According to Jane

by Marilyn Brant

  Okay. She might be onto something there. The school-district staff I worked with consisted of lots of balding, married men who taught subjects like government or mechanics, but who really dreamed of coaching varsity football or basketball. Most of the unmarried guys also wanted to coach some sport but, if they didn’t, they spent their free evenings hopping the clubs downtown. Not a poet in the bunch.

  “I’ll see what I can do to expand my social circle,” I said, leaning against the doorframe, “but I’m starting to think there’s got to be an element of magic involved somewhere. I’m not saying you and Leo don’t work at your marriage, but you two didn’t work that hard when you first met. You spotted him in that Renaissance Music class of yours, thought he was cute, talked to him. He saw you and thought, ‘Oh, she’s hot and a brainiac to boot. We could have beautiful genius kids together.’ Then he asked you out and you got to know each other. It was a natural thing. It progressed to the next stage without being forced or manipulated. Without strategy. That’s what I want this time.”

  Angelique fashioned a few more ringlets and took in my words. “It’s always more work than you think, Ellie. Even in the most compatible of relationships there’s still strategy — on both sides. And things can change between two people in an instant. There are never guarantees.” She shrugged. “But knowing that doesn’t help you much, does it?”

  “Nope.” I blew her a kiss. “Thanks for the words of wisdom, though. I appreciate them. But no blind dates. Got it, Angelique?”

  “Fine, fine. Have it your way.” She paused. “But if you ever change your mind, there’s this really gorgeous professor of Gaelic studies who — ”

  I slammed the bathroom door on my goofy cousin and went in search of her daughter. Lyssa’s conversation might be limited, but at least I didn’t have to defend my pathetically single status to her.

  Problem was, I’d totally lied to Angelique. I didn’t require magic. I was willing to work at a halfway-decent relationship until I turned a shade of toxic green. I would’ve even gone on yet another blind date if I thought it’d do any good.

  Why?

  Because the fringes of desperation danced through my bloodstream every time I met a new man or even spotted one walking down the sidewalk.

  Because I’d look into his eyes as we passed each other and ask myself, “Is that My Guy? Could he be The One?”

  Because I was so worried True Love would never happen for me that I was willing to expend huge amounts of energy trying to maneuver a compatible match into place.

  Because I knew the clock was ticking on finding someone, and soon all the good ones would be taken.

  Because I was twenty-six and so lonely. Still.

  But my optimism, which I used to think had been my birthright, had faded, or at least gone into deep hiding. And that was my biggest lie to my cousin: The inherent implication that the happily-ever-after thing was really possible.

  Truth was, except for an occasional spasm of something resembling hope, I’d stopped believing.

  Work resumed a few days later and, as the students struggled to re-assimilate into the school-day structure, the staff was abuzz with post-holiday gossip.

  While I checked back in books the high schoolers had checked out over winter break, my friend and colleague, Sarah, leaned against the library desk and appraised me.

  “You ought to give The Dragon’s Lair a try,” she told me, raising a dark eyebrow that all but twitched from the possibility of near-future matchmaking. “That’s where my roommate said she went over vacation. And she found herself a new man.”

  “You know I’m not a club-hopping type.” I checked in a copy of Twain’s The Mysterious Stranger with the scanner and put it on the to-be-shelved cart.

  “Technically, there’s no hopping involved. You just go to that one club, you stay there, scope out guys for a few hours, take down a few phone numbers and go home. It’s really a very simple process, Ellie.”

  She smirked, of course, as she said this. I narrowed my eyes at her.

  “I’ll go with you,” she volunteered cheerfully. “Liam won’t mind.” She paused. “Well, he won’t know about it.”

  I reached for Clarke’s Childhood’s End, grimaced at the novel, which I remembered reading myself in Mrs. Leverson’s English class, and scanned it back in. “One of the things I love about you,” I told Sarah, “is your unabashed ability to lie to your boyfriend for the sake of the greater good.”

