by Anne Pfeffer
Who was I kidding? My deepest fear was that my folks would get me back to Clayton sooner or later—through sheer force of will and the laws of economics, if nothing else.
“Dad?” I’d asked two weeks before I left for Los Angeles. I had found him in his office, where he retreated to read and watch sports on TV. “Would you be willing to help me when I go?”
He peered at me over his newspaper. “What do you mean – help you?”
I’d practiced this with Dr. Abbot, but no role playing could truly prepare me for the reality of dealing with my father.
“I mean, help me financially. Just in the beginning. Until I can get a job and learn to manage my budget.”
He had that haughty tight-lipped look he always got when someone annoyed him.
“So this is what Abbot means by ‘fostering your independence?’ Sending you off with a pile of my money to pay your bills? Hah! That’s rich!” He disappeared behind his paper.
“Not for long. We…we just thought,” I tried desperately to remember how Dr. Abbot had phrased it, “that, you know, you might, as a parent, see your role as helping me to become self-sufficient….”
The paper came down. “I might see my role as a parent?” The words hit me one by one like sharp hailstones. “Dr. Abbot better focus on performing his role as a therapist. Maybe I should assist him in finding that focus.”
As usual, I collapsed in the face of an onslaught from my father. “Never mind.” I had my savings bond. And I would get a job.
Except there’d been no job, and now the bond was gone.
Fingers snapped before my eyes. “Earth to Pru.”
“Oh!” My mind came back to the hallway and found Adam. “What’s that?” I asked, nodding toward an aerosol can he was carrying.
He held it up. “It’s an air sanitizer. Carrie’s place is like an ashtray.”
“You think of everything!” I was still trying to get my equilibrium back; even in my memories, Lloyd got the best of me.
As Adam and I took off to go breaking and entering, I found myself tiptoeing, as if we were doing something wrong. “Ssshh,” I said, putting a finger to my lips.
Adam looked all around, rolling his eyes. “We’re in the clear,” he whispered.
Laughing, I got the key in the lock and let us into the apartment. Once again, the sheer magnitude of Carrie’s clothing collection bowled me over. It was like being in a plus-size department store. While Adam sprayed the room, I opened one of the armoires and poked at a couple of dresses. Adam pulled a mini-lint roller from his pocket and ran it over the seat and back of an upholstered armchair.
He finished up, then, hearing me heave a deep breath, came to stand next to me.
“This is hopeless,” I said.
Using his handkerchief to touch things, he moved a few hangers aside and took inspection. After a minute, he handed me a soft knit dress in a deep raspberry color. “This would be good on you.”
“How do you know?” Completely at a loss, I fingered a halter dress in a silver fabric something like aluminum foil. It was interesting, if you wanted to look like a baked potato.
“Just a hunch,” Adam said.
I went into the bathroom and slipped on the raspberry dress. It was incredibly soft and shaped itself to my body. I picked and pulled at it to make it hang loose, but each time it snapped back, like cling wrap. I checked out as much of myself as I could in the mirror, thinking maybe it looked nice, but I wasn’t sure.
When I walked out in my tee-shirt and jeans, Adam was sprawled in the armchair, leafing through a magazine. “Where’s the dress?” he demanded. “Put it back on! Now.”
Beet red with embarrassment, I finally came out wearing the clingy raspberry dress. It had a low scoop neck and came to the middle of my knee. For a minute, I couldn’t even look at Adam, but when I finally did, he was beaming.
“Yes! That dress is hot on you!”
“Really?” For the first time, I was able to see it in a full-length mirror. I turned around and checked myself out from the side and back. “You don’t think it makes me look… fat?”
“It makes you look…” He searched for a word. “Excellent,” he said finally, cheeks reddening.
Maybe the color disguised the extra bulges. The warm feeling from before expanded, spreading into my hands and feet. I spun around in front of the mirror. “Would you help me choose a few more?”
“Sure.” Adam got out of the armchair. “That would be a no,” he said of the silver halter dress lying discarded on the bed. I’d been right on that one.
