The following week, whenever Jason Smith brought Zack to the clinic to see her, Sari did her best to ignore him without being unprofessional about it. Whenever they arrived, she looked only at Zack, waving Jason off into the corner of the room. Before they left, when she had to go over with him what they had worked on, she spoke quickly and didn't let him pull her into any small talk.
She could tell Jason was hurt by her behavior-but then he had walked in already hurting on Monday because she, Kathleen, and Lucy had all but frozen him out at the post-walk picnic lunch, wouldn't look at, acknowledge, or talk to him, until he had finally excused himself and set off toward the parking lot, struggling to push the stroller over the uneven grass. Which kind of broke Sari's heart when she thought about it. So she didn't think about it, because she didn't want to soften toward him.
There was one moment, on Tuesday, when Zack said, “Look, Sari! Jumping!” and pointed to a picture of a leaping frog in a pop-up book, and she was so excited that she turned to grin at Jason in triumph before the quickening in his eyes made her regret it. She turned back to Zack and said quietly, “Way to go, buddy. The frog is jumping.”
That Friday afternoon, when Jason opened the front door to let her in, she barely greeted him before asking for Zack.
“He's out back,” Jason said. “I was trying to get him to play basketball with me.”
“That's good,” Sari said. “The more regular boy stuff like that he does, the better.”
“Yeah, only he won't do it. He's terrified of the ball. Every time I try to show him how to hold it and shoot, he hides his face and cries.”
“Maybe it's too hard,” she said. “The ball, I mean. Basketballs can really wallop you. You should try something softer, like a Nerf ball.”
“I have. It doesn't help. He's still scared.”
“Let me work with him on it. It would be good for him to play a sport.”
“You really are a full-service establishment,” Jason said. “Language, behavior, leisure activities… Is there anything you don't do?”
She just shrugged and moved toward the back of the house. Jason followed her. “You know I coach basketball, right? At the rec center?”
Sari nodded and kept walking.
He sped up to be by her side. “Well, there's this kid who comes on Saturday mornings. He's not even five yet, but he totally gets the game. Totally gets it. He can pass and dribble and consistently make baskets-he's the only kid his age I’ve ever met who can do all that. He's amazing.” They had reached the back door. Jason tugged it open and held it for her.
Sari walked through and looked around. Zack was spinning slowly in circles on the driveway at the side of the yard. There was a basketball hoop over the garage door.
Jason was next to her again. “Anyway, I thought Zack would be like that. I thought he'd be great at sports. Denise and I both played a lot in high school and college. So I figured a kid of ours-” He stopped.
“He'll learn,” Sari said.
“I don't even know why I care so much about whether or not he can play sports,” Jason said. “It's stupid. I mean, the kid can't even talk or look people in the eye. What difference does it make if he can throw a ball or not?”
“Different things matter to different families,” Sari said. It was disturbingly easy to talk to Jason when she didn't have to look at him. “I was working with a kid once and he couldn't talk, wasn't toilet-trained, spat at people-was just a mess. And his mother said to me, ‘Please, please can you teach him to sit through a movie’? She had always pictured herself taking her kid to Disney movies, only he was scared of sitting in the dark. She wanted that before anything else. It just mattered to her. It's okay if basketball matters to you.”
“Everything matters to me,” Jason said. “I want him to play basketball and I want him to play soccer and I want him to talk like other kids and I want him to go with me to Disney movies. And about fifty million other things. I’m greedy, I guess.”
“Be greedy,” Sari said. “Want things for him. It's the greedy parents whose kids progress the most.”
“Look at him,” Jason said. “Balls and games all around him, and he just wants to turn in circles. I’ve tried taking him to some of my classes, but he always pulls shit like that, and the other kids think he's weird. And I end up mad at him. That's pretty awful, isn't it? I get mad at my own kid for being autistic. Like it's his fault.”
Sari wished she didn't know what he meant, but she used to get furious with Charlie because she couldn't make him understand that if he just acted normal, other kids would leave him alone.
“Give him time,” she said to Jason. “He'll learn to play just like the other kids.”
“It's funny-” There was a red playground ball on the ground near Jason, and he rested his heel lightly on it. “Here I am, desperate for him to be like other kids. But if you'd asked me before he was born, I’d have said I wanted my son to be different from everyone else, to stand out in a crowd.” He rolled the ball under the arch of his foot. “Be careful what you wish for, I guess.”
He suddenly kicked the ball as hard as he could. It flew over the grass of the backyard and hit a tree, which shook from the impact.
The sudden violence of the kick startled Sari, but she tried not to show it. “I’ll see if I can get him interested in making a basket,” she said.
“Can I help?” Jason said.
“No, thanks. We're fine.” She walked away from him and went to Zack.
Later that afternoon, Sari tried to convince Zack to touch his tongue to a piece of steak.
Maria had arrived at five and set to work preparing Zack's dinner-pasta with butter. Sari, who had been just about to leave, stopped to ask some questions about Zack's diet. Under questioning, Maria reluctantly admitted that toast, pasta, bagels, and Cheerios were pretty much all he ate. Sari asked if Maria ever offered him other foods and she said she used to, but he never ate any of them, so she had stopped trying.
“We've got to work on this,” Sari said.
“He eats healthy,” Maria said. “He drinks milk and juice. And not too many cookies. I don't give him too many cookies or candy.”
“That's great,” Sari said. “But he needs to be eating meat and chicken and cheese and fruits and vegetables. How much of those does he eat?”
“Not so much,” Maria said. “Bananas, sometimes.”
The kitchen smelled good-far better than boiling pasta ever did-and Sari looked around, sniffing. “What else are you cooking?”
“Steak,” Maria said. “For my dinner.” Adding quickly, “It's fine with Jason.”
“I’m sure it is,” Sari said. “When it's done, I’d like to have Zack taste it. From now on, I don't want you to give Zack the food he already likes until he's tried a taste of something new. It's enough for him just to put his tongue to it. But he's got to try.”
“He eats healthy,” Maria said again.
“Tell me when the steak's done,” Sari said and planted herself at the kitchen table.
Zack had been standing in the doorway humming to himself during the exchange and now came into the kitchen and climbed into the chair across from her. His right hand came to rest, palm down, on the table. Sari leaned forward and put her hand on top of his. Zack instantly moved his hand away. Sari covered it again. This time, Zack gave a little giggle and when he moved his hand, he glanced quickly at her. Sari covered his hand again with hers. Zack chorded. They did this a few more times and then Sari put her hand flat on the table. “Your turn,” she said. She waited. Zack looked at her sideways, then darted his hand forward and put it on top of hers. She covered it with her free hand. “Got you!” she said, and he exploded in laughter.
“That's good.”
Sari looked up to see Maria standing next to them, watching, a plate in her hand.
“It's nice to see him laughing with you,” the housekeeper said. She put the plate down in front of Sari. There was a small piece of steak on it. Maria also handed her a fork and knife and napkin.
“Thank you,” Sari said, arranging it all on the table. “This is perfect.”
“He won't eat it,” Maria said. “Meat makes him do this-” and she made a retching sound.
“Oh, good,” Sari said brightly. “Let's model gagging for him.”
“I’m just telling you.”
“Well, don't. Not in front of him.” She turned to Zack. “Okay, my friend.” She cut off a tiny bit of steak, then stuck a fork into it, and held it up like a steak popsicle. “One taste of this and you get a plate of delicious hot buttered pasta. You want pasta, don't you?”
He grunted and rocked.
