Wish I could find a guy like that,” Sari said.
“You ever have a dog?” Kathleen asked her.
“For like four weeks. Some therapist told my mother that a pet would help Charlie connect emotionally. So she went out to the pound and brought back the first dog she could find. She didn't even know what sex it was. I totally loved it-just because it was warm and soft and therefore much better company than any other member of my family-but then it bit my father, and after that they kept it in the garage. And a few weeks later my mother said that thing that parents say-you know, how they had taken it to a ‘farm’ where it could run free and be happy. Even at the age of seven, I knew it was bullshit and that dog was a goner.”
“Wouldn't it be funny if all this time parents have been telling the truth?” Kathleen said. “And there's really some big doggy Eden somewhere?”
“I should get a dog,” Lucy said. “It would be nice to have a friendly face to come home to at the end of a hard day.”
“You work long hours and then you go out at night,” Sari said. She flicked at the row counter again. “Don't you think a dog might get a little lonely?”
“I could hire someone to walk it.”
“Then what's the point?” Kathleen said. “Someone else plays with the dog you bought. And it would still be alone too much. You'd feel guilty and stressed and-”
“Okay, okay,” Lucy said. “So maybe it's not the right time. Someday, though, I’m going to get one.”
“When you grow up,” Kathleen said. “I like that color green, Lucy. What are you making?”
“A sweater.”
“Really? I thought sweaters took too long.”
“You haven't heard the best part,” Sari said. “It's for James.”
“You're making a sweater for your boyfriend? Kathleen said. “You're nuts.”
“Why is that nuts?”
“You should only ever knit for yourself,” Kathleen said. “That's the first rule of the single girl's knitting handbook. It's the only rule.” She put down her work and held up her hand. “You try to knit a guy a sweater, then one of two things will happen”-she raised her index finger-”either he'll break up with you just as you're finishing it, which means you have to destroy all your work or spend the rest of your life trying to find another guy exacdy the p-”even ifsame size, or”-another finger went up-“even if you do get to give it to him, he won't like it or ever wear it and it'll make you so mad, you'll end up breaking up with him. And some future girlfriend of his will find it one day and tear it to pieces. Trust me, you only want to knit stuff for yourself.” She picked up her knitting and waved it at them. “Slinky gold tank tops, girls. That's where it's at. Follow my lead.”
“Yeah,” Lucy said. “Let's follow the lead of the girl who sleeps on an airbed in someone else's empty apartment. She's obviously going places.”
“I am,” Kathleen said calmly. “Just you wait and see.”
When Kathleen's job interview went well the next day (once again she wore her responsible clothes, which were starting to seem lucky as well as responsible), she was immediately hired to start that very week, which convinced her she had been right to tell Lucy she was going places.
On the downside, the job wasn't exactly what you might call high-powered. On her first day at work, she discovered that she wasn't the assistant to Jackson Porter, CEO of Porter and Wachtell, as she'd been led to believe in her interview with the head of personnel, but was, more accurately, the assistant to his assistant, sixty-year-old Luisa Rivera.
Luisa was Jackson Porters secretary, assistant, confidante, advisor, personal shopper… whatever he needed, she had been, for twenty-five long years. Kathleen was Jackson's twenty-fifth anniversary present to Luisa, the idea being that the new girl would take over any duties Luisa no longer enjoyed.
As it turned out, Luisa was fairly proprietary about her boss and not all that interested in giving up any of her access to him, so Kathleen spent most of those first days fetching coffee, typing the occasional memo, answering the phones, and organizing drawers of stationery supplies.
She considered being disgruntled but decided it wasn't all that bad. For one thing, her job was pretty easy, since Luisa wasn't used to asking anyone to wait on her and didn't like other people to wait on Jackson. For another, the central position of Kathleen's desk-in front of the wall outside Jackson's office-allowed her to observe and eventually meet anyone at the firm who caught her interest.
Kathleen was good at meeting people. The first few days she was there, she wore bright-colored silk tops and called out cheery hellos to anyone who came within a few feet of her desk. It wasn't long before a lot of the guys at Porter and Wachtell were finding excuses to wander by the new girl's desk. Even the women were happy to discover there were new and enthusiastic ears to pour old rumors into.
She learned very quickly that three of the top businessmen who were always rushing around in suits and ties were not just Jackson's employees but also his sons. And that, while the older two were married, the youngest one was not. “And he's the nice one,” one of the secretaries had added before tossing down her third Ultra Slim-Fast chocolate shake of the lunch break.
“Is he straight?” Kathleen asked.
“Why wouldn't he be?” The secretary sounded almost insulted, so Kathleen quickly said, “No reason. I just dated a guy once who turned out to be gay.”
“I guess that can happen,” the woman said. “But Kevin Porter's had tons of girlfriends since I started working here. And”- as if it settled the subject-“they're always very pretty.”
Well of course they were, Kathleen thought. The guy was worth hundreds of millions-he could pick and choose. And if Kevin Porter were the kind of guy who cared what a girl looked like, Kathleen was the kind of girl who was realistic enough to know that meant he was bound to notice her sooner or later.
It was sooner. Kevin came walking up to her later that same day to introduce himself and welcome her to the team. (Literally-that's what he said-“Welcome to the team.”) He had a nice face and good posture and met her eyes when he talked to her. Kathleen had gone out with far less appealing men. And he was wildly rich. Hadn't Sari told her that a rich guy was her fastest path to a happy future?
Which made her think she was really growing up-here she was, thinking about her future. What better sign of maturity than that?
Sari had a less pleasant week.
Monday morning she was woken up by a phone call and there was her sister, Cassie-who hadn't spoken to her in over three years-saying, “Sari? You're up, right? I couldn't remember the time difference, but I figured you're probably the early-bird type.”
