Lauren flipped a lock of hair over her shoulder. She was wearing it long and swingy today: it had taken her half an hour to straighten it with the flatiron that morning. “You guys had a nice long talk about this, didn’t you?”
“Do you like him?”
“I don’t know. And I’m not saying that to be unhelpful: I’m just trying to figure him out. That’s all. I honestly don’t know if I like him or not.”
“All right,” Nancy said. “But when you do figure it out, will you let me know the verdict?”
“Probably not,” Lauren said. “But don’t worry—you can always ask Ava.”
The chemo ward was a little less crowded that afternoon, and the nurses were able to put Nancy in a private room. Lauren got her settled, turned on the TV, waited until the drip was fully activated, and then prowled around the edges of the room until Nancy said, “I thought you were going to find your friend and bring him here for me to meet.”
“You sure you’re up to socializing?”
“Absolutely. It’ll make a nice change from trying to pretend I’m interested in that.” She jerked her chin in the direction of the TV, which only received three channels, all of which were currently showing daytime talk shows with guests who appeared to have been recruited from caves deep in the Ozark Mountains.
“I’ll be right back,” Lauren said and left the room.
Finding Daniel turned out to be unexpectedly easy: she spotted him the instant she turned the corner. He was just standing in the corridor, peering into his cell phone and pressing the keypad.
“Hello,” she said as she came up to him.
He looked up and stared at her absently, as if he couldn’t quite place her and didn’t have the time or the inclination to work it out at that moment. But then he closed his cell phone. “Oh, hi. Where’d they put your mother?”
“Room 523,” Lauren said. “Your mom in there?” She pointed to the door behind him.
“Yeah. She had a bad night and the nurse was a little worried about how weak she was today, so I thought I should probably stay close by. I only came out to make a call.”
“Cell phone use is prohibited.” She pointed to the sign that said so.
“They don’t actually interfere with the machinery. It’s all bullshit. Anyway, what’s up?” He kept fingering the edges of his phone like he was anxious to get back to it.
“My mother wants to meet you,” Lauren said.
He snapped his head back. “Why?”
“She just does. She knows I’ve been hanging out with you here and that I saw you this weekend—”
“How’d she know that?”
“My sister told her.”
He heaved an exaggerated sigh. “And you told your sister.”
“Yeah,” she said, annoyed that he was putting her on the defensive. “Was I not supposed to?”
“I just don’t see the need.”
“It wasn’t a need,” she said. “It was a conversation. Anyway, will you come say hi to my mother? Just for a minute or two?”
“I’m not in the mood to make small talk with a stranger right now,” he said. “I’ll pass.”
Lauren gave him an incredulous look. Then she shook her head. “Fine,” she said, turning away. “Forget it.”
“Hey.” Daniel grabbed at her arm. “What are you acting all pissed off for?”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she said, shaking his hand off. “I’m the one who’s acting all pissed off?”
He took a deep breath and stood for a moment, his arms stiff and awkward at his sides. Then he said, “I’m sorry. Hold on a second. I didn’t mean to be rude.”
“You sure about that?”
He passed his hand over his forehead. “It’s just . . . I didn’t get any sleep last night. Mom was really sick. The worst I’ve seen her. She tried to get up to go to the bathroom and fell. Collapsed on the floor. Luckily I heard her. If I hadn’t . . .” He shook his head. “And that was just one thing. She was in pain, too, even with the meds. And when I called the doctor this morning—” He stopped.
She immediately reached her hand out to him, concern replacing anger. “What?”
“Never mind. It doesn’t matter. It’s just—none of it’s good news. Not that I expected it to be. But it keeps getting worse and worse. I was standing here feeling sorry for her and for myself when you showed up.” He forced a smile. “It was bad timing.”
“I often have bad timing,” Lauren said. “And I totally understand. Can I do anything to help?”
“Yes,” he said. “Don’t make me meet your mother. I just can’t be social right now. And don’t resent me for not wanting to.”
