“Grandma. She gave it to me before she died. Said to save it for something special and not to tell anyone.”
Bob shook his head. “My mother never could mind her own business.” He cleared his throat. “Did you ever think of calling in case we might be wondering where you was all this time? Elizabeth, we thought you was dead. Your mother’s been worried sick, and the police spent hours searching for you. They found your car abandoned near Dubuque.”
“Yeah, I know. It broke down and I had to take the bus.” Her cell phone chirped and we waited while she read the text message and, giggling, punched in a reply.
My patience was evaporating. “Turn that thing off,” I said, surprising everyone, especially me. This famous child authority stuff must have gone to my head.
Elizabeth looked flabbergasted. “But what if it’s important?”
“Off, missy.”
To my astonishment she shoved the phone into her pants pocket with a shrug, then frowned at her parents. “What are you so mad about? Jeez, I left you a note.”
“What note? We never found any note.” Esther looked at Bob, who shook his head.
“Well, I wrote one. Not my fault you didn’t see it.” Elizabeth pushed a strand of hair off her face. Today the Statue of Liberty spikes were gone, replaced by tousled locks tipped with an unfortunate shade of green. A gold ring through her left eyebrow had joined the nose stud. “You’re being totally unfair. I’m eighteen now, can take care of myself.” She picked up her backpack. “Have it your way. I‘m outta here. Later, Tiff.”
We watched her stroke baby Joshua’s fuzzy head and put on her coat. Her parents seemed paralyzed. Were they going to let her leave again? I thought of holding a church supper to raise money, of baking pies and frying chicken to take to the grieving parents. Anger surged through my body, fanned out. Mind your own business, I told myself. Not your problem. Then I exploded. As Elizabeth moved toward the door, I heard my voice saying, “Wait just a minute, young lady.” Every head snapped toward me, and Elizabeth stopped. “Do you have any idea what you’ve put your parents through? Your dad had to go identify a body he thought was you. A body! Can you imagine how that made him feel?” I was so angry I wanted to punch the wall—or someone.
Faces wheeled toward Elizabeth. She shifted her eyes from one person to another, pouting. “No one asked them to worry. They should have known I’d be all right. I had to go. Everyone knows you need to get into modeling before you’re twenty and too old.” She shook her head in obvious disgust. “Oh, forget it. You don’t understand.”
I’d heard these words before. I’d said them and Chris had said them. Elizabeth had touched a nerve. I drew a long breath and plunged in. “Oh yes, I do. When I was just out of high school I left home to get married. My parents wanted me to go to college but I thought four years was too long so I ran away. I expected them to forgive me and we’d be a family again, one that included my husband.”
“So?”
“My folks were both killed in a car accident a few months after I left,” I said. “I never saw them again, never had a chance to explain that I loved them and hadn’t meant to hurt them.”
Andy and I exchanged glances, remembering, and she said, “Jane’s right. You never know when you’re going to lose the people you love.”
Elizabeth’s shoulders hunched and she stared at the floor. Just as I felt we were making headway, she shook her head and smirked. “Bet you walked barefoot through the snow to school too. Both ways.” Her face held the expression of anger and boredom that every parent of a teenager recognizes. “What’s that got to do with me?” She shrugged and started for the door again. “I’m leaving. See ya, Tiff.”
“Wait a minute,” I said, giving Andy a look I hoped she’d understand.
She did. “Bob, I really need a cup of coffee,” she said. “Would you and Esther take me to the cafeteria?”
They stared at her as though she’d asked them to tap dance on the bed. “Right now?”
She turned on her sweet smile, the one that always got results. “If you don’t mind. We seem to be through with Elizabeth. The medicine I’m on makes me thirsty and I won’t be able to eat or drink anything past midnight. Surgery tomorrow, you know.” She managed to appear frail and pitiable. Bob made a stab at suggesting the visitor lounge but Andy held firm on the desirability of cafeteria vending-machine coffee.
After they left, I told Elizabeth to sit down, which to my surprise she did. “Who’s the boy?” I asked. I hadn’t spent forty years watching soap operas for nothing.