“I’ll take that as a yes. Taste the steak and you get your pasta.” Sari held the fork out to him and he didn't move. “Come on, Zack. One little taste. Just a lick.” She moved the steak closer to his mouth but he clamped his lips shut and pulled his head back, away from the fork.
That's when Jason walked in. Sari hadn't seen him since dismissing him from the basketball court. He stopped at the sight of her. “You're still here?”
“I wanted to help with dinner,” Sari said.
There was no mistaking the look of renewed hope on his face. He came closer. “Is that steak? Zack wont eat that. He hates meat.”
“He'll learn to eat it,” Sari said. “But not if people keep reminding him he doesn't like it.”
“Sorry.”
“It's okay. But I do want to see him trying new foods. The best way to get him to do that is to wait to give him what he wants until he tastes something he doesn't usually eat. I’ll show you what I mean.” She turned her attention back to Zack. “Lick the steak, Zack, and then it's pasta time.” She put the steak lollipop close to his lips. This time, he gagged audibly. “Come on, buddy. One little taste.” She pretended to put it in her own mouth. “Like this. And then you'll get your pasta.” Zack shook his head.
Jason was watching intently, standing right next to her. He smelled like a mixture of musk and fresh sweat.
It wasn't a bad smell.
Sari snuck a covert glance up at him. His T-shirt was damp at the armpits and chest, and his arms looked even more cut than usual. He must have been working out somewhere in the house.
He was frowning down at his son. “I don't know why Zack chose to become such a determined vegetarian. I’m sure it was for some deep, spiritual reason.”
“Maybe he's just worried about mad cow disease,” Sari said.
“Ha. That's one of Denise's nightmares. She ate a hamburger in London years ago and whenever she has trouble remembering something, she's convinced her brain is turning to soup.”
“Does she still eat meat?”
“Only if it's grain-fed and organic and all that.” He went over to a cabinet and opened it. “It's cocktail hour, isn't it? Anyone care to join me? Sari? Maria? Zack?”
“Hear that, Zack?” Sari said. “If you lick the steak, Daddy will give you a martini.”
“I wish you'd stop saying ‘lick the steak.’” Jason poured some vodka straight into a small glass. “It's the closest I’ve come to having sex in months.”
Sari laughed out loud before she could catch herself. No one said anything after that for a moment. She looked at Maria to gauge her reaction, but the housekeeper was just standing at the counter, stolidly cutting and chewing her steak.
Jason went over to the refrigerator and pressed the ice button. Two pieces of ice slipped out; Jason caught one, but the other landed on the floor. Jason ignored it, just dropped the one he'd caught in his glass and sat down at the table with Sari and Zack. Behind him, Maria walked over, picked up the piece of ice off the floor, and threw it in the sink.
“Maria?” Sari said. “Would you please get Zack's bowl of pasta ready and bring it over? Maybe he'll be more inspired with it in front of him.”
The incentive worked, in a way. Zack was so eager to eat the pasta that he screamed for a minute in pure frustration when Sari held it out of his reach and continued to insist he put his mouth to the steak. Finally, furiously, he touched his tongue to the steak, then retched violently.
“There you go,” Sari said. “And here's your pasta.” She set it down in front of him and his fury instantly vanished. He plunged happily into the pasta, tears still wet on his face.
“He couldn't really have tasted that” Jason said.
“You'd be surprised,” Sari said. “Each time you offer him something, he'll be a little more comfortable with the idea, and he'll let himself taste it a little more. At some point, he may even decide he likes it. If you keep it up, I promise you his diet will expand. You just have to insist for a while.” She looked over her shoulder to include Maria. “You both have to.”
“We will,” Jason said.
“Remember-he doesn't get anything he already likes without trying something new first.” Sari pushed her chair back and stood up. “I’ve got to go.”
Jason followed her to the front door and, as she shouldered her backpack, he said, “Look, I don't know how-” He stopped. “I was just wondering-” He stopped again with a short awkward laugh. Then he said, “It's just that Maria's here for the rest of the evening, and I don't have any plans. I was wondering- hoping-that maybe you'd come get a drink with me. Or dinner. Whatever you want. Would you? Please?”
Sari felt a flash of pleasure and triumph. Jason Smith was asking her out on a date. And he was nervous about it. Her fifteen-year-old self squealed with joy. Then she remembered she wasn't fifteen anymore.
She said, “Thanks. I can't.” She sounded rude. She decided that was a good thing. “Goodbye,” she said and reached for the doorknob.
Jason put his hand flat against the door so she couldn't pull it open. “Wait,” he said. “I’m sorry. But I just have to ask. Did I do something to make you angry? I feel like maybe I said or did something-” He paused, took a breath, started again. “Maybe at the walk? Please tell me. The last thing I’d want to do is offend you in some way.”
It almost came out then. Did he really want to know how he had offended her? She thought of the stories she could tell, of the times Charlie had been humiliated and insulted and hurt in a million different ways by Jason and his friends.
But if she told him that, he would probably apologize, say he was sorry he'd ever been such a stupid kid. Then she would end up saying something conciliatory, like it was okay, she understood, it was all in the past… She didn't want to be conciliatory. She wanted to be angry. She needed to be angry.
So she smiled at him and said, “Don't be silly. You haven't offended me at all. And I don't want to offend you, either, so please understand-this kind of thing happens to me all the time. In fact, it happens to everyone who works at the clinic. Sometimes, unfortunately, people misinterpret our concern for their kids-read more into it than is actually there.” She tilted her head with a little sigh. “It's no one's fault. Just a little misunderstanding.”
“Oh,” he said. His face was turning red. “I’m sorry. I thought-” Once again he stopped.
“You don't have to be sorry,” she said. “And please don't be embarrassed. Like I said, it happens all the time. And, really, I think it's very sweet of you to ask me out.” She knew the word “sweet” would kill him. “But this is just a job for me. Even though I come to your house. You get that, right?”
“Of course,” he said, stepping back from the door. “Of course.”
“All right then,” she said with a deliberately fake heartiness. “I’m glad we got that all out in the open.”
He just nodded, not looking at her.
“So I’ll see you Monday?” she said.
“Yeah, all right.”
He couldn't close the door behind her fast enough.
She had totally humiliated him. She should feel good about that-revenge was supposed to be sweet, wasn't it?
But it was Friday night and she had no plans. She'd end up knitting row after row of that stupid baby blanket while she watched crappy TV and sipped at a glass of cheap wine. All by herself.
That really sucked.
Kathleen wasn't spending much time in her apartment. After work, she was either out with Kevin or at his house. She stayed over a lot of nights, and even when she bothered to come home, it was only to sleep.
It wasn't until she ran into Sam Thursday morning in the parking garage of their building that it occurred to her it had been a couple of weeks since she'd last seen him. He was dressed in a suit and tie and looked tired and grim as he walked toward his car.
Kathleen was heading into the building from the opposite direction, wearing the same tight electric-blue dress she had worn the night before to a club-when it had made sense to be wearing a low-cut dress that showed an almost indecent amount of her long lean thighs. She ran to catch up with Sam.
“Hey,” she said from behind as she reached him.
Sam turned around. “Kathleen,” he said. “Now I understand why I haven't seen you in a while.” He nodded toward the dress as if it explained everything.
Kathleen put her chin up and said, “I’ve been busy.”
“I can see that. Are you going into the office later? Or have you stopped doing that?”
“Of course I’m going in,” she said. “I’m still working.”
“Oh, I didn't say you weren't working,” he said. “You're clearly working hard.” He inclined his head politely and walked off.
