“Oh, the money isn’t important to her, Alice,” says Bunny.
“Yes, the money isn’t important to her, Bunny.” I sit down next to her on the bed. “And maybe that’s okay for now,” I say gently. I put my hand on Bunny’s knee. “Look. She’s young. She has nobody to support but herself. She has lots of time for the money to be important to her. Caroline’s going to be working for an organization that really makes a difference in women’s lives.”
Bunny glares at both of us defiantly.
“You should be proud, Bunny, not angry,” I say.
“Did I say I wasn’t proud? I didn’t say that,” she snaps.
“Well, you’re certainly acting that way,” says Caroline.
“You are pushing me into a corner! And I don’t appreciate it,” shouts Bunny.
“How am I pushing you into a corner?” asks Caroline.
“You’re making me out to be somebody I’m not. Some ungenerous person. I can’t believe—I mean, what in the world? Me, of all people,” says Bunny indignantly, then, suddenly, she covers her face with her hands and groans.
“What now?” asks Caroline.
Bunny waves Caroline away.
“What, Mom?”
“I can’t speak.”
“Why can’t you speak?”
“Because I’m mortified,” whispers Bunny.
“Oh, please,” says Caroline.
“Be nice. She feels bad,” I mouth to Caroline.
Caroline sighs heavily, her arms crossed. “Mortified over what, Mom?”
“That you’re seeing this part of me,” says Bunny in a muffled voice.
“You mean Alice is seeing this part of you. I see this part of you all the time.”
“Yes, yes,” says Bunny, her hands dropping to her sides, looking absolutely miserable. “I know you do, Caroline. Mea culpa. Mea culpa!” she cries.
Caroline starts to melt when she sees her mother’s genuine distress.
“I think you’re being too hard on yourself, Bunny,” I say. “It’s not that black and white. Not when it comes to your kids.”
“No, I’m a hypocrite,” says Bunny.
“Yep,” says Caroline. “She’s a hypocrite.” She leans in and kisses Bunny on the cheek. “But a lovable hypocrite.”
Bunny looks at me. “How pathetic am I? Not even half an hour ago I was lecturing you pompously about how you should let your kids go.”
“There’s only one way to let them go that I know of,” I say. “Messily.”
Bunny picks up Caroline’s hand. “I am proud of you, Caro. I really am.”
“I know, Mom.”
She strokes Caroline’s palm. “And who knows, maybe you could give yourself a little microloan, if you need it. One of the perks of working at Tipi. If you find it difficult to live on the salary, that is.”
Caroline shakes her head at me.
“But, Alice, I have to tell you, if either Zoe or Peter shows any aptitude for math or technology, you really should—”
Caroline puts a finger on her mother’s lips, silencing her. “You always have to get the last word, don’t you?”
Later that afternoon I check Lucy Pevensie’s Facebook page. There are no new messages or posts. Yossarian is not online, either.
I scroll through my Facebook news feed.
Nedra Rao
It’s the 21st century. Is there nobody capable of making flattering bike shorts for women?
47 minutes ago
Linda Barbedian
Target! New sheets for Nick’s dorm room.
5 hours ago
Bobby Barbedian
Target! Not on your life.
5 hours ago
Kelly Cho
Is afraid the chickens are coming home to roost.
6 hours ago
Helen Davies
Hotel George V Paris—ahhh …
8 hours ago
Lately when I read my feed I feel such a mixture of worry, irritation, and envy, I wonder if it’s even worth having an account.
I’m antsy. I open a Word file. A minute goes by. Five minutes. Ten. My fingers hover over my keyboard. I nervously type “A Play in 3 Acts by Alice Buckle,” then quickly delete it, then write it again, this time in caps, thinking capital letters might give me courage.
The sounds of Marvin Gaye’s “What’s Going On” drifts into my bedroom from downstairs. I look at my watch. It’s 6:00. The cutting board will be pulled out soon. Peppers will be washed. Corn will be husked. And somebody, most likely Jack, will take his wife for a spin around the kitchen. Others of us—William and I—will be reminded of middle school dances and drinking cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon beer in the basement of the neighbor kid’s house. And the youngest of us, Zoe and Peter, and perhaps even Caroline, will download Marvin Gaye onto their iPods, feeling like they are the first ones on earth to discover that earthy, sexy voice.
I put my fingers on the keyboard and begin to type.
91
William walks into the kitchen. “Are you hungry for lunch?” he asks.
I look at the clock. It’s 11:30. “Not really.”
He rummages around the cupboard, pulling down a box of crackers. “Do we have any hummus?”
“Second shelf. Behind the yogurt.”
“So. News,” says William, opening the fridge. “I got a job offer.”
“What? William! You’re kidding me. When?”
“They called yesterday. It’s in Lafayette. Great benefits. Health. Dental.”
“Who called yesterday? You didn’t even tell me things were serious with anybody.”
“I was afraid it would fall through. I didn’t want to get your hopes up. It’s an office supply company.”
“Office supplies? Like Office Max?”
