Car Pool

by Karin Kallmaker

  She used her holiday to reward herself, so she made an extravagant trip to Macy’s at Hilltop — it was White Flower Day — and returned with new kitchen towels, linens and comforter for the bed, bath towels, and a silk plant for the table in the foyer. She had chosen less exotic colors and patterns than Lois would have, but screw Lois, she thought. She neatly packed several boxes of brilliant-hued linens and wrote herself a note to call the Salvation Army tomorrow. Bye bye, Lois.

  She sat down on a low ottoman to assess her last big job. The albums and CDs were a mess, partly because Lois’s had been removed willy-nilly and partly because Lois had never bothered to file back anything she removed. Anthea pressed her lips

  together. Okay, maybe organizing spices was not essential, but Lois had actually implied Anthea was anal retentive for wanting her music organized. Suddenly awash with fury, she pulled all the CDs off the shelves and began stacking them by classification. Bach was the start of one stack, with the Tallis Scholars and Paganini, but not REO Speedwagon or the Police — they went in the Rock stack — was that too much to ask? And Teresa Trull and Bonnie Raitt and Sweet Honey in the Rock were in a class by themselves, not just hodgepodged in with the GoGos and the Carpenters — was that too much to ask? Was it too much to ask for order and just a bit of discipline?

  Halfway down the stack she found one of Lois’s CDs: Hall & Oates’ Greatest Hits. How did I actually sleep with a person who owned this? She took the CD out to the garage and set it down on the small workbench. Bye bye, Lois.

  It only took one whack with a hammer to bust the case and two more to mangle the CD completely.

  Well. That felt better than a bataka bat on a pillow. She dumped the pieces into the garbage can.

  A couple of hours later she forced herself to stop smiling because her face was actually beginning to hurt. She wished she knew how to whistle. Lauren Bacall had made it sound so easy.

  “How was your day?” Anthea buckled up and started the car, immediately pressing the control for air-conditioning. The car interior was searing hot after sitting in the sun all day. Shay smiled her

  answer as she buckled herself in, wincing as the heat penetrated her thin T-shirt. She resisted the temptation to close her bleary eyes.

  She could easily let the heat relax her muscles and drop off to sleep. Anthea handled the car so smoothly and competently that Shay had often been able to sleep on the way to work without a single disturbed moment. The extra half hour or so was keeping her alive. But sleeping on the way home, too … well, that seemed rude and it made her groggy at the pizza parlor. So she held her eyes open wide and watched Anthea’s hands on the wheel, not gripping too tightly or too casually. Smooth, controlled. She wondered if Anthea was always that smooth.

  Shay blinked several times and realized where her silent musings were drifting. She had promised herself that she wouldn’t do this. It just wasn’t appropriate, nor did it have any chance of coming to fruition. Still, Anthea was easy on Shay’s tired eyes. She tried to remember why she had initially disliked Anthea.

  She hadn’t had a lover since Kuwait — a tempestuous affair with an engineer who, after the job finished, had gone back to the girlfriend she’d finally told Shay existed. Shay hadn’t really been upset. Her father and her career had absorbed all her time. Maybe that had been the wrong thing to do. Without her father, it had all just slipped through her fingers.

  And for months now, she had been spending two hours each day with, in Shay’s humble and lustful opinion, this womanly-soft and attractive person. Still, Anthea was not her type. She was a Yuppie

  for starters. And not in the least political. And not possibly a lesbian, something that really was key to a successful affair. She was only thinking this way because they spent so much time together — it was inevitable, yet inappropriate. Besides, Shay told herself sternly, she had other things to think about.

  Like the two paychecks in her fanny pack. Shay sighed. Her libido catalyzed from a helium isotope to lead. They totaled just over twelve hundred. Somehow, when she’d taken this job, she’d thought the pizza parlor would be just temporary. Just a few more months. Well, it had been a few more months. She’d even worked Memorial Day. She tried to add up her finances and make the reality come out differently. Four hundred for rent, fifty for water and utilities. Eight hundred left. Two fifty for the car payment, one hundred for food — peanut butter and jelly was her staple — about one hundred for gas and insurance. That left three hundred.