That night, she and Kevin had a quiet tête-à-tête at a small, extremely expensive Italian restaurant in West L.A. where everyone who worked or ate there seemed to know him by name, and then they went back to his house, where they soaked in the hot tub for a while, which of course ended with them wrestling under the sheets together, and then Kathleen told him she had to go back to her apartment. “I need a good night's sleep,” she said, sliding off the bed and on to her feet. “And some clean clothes.”
“You should leave stuff at my place,” Kevin said. He was sprawled on the bed, where the rumpled Frette sheets bore witness to their recent activity. “I’ve got a whole second closet I only use for tuxedos and ski clothes. It's mostly empty.”
“Thanks. I’ll think about it.” Kathleen pulled her dress over her head.
“Want me to come with you?”
“You don't want to. The place is just a big empty mess.”
“How can it be empty and a mess?” he asked.
“I don't know,” she said. “It just is.”
When she got home, it was even worse than she had remembered. Since she'd mostly been using the apartment as a big walk-in closet, clothes were tossed all over the place. A lot of them were dirty-after years of living with a housekeeper, she was having trouble getting used to doing her own laundry.
She pushed enough stuff off of her “bed” to clear some space for herself and went to sleep.
She woke up early the next morning, hurled herself into the shower, threw on a pair of decent black pants and a sweater (worn once or twice since the last dry cleaning, but not noticeably dirty), and raced up the back stairs. Sam's kitchen door was locked. She pounded on it. He might have already gone to work, she thought, and pounded harder.
Suddenly, it opened.
“What do you want?” He was wearing plaid pajama bottoms and a T-shirt. “It's eight o'clock in the morning.”
“I thought you left for work early,” she said. “You were already heading out this time yesterday.”
He ran his fingers through his rumpled gray and black hair. “I had an early meeting yesterday. And it almost killed me. I’m not a morning person.”
“I’m getting that sense,” she said. “Anyway, you're up now. I’ll run out and grab us some bagels and coffee.”
“Are you treating?” he said.
“Sure.”
He yawned. “Be careful, Kathleen. Don't go spending money you don't yet have. The prenup alone could cost you all sorts of setbacks and legal fees.”
“You know what?” Kathleen said. “I’m sorry I asked. Forget it.” She turned around and headed back down the stairwell.
“Sesame bagel and black coffee,” he called after her. “Very hot.”
By the time she returned, he had showered and put on his suit pants, socks and shoes, and a crisp white shirt.
He seated himself at the marble half-circle table and Kathleen thunked down the cardboard cups of coffee and two paper-wrapped bagels in front of him. She sat down. Sam immediately got up again with a sigh of disgust. He went to the cupboard and took out two plates, then made a big show of unwrapping each bagel and arranging it on a plate. He frowned when he unwrapped his. “Jesus, Kathleen, what the hell's on this?”
“It's lox spread,” she said. “I thought you'd like it. I do.”
“Disgusting,” he said. “Nitrates mixed with fat.”
“It tastes good. But if you don't like it, scrape it off.”
“Not worth it. I’ll eat something at work.” He dropped the bagel on the plate and left it on the counter, picked up his coffee, removed the plastic top, and threw it out in the wastebasket under the sink, then poured the coffee into a mug. He threw out the paper cup, returned to the table, sat down, and finally took a sip of coffee. “You're quiet,” he said.
“I’m waiting for you to drink your coffee. There doesn't seem to be much point in trying to make conversation until then.”
“True.” He took a few more sips, then looked at her over the top of his mug. “So,” he said. “Everything going well?”
“Fine.”
“I’m assuming that your continual absence in your own apartment reflects well on the success of your current pursuit?”
She shrugged. “I go out with Kevin a lot, if that's what you mean. In fact, tonight we're supposed to go to some big fundraiser. His dad's being honored.”
“What's the charity?”
“I don't know.”
“Good for you,” he said. “Girls shouldn't worry their pretty little heads with boring details like that.”
“Oh, who cares?” Kathleen said. “One charity is pretty much the same as another.”
“Your embrace of your own ignorance never ceases to impress me,” Sam said and took another sip of coffee.
“Don't be such a dick,” she said. “I need your help. You're a bigwig type-”
“Says who?”
“Kevin. He says you're a shark.”
“Really?” He looked pleased.
“I bet you go to things like this all the time. Tell me what I should wear-I’m going to be sitting with the Porters and I don't want to make a fool of myself.”
“Now that's what your pretty little head should be worrying about. What to wear.”
“It said ‘black tie’ on the invitation. Does that mean I have to wear like a ballgown? Or just a really nice dress?”
He flung out his hand. “How the hell would I know what a girl your age should wear when she goes out at night? Go pick up a copy of Cosmopolitan.”
“You could be a little more helpful,” Kathleen said.
“No, I don't think I can.” He took another sip of coffee. “Anyway, why worry? Your fairy godmother will take care of the dress for you.”
“Actually,” Kathleen said. “When you think about it, you're my fairy godmother. I mean, you gave me the apartment and the job. And that's how I met Kevin-”
“Your Prince Charming.”
“The shoe fits,” she said. “No, wait, it's Cinderella's shoe that fits.” She shrugged. “Whatever. You know what I mean.”
Sam shook his head. “I can't wait for your happily-ever-after,” he said. “It's going to be so fucking miserable.” He raised his coffee cup and smiled. “Cheers.”
It was rare for Lucy to spend the night at James's apartment, because he lived like a slob and Lucy had standards about that kind of thing, but they had dinner on Thursday night together at a Cuban restaurant that was close to his place and served extremely strong mojitos, and after a few of those they staggered back to his apartment and fell into bed together and had some drunken sex and then more or less passed out for a while, and by the time the alcoholic stupor had worn off and she had woken up again, it was three in the morning and Lucy wasn't about to get into her car alone in Larchmont Village at that hour, and since James was sound asleep and snoring, she just sighed and tried unsuccessfully for several hours to go back to sleep.
Finally, there was daylight, and Lucy slipped out of bed. James's bathroom was just this side of disgusting-she suspected he cleaned it about once a year-but the shower was nice and strong. Since she had to wear her clothes from the night before, she was glad she had changed right before dinner-the plain black pants and dark blue silk shirt she had worn to the restaurant were unstained and fine for work.
It was still pretty early, so she stopped at Starbucks. She looked wistfully at the scones behind the glass as she poured a thimble of nonfat milk and a package of Splenda into her coffee.
She parked in the garage under the building. For once she would beat David to work-normally he was there when she walked in, already pounding away at his computer or changing the rats’ litter. Whenever he pointed her relative tardiness out to her, she, in turn, always pointed out that he wore an old T-shirt and jeans to work every single day and that she actually made an effort with her own appearance, which took time. “Yeah, well there aren't enough hours in the whole year to make me look decent,” he said once with a sigh and that successfully silenced her.
Lucy rode the elevator up from the garage and headed toward their corridor. She rounded the corner and saw someone at the lab door. Her first thought was that it was probably some kind of delivery that she'd need to sign for, so she was already speeding up when she realized that no, it wasn't a package, that the girl was putting something on the door, and then the girl had turned and seen her and there was a moment when neither of them moved, and then something about the panic in the girl's eyes made Lucy realize she couldn't just let her go, so she ran toward her and the girl scrambled away in the opposite direction-only then she must have realized she'd left her messenger bag leaning against the door because she hesitated and looked back, and in that moment Lucy had already caught up to her and didn't even need to see the “THERE'S BLOOD ON YOUR HANDS” sign hanging crookedly-the girl had only succeeded in tacking up one corner-to know she had just captured the Enemy.