It was four in the morning and of course Sari had been asleep. She had spent the previous day wrestling a kid who liked to scratch people's eyes and then had stayed up until one working on some progress reports-no matter how much she wrote, she never caught up with the paperwork. She was still trying to get out some sort of coherent response, when Cassie cut her off. “I woke up early and couldn't get back to sleep,” Cassie said. “I was thinking. Sari, you have to promise me. Promise me.”
“What?”
“Never to have children. Never. I mean, look at our family. We can't do this to anyone else. Neither of us can have kids. Ever. Maybe we could adopt. No, not even that. Not even adopting. Promise me, Sari.”
“Cassie-“
“No, listen. I’m right about this. I haven't slept all night. I won't ever sleep again unless you promise me this right now. I mean it.”
“I can't promise,” Sari said, her voice hoarse with sleep. “I mean, I don't even know what-”
“Fine,” Cassie said. “If you're going to be like that. But you're wrong. You're so wrong, I can't believe it. Why am I the only sane one in the family? Do you know mom actually asked me once when I was going to get married and have kids? Like she thought it was a good idea?”
“That's not such an awful-”
“Oh, fuck this,” Cassie said. She hung up and Sari couldn't get back to sleep.
So when she walked into the clinic that morning, she was too exhausted to put up much of a defense when Ellen cornered her and said she had been assigned to work with Zachary Smith. “You started with him,” she said, as if the original choice had been Sari's and not hers. “You started with him, and the first session went well. The father requested you, and you had chemistry with the kid. I want you to stick with him, at least for the first few months. Then we can reevaluate.”
Sari could have argued, but she had never once won an argument with Ellen. Besides, she had already vowed that she would help Zack if asked. So she called up Jason Smith and scheduled time for Zack-four sessions a week, three of them at the clinic for an hour and a half, and then four straight hours at his house on Friday afternoons. She would have to cut way back on intake work, but Ellen was already training someone else to do evaluations. There was no one to take over her grant proposals or progress reports-they were all overloaded on that stuff-so she'd be working late at night and early in the morning just to keep from falling too far behind.
None of that was really a problem. It wasn't the first time she had devoted herself to a kid for a few months and had to scramble to keep up with everything else in her life.
No, the real problem was trying to reconcile her past and present every time Jason Smith walked through the door. Which was a lot, since he came every time. The mother never showed.
When she came to their house that first Friday afternoon, a housekeeper let her in. Jason wasn't home, which was a relief at first. But Maria the housekeeper came with her own set of problems. Her job, as she saw it, was to keep Zack from getting upset.
And upsetting Zack was basically Sari's job description.
Sari had to teach Zack that communicating with words was a more efficient way of getting what he wanted than screaming and crying, but the only way to make that point was to let him cry without giving him what he wanted. At first, if she held up a piece of candy and told Zack he needed to say “candy” if he wanted it, Zack would cry and scream for an excruciating ten minutes in the hopes that this new lady in his life would just go ahead and give it to him-all his life, people had given him stuff when he cried.
Sari knew-having done this hundreds of times with dozens of kids-that if she ignored the screams for long enough Zack would eventually stop sobbing and take a stab at saying “candy.” The instant he did, she would hand him the candy. And, over time, he would learn that saying words actually worked better than crying at getting him what he wanted, especially if all the other adults in his life waited him out the same way.
Already, within the first week, he was showing signs of progress. He was making some of the beginning sounds of words. He was trying. Pretty soon, Sari knew, he'd really get the idea, and then words would start coming like crazy.
But not if-as happened that first Friday in Zack's house- Maria was going to come racing into the room the second she heard him scream, and-one hand outstretched, the other clutched to her heart-cry out, “Oh, my love, my life! What's wrong? What has she done to you?”
“Nothing's wrong, nothing's happened,” Sari said.
“Is he hurt?” Her hands on his shoulders, she was scanning his face-apparently looking for bruises.
“He's fine,” Sari said. “He just needs to stop crying and try talking if he wants this cookie.”
“He's a good boy,” Maria said. “No trouble with me.” Zack buried his face in her shoulder.
Sari said, “I know it's hard to hear him cry like that, but it's really just out of frustration and soon he'll-”
“He never cries with me.”
“Well, then, you're going to have to start letting him,” Sari said. Maria didn't even bother responding to that. She wrapped her arms around Zack and rocked him, crooning softly, until Sari gave up and left the house.
Sari hated to get anyone in trouble, but something had to change, and she told Jason that when he came to the clinic on Monday.
“As long as she comes running whenever he cries, he'll keep crying,” she said. “And it's not just a problem when I’m there. It's a problem all the time, if she's soothing and cuddling him when he's behaving badly. All she's doing is rewarding the bad behavior-which means it will continue no matter what I do.”
“Should I fire her?” Jason Smith said. “Because I will, if you tell me to. Actually,” he said, “I’d do anything you told me to.”
Sari said, “Don't fire her. Of course, don't fire her. We want Zack to feel loved and secure right now. But talk to her for me. Tell her she's got to change how she deals with him.”
“I’ll try,” he said. “Maria and I aren't exactly in the habit of talking a lot.” His mouth twisted. “The truth is, I’m scared to death of her. We kind of keep our distance, take our shifts with Zack… Denise was the one who hired Maria in the first place. She likes her because she's so competent and take-charge about everything, but now that it's just me at home, I’m the one left dealing with her, and all that competence terrifies me. I don't think I live up to her expectations.” He tried to laugh, but it ended in a sigh. “This single dad stuff is all new and strange to me.”
So he was divorced. Or at least separated. Not that Sari cared. She said, “If you could just make sure she's busy doing something else when I come on Fridays, that would help a lot. And please tell Maria not to give him what he wants whenever he cries, but to wait until he's asking appropriately. We all have to be a little bit tough with him right now.”