  And that was fifty bucks short of what her first-of-the-month pay had to contribute to the middle-of-the-month checks for the hospital and funeral bills. Her tip money would probably just cover the gap as usual, but that meant no movies or paperbacks, which is what her tip money usually went for. She went over the numbers again in her head. The bottom line remained unchanged. A couple of hours of overtime at the refinery would have made all the difference, but there had been a month-long moratorium on that. She chewed the inside of one cheek and tried not to resent Anthea. The Legend’s hubcaps would probably cover a month’s rent.

  It was the absence of motion that woke her. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled as she scrambled out of the car.

  “It’s okay,” Anthea said. “You look beat.”

  “I’ll give myself an extra hour’s sleep tonight,” Shay said. She wondered what Anthea thought made her so tired — she had never found a chance to explain about her second job. She wasn’t quite sure why she didn’t want to talk about it. Probably because it would underscore the differences between them. And because she didn’t want pity or sympathy. Not from anyone. She could barely swallow it from Mrs. Giordano. She waved Anthea away, and waited until her car was out of sight before she went into the pizza parlor, got the satchel she’d left that morning and slowly changed. She tied a serviceable apron around her waist and went to make herself a salad before the dinner rush. The free food was the only thing that kept her from complaining about the lack of breaks and an adequate rest area.

  She had only two more monthly payments to the hospital and funeral home to scrape together, and then she’d finally be out from under the bills. And then she’d work this job a little longer to have some savings to call her own and then — oh happy day — she’d quit. And she’d do things with her evenings and her Saturdays. The mere thought felt almost as good as sex. Suddenly she thought of Anthea, which disconcerted her. She made herself think about what bliss it would be to quit NOC-U. Anthea slipped out of her head again, which was a relief.

  Maybe she wouldn’t resent working at NOC-U so much if she weren’t assigned to a supervisor whose

  lazy methodology covered an astounding lack of scientific knowledge. Only Harold kept her from committing gross insubordination several times a week. Most of the bosses in the trailer didn’t know bay mud from bedrock. But they all had a private secretary and a company car.

  Her father’s two brothers had offered to help with the funeral expenses, but Shay couldn’t, on principle, take their money. Not only did Shay not know them, but they hadn’t spoken to her father for thirty years. Besides, they had wanted to bury him in the family plot and her father’s wish had been to have his ashes scattered from an airplane so he could join Shay’s mother, he said, in riding the wind. So, instead of healing and letting go, Shay constantly thought about him and how he died. And at night — God, how she was tired of the smell of oregano in her hair.

  For a moment, she imagined Anthea’s elegantly coifed coil of red-gold hair and couldn’t, for the life of her, imagine it smelling like oregano. It probably smelled like rose silk or water lilies. Most likely it smelled like smoke. The thought dampened her libido completely. Cigarettes had killed her father. She realized she was thinking about him again.

  She looked down at the congealing cheese and pepperoni oil on the pizza for Table 3. She was tired.

  4 Speed Bump

  “So my parents wanted to kiss up to this wealthy great-aunt and stuck me with Anthea. Very British.”

  “Did
the great-aunt come across with the inheritance?” Shay glanced sideways at Anthea with eyebrows raised as she downshifted for the light at University and San Pablo. Shay looked exhausted, Anthea realized.

  “No, she gave it all to a wastrel nephew — at least that’s what my parents called him.” She didn’t

  add that in retrospect she suspected he was gay. She paused. “So, I told you my story, now you have to tell me about how you were named Shay.”

  “Well, my father loved baseball. I think I told you he was a consulting geologist and we moved around a lot. Baseball was a mania in Dad’s life. On their first date he took my mom to a Mets game. So she had a fondness for the stadium.”

  “So?” Anthea prompted.

