“Oh, boy, Camilla, I’m really sorry. You have the worst luck. But, there has to be another law firm looking for a paralegal. You guys are in big demand.”
“We should be since we do all the legwork and earn pittance compared to the lawyers. But I’m not sure that’s the kind of work I want to do.” I put my feet up on the coffee table in front of the sofa.
“So, what are your options?”
“Unknown, but one thing is certain. I have to find something soon. I would rather jump from the top of the Empire State Building than move back home. Mom and Dad are fine, but Carrie drives me completely nuts as you well know. If I were to catch her borrowing my clothes or helping herself to my makeup again, I would end up in jail for sororicide.
Anna giggled “Is that a word?”
“It is. I’m a paralegal remember? I know the names of all the crimes.” I spooned more ice cream into my mouth.
Anna said, “Cheer up. I may have an idea. My mom called yesterday and mentioned that someone’s opened a new pet shop near where she lives. She’s thinking of getting a parakeet. I’m sure she said they’re hiring. You like animals. Why not go over and have a look.”
“A pet shop? I may like animals—well some animals—but I know nothing about them.”
“Now you’re just making excuses. You can tell them apart. How hard can it be to feed them and cleanup poop?”
“Charming prospect,” I mumbled.
“It would just be temporary until you decide what you want to do. Didn’t you just say you wanted to explore other careers? Managing a store might be up your alley. You like people and variety.”
“You’ve got a point. I’ll drive there tomorrow.” Even the prospect of cleaning up bird poop was better than sharing a bathroom with Bitchzilla. “Thanks for the tip, and for listening.”
“What are friends for? Listen, I have to go. Clients are getting antsy,” she said, referring to the clientele at the coffee shop where she worked. “TTYL!”
“Okay. Take care.”
I dropped the phone next to me onto the sofa and picked up the ice cream bowl again. Half a container and an episode of King of Queens later, my tongue and throat were frozen and my stomach bulging. I glanced at my watch. Half past three. A lifetime until bedtime! What the hell was I going to do with myself for the next eight hours?
Chapter Two
Needing something to do other than sit here and make myself sick, I reached for the phone and called Corrine, my other best friend.
“Hey, where are you?” I asked when she answered and the ambient sounds of children playing came over the line.
“Where else? In the park with Andrew. We should put up a tent here. Whenever I suggest leaving, he starts yelling his head off. I swear, this kid is the spawn of Satan.”
I giggled. The five-year-old was a handful.
“Isn’t that your pet name for Dan?” I said, thinking of her husband.
“Only when he pisses me off,” she admitted.
“Can I come over and join you?”
“Sure. But aren’t you at work?”
“Nope. It’s a long story. I’ll tell you all about it in say ... twenty minutes?”
“Okay. We’re in our usual spot next to the climbing apparatus and the swings. It’s so hot here I’m seeing mirages. You know the one—wavy images of a naked man rising from the water.”
I laughed. “Aquaman. I get it.” Jason Momoa had always been a favorite of mine, too. “I’ll bring along a couple of iced teas.”
After I disconnected, I walked to the bedroom to remove my work clothes. This was my favorite room—apricot walls, polished hardwood floors, spacious windows and fluttery drapes. The bed was enormous as was the closet, and while one didn’t see much action, the other was crammed. I dug up a pair of denim shorts and a white T-shirt, then grabbed my messenger bag. Stopping in the living room, I transferred the contents of my old white purse to the bag, turned off the TV, and locked the door behind me.
On the way to the park, I made a short detour to pick up a couple of iced teas. Fifteen minutes and six traffic lights later, I rolled my Beetle to a stop on the side of the road across from the park. If at all possible, the air was hotter than ever, the asphalt burning through the soles of my sports shoes.
I walked toward the playground where Corrine and Andrew religiously spent every day, staying in the shade to avoid the blistering sun. I liked this little corner of nature, with its old benches and white crushed stone paths. As a kid, I’d played here. Over time, the equipment had been modernized, the benches replaced, but the stately old trees were the same.