“Okay.” A doctor in a white lab coat brushed by, making her step back out of his way. He didn’t even make eye contact, just moved on in a rush. There was a stain on the back of his coat. It occurred to Lauren, not for the first time, that there were a lot of different stories going on at that hospital. She said to Daniel, “Don’t worry about it.”
“Hold on,” Daniel said. “I was thinking—right now is kind of bad, but my brother’s actually flying in later this afternoon—”
“Wow. All the way from Costa Rica, right?”
“You have a good memory. Yeah.”
“So he came through in the end.” Then, realizing how that sounded, she quickly added, “I don’t mean the end. I meant finally.” That didn’t sound all that much better.
“I told him he had to come,” Daniel said. “I didn’t give him any choice. And he knows that—” Again, he stopped himself. “Anyway, the point is that he should have some time alone with Mom once he’s here. Which means I could duck out for a cup of coffee or something later. Would you be up for that?”
“Sure.”
“I’ll call you. I can’t say what time definitely. My brother’s flight is due in at four this afternoon. It left on time, but you never know if there’ll be a ground delay. Plus I’ll have to get him settled with Mom, show him the routine and all that. But as soon as I know when I’ll be free, I’ll call you.”
“Okay,” she said. “I’ll see you later, then.”
“Yeah, if everything works out.”
“Right.” She moved off down the hallway.
He called after her, “Tell your mother it’s not personal.” When she glanced back, he had already returned to thumbing his cell phone.
“I will,” she said over her shoulder. But she was lying.
Her second lie was to her mother: she told her she couldn’t find Daniel anywhere.
Nancy gave Lauren a big hug when they got back to the house. “Thanks for taking such good care of me,” she said, and Lauren left feeling very pleased with herself. She was being a good daughter, and since that hadn’t been her family role historically, she was reveling in its novelty and the sense of importance it gave her.
She got back in the car and drove straight to Brentwood—straight in a directional sense, anyway, but it was rush hour and traffic was atrocious. It took her five minutes to go half a block on Sunset and she felt briefly nostalgic for New York and its public transportation system. But then a song she liked came on the radio and she blasted it and sang along and danced in her seat and liked being in a car again.
When she did finally make it into the heart of Brentwood, parking was scarce and she had to circle around for a while. She ultimately found a space several blocks from her destination, and the walk back was long enough for a tiny pang of guilt to creep in. She worked on arguing it away. Sure, she had promised Ava she wouldn’t spend any money on clothing—had even signed a piece of paper to that effect—but it was an absurd and unnecessary promise, one that she had been pressured into making. The ultimate goal was that she learn to be more restrained in her purchasing, and the last month had proven she could do that: she hadn’t bought anything for herself that didn’t qualify as a necessity. So for her to buy something now was no big deal: one new item of clothing a month was probably less than any other young woman in America
was buying. So long as she didn’t let the one purchase act like some kind of dam bursting and start spending money like crazy, there was nothing intrinsically wrong with it.
In fact, she thought, getting into her internal debate (which she was winning), you could even argue that the one purchase would prove how much she had changed. She was buying it not because she simply wanted to buy something, which was, admittedly, a pathetic habit that had needed breaking, but because she wanted this one specific item. And once she owned it, her wardrobe would be complete. She wouldn’t need anything else for a very long time. Talk about your bargains.
With a determined jut of her chin, she shoved the door open, entered the store, and went straight to the turquoise camisole with the beaded bodice, which was exactly where she had remembered it.
The saleswoman admired the top on Lauren as soon as she emerged from the curtained-off dressing room to look at herself in the three-way mirror—“Oh my God, it fits you perfectly!”—and begged her to pair it with some jeans they had just gotten in that week. “You won’t believe how good these fit,” the girl said. She was dressed gamine-like in tight black clamdiggers and a short-sleeved black wool turtleneck, but the cadences of her speech were pure Valley girl. “Everyone who comes in here and tries them on loves them. And they’ll totally work with that cami.”