“No—not like Office Max. King’s Stationery. It’s a mom-and-pop shop, but they’re growing. They’ve got two stores in the Bay Area and plan to open two more in San Diego this year. I would be direct mail marketing coordinator.”
“Direct mail? As in flyers, postcards, and mailers?”
“Yes, Alice, as in what people usually throw in the recycling bin before even looking at it. I was fortunate to get it. There were dozens of applicants. The people seem nice. It’s a perfectly fine job.”
“Of course it is,” I say. “But William, is this what you want?” Were office supplies his big dream?
“What I want doesn’t matter anymore,” he says quietly.
“Oh, William—” He holds up his hand and cuts me off.
“Alice, no. Stop. I owe you an apology. And if you’ll just shut up for a second I can give it to you. You were right. I should have tried harder to make it work at KKM. It’s my fault I was laid off. I let you down. I let the whole family down. And I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”
I’m stunned. Did William just admit to me he may have had something to do with being laid off, that it wasn’t just all about redundancies? Did he just say it was his fault? He leans over the sink and looks out the window into the backyard, chewing his lip, and as I watch him I feel the last bits of anger over the Cialis debacle drain right out of me.
“You haven’t let me down, William. And your ‘not trying’ wasn’t the only reason you were laid off. I know that. A part of it was out of your control. Maybe it’s my fault, too, somehow. All of this. Where we are. Maybe I let you down, too.”
He turns to face me. “You haven’t let me down, Alice.”
“Okay. But if I did, and I probably did, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, too.”
He gathers his breath. “I should take this job. I like paper. And pens. And sticky notes. And highlighters.”
“I love highlighters. Especially the green ones.”
“And mailing supplies.”
“And staplers. Don’t forget staplers. Do you know staples come in colors now? And Lafayette has a great downtown. You can probably walk there for lunch from the office. Grab a Starbucks in the afternoon.”
“I hadn’t thought of
that,” says William, dipping a cracker in the hummus. “That will be nice.”
“Have you formally accepted?”
“I wanted to talk it over with you first.”
“When do you need to give them an answer?”
“I have a week.”
“Well, let’s just let it sink in. Really weigh the pros and cons.”
I’m hoping this will buy me some time to find out what’s going on with my job. I haven’t heard anything back from Kentwood Elementary as to my query about going full-time in the fall, but I’m hopeful. Often the Parents’ Association doesn’t make decisions about how funds are being dispersed until the very last minute.
“Seeing that there are no other job offers forthcoming there are only pros, Alice. I can’t think of any negatives,” says William.
He’s right. We don’t have the luxury of choice. Nobody does. Not anymore.
92
The next day I wake with a headache and a fever. I spend the morning in bed, and at lunchtime William and Zoe bring me up a tray: a bowl of chicken noodle soup, a glass of ice water, and the mail: an envelope and People magazine.
I sniff the soup. “Mmmm.”
“Imperial Tea Court,” William says.
I pop a noodle into my mouth. “You drove to Imperial Tea Court? In Berkeley?”
He shrugs. “They make the best noodles. Besides, my days of bringing you noodles in the middle of the day are numbered.”
“What are you talking about?” asks Zoe.
“Nothing,” I say.
We haven’t told the children about William’s job offer yet. I know they’ve been worried and will be very relieved to hear he’s employed again, but I don’t want to say anything to them until we’ve made a firm decision. William and I glance at each other.
“Obviously not nothing,” says Zoe.
Jampo comes running into the room and leaps on the bed.
William snatches him up. “You’re not allowed up there. How about a run, you monster?” Jampo stares at him aggressively like he’s a terrorist and then suddenly licks his face. William’s really been making an effort with Jampo. Are they friends now?
“We need to have a discussion about nothing this evening,” I say.
“Can you give me a ride to Jude’s before your run, Dad?” asks Zoe.
Jude and Zoe are officially a couple again. The day after we caught the mouse, I heard Zoe on the phone with Jude, crying and apologizing. That night he came over for dinner and the two of them held hands under the table. It was so sweet and felt so right it stopped my heart.
“I guess so. Caroline and I have to talk to Nedra about the cake, anyway. Alice, are you two speaking yet?”
“I’m about to send her a smoke signal,” I say.
“The wedding is in two weeks. Perhaps you should light the fire now.”
After lunch I take another nap, and when I wake I swallow three more Advil. I can’t seem to shake this headache. Everything aches. Even my rib cage. I listen for noises from downstairs but it’s quiet. Nobody’s home but me. I log on, but there’s nothing from Researcher 101: no email and no Facebook messages. I’m almost relieved that’s the case. I finish off the noodles. I rifle through People. Then I open the envelope that’s come in the day’s mail.
Dear Alice Buckle,
The Kentwood Elementary School Parents’ Association regrets to inform you that we will not be renewing your contract as a drama teacher for the upcoming school year. As you know, the Oakland public school system is experiencing dire budget shortfalls, and it has been decided the funds that the Parents’ Association previously dedicated to the Drama Program will have to be rerouted elsewhere. We appreciate your years of loyal service and wish you the very best of luck in your endeavors.