“Cruel to be kind?” Jason said.
“Exacdy.”
Later, when they were shaking hands goodbye, Jason Smith said, “I’ve been wanting to say-what you've been doing with Zack is amazing. You're amazing.”
“It's all pretty simple, really,” Sari said.
“I know. That's the beauty of it. I watch you and you make it look so easy. But he's actually starting to say words. I didn't think I’d ever-” He stopped. They both looked at Zack, who had turned a toy truck upside down and was using his index finger to make one of its wheels spin. After a moment, Jason said, “I feel like I’m seeing him for the first time. You know what I mean? Like the real Zack is starting to come out.”
“All of him's the real Zack,” Sari said. “We're just encouraging him to talk and be social. But he's all Zack all the time.”
“Yeah, of course,” Jason said. He was wearing jeans and a plain white T-shirt that hung straight down from his broad shoulders. He looked like a jock. He'd look like a jock in footsie pajamas.
He was still talking. Sari made herself focus. “I’ve always loved him, but now it feels like he's turning into a friend. It's incredible. He actually asked me for juice today. I couldn't believe it. He came right up to me and said, ‘Joo, joo.’”
“Maybe he just thought you looked a little Semitic,” Sari said.
He laughed and then said, “It's weird that you're funny. I remember you as being really serious. I mean, in all honesty, I don't remember you all that well, but I have this mental picture of you always being in the library.”
“I’m amazed you remember me at all,” Sari said. “I didn't hang around with your crowd much.”
“My crowd?” he repeated. “I didn't have a crowd.”
“Sure you did.”
“I had a few friends. Not that many.”
“You had an entourage” Sari said. “Which was appropriate, what with you being the king and all.”
“Was I voted king?” he said. “Funny that I don't remember that.”
“People don't vote you king,” Sari said. “You're born to it.” He shook his head. “Not me. I was just trying to survive, like everyone else.”
It blew her mind that he could say that, that he could act like his high school experience was anything like hers, like he hadn't ruled the place and dealt out favors and cruelties with equal generosity.
Dinner Friday night didn't go as well as the girls had hoped.
It started off fine. Kathleen was late, of course, but the girls knew that Kathleen never paid much attention to time, so they went ahead and ordered drinks without her. For a while, they drank and chatted about restaurants and movies, and James seemed fairly relaxed for once, his arm draped around Lucy's shoulders, his long legs stretched out under the booth they shared.
Then James asked Sari what she did for a living and she told him.
He was already shaking his head before she had finished speaking. “I know you don't want to hear this,” he said, “but it just kills me when I hear about these autism clinics popping up everywhere. Like they're going to make a difference.”
“Excuse me?” Sari said, blinking.
“How many kids do you see in a day?”
“Me, personally, or at the clinic?”
“At the clinic.”
“Roughly thirty, I guess. Some evaluations, but mostly ongoing therapy.”
“Which means most of the kids are repeat visitors, right? So it's not like you're seeing thirty different kids every day.”
“Yeah, right,” she said. “So?”
He was shaking his head again. “It's a waste, that's all. A drop in the ocean. It's like a doctor putting calamine lotion on one kid with chicken pox instead of vaccinating all the kids in his practice.”
Sari shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “We help every kid who comes through our clinic.”
“So you patch up a few kids,” he said with a shrug. “At a huge expense, right? Meanwhile, that money-and intelligent clinicians like you-could be put to far better use pursuing scientific solutions to the problem.” He picked up his beer glass with his free hand, the one that wasn't around Lucy's shoulders. “Autism isn't going to go away because some kids learn to say a word or two. We've got to find a real biomedical solution to the problem. The only way to do that is to take all the money we've got and put it directly into reputable scientific research.” He took a sip and put his glass back down.
“I’d be thrilled if someone found a biomedical solution,” Sari said. “But no one's come knocking on our door with one yet. Behavioral interventions are all we've got that work-”
“One kid at a time,” James said. “And each kid requires- what?-hundreds of hours of one-on-one intervention, right? Come on, Sari, it's a waste. All those man-hours, all that money… Put them to use, I say. Stop playing around with one or two kids and set your sights higher.”
“You want to come to the clinic and tell our parents that?” Sari said. Her cheeks had turned red. “You want to come tell them we're closing down and not helping their kids anymore because maybe someone someday will find a better solution? ‘Sorry, folks, your kids aren't going to learn to talk but, hey, if we find a magic pill, we'll be sure to call you’? Like that?”
“Whoa, there,” James said, removing his arm from Lucy's shoulder so he could put up both hands in surrender. “Calm down, buddy. I’m on your side. It's just that I come from a hard science background-I deal in research and real solutions.”
“Our approach is completely research-based,” Sari said. “This is science, too. Behavior mod can change people's brains at the chemical level.”
“Not as fast as chemicals can,” James said. “But let's not argue. It's great that you want to help kids. Really.” He slid out of the booth and stood up. “Excuse me, guys-got to make a quick trip to the men's room. I’ll be right back.” He left.
The girls sipped their drinks and didn't meet each other's eyes. “I’m sorry,” Lucy said after a moment. “I didn't know he'd-”
Sari waved her hand. “Don't worry about it. A lot of people feel that way.”
There was a flurry and a blur and suddenly Kathleen was sitting next to Sari. “Sorry I’m late! Where's James?”
“Men's room,” Lucy said.
“I miss anything?”
“Yeah,” Lucy said. “James was a jerk and now Sari hates him.”
Sari rolled her eyes. “I don't hate him.”
“Why does she hate him?” Kathleen asked. She was wearing a red handkerchief top and tight jeans and looked pretty spectacular, the way Kathleen always did when she got out of her sweats and made an effort to dress up.