Lauren twisted her mouth to the side. “I have a lot of jeans,” she said.
“But these have a curved waistline so they don’t gape. You need that with this top since it has that loose drape—don’t want the world to see your business every time you sit down, do you? Plus they have a trouser cut, which is so right when you need to be a little dressed up but can still get away with wearing jeans.”
“That’s a good point.” She meant it. This girl was smart.
“Just try them,” the saleswoman said. “You don’t have to buy them.”
The truth of that was inarguable. Lauren tried on the jeans. While she was checking them out in the mirror, the young saleswoman—Griffin, she had said her name was—returned to her side with a pair of high-heeled jeweled sandals. “These are too perfect,” she said. “You have to try them on with that outfit. See how the beading kind of matches? You’d think they were made to go with that top. You’re like a seven, right?” She bent down and put them on the floor in front of Lauren, all ready to be stepped into.
This time, Lauren didn’t bother with demurrals, just slipped her feet into the sandals. The hem of the jeans had puddled on the floor before, but they were the perfect length with the sandals on. When she took a step, the tips of the sandals peeked out, girlishly pretty and satisfyingly shiny. She’d have to redo her toenail polish: the dark red she had on now was too obvious for these particular shoes. They needed something light and pearl-like.
She revolved slowly in front of the mirror.
“Wow,” the salesgirl said. “That is an amazing outfit on you. Has anyone ever told you you look like Julianna Margulies?” She reached out and minutely adjusted the straps on Lauren’s shoulders. She had been taller than Lauren a minute ago, but the shoes had given Lauren new height.
“God, I love this top,” Lauren said, twisting so she could look at the back view.
“And the jeans fit you perfectly,” Griffin said. “You have to get them. I wish they looked as good on me, but I don’t have your figure.”
She was clearly working on commission, Lauren thought, but that only made her feel warmly toward the girl—Lauren had worked on commission at previous jobs too. “I’ve been trying to cut back a little on my spending,” Lauren said, raising her right foot so she could admire the way the jeweled strap curved across her instep.
“None of these pieces is all that expensive,” Griffin said. “And you can wear them all separately or together. Honestly, you’re going to get so much use out of all of these things—who doesn’t need a really good, dressy pair of jeans? And the top will take you through every season—just throw a wrap over it when it’s cold. And those sandals will go with everything. I have a pair of them and I wear them with skirts, jeans, you name it.”
No you don’t, Lauren thought with tolerant amusement. That was one of the oldest salesgirl tricks in the book: claiming to own the item you wanted someone to buy so you could extol its virtues and also subtly make the point that if even a low-paid salesgirl could afford it, then certainly her (almost definitely) wealthier customer could. Lauren had made that claim many times herself. Of course, she usually did own the item in question, having purchased a large percentage of her store’s merchandise. And Griffin was admittedly well-dressed. A fellow spendthrift, maybe?
“I’ll think about it while I get changed,” she said, turning away from the mirror. “Try to make a decision.”
“Take your time,” Griffin said and moved off. Two new customers had just entered the store. “Give a holler when you’re ready,” she added over her shoulder.
Lauren undressed slowly, carefully arranging the straps of the top on the padded hanger and folding the jeans neatly and expertly. She put the shoes side by side on the floor and kept glancing at them as she pulled her own clothes back on.
If Ava knew how desperately Lauren wanted all three things—and how even so she was hesitating, not wanting to break her word or betray her sister’s trust—she would have to feel progress had been made, have to know that Lauren had matured and changed. But Lauren couldn’t risk telling her; if she bought something today, it would have to be a secret. Ava couldn’t see into Lauren’s heart and know how she had struggled over this, so she would simply assume Lauren was being her old extravagant self.