The Enemy was short, blond, a little on the pudgy side, and about twenty years old.
“You hurt my arm,” she said, cradling her elbow against her chest. She was sitting in a chair in the lab all hunched up inside the big black man's peacoat she was wearing.
She had twisted and fought when Lucy first grabbed her arm, and, since she was both frantic and determined, had succeeded fairly easily in breaking free of Lucy's grip-but Lucy had the foresight to turn and snatch up the girl's bag, and the girl stopped a few steps away, torn between escape and retrieval. Lucy had said-in as reasonable tone as she could muster between gasps for breath-”I’m going to know your name and where you live in a minute, so there's no point in running away,” and so, with a heavy step, the girl had followed her into the lab and waited, sullenly, for whatever was going to happen next.
Lucy dumped the contents of the girl's bag onto the desk. Papers, Sharpies, tubes of lip balm, keys, tissues, loose coins, and a wallet all fell out, followed by a can of spray paint, which then rolled off the desk and onto the floor.
She opened the wallet. “Hey, look-a student ID. That's helpful.” She studied it briefly, then looked up. “So how are you liking UCLA, Ashley? I see you're living off campus.” No response. “So what kind of name is Skopinker, anyway? Russian?” The girl was silent. “Ukrainian?” Ashley just glared at her. “Polish, maybe? Am I at least right to focus on Eastern Europe?”
“You can't do that,” the girl said. “That's my stuff. It's illegal to go through someone's stuff without a search warrant.”
“It's also illegal to pour paint on people's cars and send hate mail through the Internet,” Lucy said. “Maybe you and I should cut each other some slack.”
“You don't need to cut me any slack,” Ashley said. “I’ll be fine. It's the rats I’m worried about. Look at them, locked up in those tiny cages. Waiting to be slaughtered. Don't you have a heart? Or at least a conscience?”
“They love their cages,” Lucy said, with a brief glance over in that direction. “They're fed, they're warm, they have company-”
“Until you kill them.”
“It's a very fast, painless death. It's not like life is so great for a rat on the street, you know.”
“I bet they'd be willing to take that chance,” the girl said. “How about we set them all free and see whether or not they come back to their cages?”
“They'd die in a couple of days,” Lucy said. “Their adrenal glands don't function.”
“Holy shit,” the girl said. “What have you done to them?”
“They were born that way.”
“Bred that way, you mean.” The girl shook her head and her long blond hair swung first one way and then the other. It really was beautiful hair, Lucy thought. Too bad she was carrying around some extra weight, because the girl had potential. If she just lost twenty pounds and did something about her skin…
“It's scientific research,” Lucy said. “Ever heard of it? It's led to a lot of cures for a lot of people. For animals, too. In fact, Addison's disease is more common in dogs than in humans, and it's one of the-”
The girl cut her off. “There are ways of doing scientific research without torturing and killing harmless animals.”
“You're right,” Lucy said. “We could use college students instead. You want to be our first volunteer?”
The girl got up from her chair and walked over to the cages. “Poor little things,” she said. “What kind of a creature is man that he can do this to other animals without even feeling guilty about it? We're the ones without souls, not them.” She poked a finger in one of the cages and made little cooing noises for a while. Then she turned back to Lucy “Have you ever bothered to get down on their level and look them in the eyes, ever even tried to see the intelligence and the humanity-for want of a better word-that's in there?”
“Actually,” Lucy said, “believe it or not, I’m what you might call an animal lover. But I’m also a realist. Sometimes you have to kill a rat to save a human life, or two, or three thousand, and that's a choice I’m willing to make.”
“Easy for you to say. You haven't asked them.“ She gestured toward the rats.
“They're welcome to perform medical experiments on humans, as soon as it occurs to them to do so. And they get a grant from the NIH.”
“How can you say you're an animal lover? You think because you pet dogs now and then, that means you care?” She shook her head in sincere disgust. “If you really loved animals, you wouldn't just go and kill a few every week without even thinking twice about it-”
“No, not without thinking about it,” Lucy said. “I think about it all the time. And then I go ahead and I kill them because it's ultimately the right thing to do.”
“How can you say that?”
“Because it is. Choices aren't always easy, Ashley.”
Ashley snorted. “That's what evil people always say. You start with small animals, then why not kill bigger ones? And while you're killing bigger animals, why not kill off sick or weak humans? And, if you're going to kill them, why not kill the ones you decide are inferior to you? Because they're like a different race or religion or something? And then, of course, you'll have to kill anyone who doesn't agree with you-”
“Don't tempt me,” Lucy said.
“It's not funny,” Ashley said. “Life is valuable. All life. Can't you see that?”
Before Lucy could respond, the door opened and David walked in. “Did you see the sign on the door?” he said. “I was thinking we should leave it up there for a while just to- Oh, hi. Who's this?”
“This is Ashley,” Lucy said. “She's the one who put the sign there.”
“Ah,” David said. “Is she also the one who's been dumping paint on James's car?”
“I’m guessing,” Lucy said. They both looked at Ashley. She folded her arms tightly across her chest and stared at the wall.
“It's not that I don't think James deserves it,” David said, sitting down at his desk. “For all sorts of reasons. Like-see that coffee cup over there? He left that, right on my papers and they're all stained now, thanks to him. A slob like that deserves to have some paint thrown on his car. But he doesn't deserve it because he does animal research. That's to his credit.”
“Are we done?” Ashley asked Lucy. “I’d like to get out of here. Can I have my bag back, please?”
Lucy appealed to David. “What do you think? If James were here-”
“He'd want her head on a platter,” he said. “But it's kind of a young head. And James can be a little… overreactive.”
“Yeah, I know.” Lucy turned back to Ashley. “Listen, if I let you go right now, will you promise to leave us all alone and go bother someone else?”
“Preferably in a different building,” David said.
Ashley scowled. “I haven't admitted to anything yet. Maybe I don't even know what you're talking about.”
“Okay,” Lucy said, pulling a pad of paper toward her. “Here's the deal, Ashley. I’m writing down your name and address. If I find more signs or any of our cars gets covered with paint again or if we receive any more nasty e-mails, I will call the university administration and the police and tell them who's responsible. Do you understand?”
“You don't have any proof,” Ashley said. “And even if you did, I’d have to do what's right, no matter what the risk.”
“Yeah, well, if I were you, I’d make sure vandalizing research labs really is what's right before I went and got myself arrested for it.” Lucy tossed everything that had fallen on the desk back in the bag, then bent down and picked up the can of spray paint off the floor. “This, I’m not giving back to you,” she said and threw it in the trash can. “No good can possibly come of your having a can of spray paint. But you can take the rest and go.”
Ashley warily darted forward, snatched at the bag, and ran to the door. “Think about what you're doing,” she said. “Think about the pain you're causing these animals just because you're bigger than they are. Think about how you'd like to be treated if-”
“Think about the police coming to your door,” David said.
She shot him one last look of pure hatred and then was gone, slamming the door behind her.
David raised his fist in the air. “Vive la résistance!” he said cheerfully.
“Yeah, right,” Lucy said. “Do you think she thinks she's some kind of hero?”
“Definitely.”
“Someone should tell her about rats and the bubonic plague.”
“Someone should give her the bubonic plague.” He stared at the closed door. “Although, it was kind of a relief meeting her-she wasn't exactly an angry mob, was she?”
“She could have friends.”