Sincerely,
The Kentwood Elementary School Parents’ Association Board
Mrs. Alison Skov
Mr. Farhan Zavala
Mrs. Kendrick Bamberger
Ms. Rhonda Hightower
Mrs. Chet Norman
A door slams downstairs and a few seconds later, I hear laughter. I lie there in bed, stunned. Why didn’t I see this coming? I should have known something was up when I saw Mrs. Norman at Berkeley Rep. Clearly this was already in the works. She was so smug and her husband so apologetic; she most likely spearheaded my termination.
When William clomps up the stairs in his sneakers, I pretend to be asleep. He walks to the side of the bed and I can feel his eyes on my face. He gently touches the back of his hand to my forehead to see if I’m hot.
“You’re a bad faker,” he says.
“I’ve been fired,” I whisper.
I hear the rustle of paper as he reads the letter. “Fuck them,” he says.
“It hurts,” I whimper.
William puts his hand on mine. “I know, Alice.”
I’m sick for the next three days.
“It’s a summer flu,” says Bunny. “You just have to let it run its course.”
Every morning, I get up thinking it will have passed. I go downstairs, pour myself a cup of coffee, feel nauseous at the smell of it, and go back upstairs.
“She’s a very bad patient,” says Jack.
“The worst,” says William.
“Am I not sighing enough?” I ask.
“No. You’re not moaning enough, either,” says William.
“We need to talk,” I say. “About nothing,” meaning his job offer.
“When you’re feeling better.”
I watch bad TV. I spend a lot of time online.
KED3 (Kentwood Elementary Third Grade Drama Parents’ Forum) Digest #134
[email protected]
Messages. in this digest (6)
1. I’m starting a Get Alice Buckle Her Job Back group. Please join me! Posted by: Farmymommy
2. RE: I’m starting a Get Alice Buckle Her Job Back group. Please join me. Yes! Count me in. I have to admit I feel terrible about the way this was handled. It was done so impersonally. Somebody (you know who I’m talking about, Storminnormandy) should have had the courage to tell her face-to-face. At the very least she should have been given a goodbye lunch, at Blackberries, or Red Boy Pizza. Yes, Charlotte’s Web was a disaster. We all agree with that (sorry, mothers of the geese), but doesn’t she deserve another chance? And if not another chance, at least appreciation for all her years of service? Posted by: Queenbeebeebee
3. RE: I’m starting a Get Alice Buckle Her Job Back group. Please join me. Are you kidding me? May I remind you Alice Buckle basically had our kids do a striptease dance in the auditorium. All that was missing was the pole. Posted by: Helicopmama
4. RE: I’m starting a Get Alice Buckle Her Job Back group. Please join me. Please desist from starting this group. There are circumstances that none of you are aware of that led to Alice Buckle’s termination. Circumstances that I cannot, unfortunately, reveal to you at this time. What I can tell you is that Ms. Buckle had some serious lapses in judgment. Let’s just leave it at that and move on. Posted by: Storminnormandy
5. RE: I’m starting a Get Alice Buckle Her Job Back group. Please join me. Alice Buckle is a very good friend of mine. She does not want her job back. Well, not anymore. When she first found out, she would have done anything to get her job back because she was panicked about how her family would survive on NO income (her husband is currently unemployed, too). But after sitting with it for a few days she’s come to agree with Storminnormandy. It is time for her to move on. She wants to apologize for her mistakes. And she really hopes you will not terminate the performing arts program altogether. Posted by: Davidmametlurve182
6. RE: I’m starting a Get Alice Buckle Her Job Back group. Please join me. I have loved every single minute I’ve spent working with your children. Posted by: Davidmametlurve182
My cell rings.
“Are we talking yet?” asks Nedra.
“No.”
“I heard about your job. I’m so sorry, Alice.”
“T
hank you.”
“Are you okay?”
“I’ve got the flu.”
“Who gets the flu in the summer?”
“Apparently me. So did you decide on the lemon or raspberry cake?”
“Oysters.”
“Oyster cake.”
“No, for appetizers.”
“I thought that was too obvious. Oysters being aphrodisiacs and all.”
“That’s a very nice apology,” says Nedra. “Accepted. Potluck two nights from now.”
“You’re still doing the potluck so close to your wedding?”
“Italian. We’ll make it easy. Just bring a jar of tomato sauce.”
“Nedra?”
“What?”
“Jude is an amazing kid.”
“And so is Zoe. Kisses. I’ll talk to you soon.”
I end the call and log on to my Facebook page.
Nedra Rao
Misses her best friend.
2 hours ago
Nedra Rao
“unlikes” Kentwood Elementary.
3 hours ago
Linda Barbedian
Can’t believe she’s going to be an empty nester.
4 hours ago
Kelly Cho
Et tu, Brute?
5 hours ago
Phil Archer
Wife 22: A Novel Page 29