  She grinned. “So true. Although, technically, it’s not a lie if — ”

  “It’s a lie by omission. But it won’t be required of you regardless.”

  Her enthusiasm dimmed. “Aw, c’mon. You won’t even consider going? I hear it’s a real fun place.”

  The next book I reached for turned out to be Austen’s Persuasion. I rolled my eyes heavenward, even if it wasn’t a sign from Jane. “Okay. I’ll consider it,” I said aloud. “But I refuse to make any promises now.”

  “Good enough. Oh! I almost forgot to tell you.” She leaned closer, in full rumor-divulging mode. “Did you hear about Coach Rooney and Frau Weiss?”

  I shook my head. The newly divorced ice hockey coach and the spinster German teacher had been making eyes at each other since September, but this wasn’t news.

  Sarah lowered her voice. “Caught by the janitor — in flagrante delicto — in the copy room over Christmas break.”

  “WHAT?”

  She nodded. Then she added sagely, “See. Everyone else is having hot sex, Ellie. Get with the program.”

  I almost threw Persuasion at her, but she laughed and ran out of the school library.

  The fact that she was right did not please me, which was my only defense for what happened next.

  I was sitting on the floor of my one-bedroom apartment a week later, three scented candles lit and my favorite Survivor CD playing, when the phone rang. Mom.

  “Diana’s back home.”

  “Okay,” I said. All three of us kids lived within forty-five minutes of my parents’ house, so this wasn’t really an occurrence of unusual significance.

  “No. Permanently.” My mom’s voice sounded strained. “She left Alex.”

  “Oh, God.” Although my sister and I had avoided each other like a viral infection in recent years and were no closer now than we’d been in high school, my heart went out to her. She must’ve felt so down, so depressed, so confused —

  “She’s driving me crazy,” Mom said, “and I need your help. You need to do something with her. Take her somewhere and talk some sense into her. She says she wants to meet people.”

  “Already?” I sputtered. “How long has she been back at home?”

  “Since yesterday. She says she wants to start dating again.”

  “She must be in denial, Mom. Or in shock. What happened with Alex?”

  “She said they’ve grown apart. That they never belonged together, and now it’s over.” My mother sighed. “Do you think she’s serious?”

  “Um, well, I — huh.” I exhaled. How the hell was I supposed to know? But I said, “Has Alex called or stopped by to talk to her? Do you get the sense that he, at least, wants to try to work things out?”

  “He called once, but I didn’t hear either side of their conversation. Could you speak to her? Maybe she’ll confide in you.”

  This, I decided, was my mother at her most Pollyannaish. But it wasn’t as though I could refuse. “Sure. Is she there now?”

  “No. She went to the store to buy shampoo, moisturizer and Ho Hos, I think.” Mom sounded baffled by the combination. “But tomorrow’s Saturday. You don’t have any weekend plans, do you?”

  “No,” I said, regretting not only that this was the truth but that I had to admit it.

  “Then come by for dinner. Maybe you two can talk or do something together in the evening.”

  Di and me. Out on the town. Together.

  Those were three phrases that had never been used jointly in over a quarter of a century.

  �
��Yeah, all right,” I told my mother, then I hung up. I lit another candle, raised the volume on my stereo and, since I’d given up heavy drinking, devoured three Twinkies in rapid succession.

  For courage.

  To better illuminate my adult relationship with my sister, I refer you to one of our typical conversations (along with Jane’s inevitable commentary), which took place about a month before Di and her then-fiancé tied the knot:

  “Alex and I are engaged!” Di informed me, sticking her ring in my face and speaking with a degree of liveliness unusual in one so typically bad-tempered.

  I confess to staring, somewhat rudely, at the rock. “It’s, um…orange,” I said, noting its similarity in hue to the kitchen wall tiles near my parents’ sink. Their décor could be best described as “circa 1976.”

  Di cackled. “It’s sardonyx, you idiot. Mine’s from Uruguay.” She pulled her hand back and shot me an irritated look. “It’s one of the birthstones of August — your birth month, geek. I’m surprised you don’t recognize it.”