“I don't hate him,” Sari said again. “We had a polite disagreement about something.”
“Whatever,” Kathleen said. She put her fingertips to her neck. “My throats killing me. It's been hurting all day.”
“You should take some vitamin C,” Sari said.
“You know, there's no actual scientific evidence that that works,” Lucy said.
“Don't say that. Haven't you heard of the placebo effect? Which you've just ruined for me?”
“I’ll try anything right now,” Kathleen said. “I so don't want to get sick. There's lots of vitamin C in orange juice, right?” She signaled to a waiter and ordered a screwdriver when he came over.
James came back to the table a minute later. For the rest of the meal, they stayed away from the subject of autism clinics, and James went out of his way to be charming and friendly. But no matter how pleasantly Sari smiled, Lucy knew she had to be pissed off that James had called the career she loved a waste of time.
James and Lucy left soon after ten-he was worn out from all the traveling and lecturing he'd been doing-but Kathleen and Sari lingered over slices of flourless chocolate cake.
“Lucy's lucky,” Kathleen said. “She's going home to have sex.
“Remind me what that is again,” Sari said. “Sort of like this chocolate cake, only better. You shouldn't go so long between guys, Sar.”
“It's not like I want to.”
“No, but you don't actively go after them, either. Let's go to a bar and I’ll show you how to pick someone up. Just for practice.”
“I don't do that,” Sari said.
“But you should.”
“I don't know how to go after guys, anyway,” Sari said. “They didn't teach that where I went to school.”
Kathleen squished a crumb of chocolate cake with her index finger then licked it off. “You just find a cute guy and listen to him talk like he's interesting-whether he is or not-and smile a lot and touch his arm and make it clear that you're available. The rest just kind of follows.”
“It just kind of follows for you? Sari said. She had moved to the other side of the booth when Lucy and James had left so they could face each other, and now she gestured across the table toward Kathleen's face. “You're gorgeous. Guys fall all over you. It's not like that for me.”
“It could be,” Kathleen said. “You're the cutest girl around, Sari. You just have to stop acting all sweet and shy like the girl next door and put a little slut into your moves.”
“That works for you, huh?”
“Almost always.” She took a sip of water and grimaced. “Hurts to swallow. Hey, Sari, remember how you said the best job for me would be to marry someone rich? I’ve been thinking you may be right about that.”
“I was joking,” Sari said. “Marrying a guy just because he's rich is a bad idea.”
“I know that,” Kathleen said. “But what if he's rich and nice and you actually like him?”
“That's a lot of ifs.”
“I’m suddenly really tired,” Kathleen said and pushed the cake away. “Fuck, Sari, I don't want to get sick.”
You look like shit,” Sam said when he opened the kitchen door for Kathleen the following night.
Kathleen had come up the back way to the service entrance, which was how she almost always came up to Sam's place, once she'd discovered that the back stairs took her directly from her kitchen to his. At first, she came when she needed something, like a pair of scissors or a cup of coffee. But sometimes she came just because the silence of her bare apartment made her desperate for company and she knew that Sam was likely to be there when he wasn't at work.
“I’m sick,” she said. “My head hurts and I can't stop shaking.” “And you had to come here?” He was backing away already. He was terrified of germs. Once Kathleen had wiped her mouth on his napkin, and he had freaked out when she pushed it back over to him. He had threatened to start locking her out if she ever did anything like that again.
“I need some medicine,” she said. “You've got to have something in that drugstore you call a bathroom.”
“Just go back downstairs to bed and sleep it off. Best thing for you.”
“Can't,” Kathleen said. She pressed the palms of her hands against her cheeks, which felt hot. “There's a big company party tonight. My first. I have to go and impress people.”
“Oh, for God's sake, you're an assistant. No one cares if you go or not.” He retreated farther. “They certainly won't thank you for going if there's a chance you're contagious. You start sneezing, and you'll just make them all hate you.”
“No one will know I’m sick,” Kathleen said. “I haven't really been sneezing. I just need something to make my throat and head stop hurting. Tylenol, Advil, anything like that. Or that aspirin stuff that has caffeine. I could use some. I feel so tired.”
“If I give you something, will you leave?”
“I swear.”
He led her to his bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet. Kathleen reached over his shoulder, grabbed a prescription bottle and peered at it, pretending to read, in mock surprise, “Viagra? I’m shocked, Sam. And a little intrigued.”
“Very funny,” he said, snatching the bottle away. He plucked another container off the shelves and thrust it at her. “Take this and get the hell out of here. You're infecting the whole place.”
“It's a cold, Sam-not the Avian flu.” She shook a couple of pills into her hand, tossed them into her mouth, then bent down and drank some water straight out of the faucet, shoving her head sideways into the sink. She stood up again, and swiped at the drops around her mouth with the back of her hand. “How long do these take to work?”
“Didn't anyone teach you any manners at all?” He threw her a towel.
“They tried,” Kathleen said. “But it was no use.” She dropped the towel and suddenly grabbed on to the sink. “Yikes. Dizzy.”
“You don't have to go to this thing,” he said and sat down on the edge of the bathtub. “You want to.”
“Yeah, I want to. Man, my head's spinning. I want to see everyone from work get drunk and act silly. And I want to see if Kevin Porter has a girlfriend.”
“Why do you care?”
“I’m curious is all. Oh, and the food should be good. If I don't throw up, which right now I think I might.”
“Not here,” Sam said. “I am not cleaning up after you, Kathleen, so if you re feeling sick, get out now or be prepared to mop it up yourself.”
“Boy, and I thought my father was a jerk-”
“Get out,” Sam snarled, and she fled.