  “Well, when I was just about to make my appearance, they were still living in New York. My mom was tired of waiting for me to show up, so they went to a Mets game. And she went into labor during the seventh inning stretch. The facilities people rushed her to the hospital and I popped out pretty quickly, about nine months and ten minutes after the wedding, as the saying goes. My dad had been relegated to the waiting room and they’d agreed my mom should name me whatever she felt at the time. He didn’t want to carry on any of his family names for reasons I won’t bore you with.” Shay stopped as if Anthea would realize a joke was coming. “So she named me after the stadium.”

  Anthea frowned. “But… Shea Stadium is spelled differently, isn’t it? I don’t follow sports much, but….”

  “You’re right,” Shay said. “That’s the joke of my name. My dad was in the waiting room, so she told the nurse. And the nurse evidently didn’t know baseball, because she spelled it wrong on the birth certificate.”

  “You’re making it up.”

  “It’s a true story,” Shay said, with a wide grin. “Dad said when they were waiting for the second

  baby they joked about doing the same thing again. Name the kid a version of Wrigley, or some such thing.”

  “I didn’t know you had a brother. Or is it a sister?”

  “I don’t,” Shay said. “The baby and my mom didn’t make it through delivery.”

  “And your dad died recently, didn’t he,” Anthea said quietly, regretting her tactless remark. “I’m sorry.”

  “Lung cancer. He smoked three packs a day from the time he was fourteen.” Shay’s voice revealed ill-concealed bitterness.

  “I’m trying to quit,” Anthea said. “I haven’t made much progress. I’m still at a half a pack.” She saw Shay’s quick look, and could tell Shay was on the verge of delivering an anti-smoking lecture. She braced herself.

  “It cost forty-five thousand dollars for him to die. Four months in intensive care. What insurance didn’t cover wiped out everything we’d saved. I’m still paying the bills.” Shay’s mouth snapped shut, as if she were trying to hold back more details. She glanced out the window and Anthea saw her chest expand with a deep breath. “Going to do anything exciting this weekend?”

  Okay, we’ll change the subject, Anthea thought. “No, but I’m still glad it’s Friday,” she said, “Aren’t you?”

  “I’m determined to finish this series of books I’ve been working on for almost three weeks now. I have to get to the library on Sunday,” Shay said.

  “I just started going to the library again. I’d forgotten how good the selection is.” She negotiated

  her car into the red zone across the street from Luciano’s. “See you Monday,” she said, as Shay scrambled out of the car. Anthea turned up Shattuck toward the library.

  A short while later, she was happily supplied with a Mercedes Lackey book Shay had recommended and two more novels with lesbian characters — a mystery and a romance. She was trying to decide if she needed to hunt for something more when someone said, “That’s a really good book. The one on top.”

  She turned toward the voice to find a young woman regarding her with a pleasant smile. A labrys dangled from one ear. Anthea said, “Oh, good. I’m looking forward to reading it. The plot seemed very interesting.”

  “I guessed who did it right away. Just don’t believe a word the older brother has to say. He’s such a sleaze.”

  Anthea blinked. “Did you just tell me who did it?”

  “You would have known from page two anyway.”

  “But that’s a terrible thing to do to somebody,” Anthea said. She looked down at the book with something like pain. “Now it’s spoiled.”

  “Hey, I’m sorry,” the other woman said. “It’s still worth reading. Maybe I can make it up to you.” Anthea glanced up, her mouth slightly open. The woman laughed. “That sounded like a pickup, didn’t it?”

  “Sort of.”

  “Well, it was.”

  Little butterflies zipped around in Anthea’s stomach. She suddenly recalled the aroma of pizza

  wafting out of Luciano’s near where she dropped Shay every night. Somehow she found the nerve to say, “I was going to go have a pizza. Would you like to split one?”

  “Okay.” Brown eyes, Anthea thought. Pretty eyes. “My name’s Paula. Paula McCarthy.”

  “I’m Anthea Rossignole. I know, it’s French for nightingale. I’ll just go check out these books.”

  They walked to Anthea’s car, then decided they shouldn’t try to relocate it with parking in Berkeley being what it was, so they left their books in the car and walked several blocks to the pizza parlor. Since it was still early, they claimed the table at the window.