She tried to look innocent. “What boy? What makes you think there’s a boy?”
“But there is one, isn’t there? Or that man who gave you his card, what did he want?” I dragged my folding chair closer so I could sit directly across from her. “How much money did your grandmother give you? Things are pretty expensive in Chicago. And your cell phone, how are you paying for that? You should have known better than to go with someone you met on the internet.”
“I didn’t meet him on the internet.” Then she realized what she’d admitted and sank back in the chair. A single tear rolled down her cheek, washing a trail in the makeup. “Oh, what the hell. Yeah, there was someone, a man, not a boy—Ryan—but I met him there. I thought the two thousand dollars Grandma gave me would be plenty but, like you said, things cost a lot more in Chicago. Ten dollars for a hamburger—and that’s at a fast food place and you don’t even get fries with it! I had to get a new cell phone too. My folks took the one I had. Well, they can just keep the old thing. It wasn’t even a smart phone. The new one’s better, a rose gold Apple 7.” She held it up to be admired.
“It’s lovely, I said. “How much?”
Elizabeth hesitated briefly before answering. “Seven hundred fifty dollars. It was on sale. But I didn’t pay all that, just a little every month.” At my raised eyebrows she added, “Thirty-eight dollars and twelve cents.”
“Forever?”
“Of course not.” Her voice was indignant until she realized I was joking. After a brief pause she said, “And I didn’t plan on having to buy all that modeling stuff—certain clothes and makeup, publicity pictures. The price on their website was just the tuition.” She slouched down until she was almost sitting on her shoulder blades.
I said in a soft voice, “Honey, it was a scam.”
Elizabeth’s head shot up. “No, it wasn’t. It was a real agency. They had pictures of famous New York supermodels on the walls, ones who’d completed the same courses I was going to take. And I know what you’re thinking—porn, right? I’m not that dumb. They swore there’d be no nude modeling. I asked.”
“That’s good.”
“Right. I’ve seen those movies. I know the ways of the world. Anyway, Dennis—that’s the guy with the card—was all excited when I called, said they were looking for someone to be in a commercial that paid top dollar and I’d be perfect. He met me at the bus depot and took me to the agency. You should have seen it. It was on the eleventh floor. Imagine! Eleven floors! Their office was sweet—shiny wood and lots of glass and everyone working there wore cool clothes and had perfect hair and makeup. Just like on TV. Dennis introduced me to the head guy and said goodbye. He had to get back on the road again, this time in Indiana.” She hesitated for a second, allowing me time to be impressed.
“The head guy turned me over to this woman who took me to a big room with a long table and a lot of chairs—leather and they rolled. She was totally amazing, looked like a fashion show. Her earrings were real diamonds, two or three carats at least. I’m going to get some like that as soon as I get my first job.” Her fingers touched her ears, searching for the lobes. “She had papers for me to sign, said I had to take their classes and it would cost me, but I had Grandma’s money and told her no problem.” She exhaled audibly. “That was before I knew about the other expenses. First there was a signing fee, five hundred do
llars. After that I had to have my picture taken--by their photographer naturally.”
“They didn’t give you a list to pick from? How much did he charge?”
“Seven hundred fifty for three pictures. And before I posed I had to have their professional makeup artist do my face. She was another five hundred.”
High school math had worked itself out of my memory bank long ago but I had the general picture of dollar bills floating into space. “So you shot through Grandma’s money pretty fast,” I said.
Her smile was more rueful than amused. “For sure. And I haven’t even mentioned clothes. They wanted me to ditch the Iowa look, told me to go to certain shops. Their stuff was sweet but super expensive. I was running out of money, didn’t know what to do.” She twisted her hands nervously. “Then I was saved by a miracle. There was this guy who hung around classes—Ryan—old, at least thirty, he offered to let me move into his apartment, gave me some money for food and stuff.” The lone tear now had company. “I know you think he was a dopehead but he wasn’t. He said I was special. Called me Eliza—you know, after that girl in My Fair Lady? Promised to teach me to act like I’d never been on a farm. He made me glamorous—took me to a hair stylist and had me get the piercings and tats.”