“No, no, no.” He nixed what I thought was a really cute white eyelet dress and a shorts outfit in a cherry print. “Here, let me look.”
I curled up in the armchair, marveling that I had someone, a friend, to help me find pretty clothes. It was one of so many firsts—a ride in a convertible, a kiss on the cheek from a man, a glass of wine. I wanted to save up the memories, like a stack of shiny pennies. I wanted to save them in a safe place and keep them to look at when all of this had gone away.
My parents! Eeek!! I was so tempted to just skip this call. They would roll right over me, find out about the fire, order me to come home. Dad, especially. But if I didn’t call… It’s not worth it. Call them tonight. I couldn’t afford to have them go ape-crackers on me.
“How about these?” Adam had chosen simple black tailored pants with a burgundy sweater and a dark green dress.
They were so boring, especially compared to the cute things I’d suggested, with lace and cherries.
“Aren’t they kind of plain?” I guessed that was how Adam saw me. A plain girl.
“Trust me.” Adam looked downright smug.
The black pants slipped on like they’d been custom made for me. They made my legs look long and slim—well, my legs were long and slim. The sweater somehow managed to accentuate and tame my curves at the same time. The dress nipped in at the waist then swung out into a skirt that showed off my calves and ankles.
“Now I just need somewhere to go,” I joked, then shut my mouth instantly. I was always careful not to reveal my pathetic lack of a life, if I could help it.
“Actually, along those lines, I have a favor to ask you.” Adam gave me a sideways glance. “A client’s daughter is getting married on Sunday, and I have to go to the wedding. Would you be my date? If we drink a lot of champagne, we can probably alleviate most of the boredom.”
Date? Champagne? The words generated equal parts nausea and excitement in my head. I had a sudden thought. “Don’t you want to ask Ellen?”
“She already said no.”
Good. If Ellen didn’t want to go, I did. “What would I wear?”
He pointed to me. “That green dress would be perfect.”
I was still admiring myself in it. Standing before the mirror, I cocked my hip and stood on one leg, the other leg stylishly out to the side. I tossed my hair back over my shoulder. When I looked over at Adam, he was trying to suppress his laughter.
“Gimme a break,” I protested. “I’m not used to looking good.”
“You should be,” he said.
“Don’t lie.” I looked in the mirror again. I was going on a date in a pretty dress!
We made a list of what I’d taken, the two dresses, sweater and pants, and a pile of other things that Adam found for me. I left it on Carrie’s kitchen table with my other note, and we tiptoed away.
I felt like Cinderella going to the ball, except that Adam was not only Prince Charming, but also the little birds and mice who had made my dress. And like Cinderella, I would have only a few short hours. The clock would strike for me too soon, my beautiful evening would end, and I would go back to the life I’d led before.
Back in my apartment, Adam sprawled on the sofa, making himself comfortable, then pointed toward the bedroom door. “Look who’s here!”
Chuck stood in the cracked-open bedroom doorway. His orange fur poked out in all directions, which accentuated his massive size. One of his eye
s was stuck shut. He yawned, revealing a cavernous pink gullet.
“Chuck, the hermit-cat, emerges,” I said.
“Are you sure that’s a cat? It looks more like a wolverine. Or a Volkswagen. With fur.”
Chuck managed to get his stuck eye open. Then he did something I’d never seen him do, never imagined he would do. He took three running steps and levitated, floating up and over the coffee table and landing squarely, standing up, in Adam’s lap. A purr rumbled forth, while he rapturously began kneading his claws into Adam’s thighs, the sharp points pulling threads and making holes in his sweatpants. Thank goodness he had taken off his nice work clothes.
“He likes you!”
“Great.” Adam winced as Chuck’s claws dug into his legs. Tentatively, he raised a finger to scratch the cat’s fluffy cheek.
“That’s amazing. He doesn’t like anybody!” I leaned over and petted Chuck, then pulled him onto my lap. Clearly in a mellow mood, he curled up on my legs and closed his eyes.