  “There’s a movie with an evil character in it who goes around tearing the last page out of mysteries,” Anthea said.

  “That’s depraved.” Paula smiled and it crinkled into her eyes. “I really am sorry I blew the ending of your book.”

  “I’ll get over it.” She studied the menu card to avoid looking at Paula. God, she was cute. Or maybe, Anthea thought, it had just been a very long time since she’d had a date or anything else, for that matter.

  Someone placed napkins and cutlery on the table and Anthea glanced up. “Shay!” she said, startled.

  “Hi,” Shay answered. Anthea realized Shay was embarrassed. So was she. “What’re you two having?”

  It was an innocent question, but Anthea started to blush from her shoulders and it swooped to the top of her head. Shay glanced at Paula’s labrys earring, her close-cropped hair and the tiny tattoo of a triangle on the back of one wrist. She saw Shay

  smile. Then, she saw Shay wink. Shay’s smile got wider and she quirked an eyebrow knowingly. Anthea’s heartbeat went into warp drive.

  Apparently unaware of Anthea’s complete discomfiture, Paula ordered a vegetarian pizza and a pitcher of beer. “I’m really hungry.”

  “I’ll have iced tea,” Anthea said, adding, “I don’t drink.”

  “I learn something new about you every day,” Shay observed innocently, but her smile was ear to ear. She made a note on her order pad and looked back at Paula. “Is that it?”

  “Oh, I’ll skip the beer, then.” Paula wrinkled her nose in an adorable, endearing way that said Anthea’s wishes meant something to her. “I’ll have some iced tea too.”

  Shay nodded, then hurried away after another wink at Anthea. Anthea said the first thing that came into her head. “Do you do this often?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “You seem pretty, uh, practiced.” Anthea hoped it was a smile on her face.

  “Well, let’s put it this way. It’s tough to meet dykes. When I do, I follow up on it. There’s a lot of women out there who’d like a casual relationship with someone like me.”

  Anthea managed to catch her jaw before it hit the table. She wanted to laugh. Arrogant little piece of shit, isn’t she? “So, that’s the offer? Casual relationship? Between someone like me and someone like you.” Okay, she thought, I’m probably ten years older, and thirty pounds heavier. But really.

  Paula leaned forward with an air of intimacy. “Look, I’m not into territory or monogamy and

  happy-ever-after. I’ve found that… older women usua
lly are. I just want to make it clear what my priorities are. I like sex. All kinds.”

  “All kinds of what? People?”

  “No, no, I’m pure dyke. No men. Christ, they get an erection and they think the whole world’s dying to revolve around it.” She laughed. “No, I meant all kinds of dynamics.” Paula ran her gaze over Anthea and bit her lower lip in a sexy fashion that made Anthea stare at their soft redness. It had been a long time. Her thighs clenched. Paula went on, “Lately I’ve been appreciating pure vanilla. It’s very sweet. Very safe. Very satisfying.” She laughed again.

  What on earth was she talking about, Anthea wondered. Could ten years make that much of a communication difference? Shay delivered plates and iced teas. Anthea stared up at her in bemusement.

  Shay looked as if she was trying very hard not to laugh. “Your pizza will be up in a few minutes. Do you want some garlic bread while you wait?”

  Paula said, “Sure, why not?” Shay nodded and Paula watched as she walked away. “You must come here a lot,” she said.

  “Why is that?”

  “You know her. I’ve been trying to strike up a conversation with her for the last month. She always told me she was too tired for anything, and here you know her name.” Paula looked at Anthea as if she would have to reconsider Anthea’s skills. Just like, Anthea thought, people at work do when they find out you went to an Ivy League school or drove a certain kind of car.

  “We car pool together during the day.”

  “Oh. She has two jobs?”

  “Apparently. I didn’t know about this one until now.” And how, she asked herself, have you spent two hours a day with someone for months on end and not known? She had looked exhausted, but Anthea had never asked her why.