The cold medicine kicked in, and by the time Kathleen got to the party an hour and a half later, her head wasn't throbbing so much, although she still felt kind of shaky and strange- which could have been the virus or the drugs or a combination of the two.
She looked a lot better, too. She had washed her hair and blown it dry, so it was straight and glossy, and had covered up the shadows under her eyes with concealer, then applied her evening makeup with a skilled, if slightly heavy, hand. She chose a black dress tight enough to flaunt the strong V-shape from her shoulders to her waist and short enough to make her long legs look about a mile long, especially once she had also strapped on a pair of spike-heeled sandals.
As soon as she entered the banquet hall, a waiter was at her elbow with a choice of white or red wine. She chose red and strolled through the room while she sipped it slowly. There was a string quartet quietly playing lively music in one far corner and lots of waiters wandering around with trays, passing out drinks and offering hors d'oeuvres. The general atmosphere was fairly subdued and genteel, but, given the ubiquity of the alcohol, Kathleen suspected-and hoped-that things would get a lot more interesting before the end of the evening.
There were open French doors at the far end of the room, and through them you could see a balcony and, beyond that, the ocean. The hotel was right on the beach in Santa Monica. Kathleen didn't feel like making small talk with anyone yet, so she walked through the room-smiling and waving at a couple of semi-familiar faces-and out onto the balcony. There were a few other guests out there-mostly couples who were holding hands and watching the sunset.
There was one guy standing alone by the railing, apparently captivated by the play of light on the waves. Kathleen stepped forward so she could see his face. She smiled.
She came and stood next to him and joined him in looking at the water.
“It's pretty amazing,” she said after they had stood side by side in companionable silence for a moment or two. “Too bad you can't bottle and sell it.”
He shook his head. “That's what makes it so great. It only lasts for as long as you're there to look at it. And it belongs to everyone.”
“No admission charge.”
“The best things in life are free.”
“So are the worst, but no one goes around pointing that out.
He laughed and turned to look at her. She smiled back at him, assessing him in this light as she had back in the office. Not gorgeous, Kevin Porter, but attractive, helped by the glow of good health and comfortable living, though he was starting to swell a little at the waist and chin. Slightly better than average looks, but when you added in the bank account, he became gorgeous, because how many men in that price range could even come close?
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I know you're Luisa's new assistant, but I’ve forgotten your name.”
“Kathleen.” He wouldn't ever forget it again, she'd make sure of that.
He leaned back against the railing, the ocean view put aside for the moment in favor of the closer eye candy. “So, Kathleen… How's it going? Are you enjoying working with us?”
“Sure. Everyone's been very nice to me.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Kevin Porter said. “How'd you happen to come interview in the first place?”
“A friend referred me. Sam Kaplan.”
Kevin looked surprised. “Sam's a friend of yours?”
“Sort of. I only met him a few weeks ago. But he got me this job and a free apartment, so he's definitely on my good guy list.”
Kevin Porter smiled. “Biggest shark in L.A.”
“You're kidding.”
“My father adores him. The only guy in town who's tougher than he is.”
“Really?” She filed that piece of information away. Interesting.
There was a pause, then Kevin said, “Are you a runner, by any chance?”
“I am,” Kathleen said. “How did you know?”
“You just looked like you might be.” They both knew it meant he had been looking at her legs. And they were both okay with that.
“How about you?” she said. “Do you run?”
“I like to. But only if I have company. I get bored running alone.”
“Ah,” she said. “That's where the iPod comes in.”
“Music?” he said. “Not enough of a distraction-I still know I’m running.”
“Well,” she said. “If you ever need a partner-”
“Let me buy you a drink,” he said immediately.
“I think you already did,” she said, putting her empty wineglass down on the edge of the railing. But she let him walk her back into the party.
That night in bed, after spending the whole evening talking and dancing with Kevin, she pictured a future in which she would be the one buying the cars for her mother and sisters.
Maybe she'd even get them all a beach house. She had liked looking at the ocean that evening, and the twins didn't own a beach house yet. She could lead the way.
One day, Christa and Kelly wouldn't be cute anymore, and their earning potential would just shut down, but if she married Kevin Porter, Kathleen would always be rich. And then they would come to her, begging her for money. And she'd give it to them. She would be very generous when she was rich.
When Kathleen got bored with picturing herself as the bulwark of her family, she wrote herself an even better scenario. One day, she decided, she would stroll into Sam Kaplan's place and let him know that the moment her apartment was cleared of all legal hurdles, she was prepared to buy it. With cash. “You see?” she would say to him, “I did figure out my future after all.” He would, for once, be speechless.
And that thought was so delicious, she kept running the scene through her head until she fell asleep, a smile on her face.
You've got to wake up,” Lucy said.
James just burrowed more deeply into the pillows. Lucy pounded on his back. “I mean it,” she said.“Why?” he said, half opening one eye to squint up at her. “It's Sunday morning, isn't it? I get to sleep late.”
“I told you last night. The girls are coming over to knit at ten. It's already nine-thirty. You need to shower and go.”
“Oh, yeah.” He rolled onto his back and rested his arm over his forehead. “You really serious about this knitting shit?”
“Why wouldn't I be?”
“I don't know. Knitting. It sounds like something old ladies would do.”
“It's fun. We sit and knit and talk and eat and it's fun.”
“Bet you don't eat. You never eat.”
“Get up, James.”
He reached an arm out to the side and nabbed her around the legs. She was wearing a big T-shirt and not much else. His hand slid up her thigh. “Why can't I stay and watch? Is it so you and the girls can talk about me?”
“Maybe. Hey, watch that hand, mister.”
“Why? Don't you like it?”