I spotted Corrine sitting on her usual bench. She wore green today—shorts and a T-shirt—which showed off her perky boobs. Her dark-red hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and her blue eyes were hidden behind an enormous pair of Jackie O sunglasses.
Beside her on the bench was the arsenal of equipment all of the park mothers had—the kid’s backpack, a sweater in case he got cold, a thermos of water, juice boxes, mini bags of snacks in the event the child was starving, wet wipes, sunscreen, and no doubt a complete set of clothes in case he had an accident.
Resting against the bench was Andrew’s small bike and Barnie the dinosaur helmet. The bike still sported training wheels. The scratches on the purple paint testified to his lack of respect for the toy. He was a cute kid, but I liked him best when he was asleep.
He waved at me, shouting at the top of his lungs, “Hi, Camilla!”
“Hi!” I waved back, then shoved the paraphernalia out of the way and dropped down next to Corrine. “I brought refreshments.” I offered her one of the drinks.
She snatched it from my hand and stuck the pink straw between her lips, sipping deeply, like a camel at an oasis. It was several long moments before she came up for air.
“Thank you,” she said, taking another life-saving sip. “I’ve been baking here for almost two hours.”
“You poor thing.” I shook my head sympathetically. “I don’t understand where kids get the energy in this heat. Since I know you have to do this almost every single day, my problem seems insignificant.”
“What problem?”
“I got fired today.”
“Oh, no. What did you do this time?”
I suppose I should’ve been annoyed that she’d jumped to that conclusion, but Corrine did know me well.
“I screwed up at work, no big deal, but ... It doesn’t matter now,” I said, downplaying the disaster. “I’m not sorry that Finch & Associates and I have parted ways, although I do need to get another job. The thing is, I don’t want same old, same old. I’m reevaluating my career. Anna told me about a pet shop where they’re hiring. Just a stopgap measure, but it sounds like it could be fun.”
“A pet shop? You who’s afraid of spiders, mice, and snakes? That should be interesting,” she said absently, then shouted, “Leave that pigeon alone, Andrew!”
“It’s not that kind of pet shop. It’s one with birds. Her mother’s thinking of getting a parakeet. I like birds.”
Corrine gave me the eye and then jabbed me in the ribs.
“Look. Do you remember Florence?” She pointed to a pregnant woman who had to be ready to drop the baby at any minute. “We were together in primary school. The one in the blue striped shirt over next to Andrew is hers. She’s expecting her third.”
Before I could say anything, Florence spotted us and waddled toward our bench, supporting a little girl obviously learning to walk. I barely recognized her. Being that pregnant and taking care of two other kids had to be exhausting. However, there was a glow of happiness to her that made the circles under her eyes seem less dark.
For a moment, I wanted to be her one day. To be a wife and mother seemed extremely hard, but it must be rewarding, too. Otherwise, why would anyone have a second child, or a third? A wave of melancholia washed over me as I wondered if I would ever discover that happiness that came in the form of a wedding ring and a bulging belly. Maybe it was an illusio
n for an outsider like me, but I hoped I would have the chance to find out.
“Hey, how are you doing?” Corrine asked. “Do you remember Camilla?”
“Sure. How are you?” Florence asked, shifting the gear once more to sit on our bench and lifting her baby onto what was left of her lap.
“I’m fine, thanks. How about you?”
“Great. My back is sore, and I’m constantly running to the bathroom, but so far this pregnancy’s been a dream. Just two months to go. Did I tell you the wonderful news?”
Despite her mother-quick reflexes, she wasn’t fast enough.
“Jessie, don’t!” she cried, moving the child farther away from me, but the little girl triumphantly clutched a handful of blonde hair, roots and all, in her chubby little fist.
I smothered my yowl of pain and rubbed at my abused scalp.
“Quick, isn’t she?” I asked, blinking rapidly behind my sunglasses. Two months to go? Just how big could she get?
“She is. I’m so sorry,” Florence said. “She still doesn’t understand boundaries. If she sees it, and she wants it...”