“Tats?”
She pulled her shirt off her shoulder to exhibit a pink rose tattoo, in my opinion too large to be tasteful. I thought I saw a cat, perhaps a ferocious tiger, peeking over the flower but decided it was a freckle. “Hmm,” I said. “And then?”
“And then he got mad and told me to leave. Just like that. I didn’t do anything. But the classes were over and he said it was time for me to go home.” She stopped and tried to compose herself. “He told me I’d never get a modeling job—my hair was too short! And he’s the one who made me cut it!” Her face ran with tears. “I didn’t know what to do. Couldn’t very well go home so I came here to be with Tiff. She needed me.” The two girls traded wan smiles.
“What are your plans now?”
She rose from the chair and turned her back to me. “I can get a job—go to California, Hollywood maybe. I’m a professional model. I was too late to be in the ad Dennis told me about but there’ll be others.”
“Not many jobs available without a high school diploma. I’ll bet even models need one.”
She looked startled. “I can get my GED. Tiff’s going to get hers.”
Tiffany nodded. “Good Enough Diploma,” she said, giggling.
“Or you could go back to Cherry Glen and graduate with your class. Have your diploma before the agency calls you.”
“What about Tiff? She needs me to like help with Joshua.”
Tiffany spoke up. “No, I won’t. His daddy will be coming back.”
Elizabeth shook her head, setting her earrings in motion again. “Oh, quit dreaming. You know he’s gone for good. Just because you want something to happen doesn’t mean it will. Admit it, you made a bad choice there.”
Tiffany’s face turned red. “Well, Stephanie Elizabeth, if I made a bad choice, I’m not the only one. You’re not going to get any modeling jobs. That whole school was just a rip off. You think Josh is no good but Ryan’s worse. He wasn’t your friend, just an old guy taking advantage of a pretty young girl.” She made a little noise that might have been a laugh. “We sure picked us a couple of winners.”
Elizabeth blinked. “You really think I’m pretty?” Before Tiffany could respond, Elizabeth’s iPhone, which at some point had worked its way back into her hand, squeaked.
“Don’t answer that,” I said. “Your friends will have to wait.”
She shot me an insolent look. “It’s Shelley. She was in the modeling class with me. Look, she says she’s driving in Chicago traffic and there’s a red Vette in front of her.”
“I don’t care if the President of the United States is driving Air Force One ahead of her. We’re having a conversation here.”
She paid no attention to me. While she was tapping her reply, the coffee drinkers returned. One look at her daughter’s wet face caused Esther to break into a sympathetic round of tears. Andy raised her eyebrows and I responded with a small nod. “Elizabeth was just thinking she might want to go back for her high school diploma,” I said.
Hope flashed over her parents’ faces. Elizabeth pretended not to look at them but seemed to be wavering. At least I prayed she was. If this didn’t work, I was out of ideas.
Then Tiffany weighed in on our side. “Elizabeth, think about what you’re doing.” Elizabeth, not Stevie. Oh my, the heavy artillery. “It’s too late for me but you . . . You could even have a date to the prom.” Her voice broke. “And look at Joshua. How would we feel if when he grew up he didn’t want to see us ever again?” Joshua gurgled as if to reassure his mother that obviously he would never do such a thing. “Besides, I need you to stay here. How can you be Joshua’s godmother if you’re off in California somewhere?”
“You want me to be his godmother?”
“Well, duh, of course I do. Who else?”
Elizabeth hesitated and Joshua flashed one of those newborn smiles and gripped her index finger in his tiny fist. Talk about the cavalry arriving! She turned toward her parents. “Well, we could maybe get pizza.” She held up her hand, traffic-cop style. “Understand, I’m still going to be a model and you have to meet my conditions. No blowing me off.” She nudged a box of tissues toward her mother. “But I guess it wouldn’t hurt to talk.”
I turned the wheelchair around. “Come on, Andy, big day tomorrow. Let’s get you to bed.”