  My whole life Di had called me a geek, yet she was the one conversant on birthstones. Go figure. But it fit with the latest New-Age incarnation she’d been trying to project and, besides, there was never any point in arguing with her.

  “I didn’t know that,” I said. “Well, congratulations. When’s the big day?”

  “Next month. And, no, I’m not pregnant,” she said, anticipating my unspoken question. “We just didn’t want to wait and do that long-engagement shit. Don’t worry, though. I already asked Kendra Daschell to be my maid of honor. You remember Stacy’s older sister, right?” Di looked smug. “She’ll be my only attendant.”

  I felt a strong pang of something. Hurt, I supposed, both at her choice of attendant and at this offhanded dismissal of me from the wedding party. True, I didn’t want to be in it, not exactly, but, for the millionth time, I wished my sister and I could’ve had that kind of relationship. The kind where we were able to confide our secrets in each other, call each other first when big moments in our lives arose, insist on getting married only with the other by our side for support.

  This was so not our reality.

  “I’m sure it’ll be great,” I murmured.

  Di shot me a strange look. “You can bring whoever you want to it, you know. Even that dork you’ve been dating.” (I was still with Dominic then.) “You can relax and not have to do any work or anything. I thought you’d like that.”

  I managed a semi smile. “Thanks.”

  She shrugged. “Well, all right. I’m going out now. See you later.”

  She stomped away and I sighed.

  Expend more effort next time, Jane suggested. She was getting closer to trusting you.

  Yeah. I’m sure that’s where all those insults were leading. I closed my eyes, buried my face in my palms and just rested. Interacting with my sister had a way of draining the lifeblood out of me. Every single time.

  You know, Ellie, it surprises me that you have neglected to discuss courtship issues with Diana. She might prove to have valuable insights.

  Di? I scoffed. Not hardly.

  Do not be so hasty in your dismissal. She is on the verge of matrimony, after all. Perhaps she is maturing and shedding the capricious irresponsibility of her youth. You have not spent much time in her company as of late.

  True enough, I replied. But that would be because she hasn’t yet shed the mean streak of her youth.

  Ellie, I am simply suggesting you ponder the possibility that your sister may now have something to offer you —

  Besides criticism?

  Yes, Jane said. And, indeed, you might consider offering her the same.

  This felt like a slap. I had never, not even remotely, been as nasty to Di as she’d been to me. I was really pissed off at Jane. How dare she get all parental and reprimand me for thinking critical thoughts. I haven’t been —

  Your attitude does not reflect favorably upon you, Jane murmured. That is merely my point. And you may be missing what goodness is present in your relationship with your sister because of your determination to find fault.

  I couldn’t think up an immediate rebuttal, so I pushed my chair away from the kitchen table and got up to walk off the anger and claustrophobia.

  I know I spent my college years dating a confederacy of dunces. It’s not that I don’t need the relationship advice, I told Jane finally. It’s just that Di and I are too different to EVER find common ground. Period.

  With a sniff, Jane let the topic drop. But Jane and I had spent years talking and arguing things out, albeit mentally. Di and I had no such precedent.

  So, when I walked into my parents’ living room the day after my mom’s frantic phone call about Di and Alex’s separation, my expectations for deep conversation weren’t high. But I was determined to be brave and, hey, judging from my first glance at Di, we were at least united in our partiality for sweet snack-cakes.

  My sister, feet planted firmly on the coffee table, had the TV remote in one hand, a big Hostess box in the other and a Ho Ho half-stuffed in her mouth.

  “Wann wrun?” Di said, chewing.

  “What?”

  She swallowed and held out the box. “Want one?”

  “Oh. Okay. Thanks.” I reached for a Ho Ho and smiled at Di. See, I could do this. Sisterly bonding in action. “So, what’s going on?”