“Or just crazy nuts on the Internet who encourage her to do this shit.” David leaned comfortably back in his chair and crossed his ankles up on top of his desk. “So… do we tell James?”
“Better not,” Lucy said, feeling a little guilty even as she said it. “We can always tell him if she does something else.”
“Do you think she will?”
“Now that we have her name and know she goes to school here, she'd have to be pretty stupid to target us again.” Lucy bent down and opened up one of her desk drawers. “Want some dried cranberries?”
“Sure.” She carried the bag over and poured a bunch into his outstretched palm. “It must be nice,” he said, gazing absently at the berries in his hand.
“What?” She put a single cranberry in her mouth.
“To be like that girl. To feel like you're one hundred percent right and everyone else is wrong. To be willing to sacrifice yourself for a cause without ever questioning whether it's really worth sacrificing yourself for.” He tilted his hand and let the cranberries fall into a pile on his desktop. “Nothing ever seems that clear-cut to me.”
“I know,” she said. “To me, either.”
They chewed away in thoughtful silence and finished off the bag of cranberries before getting down to work.
Kathleen settled on a cocktail-length, thin-strapped, body-hugging black dress for the fund-raising event that night. “Wow,” Kevin said when she slid into his car. “You look amazing.” He leaned over and kissed her hard on her open mouth. Lingered there a moment. He sat back and took a deep breath. “Maybe we should run upstairs. Think I could leave the car here?”
“Not without getting towed.” She pulled the seatbelt across her body.
He drove away from the curb with a good-natured sigh of acceptance. He glanced at her a couple of times as he drove along Wilshire. “You have truly beautiful breasts, you know that?”
“They do what they need to.”
“Except… something's missing.”
She looked down at herself. “One. Two. Same as always.”
“Dress like that needs a necklace. And I know where to get one.” And, with those words, Kevin Porter drove straight to Rodeo Drive and Tiffany & Co., where he bought Kathleen a beautiful and delicate necklace that was, admittedly, sterling silver and not diamond-encrusted, but still cost several hundred dollars and was, for a spur-of-the-moment kind of thing, a touching gesture.
Kathleen was pleased. The only tiny-minuscule really-jarring note for her was that Kevin had chosen to take her to Tiffany, which was where Jackson Porter bought all the gifts for his mistresses. The man actually kept a cache of filled small blue boxes in a locked drawer in his office for ready access.
And that nagged at her. Surely there were other decent jewelry stores in Los Angeles.
When they arrived at the fund-raiser-held in the biggest ballroom Kathleen had ever seen, in one of the swankiest hotels in Beverly Hills-Kevin led her to where his family stood in a knot. They all said hello and then ignored her.
Which left Kathleen free to sip some decent champagne and absorb everything that was going on around her. She and Kevin were among the youngest people at the event. No surprise there, since the honoree that evening was Jackson Porter, who was nearing seventy, and most of the guests were his contemporaries. Besides, a single ticket cost five hundred dollars, and a table went for five thousand, and Kathleen couldn't think of a lot of people her age who could afford to spring for something like that, even for a good cause.
Assuming tonight's charity was one, of course. She still didn't know what it was. The signs that hung around the room all read, “In a Parallel Universe…” which didn't enlighten her at all.
Kevin's two sisters-in-law were gorgeously turned out that evening, one in Armani black, the other in Prada crimson. Their dresses were almost severe in their simplicity, but tailored and draped beautifully, and the extravagance of the jewelry they wore complemented the spare lines of their dresses. In the past, Kathleen had thought both women were too thin-scrawny, really-but tonight their evening finery made the prominence of their bones seem elegant rather than sickly.
While she was standing there, she heard the sister-in-law in black say to the sister-in-law in red, “You are so brave to wear that color. You know-this year, when no one else is.”
The other narrowed her eyes and said, “Oh, I just grabbed what I could. The kids don't give me a second to get ready. I’m sure you'll understand someday. I mean, I hope so.” From this, Kathleen inferred the one in black was having fertility problems.
Kevin's brothers greeted him with pleasant enough claps on the shoulder and then immediately took their father aside and started whispering to him, freezing Kevin out of the discussion. Kevin just smiled affably at their backs and made some comment to his mother about the turnout. She dipped her head an inch-a nod of agreement, Kathleen assumed. That done, Caro Porter retreated back to silence, smiling vaguely at some distant object while she clutched her champagne glass to her chest with one bony hand.
The fog in her dull blue eyes and her halting speech hinted at artificial sedation. Kathleen, who waved goodbye to Jackson Porter every day as he strode out of the office at noon, reeking of cologne and often tucking one of those small blue boxes into his breast pocket, had nothing but sympathy for Caro's choice to reject clarity.
After an hour or so of this standing around and drinking, someone flashed the lights in the room. None of the guests paid any attention to it. The lights flashed again. This time, there was a subde murmur throughout the crowd-which then went back to talking and drinking. A waiter refilled Kathleen's glass.
Then someone-hotel staff, Kathleen assumed-called out a personal appeal for people to move toward the dining room. He was ignored, but a little while after that a guest with a booming voice called out that they were already way behind schedule and wouldn't be out before midnight at this rate, and the threat of that finally got people moving.
When they reached their table, Kevin and Kathleen sat down, but Kevin's brothers waited, standing, until their father joined them, and then they maneuvered him into a seat between the two of them. Caro sat down on Kathleen's empty side and the two wives sat next to their husbands. Wine was poured and Caro raised her glass.
“To the poor children,” she said wearily, and they all drank.
Kathleen thought Caro meant her own kids for a second, and then realized that she was referring to the recipients of that evening's fund-raising efforts.
Kathleen had been to many social events in her life, but never one that reeked of wealth the way this one did. There were at least three waiters to every table and they were always hovering, refilling glasses and clearing and bringing plates. The room was decorated with wreaths of flowers and candles that cast a flattering warm glow and made the ropes of jewels on the women all around her sparkle brightly.
Cinderella was at the ball.
Funny thing-so was the fairy godmother.
There was a steady stream of tuxedoed men paying their respects to Jackson all during dinner, so at first Kathleen didn't even look up when one more came-and then she heard his voice. And there was Sam Kaplan, clasping Jackson's hand and saying something she couldn't quite catch that had Jackson shaking his head with a rueful smile.
Kathleen was surprised and a little annoyed. Sam hadn't told her he was coming, even after she'd mentioned the event that morning.
Kevin had once said something to her about how his father admired Sam, and there seemed to be some truth to it: Jackson had risen to his feet and was listening intently to whatever Sam was saying. He nodded his head in agreement at the end. They did that guy thing of shaking hands while clapping each other's upper arm, and then Jackson gave him a little salute and sat back down between his older sons.
Sam greeted the rest of the family as he circled around the table, kissing the air close to all the women's cheeks and shaking all the men's hands. “Just wanted to say hello,” he said when he reached Kathleen and Kevin. He and Kevin shook hands. “Kathleen,” he said with a nod of greeting. Apparently she didn't rate an air kiss.
“Oh, right,” Kevin said, leaning back in his seat to include them both. “I forgot-you two already know each other. You're how we got Kathleen.”
“I’m how she came to work at Porter and Wachtell,” Sam said. “You got her all on your own, buddy.”
Kevin smiled.
Sam said, “You must be proud of your father this evening.” Kathleen was so used to his armchair insults that it was a surprise to realize he could actually be as polished as the next guy when he was out at a social function.
“I am,” Kevin said. “I absolutely am.”