Adam sprang up and raced for the kitchen. I heard the sound of running water and squirting soap. “Just washing my hands!” he called. He came back and lint-rolled his part of the sofa and the legs of his sweatpants, eyeing Chuck uneasily.
“Has he ever given anyone cat scratch disease?”
“I don’t think so. What’s that?”
Chuck apparently decided he’d been sociable long enough. He jumped off my lap and marched away.
“Never mind.” Adam sat down again. “Sorry. I’m not really an animal person.” When he was little, he told me, he’d been terrified of the neighbors’ dog. “My older sisters used to bring it into our backyard and let it chase me around.”
“That’s terrible! It could have hurt you!”
“It was a toy poodle.” Adam smiled. “But I was only four.”
I couldn’t stop laughing.
“Go ahead. Laugh at my youthful trauma,” he said. “Just know that all that abuse turned me into the hard-charging, take-no-prisoners guy that I am today.”
I laughed so hard that my foot, which was propped up on the coffee table, kicked Adam’s box of chocolates onto the floor. “I’m sorry!” I dove after them.
Adam gave me a dry look. “I can see my gift’s been really appreciated.”
This was my chance to use my story. “Oh, by the way,” I said, very casually. “I threw away those chocolates that Blake put his hands all over.” I pretended to shudder. “They were disgusting!”
I glanced over to gauge his reaction. I felt I’d given a darn convincing performance, but Adam’s eyes glinted with suspicion. He looked at the box for a long moment, then at me, weighing the possibilities.
I tried to keep a straight face, but then I just had to giggle.
“You didn’t,” he said slowly.
I giggled some more.
He pointed an accusatory finger. “You did! You totally ate those infected chocolates!”
“I did not!” I tried to act indignant, but instead burst into laughter. Then Adam joined in, and the two of us leaned all over each other laughing, but trying to keep it down for Ellen’s sake, and then we just sat and smiled at each other for a while.
Then Adam said, “I guess I better go,” but instead he stayed for another hour and listened while I told him all about being home-schooled and Dr. Abbot and moving to Los Angeles.
He finally took off, and I brushed my teeth with an extra toothbrush Ellen had found for me.
It had rained a bushel of shiny pennies tonight, I thought, gathering them up in my mind to hoard in a safe place. I crawled into my sleeping bag, a big smile still on my face, and slept dreamlessly, then woke up the following morning to a horrifying realization.
I had never called my parents.
Oh no no no no… How could I have done this?
It wasn’t possible.
This was bad. This was worse than bad.
This was a catastrophe.
Chapter Fourteen
From Pru’s Journal:
Dr. Abbot always said, “Face up to problems. Deal with them right away.”
**
I tried. I called home. On a Friday morning, Dad would normally be at work, and Mom at her Ladies Quilting Circle. Of course, my parents would not view this as a normal morning.
Please be home, I prayed.
They weren’t. I hoped they weren’t at the local copy shop in Clayton, producing fliers with four-color, poster-size photos of my face. I could see them walking around my neighborhood in LA, posting signs on lampposts. Missing… our daughter… reward offered for her return.
Oh no. Would they actually come here to look for me? The thought was too horrible to contemplate.
I left a message. “I’m so sorry I forgot to call yesterday. Everything’s fine – I just forgot. I’ll try to reach you on your cell phones.”
But I couldn’t call their cell phones, because I didn’t know the numbers. I’d stored them in my own ruined cell phone. My dad’s work number was in there, too. So were the numbers of a couple of Mom’s friends in the quilting circle. My home phone was the only number I knew by heart.
I could only hope that they’d check the home answering machine soon.
My body began a slide toward total meltdown. Sweat poured down my back and pooled between my boobs. Ants feasted on my hands and feet. I crawled all the way into my sleeping bag, even as I heard Ellen preparing to leave for the theater.
Don’t make me drive Don’t make me drive Don’t make me drive….
“Pru, you ready?” she called. I heard her coming… crutch, step, crutch, step. She loomed over me.