“It’s okay,” I said, wondering if the patch of bare scalp showed. “What news?”
“We just found out. We’re expecting twins.”
“Twins?” Corrine cried. “You must be thrilled.”
My eyes lost focus. Twins? Four kids, the eldest of which was barely five? I couldn’t quite wrap my head around that. I sat back, no longer part of the conversation, but trapped by it, keeping my head as far away as humanly possible from eighteen-month old Jessie’s hands.
I suppose someone could explain it as part of some rite of passage or the survival of the fittest philosophy, but to me, never having been pregnant or given birth, it was suddenly alien territory. The conversation entailed vivid descriptions of monumental and memorable events—mucus plugs and water breaking, epidural and episiotomy, contractions, twelve hour labors, birth, lactation, circumcision. When the discussion further devolved to conception and birth control, I panicked. My head was spinning and my eyes crossed. I fumbled for an excuse to get the hell out of there. I was drowning in excess estrogen, saved only by shrill shouts at their children when one of them did something he wasn’t supposed to do.
“Listen, I’m really sorry, but I have to go.”
Corrine, sitting with her neck craned like a meerkat, her eyes following Andrew’s every move, blinked. The word go must’ve registered on her subconscious because her gaze focused on me.
“Wait. I need to ask you a favor. Could you babysit tonight? Dan and I are invited to a party up the street. It would only be for an hour or two,” she added, probably sensing my panic.
“Um ... Me? Babysit? ... Sure.”
It would fill in the time and keep me from obsessing about the job. Besides, I might discover a new talent here. Maybe I could consider becoming a nanny. I could see myself jetting off to exotic locations to mind rich people’s children. Hadn’t I seen a Hallmark movie where the nanny married a king? This could be my second chance at princess. It could work.
“What time?” I asked, my head in the clouds once more.
“If you could get to our house around six-thirty, it would be great. I’ll owe you big time. Mom was supposed to do it, but her shift changed, and she’s working tonight. There really isn’t anyone else I trust him with.”
I could understand that. Corrine and Dan were overprotective, and Andrew, super smart and mature for his age—I’d seen him at his best and his worse—could be difficult at times.
“Okay. I’ll be there.”
“Thanks. You’re a lifesaver.”
“Don’t mention it,” I said. “You may be doing me a favor.”
Smiling, I walked to my car. As I drove home, reality reared its ugly head. What the hell had I been thinking? I knew even less about looking after kids than I did animals. But seriously, how could I screw this up?
Corrine and Dan lived in what had been her family home growing up, just a few blocks from the park. It was a small house with a small yard and a single tree. Still, the white building with red trim and red roof looked homey and welcoming. I parked my car in front of the house, grabbed my bag, and walked up to the front door, moving Andrew’s purple bike to the side, only bashing my ankle with the training wheel twice—auspicious beginning.
Before I could knock, Andrew opened it, his ginger hair and blue eyes visible through the crack.
“Hi,” I said, hoping I looked cheerful and friendly, not in the least as terrified as I felt.
“Camilla’s here,” he shouted, giving me a curious glance. “My mom says you’re staying with me tonight.”
“That’s right. We’ll have a lot of fun.”
He opened the door wider. I entered, closed the door behind me, and headed toward the kitchen. Andrew trailed after me.
“Can we play alien?” he asked.
“I don’t think that would be a good idea. It would give you nightmares.”
Shaking his head, he spoke to me as if I were some dim-witted person with no experience with kids—which was just about right.
“I’m five years old, Camilla. I’m not scared of anything.”
“I’m sure you aren’t, but the answer’s still no.”
I wanted to show him I was boss right from the start. Plus, I had no idea how to play alien and didn’t want him to know that.
Corrine came into the room, looking like a bombshell in a short, tight, red dress and killer shoes. She grinned and pirouetted gracefully.
“What do you think?”
“Wow! You look fantastic. I think you and Dan will be busy after the party,” I said and winked.