Sam raised his hand. “Have fun, kids,” he said and walked away. He shook a couple more hands and cuffed a few more shoulders before returning to Table Eight, where he sat down next to a young woman with roughly cropped hair that was dyed a bright copper orange. The girl immediately leaned over and whispered in his ear.
Kathleen stared at them. She had been living under Sam's apartment for several months but had never once seen a female go in or out-and here he was at a major social event with a total babe.
A waiter placed a salad in front of her, blocking her view. She quickly devoured the small salad, and then noticed that none of the other women at her table had eaten theirs.
She felt Kevin's hand on her leg under the table and smiled at him. He turned and said, “Hey, Mom, did you know that Kathleen's a triplet and her two sisters are movie stars?”
“How nice,” Caro said, and raised her wineglass to her lips.
“Yeah,” Kevin said. “Christa and Kelly Winters. They're huge.”
“Really?” Caro said. “How interesting.”
From her other side, the sister-in-law in red said, “I’ve heard of them.”
“Have you?” Kathleen said.
“Yes. My little girl made me take her to one of their movies once.” One eyebrow was crooked derisively, daring Kathleen to ask her whether she liked it, but Kathleen knew better and was silent.
The waiters cleared the salad plates. Kathleen shifted restlessly in her seat. She looked over at Sam's table. He was saying something to the girl next to him. She tilted her head in consideration, and long, heavy earrings flashed at her neck. A few minutes later, Sam rose to his feet and moved across the room. He stopped at a table to talk to someone.
Kathleen pushed her own chair back abruptly. “I need to go to the ladies’ room,” she said.
“Do you know where it is?” Kevin said.
“I’ll find it.”
He rose as she stood up. He was polite that way.
She said, “Excuse me,” to the rest of the table, but no one seemed to notice.
She made her way across the room, and after Sam had finished chatting with the people at Table Twenty-seven, she darted forward and cut him off before he could go back to his own seat.
“Kathleen,” he said and gave her a quick up and down look. “Nice dress.”
“Why didn't you just tell me you were coming to this, you jerk?”
“You didn't ask. Are you having a good time?”
“It's okay. You let me go on and on this morning-”
“How much wine have you had?” he asked.
“I don't know. A glass or two.” Or three or four. “Why?”
“You look drunk. Your face is red.”
“Whatever,” she said. “You certainly look like you're enjoying yourself.”
“Do I?”
“Who's the girl at your table?”
“The girl?”
“Sitting next to you. With the bright orange hair-she's kind of hard to miss.”
“Oh, her. Beautiful, isn't she? She usually comes with me to these kinds of things. Takes pity on an old man.”
“What's her name?”
“Joanna,” he said and Kathleen could have kicked him. Or herself. Joanna was his daughter. She had seen a couple of photos of her around his apartment, but they were all at least several years old, and most of them were of her as a little girl. And she didn't have copper hair in any of them. Kathleen had stupidly assumed she was still an adolescent with undyed hair.
She glared at him. “Why didn't you just say that in the first place?”
“And ruin your excitement? You were so sure you had discovered some hidden scandal in my life-ancient Sam with his little thing-on-the-side.”
“You're not married,” Kathleen said. “You can't have a thing-on-the-side.”
“Whatever,” he said, just like she'd said it a few seconds earlier. Making fun of her.
“Can I meet her?”
“If you like.” He led the way back to his table.
Up close, Kathleen could see a tiny bit of a resemblance-her nose was long, like his, and she was thin like him, too. She was prettier, though, than you would have expected Sam's daughter to be-not that he wasn't a handsome-enough man in his own hawky, severe way, but she had a delicacy about her features that definitely came from some other source.
Sam introduced Kathleen, and Joanna said, “Oh, the girl who's staying downstairs.” Her eyes were light blue-another surprise, since Sam's were so dark-and heavily made up in shades of bright green. Her ears were pierced in four different places. The tarty look suited her, made her look oddly more innocent underneath it all. It helped that she was so young. She gestured at the room. “This is nice, isn't it?”
“Kathleen is here because she cares so deeply about the cause,” Sam said. “Have you figured out what it is yet, Kathleen?”
She shrugged. “Something about poor kids.”
‘”Something about poor kids’?” he repeated with a snort.
“Don't let him get to you,” Joanna said. “He's always trying to make me feel like a moron, too.”
A woman on the other side of Sam's chair cleared her throat, and he stepped back to include her. “Oh, excuse me. Kathleen Winters, Patricia Kaplan.”
“Also known as my mother,” Joanna put in helpfully.
Patricia held out a beautifully manicured hand, and Kathleen shook it, a little surprised. She hadn't realized Sam still saw his ex-wife socially. “How nice to meet you,” Patricia said. She was a handsome woman, an older version of Joanna, really, with a smaller build and a more elegant presentation. She wore her honey-blond hair in a simple twist at the back of her neck. “Sam was just telling us about your apartment.”
“He said you don't have any furniture and you play soccer on the empty floor,” Joanna added.
“It's not as crazy as it sounds. I didn't know how long I’d be there so I never really moved in. And with all that extra space-”
“Might as well play ball?” Joanna said with a grin.
“I should have gotten a security deposit from you,” Sam said to Kathleen. “It just occurred to me you're probably destroying the floors. I’ll have to get them refinished.”
“They're fine.” She had no idea if that was true or not-she wasn't the kind of person who went around examining floors for scratches.
Several waiters converged on the table with trays of food.
“I should go back,” Kathleen said, and the women said goodbye.
Sam walked a few steps with her. Kathleen looked across the room. Back at her table, Jackson was shaking his head with an impatient frown at something the oldest brother was saying, and the middle brother was looking triumphant. Caro was smiling pleasantly at a distant wall sconce. The sister-in-law in black had completely turned her back on Kevin, who was playing with his fork, pushing down on the turned-up tines so the other end rose up like a seesaw.
“Have a nice evening,” Sam said and turned to go.
“Wait,” Kathleen said.
“What?”
“Don't you think it's a little weird?”
“What?”
“Hanging out with your ex-wife. People aren't supposed to go out with their exes.”
“Why the hell not?”
“It's just weird, that's all,” she said. “My parents are divorced and they can't stand each other.”
“Right,” he said. “Your parents. Those stellar examples of a healthy lifestyle.”
“People get divorced because they don't want to be together.”
“I married Pat because I enjoyed her company,” he said. “That hasn't changed.”
“Then why'd you divorce her?”
“That's the topic of a much longer discussion than I’m prepared to have at this moment,” Sam said. “Or probably ever, with you.”
“You don't have to be a jerk about it,” she said. “It was a legitimate question.”
“Good night, Kathleen,” he said. “I suspect I’ll see you soon.”
He put out his hand, but Kathleen just walked away without taking it. She didn't know why she was so annoyed at him, but she was.
She came over to the table and collapsed ungracefully into her seat. Her main course was already there and waiting for her, the chicken and rice steaming gently.
Kevin picked up his fork and said, “You were gone forever.”
“Long line,” she said and stabbed her knife savagely into the chicken breast.
So, what do we think?” Kathleen held the necklace up for general inspection.
Lucy immediately dropped her knitting and jumped up to look. She slid her palm under the chain and pulled it closer to her eyes. “Silver?” she said. “Or white gold?”
“Silver,” Kathleen said. “Which I happen to like.”
“I didn't say anything negative.”
“You were about to.”
“I think it's pretty,” Lucy said with a shrug, letting the necklace slip away from her fingers.
Kathleen brought it over to Sari. “What do you think?”
“It's beautiful,” Sari said. “So Kevin just up and took you to Tiffany's, huh?”