“I like it,” Lucy said and let him pull her down on the bed next to him. He rolled on top of her, pinned her with his arms and then rolled again onto his back so she was lying on top of him. The sheet was between them, but she could feel him hard against her pelvis through the fabric. He held her tight like that for a moment, his eyes shut, his breath so regular it sounded like he was going back to sleep. “You want me to do all the work, don't you?” she said then.
“I’m still a little sleepy.” He was pretty cute in the morning, his long hair rumpled, his face all round and smooth and childlike.
She set to work unpeeling the sheet from his body.
“Ah-ha,” she said when he was unwrapped. And then made another similar-but-different sound when she straddled him.
It was, she thought, a nice way to start the morning. So long as he was gone by the time the girls came.
“Who wants more coffee?” Lucy said, entering with a fresh pot.
“Why do we always ask that?” Sari said, looking up from her knitting. “Has any one of us ever once said no to coffee?”
“It's like asking Kathleen if she wants an alcoholic beverage,” Lucy said.
“Very funny,” Kathleen said. “You offering?” She sat down next to Sari and pulled out her work. She was sewing together the finished pieces of the tank top. “What are you working on, Sari? It looks new.”
“Yeah.” She held it up so they could see. “I just started this. It's a blanket for Ellen's granddaughter-her son's wife is due next month.”
“Oh, it's so soft,” Kathleen said, reaching out to touch it. “I like the color, too. Usually baby stuff is so friggin pastel-y.”
“I know,” Sari said. “That's why I went for midnight blue.”
“You rebel.”
“Isn't Sari breaking your only-knit-for-yourself rule?” Lucy asked Kathleen as she refilled her coffee cup. “Don't you have a problem with that?”
“Babies are different,” Kathleen said. She put her knitting pieces in her lap and poured half the pitcher of cream into her coffee. “They'll wear anything you make them and they rarely have girlfriends who rip things apart.” She reached for the sugar bowl.
“Speaking of girlfriends and boyfriends,” Sari said, “what did James think of us, Luce?”
“He liked you guys.” What he had actually said was, “Man, that Kathleen's a total babe,” and Lucy had said, “You want me to set you up with her?” and he had grinned and said, “She's hot but she looks like trouble. I’ll stick with what I’ve got.” “And what did you think of Sari?” Lucy had asked. “Very cute and likable, even if she's wasting her time on a pointless career,” was James's summation.
“I’m sorry he said all that stuff about the clinic, Sari,” Lucy said. “He's just been in a bad mood lately because of these animal rights lunatics. They've been stalking him, leaving him notes and messing up his car and stuff. It's driving him nuts.”
“That's terrible,” Sari said. “Why?”
“Everyone knows he uses a lot of animals in his research. He talks about it openly. Most people are more circumspect about that stuff.” She set the coffeepot on a trivet and sat down. “Anyway, the point is that James isn't usually that annoying.”
“He sure is purty, though,” Kathleen said.
“Isn't he?” Lucy said. “Makes it hard for me to stay mad at him.”
“Why do we care?” Sari asked, her needles clicking emphatically against each other. “About looks, I mean? Wouldn't it be better if we didn't?”
“It's not a question of what's better” Kathleen said. “It's just the way it is. Some guys are more appealing to us than others, that's all.”
“Yeah. But remember that guy I went out with last year? Jeff Fleekstra?”
“Yeah, I remember him,” Kathleen said. “Yuck.”
“Hey,” Sari said.
“Sorry. But you know what I mean.”
“He was a good guy,” Sari said. “He was doing some really interesting autism research and-”
“He was gross,” Kathleen said.
“Don't be obnoxious,” Lucy said. She picked up her knitting.“Sari went out with the guy for months. You'll make her feel bad if you point out how incredibly revolting he was.”
“You're right,” Kathleen said. “I’ll try not to bring up the fact that Jeff was an unpleasant little troll.”
“Good,” Lucy said. “And, whatever you do, don't remind Sari about how he used to spit when he talked and food would come out of his mouth when he laughed.”
“I’d have called it more of a giggle than a laugh,” Kathleen said.
“Are you guys done?” Sari said. “May I continue?”
“I guess so,” Lucy said.
“I could go on longer,” Kathleen said.
“Well, don't,” Sari said. “Anyway, Jeff was a nice guy doing the kind of work I admire. And he treated me really well. But I couldn't get past his looks. Doesn't that make me shallow?”
“It makes you human,” Kathleen said. “Even you-awesome and saintly as you are-”
“You are, you are,” Lucy echoed.
“-even you want a guy who's hot enough to give you the shivers. Nothing wrong with that.”
“And besides,” Lucy said, “guys have been judging women on the basis of their looks forever.”
“Yeah, but just because men are superficial doesn't mean we have to be,” Sari said. “Can't we be more evolved than they are? I mean, there are more important things in life than looks.”
“There are equally important things,” Kathleen corrected her. “But if the attraction isn't there, forget it. Nothing else can make it work. Anyway,” she added, “Jeff was kind of gross.”
“I know,” Sari said with a sigh. “And that's why I broke up with him.”
“That's not being shallow,” Lucy said. “It matters. Sexual attraction matters.”
“But so do other things, right?” Sari said. “Like good values and intelligence?”
“And money,” Kathleen said.
“You're not helping my argument.”
“Sure, I am,” Kathleen said. “Every guy is a package. What matters is how it all adds up.” She raised her eyebrows twice.
“And how big the package is, if you know what I mean.”
Lucy threw a ball of yarn at her and that was the end of that conversation.
So… no Maria?” Sari said, looking around. The Smiths’ house was small, but lovely, on a quiet cul-de-sac in Brentwood. From the little she knew about real estate, she guessed it was worth at least a couple of million dollars, even though it was just your basic cozy Mediterranean.
“No Maria,” Jason said. “I fixed it-she's going to baby-sit Friday nights, instead of during the day. So the good news is I can now go out on Friday nights.”