“You bet your ass,” Dan said, coming into the room. “She looks H O T.”
Dressed in a black suit that somehow looked great on him, despite his considerable paunch, Dan had shaved and had gotten a haircut. While he wasn’t my type, I liked the guy. He made Corinne happy and that was what really mattered.
He handed Corrine a tiny red evening bag.
“Ready?” he asked her.
“Yes.” She turned to me. “The number’s on the fridge. Call me if there’s an emergency. Don’t let him out of your sight, and don’t give into him if he asks you for chips and soda. Bedtime is 8:15, not one minute later.”
“Okay. Don’t worry. We’ll be fine. It’s not the first time I do this,” I added with false bravado. “I used to babysit Carrie all the time, remember?”
“Yeah, and look how she turned out.” Corrine laughed, then air-kissed me. “Thanks, Camilla. I owe you. We’ll be back by nine at the latest.”
I closed the door behind them and locked it. Looking around, I groaned. Where was Andrew? They hadn’t been gone a frigging minute, and I’d lost him. Suddenly, the blaring sounds of TV explosions split the silence. I followed the noise and found him in the living room. He lay in the middle of the floor on his belly, staring at the screen.
Whoa! I might not be an experienced child care worker, but even I doubted this was an appropriate movie for a five-year-old.
“So, what are you watching?” I asked, recognizing the film in an instant.
Swallowing a string of curses that would make a sailor blush, I extracted a sharp blue plastic brick from the sole of my foot. I dropped onto the sofa only to bounce up again when a toy car tried to impale me.
“Die Hard,” he replied, confirming my guess. Without taking his eyes off the screen, he continued. “Bruce Willis is awesome!”
“Yeah, he is.” But I still had my doubts about letting him watch it. Andrew was mature for his age—or so Corrinne said—but still there was all that violence and language.
I pushed the toys aside and sat on the wide leather sofa. I eyed the kid for a moment, considered asking him to choose another movie, but then he was so quiet ... why ruin a good thing? Corrine had said not to leave him out of my sight, and since he lay transfixed, eyes bulging at the screen, I decided to thank my lucky stars and browse the internet for poss
ible jobs.
I took my cellphone out of my bag and checked my email. This was always an interesting task since my spam protector couldn’t tell the difference between legitimate mail and trash. As usual, my inbox contained messages for everything from witches who guaranteed to cure impotence to innovative treatments for hemorrhoids. Consigning them all to trash—except for the one advertising pills guaranteed to produce a three-hour erection which I forwarded to Corrine—I turned to my Facebook account. After all, why not console myself with other people’s good news?
I noticed I had a private message. Curious, I clicked on it. What the hell? What was this? Drive the sexually deprived lady crazy day? The message from some guy in Pakistan read, “My body photo.” Under the title was a graphic picture of a man’s naked body from neck to knees. The dominant element was a rather impressive penis in all its glory. I’ll admit he could’ve taught washroom pervert a few things.
Tongue-in-cheek, I opened my search engine and typed in big cock. From among the incredible array of photographs of everything from roosters, vibrators, and penis-shaped cakes, I selected one of a very impressive real organ, the camera lens and angle exaggerating the length and girth, and sent back my reply. “My boyfriend’s body photo.” I typed in and then attached the picture, unable to choke back a giggle.
“What is it?” Andrew asked, startling me. Trying to ignore the ear-splitting noise of gun shots and things blowing up, I’d forgotten about the kid.
“Oh, nothing. Just ... work,” I said, quickly closing the screen. “Wouldn’t you like to watch something else?”
He glanced at me. “Like what?”
“I don’t know. What other movies do you have?”
That was all it took. He jumped to his feet and dashed to a set of shelves, loaded with DVDs and Blu Rays, and he proceeded to show me each one, filed alphabetically of course, recounting every movie plot. When he reached Jurassic Park, I grabbed at the lifeline. “I love this one!”
His face brightened, and he grinned. “Me too! I’ve seen the first one, but not the other two. Do you want to watch The Lost World?”
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