Kathleen put the necklace back in its velvet box and closed it with an audible pop. “Yep. He said, ‘You need a necklace,’ and right to Tiffany's, just like that.”
“Next time, point out you could use a new car,” Lucy said, sitting down and picking up her knitting. “See what happens.”
“Right to BMW,” Sari said. “Just like that.”
“Oh, please,” Lucy said. “No one drives BMWs anymore. It's all about the Audis. Or, if you're really cool, a hybrid.”
“I’d take a Lexus convertible,” Kathleen said. “That's what Kevin drives.”
“That's so open-minded of you,” Sari said as she carefully slipped a bunch of stitches from one needle to the other. “Being willing to settle for a Lexus.”
“What can I say?” Kathleen threw herself into a dining room chair and pulled the bowl of bagels toward her. “I’m a saint.” She started flipping through the bagels.
“Can you please just touch whichever bagel you're planning to eat?” Lucy said.
“Maybe I’m planning on eating them all.” She extracted a poppy seed one. “I can't believe you're almost done with that blanket, Sar.”
Sari said, “I have no life. That's why I get so much knitting done. Every night, while the two of you are out being social and having fun-and probably having sex-”
“Definitely having sex,” Kathleen said.
“I’m sitting in front of the TV, knitting. It's pathetic.”
“At least you're making something useful,” Kathleen said.
“Yeah,” Sari said. “I could probably knit this baby five blankets before it's even born. I could knit one for a king-size bed with the time I have.”
“You want me to ask Kevin if he has any great friends?” Kathleen said.
“Why? You think they need blankets?”
“No, I mean to date.”
Sari thought about it. Her needles clicked and their metal ends flashed. “Yeah, I guess,” she said after a moment. “Why not?”
“Make sure they're rich,” Lucy said to Kathleen. “If yours is rich, I think it's only fair that Sari's be rich, too.”
“Amen to that,” Sari said. “Hey, guys, either of you have any good ideas for a Halloween costume?”
“You going to a party?” Kathleen asked.
“No. I have to get dressed up for this thing we do at the clinic. Most of the kids are scared to trick-or-treat for real, so they come in costume and we hand out candy. Usually I just wear scrubs or something easy like that, but Ellen yelled at me for being lazy about it last year.”
“You could be a sexy cat,” Kathleen said.
“Or a very wicked witch,” Lucy said. “In one of those tight black dresses that lace over your boobs.”
“Or a sexy little French maid,” Kathleen said. She batted her eyes, her hand to her chest. “Oh, but, monsieur, madame-she weell find out!”
“Uh, guys?” Sari said. “I’m going to be handing candy out to a bunch of four-year-olds with autism. Call me crazy, but I really don't think I have to be all that sexy.“
“You're crazy,” Kathleen said. “It never hurts to be sexy.”
“I’ve got a good idea,” Lucy said. “Let's go to a costume store right now and we'll help you pick something out.” “You really don't have to,” Sari said.
“It'll be fun. You free, Kathleen?”
“Kevin and I were supposed to go to the beach with some friends of his this afternoon, but I’d rather do this.”
“She's already losing interest,” Lucy said to Sari. “What's it been? Two weeks? Three?”
“That's our girl,” Sari said.
“I’m not losing interest,” Kathleen said. “I just don't feel like I have to spend every minute of the day with him.”
“Kathleen, you always lose interest after a few weeks,” Lucy said. “You've got relationship ADD.”
“That's because it's always just been about having fun before,” Kathleen said. “No one can sustain fun forever. But this is about more than that. This is about stability and friendship and-”
“She's bored out of her mind,” Lucy said to Sari.
“How come you don't get bored with us?” Sari asked.
“It's the sex,” Lucy said. “She gets bored having sex with the same guy over and over again. Since she doesn't have sex with us-”
“Shouldn't that make you even more boring?” Kathleen asked.
“No, because you actually bother talking to us,” Lucy said. “If you ever found a guy you liked talking to instead of just having sex all the time, you might last more than a few weeks with him.”
“Don't blame me,” Kathleen said. “There isn't a guy out there who's willing to sit around and talk when he thinks he could be having sex.”
It was Kathleen's idea to take Sari out for a drink before going to the costume store, but Lucy immediately seconded the motion.
“You'll be more open to our suggestions if you're tipsy,” Kathleen said.
“You mean you're going to force an outfit on me when I’m too drunk to argue,” Sari said.
“We're your friends,” Lucy said. “If you can't trust us-”
“You're my friends,” Sari said. “And I don't trust you at all.” But she let them drag her into a bar half a block from their destination.
When the bartender brought them their drinks, Kathleen said to Lucy, “I can't believe you drink straight scotch.” “It's not straight,” Lucy said. “It's on the rocks.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I like it. It's a manly drink. And it's lower in calories than those girly cocktails everyone else drinks, but gets the job done faster.”
“I’m drinking a beer,” Kathleen said. “That's just as manly as scotch.”
“No, it's not. It's a frat boys drink. A whole different thing.”
Sari frowned at her glass of white wine. “Clearly, I lose this particular contest. But why exactly do we have to be manly in our choice of alcoholic beverages?”
“It's just cooler,” Lucy said.
“Scotch tastes like medicine,” Sari said.
“I like it,” Lucy said and drank it slowly, but with real pleasure. She stopped after one-she was driving, and scotch was strong stuff-but the other two had another round, so when they finally got to the costume store, they were all pretty looped and giggly.
Sari was relaxed enough now to try on a sexy cat costume. When she walked out of the fitting room, Kathleen let out a loud wolf whistle, and everyone in the store turned to look.
“For God's sake, Kathleen!” Sari grabbed the fitting room curtain and pulled it across her body. “Do you have to completely embarrass me?”
“What are you talking about?” Kathleen said. “You look fantastic. Every other woman in this store would kill to look that good in a leotard.”
Lucy said, “She looks good, but the black cat thing's a total cliché-everyone does it. Try this one.” She handed Sari another outfit.
When Sari reemerged, Lucy said, “Now that's perfect. It totally fits with the theme.”
“A nurse's uniform?” Kathleen said.
“Yeah. I mean, she's working with sick kids-”
“They're not sick, they have autism,” Sari said. “And it's made out of vinyl, Lucy. I can't wear white vinyl to work. That's just wrong.”
“Why not?” Kathleen said. “It wipes off easily.” For some reason, this struck all three of them as hysterically funny, and they laughed so hard that Kathleen had to crouch down to keep from falling over.
A saleswoman came over and eyed them suspiciously. “May I help you?” she said.
“No, thank you,” Sari said, just as Lucy said, “Yes, you can. We need a costume for our friend here that shows off her assets, but doesn't go over the top. You know what I mean?”
“Yeah,” Kathleen said, clambering to her feet. “It should say, ‘I could get any man I want but I don't need a man to be happy and just because I’m letting you look doesn't mean you should even dream about touching.’ Oh, and kids should think it's totally super-cool.”
The saleswoman was in her mid- to late fifties. She had short gray hair and wore half-moon reading glasses on a chain around her neck. She looked back and forth between them for a moment, her eyes narrowed, her lips pressed together in a hard line.“All right,” she said. “I’ll see what I can do. Wait here.” She disappeared down an aisle.
“Vinyl,” Sari said, looking down at herself. “I can't believe you guys.”
“What do you think she'll come back with?” Kathleen asked Lucy.
“I don't know. It just better not be another damn cat.” They all dissolved into giggles again.
The saleswoman returned with a costume.