Lauren brusquely pushed aside the curtain, making the rings grate along the pole. She would buy only the top and the shoes. She had other jeans—although, sadly, none exactly like these, and she could really use them—she loved the way the waist curved with her body and the cut was just so modern—but she would resist—although the truth was she would probably get tons of use out of them, and they were the kind of thing she should be buying, pretty but also practical—
No. She was resolved: in spite of the many arguments in their favor, she would not buy the jeans.
And just a few short months ago, she would have bought the jeans, so she had every right to be proud of herself.
As far as Ava went . . . well, if she asked where the top and shoes had come from (which she probably wouldn’t because when did Ava notice anything about clothes?), Lauren would simply tell her that the items predated the contract. It would be a lie, of course, and Lauren never liked to lie, only did it as a last resort and when she really needed a way out of a tough situation. And Ava was putting her in a position where she had no choice.
She soothed her conscience by promising it that these were the last things she would buy for a long, long time.
A pretty necklace hanging near the cash register caught her eye as Griffin totaled up her purchases, and Lauren scooped it up in her palm to examine it more closely.
“You want that too?” Griffin said, looking up. “It would go great with this.”
“Not today.” Lauren let the necklace drop back into place with a sigh. “Another time.”
Chapter 13
Hey,” Ava said, walking into the apartment and tossing her briefcase on the side table. “Somebody looks awfully fancy tonight. You going out?”
Lauren looked up from the sofa where she was reading a magazine. “I think so, but I’m not sure when. Daniel’s supposed to call.”
“It’s already past eight.” Ava glanced at her watch to confirm it.
“Yeah, I know. He said it might be pretty late.”
Ava thumped down on the armchair. “So what’d you do today?”
“Took Mom to the hospital. Watched her get chemo. Took her home again. Same old same old.”
“How’d it all go?”
“Barrel of laughs,” Lauren said. “As always.”
“Meet any cute guys?”
“Not this time,” Lauren said. “I h
ear all the good ones hang out at St. Vincent’s now.”
“You know what?” Ava said. “I’m going to go next time. I’ll just move some stuff around on my schedule. I should take Mom, at least once.”
“Don’t be an idiot,” Lauren said. “There’s no reason for you to have to stress about missing work when I have nothing better to do. I like taking her.”
“That’s not what you just said.”
“It’s fine,” Lauren said. “Mom’s a good sport and I like seeing Daniel when he’s there.” The mention of Daniel’s name made them both check their watches again.
Ava said, “If he were smart, he’d call you sooner rather than later. The guy doesn’t know what he’s missing—that’s quite a top.” She meant it, too. Lauren looked great.
“It’s nice, isn’t it?” Lauren said, idly plucking at the hem.
“Very. Is it from your old store?”
“Yeah. I bought it a while ago but haven’t worn it much.”
“Well, I hope Daniel appreciates it.” Ava reached her arms up over her head and stretched. As she arched her back, her stomach growled audibly, and she and Lauren both giggled. “Hmm,” Ava said, dropping her arms back down. “It appears to be time to eat.” She got up and went into the kitchen, emerging a minute later with jars of peanut butter and jelly and a bag of crackers.
Lauren’s cell phone was lying on the center of the kitchen table, and as Ava picked it up to move it out of the way, it rang. She glanced at it, but Lauren was already on her feet. She pounced on Ava and grabbed the phone out of her hand, flipping it open and getting it to her ear with a single motion. “Hello? Oh, hi! I wasn’t expecting it to be you. You still at work? . . . That sucks . . . Were you looking for—” She stopped and listened intently, then moved a few steps away and turned her back to Ava. “Yeah, I do,” she said in a low voice. Another pause. “Close. That and a half . . . Right. Okay? . . . Okay. Good. So I’ll see you soon?” Then she gave a flirtatious little laugh. “Too true. Okay, I better go. Bye.” She flipped it shut again with a guarded look at Ava and shoved it into her back pocket.
The Smart One and the Pretty One Page 18