“Is there bad news?”
“Yeah-I have no one to go out with.”
Sari decided to ignore that. “Did you talk to her about letting Zack cry?”
“Uh-” He looked down, shuffled his feet.
“You really are scared of her, aren't you?”
“I told you.”
“Seriously,” Sari said. “You've got to get her onboard with this, or it's going to hurt Zack's progress.”
“I know. I will.” He took a deep breath. “Sometimes it's all just so hard.”
Sari narrowed her eyes. What did he want from her? Sympathy?
Fortunately, Zack poked his head into the hallway at that moment.
“Hey,” Sari said. “I see you there, mister. We're going to have fun today.”
Zack immediately went running in the opposite direction.
“I’ll get him,” Jason said and took off.
He scooped Zack up and trotted back with Zack tucked sideways under one arm. “He's running for the goal,” Jason said, his free hand held out, running back style. “He's at the thirty-yard line, he's at the twenty, the ten, and he's almost there, and he- Touchdown! Woo-hoo! The crowd goes crazy! Victory dance for the good guys!” He lifted Zack up high in the air and then tossed him a couple more feet up before catching him again. Zack laughed out loud-he had a great laugh, bubbly and unforced and infectious-and as soon as Jason set him down, he tried to climb back up into his arms.
“Oh, so you want me to do it again, do you?” Jason said, picking him up and tossing him high. Zack came back down shrieking with laughter.
“Wow,” Sari said. “He really likes that.”
“Loves it,” Jason said, a little smugly, holding Zack against his chest. “Always has. It's a guaranteed Zack-pleaser.”
“Perfect,” Sari said. “Let's make him ask for it.”
“Ask for it?” Then he realized. “Oh, no. Do we have to?”
Sari shrugged her backpack off her shoulder and tossed it on the floor. “All he's got to say is ‘up.’ But you can't give in until he does. No matter how much he cries.”
He heaved a big theatrical sigh. “All right. You're the boss.”He put Zack on his feet then held out his arms. “You want to go up, Zack? Say ‘up!’”
Zack grabbed at his arms, and Jason raised them out of his reach. “No, pal. You have to say the word. Say ‘up.’” He looked at Sari. “Am I doing this right?”
Zack let out a scream of frustration.
“You're doing it right,” Sari said.
Getting him to say “up” the first time was tricky-the first time always was with a new word-but once Jason had prompted the word about twenty times, pantomiming the action, Zack did finally make an “uhh” sort of noise, and then Jason quickly grabbed him and tossed him. Five minutes after that, Zack was saying “up” with just a reminder or two, and about five minutes after that, he was saying it without one. And about five minutes after that, Jason said, “My back is breaking, Sari. I’ve got to take a break.”
“All right,” Sari said, “I think you've earned one.” Only then Zack said, “Up! Up!” so she said, “Just one more time? Please? He said it so perfectly that time.”
Jason moaned but tossed Zack up. Then he said, “No more.” He set Zack down on the floor and arched his back, digging his fingers into the muscle above his waist.
“Up, up!” Zack said and tugged on Jason's pants.
“I can't, buddy. Daddy's in too much pain.”
“Up? Up?”
“Good job, Zack,” Sari said, squatting down in front of him.
“But there's no more where that came from right now. We'll do more up tomorrow.”
“Up, up!” he said, trying to climb Jason's leg.
“No more up,” Sari said.
“More up?” he said.
Sari lost her balance and had to grab at the wall to steady herself. “What did you just say, Zack?”
“More up? More up?”
“My God,” Sari said. “That's a sentence. You just made a sentence, Zack. He just made a sentence,” she said to Jason.
“Well, not really a sentence,” he said. “I mean, technically-”
“Okay, fine, it's a phrase, not a sentence. But he put two words together. On his own. That's huge. That's bigger than huge. I’ve never had a kid do that on his own before.” Sari hugged Zack. “You're incredible. Did you know that you're incredible? Because you're incredible.”
He pushed her away. “More up,” he said.
She looked at Jason. “You have to.”
“But it hurts.”
“More up?”
“You have to,” Sari said again. “You've got to reinforce this. Please, Jason. You have no idea how huge this is.”
“All right,” he said. “But you better have a hot towel waiting for me when I’m done.”
“You've got it,” Sari said. She felt giddy. She didn't get a lot of sudden breakthroughs like this. Most of her work was slow and frustrating. But this-this was the kind of thing she dreamed about. “A hot towel and anything else you want. On me.”
“Anything?”
“You name it.”
He raised his eyebrows. “You are a dedicated therapist.” He held his arms out. “More up, Zack. Come and get it.”
Sari really did get him a hot towel afterward.
She let Zack take a few minutes to play by himself-he'd certainly earned it-and ran off into the kitchen, returning a short while later with a towel she'd soaked with insta-hot water.
When Jason saw what she held in her hand, he laughed. “All right,” he said and turned so his back was to her. “Put it on. You owe me.” He hitched up his shirt, exposing the area above his narrow waist.
Sari pressed the towel against his back.
He yelped and said, “It's hot!”
“I thought that was the point.”
“Yeah, it was.” And then he relaxed and said, “Aah. Now it feels good.” Then, after a moment: “Can you put it a little higher?”
Sari pushed his shirt up over his shoulders, baring his whole back, and pressed the towel against it. The skin there was smooth and hairless. When he shifted, even slighdy, muscles moved and tightened below his shoulders. Sari tried not to think about how she could, if she wanted to, simply run her hands around his waist and up to his chest.
His eyes were half closed with pleasure. “They should offer this at all the spas.”