  She shrugged. “Didn’t Mom tell you? I thought she’d blabbed to all the family and most of the neighborhood by now.” Di snapped off another half of a Ho Ho with her teeth and chewed hard, which was when I noticed the conspicuous absence of the gold band from her left ring finger. “I left that bastard Alex,” Di continued. “We’re separating and soon I’ll be free of the fucker.”

  “Uh, yeah. Mom did mention that.” I nibbled on my treat. “She phrased it somewhat differently, though.”

  Di laughed and shoved the rest of her chocolaty dessert into her mouth. “Snanns.”

  “What?”

  She swallowed and put the Ho Ho box down. “I said, thanks. Thanks for making me laugh and for coming to see me. It’s…nice of you.”

  My knees nearly buckled. In all my life, I don’t think Di had ever said anything to me so sincerely appreciative. “I — well, you’re welcome.”

  “So, I haven’t really talked to my friends about this separation shit. I know they’d wanna get me drunk or something, but I just feel like doing totally different things. Being with people who don’t know me.”

  Which would include me, I gathered. “Yeah.”

  “Mom said you or Gregory would probably know a few good places to hang out. Like downtown, maybe.” She forced the dessert-box flap closed, dropped it on the coffee table and glared at the Ho Hos as if they were chocolate miniatures of Alex. “I wanna pick up a guy tonight.”

  My breath caught. “Di, listen, I know you must be really hurting right now, but — ”

  “You listen, geek. I don’t need a lecture. I need the name of a hot club. It’s not like I’m asking you to go along with me or anything. But if you won’t help, that’s fine. Gregory might know something, or I’ll find someone else who will.” She jumped up and took a few purposeful strides toward the door.

  “Just wait, Di. Wait.”

  She swiveled around and stared at me.

  “I heard about this new place in Chicago. The Dragon’s Lair. It’s supposed to be great, but I haven’t been there yet. I’d really, really love to see it, though.” My latest in a long string of falsehoods. “Maybe we can go there tonight.”

  “Why?”

  “What do you mean, ‘why’? You just asked me for the name of a club.”

  “I meant why would you offer to come, too? You and I never hang out together.”

  “Well, it — it’s probably a good time to give it a shot,” I said. Then I shrugged, incapable of pretending any longer that we had a normal sibling relationship. “I don’t know, Di. It seems like if you ever needed a sister, it’d be now. I’m sorry you’re stuck with me,
but I’m trying, okay?”

  For a long moment she didn’t say anything. She just stood there, motionless.

  “You’re not that bad,” she muttered finally. Then she marched back across the room and grabbed the box of Ho Hos. “For the road,” she said, pushing her feet into her black leather boots and snatching her winter jacket. She tapped her foot against the ceramic hall tiles. “Let’s go already.”

  Chapter 5

  From all I can collect by your manner

  of talking, you must be two of the

  silliest girls in the country.

  — Pride and Prejudice

  Instead of dining on our mom’s meat loaf and mashed potatoes, as originally planned, Di and I stopped for dinner at a burger dive en route to the city.

  I began to order their tamest menu option — a fire-grilled chicken salad with lite vinaigrette dressing — when Di interrupted.

  “Two double cheeseburgers,” she said to the waitress, “with fries and milk shakes.” She slanted me a proud grin. “My treat, geek. What flavor shake do you want?”

  I went with chocolate, of course, and my sister, nodding with rare approval, ordered the same.

  The waitress left.

  “Cool,” she said, bouncing a little on the cushy red vinyl. “This is the kind of crap I missed most when I was married.”

  “How do you mean?”

  She waved her palm in an arc, taking in the place with a sweep of her hand. “See all these people? None of them are looking at me. None of them are gonna stay up all night wondering where I am if I don’t call to check in with them. And I don’t have to worry or wonder about any of them either. Because — ” She raised her voice. “I don’t care! We’re strangers and we’re also grown-ups, so we can do whatever the hell we want without answering to anybody.”

  I thought of my apartment, empty of anyone who’d miss me if I disappeared for a day…or for forever, and my heart clenched. “That’s what you liked best about being single? Not having someone around who cares about your well-being?”