Thirty-Five
Surgery day. A few more hours and we’d know. Everything would be fine or . . . no, I didn’t want to think about that.
Bob walked into Andy’s room slightly ahead of me. Hands in his pockets, he stared at the wall above the bed and asked how she felt. She said she felt fine. He walked over to the window and parted the blinds although he wasn’t really looking out at anything. Turning back to us, he cleared his throat several times. I was bursting to hear the latest on the model daughter and made faces at Andy until she asked, “What happened with Elizabeth?” He seemed startled. Was he so accustomed to Cherry Glen he assumed we already knew?
He cleared his throat. “Going back with us. Today. Soon’s we drop off Tiffany and the baby.” He stopped, apparently convinced he’d covered all the details.
Andy and I exchanged looks. “But what happened?” I asked. “She appeared pretty, ah, set on being a model yesterday.” I mentally crossed out the words hostile and self-centered.
Bob acted surprised by the question. “Oh . . . well . . . after we left here we went to that pizza place—Pizza Rodeo, Pizza Roundup, something like that—for pizza. Elizabeth ordered a pineapple one.” He shook his head, unable to understand his daughters strange new taste. “We talked some, and Elizabeth and Esther cried—you know--women.” He shrugged. “She’s gonna finish high school, then if she still wants to be a model . . . well, we’ll think about it.” We knew that was parent-speak for no way on earth and he wanted to send her to Iowa State to study whatever they called home economics. “We said if she got her high school diploma, we’d give her money to go to Los Angeles or maybe pay for a year at a real modeling school. If she didn’t, she’d be on her own.” He frowned and addressed the IV pole in the corner. “That Ryan guy better not come back.”
I changed the subject. “You have your little girl home again. That‘s fantastic!”
“Yep. If it was up to me I‘d chain her to her bed for the next thirty years but, well, we‘ll see.” We all laughed and he checked his watch. “I gotta go,” he said. “My girls is waiting for me.” His smile nearly split his face. “Want to walk me to the elevator, Jane?”
What? Did I hear that right? I’d once heard that women have fifty thousand words to use each day whereas men get five hundred. Surely he’d exhausted today’s allotment. Andy shook her head in
response to my questioning glance.
“Okay,” I said. “Be right back, Andy.” Bob let me go through the door ahead of him, looking pleased with himself. Then I saw Tim waiting in the hall. Bob mumbled a quick goodbye and kept walking.
“Hi,” Tim said.
“Hi.” We stood facing each other, the same idiotic smile on both faces. He did have lovely eyes.
Finally he said, “Sorry about sending Bob to get you. Kind of high school, I know, but I wasn’t sure you’d have anything to do with me and I had to talk to you before I left.” He took a step closer. “Look, I didn’t know about your sister’s surgery when we talked. Guess you had a good reason for not watching the game with me.”
I could feel my face growing red. “I wanted to tell you but . . . Andy’s such a private person.”
“That’s what Florence said.” We both smiled at the thought of Florence, pleased to find something we could share. I hung onto the back of a chair, trying to look at ease, as he continued. “Well, I have to get to the airport but I didn’t want to leave with hard feelings.” He stared at me for a full thirty seconds, then covered my hand with his. “I’ve never known a noted child authority before.”
“You don’t know one now.”
“I think I do—and I’d like to know her better. Maybe we’ll both be in Iowa at the same time again.”
I nodded, letting the warmth of his hand spread through me. “Sure,” I said, reluctant to admit the odds were against it.
“Can I call you?” I bobbed my head again. He gave me a quick hug and then, instead of letting go, pulled me closer. “Everything’s going to be okay. I wish I could be here to hold your hand but remember, whatever comes, you can handle it.” His fingers pressed against my back. “I usually don’t get attached too easily but I find myself thinking about you all the time.”
I blushed again, twice in only a few minutes. A record. My head rested in the hollow of his shoulder and my arms inched around his waist. I felt his heart beating. He made me feel so safe, so everything-will-be-all-right.
Goodbye, Miss February Page 19