And suddenly Sari remembered girls-high school girls, their classmates, giving Jason Smith massages out on the low wall behind the cafeteria, where everyone sat during free periods. He'd be sitting on the wall and they'd stand behind him and rub his shoulders through the light fabric of his shirts- usually the polyester top to some team uniform-and laugh and coyly let their fingers slide in against his neck and up into the curly hair above his collar. And he would wink at his friends and make little grunts of satisfaction like he was doing now.
Sari took an abrupt step back. She gathered up the towel in her fist and jerked his shirt back down into place with her other hand.
Jason turned his head. “You're done?”
“I should get back to Zack.”
“Oh, okay,” he said. “Well, thanks. That felt great.”
“If it's still sore later, you could take some Advil,” Sari said and went back to the kitchen, where she dropped the now cool towel on the counter like it was burning her fingers.
After that day, she would find Jason looking at her in a whole new way.
She'd be running with Zack outside, playing some kind of chasing game, and she'd glimpse Jason standing by the French doors, watching them with this new, curious, eager look on his face. Or, at the clinic, she'd be tickling Zack while they were playing a game and he'd try to tickle her back and she would roll a bit on the floor with him and then realize that Jason wasn't reading a book in the corner of the room like she thought but was just sitting there watching them, his head thrust forward, that look on his face again. And she'd scramble to her feet, suddenly uncomfortable in the room where she spent hours every day.
“I think Jason Smith is interested in me,” Sari said. She and Lucy were sitting on her bed, cross-legged, knitting, homemade Manhattans in lowball glasses on the night table beside them. They were both a little buzzed but not completely blotto. Not yet.
“Of course he is,” Lucy said. “How could he help but be? You're incredibly cute, and you're fixing his kid-”
“Zack Smith isn't broken, Lucy.”
“You know what I mean. Substitute whatever politically correct term for it you want. Hey, do you have a measuring tape?”
Sari fished one out of her knitting bag and handed it to Lucy, who spread her knitting on the bed and measured it. “Shit. It's nowhere near twenty inches yet. This sweaters going to take me the rest of my life.” She rolled the tape back up, concentrating carefully as if the task were a challenging one, which it was, since she was tipsy. “Married guys must come on to you constantly when you're at work.”
“It happens,” Sari said, reaching over to the night table and picking up her glass. “Usually they're just kind of sad and pathetic and I ignore the whole thing and eventually they give up.” She took a sip. “But this is different.” She put the glass back down.
“Because he's cute?”
“No. No.” She almost said “No” a third time, but she stopped herself.
“He's married, right?” Lucy leaned back against the headboard and resumed her knitting.
“Divorced. Or maybe just separated. I’m not sure. His wife was at the evaluation, according to the report. But I haven't seen her since then and he's said stuff about being a single dad.” She poked at her knitting but didn't pick it up.
“What does he do for a living?”
“He told me once he's trying to be a screenwriter but I don't think he's ever sold anything. I know he coaches kids basketball at their local rec center.”
Lucy snorted. “And you say he's not one of the pathetic ones?
“He comes from money. And I assume his wife works. He doesn't have to earn a living.”
“I still say he's kind of a loser. I mean, compared to what he was like in high school.”
“Still good-looking, though. Even better-looking, actually.”
“So why not go for it?” Lucy asked. “I mean, he's good-looking and available and you think he's interested. And he's definitely a huge step up from Jeff.”
“He's an asshole, Lucy. Remember?”
“I didn't say you should marry the guy.”
“Did we decide to stop having standards in our love lives?”
Sari asked, hugging her knees to her chest. “Because I didn't get that memo.”
“It's not about standards,” Lucy said. “It's about having fun. The guy's good-looking, right?”
“What he and his friends did to Charlie-almost on a daily basis-” She couldn't even finish the sentence.
“All right then,” Lucy said after a moment. “So let's remember that. That he was an asshole and worse to Charlie. So here's my super-brilliant idea: you sleep with him and break his heart afterward.”
“Oh, please-” Sari said, but Lucy didn't let her finish.
“I’m serious. You make him fall in love with you and when he's good and overwhelmed and madly in love with you- because I think any guy would be if you gave him half a chance-you tell him you remember everything, and you tear his heart right out of his body and you leave him open and bleeding on the floor.”
“That's a beautiful thought.”
“It is, isn't it?” Lucy said without a trace of sarcasm. She put down her knitting and took a big gulp of her Manhattan, then gestured with the glass. A few drops flew out and onto her quilt. “You get it all then, Sari. You get to sleep with the best-looking guy who ever went to our high school and you get revenge for everything you and Charlie ever suffered. Tell me you wouldn't have dreamed about that ten years ago. Tell me that isn't everything you ever wanted.”
Sari lay in bed that night, thinking about what Lucy had said, wondering if she could really do that-sleep with Jason Smith and then break his heart.
All her life she had tried to make up in some way for everything Charlie had suffered. The struggles he'd had just to communicate. The loneliness he must have felt when kids wouldn't sit next to him on the bus. The times he tried to smile at someone or worked hard just to say hello and only got a “What's your problem, retard?” in response.
Every choice she had made as an adult was about Charlie. And, in a weird way, about Jason Smith and all the Jason Smiths who had ever shoved Charlie or laughed at him or made Sari hate her own brother for letting himself be made fun of.
She once got so angry at him for always letting them humiliate him that she went after him herself-hit him as hard as she could, clawed at him with her fingernails, screamed at him that he had ruined her life by being autistic. She could remember him backing away from her, terrified, even though he was twice her size. All that night, she couldn't sleep, sick with shame and self-loathing. In the end, she had crawled into bed with him, hugging him and crying, hugging him and crying.
Her anger and her guilt-all the fault of Jason Smith and his friends.
She lay in bed now and wondered: would there truly be any comfort in revenge?
And immediately knew the answer. Of course there would. Of course there would.