“I don’t feel good.” My voice, whiny and self-indulgent, oozed from the sleeping bag into the open air.
“We have to polish a couple of Blake’s key scenes. Which, of course, means his learning the lines.”
“It’s easy for him, Ellen. He’s just messing with you.”
She poked my sleeping bag with her crutch. “That’s why I need you. He does things for you.”
“Can it wait?” Like maybe a week?
“No, Pru.” Icy air blew off of Ellen in waves.
“One hour,” I begged from the depths of the bag. “I need to regroup.”
A long silence. “One hour. I’ll make some phone calls.” Ellen crutched away.
Inside my cocoon, oxygen deprivation was setting in. I poked my nose out. A minute later, I crawled out the sliding door to Ellen’s little balcony, occupied only by a bunch of boxes and a dying cactus. I pulled the door and drapes shut behind me, so Ellen couldn’t see me out there.
Maybe she’d forget I existed. I could probably survive on the balcony for a month, if I had to, just coming out for supplies and bathroom breaks when Ellen was at the theater.
I sat cross-legged on the tile floor.
Dr. Abbot, wherever you are, I need you now. Big time.
I pictured myself in his leather chair. He sat, kind and calm, across from me, his hands folded on the desk. I heard my words tumbling over each other.
We have rehearsals today, and Ellen needs me, but my parents think I’m dead, and I can’t drive….
Well, that is a problem….Why can’t you drive?
I’m too upset.
Long silence. Finally, How do you think you should deal with this problem?
I need to calm myself down. I started to breathe, slowly, focusing on each breath. My belly moved in and out as I breathed. Calm flowed through me. Well, maybe it trickled through me.
Focus.
My breathing, the movement of my belly.
It wasn’t working. My parents are freaking out, I moaned after a minute.
Is there something you can do right now? To fix it?
No. I did what I could.
Then let it go. Just focus and breathe.
I tried. I really did.
An hour later, Ellen found me out on the balcony. “You ready?” Arctic air blew over me; that’s how pissed off she was.
I wobbled a l
ittle as stood up. “Ellen….”
“Yes?”
I grabbed her hand. “I’m not doing well. Will you help me?”
Instantly, the coldness left her. She squeezed my hand, hard. “Of course,” she said. “You know I will.”
Chapter Fifteen
From Pru’s Journal:
Adam Sanford. Mrs. Adam Sanford. Pru Sanford. Pru and Adam. Pru hearts Adam.
**
“We’re almost there,” Ellen said. “It’s all clear from the left.”
Biting my lip, I made my right turn, pulled up in front of the theater, and promptly burst into tears.
“It’s okay.” Ellen patted my shoulder. “We’re here. You did great!” She had talked me through the entire drive, telling me exactly when to change lanes, slow down, or turn, cheering me on the whole time. “Way to stop the car!” “Terrific use of turn signal!”
“What if my parents are coming? I don’t even know if they got my messages.” I sobbed and honked as I blew my nose on a tissue.
“Call them on my cell.” Ellen handed it to me. “Give them my number. I always have my phone with me, so if they call back, I’ll know. And I’ll come find you.”
“That’s great, thanks.” I left a moist, apologetic message, my fourth, on their home phone, then followed Ellen into the theater. As we walked in, people were standing around in awkward bunches.
“Where are Blake and Becca?” Ellen asked.
Fingers pointed toward the closed door of the small bathroom. As muffled moans and a rhythmic bumping reached my ears, I studied my toes. Then I decided to look. Even in my state of panic and misery, this was too good to miss.
The door was actually shaking in time to the sounds. Bump, shake, moan. Bump, shake, moan.
So it was done standing up, at least sometimes. That’s how Count Blackstone and Fredericka had done it in Wit and Deception, which was not on the Wholesome Family Channel, but rather on an unacceptably racy channel that I watched late at night after my parents were asleep. I had wondered if they’d just filmed it that way for dramatic effect. It seemed so…uncomfortable.