“What is it?” Lucy asked.
“A warrior princess. Guys go crazy for this one. But it's not too revealing. Try it on.” She pushed it at Sari, who obediently disappeared inside the fitting room. She soon came back out in a tight fake leather and metal miniskirt and an even tighter bustier top made out of the same materials.
“Plus there are wrist cuffs,” the saleswoman said, holding them up.
“You know who you are, Sari?” Kathleen circled around her. “You're Xena-the coolest woman ever! It's perfect”
“You're totally hot,” Lucy agreed, “but not indecent. The kids will just think you look like a superhero, but the dads will think they've died and gone to heaven.”
“What do you think?” Sari said, appealing to the saleswoman. “Would you wear this to a Halloween party for kids?”
“Honey,” the saleswoman said, “if I looked as good in that as you do, I would wear it to Sunday dinner at my in-laws.” She handed them the hanger and wrist cuffs and went off after another customer.
Kathleen stared after her. “I think I’m in love,” she said.
“There's an age difference,” Sari said.
“Love knows no boundaries.”
“We need tall black boots to complete the outfit,” Lucy said.“Do you have anything like that, Sari? With high heels? Really high heels?”
Sari rolled her eyes. “What do you think?”
“I have some that would be perfect,” Kathleen said.
“And twelve sizes too big,” Lucy said. “There's a Shoe Pavilion down the street-we'll find something there.”
Sari was studying herself in the mirror. “Are you sure this isn't too much?” she said. “I mean, look at my breasts.”
“I can't take my eyes off of them,” Kathleen said. “How'd you manage to hide them all these years?”
Lucy was still eyeing Sari critically. “I wish your hair were longer,” she said. “Why'd you have to cut it so short?”
“Because I worked with a kid who kept pulling on it,” Sari said. “He was yanking it right out of my head.”
“Doesn't that piss you off?” Lucy said.
“Nah. It wasn't his fault. He didn't know how else to get my attention. But he's doing really well now-he can say a lot of words and isn't nearly so frustrated.”
“I still don't think I can forgive him,” Lucy said. “I mean, your hair.”
“I think the short hair actually works with this,” Kathleen said. “Just make sure you chop it up with gel or mousse or something, Sari. Xena shouldn't be fluffy.”
“Xena had long straight hair,” Lucy said.
“Yeah, but the little blond chick on the show cut hers short and after that looked even hotter than Xena.”
Sari bought the costume and they threw the bag into Lucy's car, then left it there while they walked the thirteen blocks down Wilshire Boulevard to the shoe store. It was a beautiful afternoon, and they were all still drunk enough to feel giddy and laugh a lot for no reason. People turned to look at them-men, especially-because they were pretty girls who were laughing and chatting and who weren't trying to catch anyone's eye-were, in fact, completely uninterested in any company except one another's.
At the store, Kathleen sashayed toward the others on a pair of shoes with high, spiky heels. “What do you guys think?”
“Jesus,” Sari said. “You're like this Amazonian thing.”
“You could whip Xena's ass,” Lucy said, looking up from a stack of shoe boxes she was scanning for Sari's size.
“Yeah?” Kathleen loomed over Sari. “Well, then, I challenge you, warrior princess. Kathleen the Amazon will smash you into dust.”
“Do it in the mud, and we can charge admission,” Lucy said. “Guys'll pay a fortune to see two girls fight in spikes and leather. I can't find a seven in these, Sari. Will seven and a half work?”
“Probably not.”
“That's the spirit. Sit down. You're trying them on.”
Lucy extracted the box she wanted as Kathleen went lurching back in her high heels to the aisle where she had found them. “I wonder why she likes to wear such high heels when she's already so tall,” Lucy said. “I mean, I know why I do it-it's the only way to make my legs look halfway decent. But the last thing she needs is more height.”
Sari sat down on the floor and pushed off her Crocs. “People notice her,” she said. “I think she likes that. First time I met her, she walked into this party-at Laurie Wong's house, actually-remember her?-and everyone immediately turned to look at her because… well, you basically couldn't miss her. I thought she was a model or actress or something and I figured she'd be all stuck-up and full of herself.” Lucy handed her a boot and she pulled it on and held out her hand for the other one. “But she was Kathleen. She threw herself down next to me and said she was bored, so I said something about how I wished it wasn't rude to knit at a party, and she told me how some baby-sitter had taught her when she was in sixth grade but she hadn't done it in ages. So then I started telling her about how there were all these amazing new knitting stores in Santa Monica and at some point we said we'd go to one the next morning together and we did and had a blast. And then you took that knitting class and got all excited about starting a club-” She stood up. Wobbled. “A little high, don't you think?”
“They're platforms,” Lucy said. “They don't count.”
“I’m like four inches taller.”
“Which brings you into normal range,” Kathleen said. “Almost.” She was back, now wearing her flip-flops and carrying a box.
“You getting them?” Lucy gestured to the shoe box.
“Uh-huh. I’ll wear them out with Kevin tonight. So he'll forget to be mad that I stood him up this afternoon. Not that he ever gets mad, come to think of it. Those are total fuck-me boots, Sari. I love them.”
“I can't wear fuck-me boots to a kids Halloween party,” Sari moaned.
“Shut up,” Lucy said to Kathleen. “Now you've got her all worried. They're not fuck-me boots, Sari. They're-” She groped.
“Trick-or-treat boots?” Kathleen suggested.
“Exactly! Trick-or-treat boots. They're made for Halloween.”
“More treat than trick for the older boys,” Kathleen said.
“Shut up,” Lucy said. “You're going to ruin everything.”
“What are you guys trying to do to me?” Sari said. “Between these and the warrior costume-”
“You'll be the hottest therapist in town. As you should be.” Lucy bent down and pushed at the toe of one of the boots. “Do they fit okay?”
“I guess. They're slightly big. Wearable. But, guys-”
“We're getting them. I’m paying.”
“Kathleen, don't you think-?”
“They're adorable. You'll get a ton of wear out of them. Do you have any short skirts? I mean, other than the Xena thing? Because that's what they're made for.”
“I don't wear stuff like that. You guys know that.”
Kathleen looked at Lucy. “Next stop, Anthropologie.”
By the time they were done with her, Sari had several new outfits in addition to the costume. Lucy paid for the boots, and, at the clothing store, Kathleen picked out two extremely short skirts, a pair of super-tight, super-low jeans, and a bunch of skimpy tank tops-all for Sari.
“This is fun,” Kathleen said, as she poked through the extra-small sizes. “Like dressing a doll.” She pulled out her own credit card at the cashier, and Sari protested, but Kathleen said, “If I pay for them, I know you'll feel guilty if you don't actually wear them. Sari, you can't sit around complaining about the lack of great guys in your life when you're not even making the slightest effort to get noticed. It's time to show them what you've got.”
“But I can't wear this stuff to work.”
“Why not?”
“I run around with kids all day long. I mean, I literally run around with them.”
“So learn to run in a miniskirt,” Kathleen said. “You'll never regret it.”
They walked back up Wilshire to the car, where Lucy crossed her arms and refused to unlock the doors until Sari promised-swore on her grandmother's grave-that she would wear the warrior princess costume to the Halloween party at the clinic. “There is no backing out now,” Lucy said once that was settled.“Or wearing long underwear underneath,” Kathleen said.
“Or a sweatshirt over it.”
“All right, all right, I promise,” Sari said. “And if I get laughed out of the clinic, I’ll know who to blame.”
“Blame Lucy,” Kathleen said. “She's the bossy one.”