Saving Alice

by David Lewis

  “I’m still a virgin,” she’d once said to me several years ago. “Emotionally, I’ve never been touched.”

  The three of us were a regular lonely hearts club, retelling stories from the past, gossiping about the present, ignoring the future. Eventually, Paul stood up and shuffled to the men’s room, leaving us alone.

  “You know what I’ve always wanted to do?” she said.

  I smiled, encouraging her to continue.

  “Run a restaurant, or something. Maybe catering.” She said it almost dreamily, as if searching for anything to improve her sense of hope. “I’m sorry to hear about you and Donna,” she finally said. I gave her the shortened version, unprepared for her response. Her eyes glistened. “If you and Donna can’t make it, there’s not much hope for me.”

  I found myself wondering how Donna would have counseled Susan. Obviously, Donna’s stringent rules forbade her to ever set foot in a place like this. Because of that, the kind of encouragement Donna might have shared would never have reached Susan’s ears.

  “You’re too good for this dump, Susan,” I finally said, a feeble attempt to play Donna. “You’re fishing on the wrong side of the tracks.”

  Susan blew out a breath. “That’s where you’re wrong, Stephen, cuz I’m done with fishing.”

  After a few moments, she sighed heavily, reached down, and grabbed her purse. “Say good-bye to Paul, okay?” Her voice was tearstricken.

  “Where are you going?”

  She shrugged. “Home.”

  “Will you be okay?”

  “I’m a rock, Stephen,” she said, patting the top of my head as a good-bye. I grabbed her hand, stopping her progress, and she gave me an unconvincing smile.

  “Tell me the truth.”

  “I mean it,” she said. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Promise me.”

  Another grin, this one convincing. “I promise.”

  I let her go. When Paul came out he confronted the empty chair. “Gone?”

  I nodded.

  He sat down and pondered her absence.

  “Any change left?” I asked.

  “What about the holder’s fee?”

  “Fine,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “Keep it, but—”

  “I’ll apply it to rent,” he said, reading my suspicions.

  On Saturday, I was parked in front of Sally’s apartment by ninefifty-five, sipping coffee from a large Styrofoam-enclosed container, and reading the IBD newspaper. Beside me on the passenger seat rested three market books and a blue spiral notebook. A recent warm spell had melted the snow, but the weather report called for another blizzard. I walked up to the building and pushed the buzzer.

  “She’s not here,” Donna replied over the tinny intercom.

  “Just checking in,” I said and wandered back to the car.

  At ten-thirty, Donna strolled out, wearing jeans that seemed too baggy on her thinning frame, and a blue sweater. Her arms were crossed defensively across her chest. I rolled down the window, and she peeked in, holding her blond hair away from her eyes. I smelled lavender again, the scent I’d long taken for granted.

  “I’ve been thinking, Stephen,” she began. “This is silly. Why don’t I just call you when she’s ready?”

  I gave her a knowing grin. “Nice try.”

  “Forget the deal, Stephen,” she said. “We’re not moving away.”

  “I don’t have anything better to do on a Saturday morning,” I said.

  She pursed her lips. “Did you get the legal papers in the mail?”

  I nodded. I hadn’t read them yet, but they waited for me on the kitchen counter. Donna pushed away from the car, and our eyes locked again. She seemed suddenly lost. She opened her mouth to speak, then seemed to think better of it. She forced a smile instead, and I gave her a little wave.

  At eleven, I pulled away from the curb and headed home.

  The market hit yet another high on Monday. On Tuesday it erased most of the previous day’s gains, but on Wednesday it opened with an upside gap. By noon, all told, I was sitting on two hundred thousand dollars—a one-hundred-fifty-five-thousand-dollar profit.

  I sat spellbound for nearly half an hour, examining my account. I was actually doing it. I was getting rich. Mentally, I pinched myself. Hold on, big boy, I cautioned myself. You’ve got a LONG ways to go.

  One of a trader’s biggest dangers was to become complacent, to take success for granted and to forget to take precautions. I’d done that once. I couldn’t let it happen again.

  At four, Larry’s head bobbed in. “Busy?”

  I shrugged. He closed the door behind him and sat in the rarely occupied chair by my desk. He seemed worried.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  His gaze flickered. “Alycia’s here to see you.”

  “She’s here ?”

  He nodded. “But, uh … she, uh … looks a little different. I’m just preparing you, okay? Don’t freak.”

  Taking a deep breath, I followed Larry out of my office. Alycia was standing in the reception area, and I had to physically restrain my mouth from dropping open. In fact, I wasn’t even sure it was my daughter.

  Her face was powder white, with heavy black eye makeup and dark lipstick. She was wearing black nail polish, and her normally tight curls were needle straight.

  This is December, I reminded myself. Too late for Halloween.

  Her partial black T-shirt was covered by a black fishnet blouse, and I detected a flash of metal near her navel above a black miniskirt. Her normally tennis-shoe-clad feet were adorned with high black boots, and on top of everything else, she was wearing a long black trench coat hanging open, its silver clasps glinting on either side all the way down.

  I recalled her recent plea to paint her room black. “Gothic is in, Dad.”

  I wasn’t sure where to look, so I focused on her eyes. I was tempted to ask her if school had dropped its makeup code, then quickly realized she must have applied the makeup after classes.

  “I forgot which office was yours,” she said flatly, meeting my eyes with a trace of defiance.

  My mind sorted through a multitude of different replies. Larry hovered by the window, looking out onto Main Street as if interested in the traffic.

  “What’s up?” I asked bravely.

  She affected a casual expression, but her continuing eye contact was almost unsettling, as if she were scrutinizing me.

  She cleared her throat, belying her nerves for the first time, and I noticed the dog tag around her neck. She stepped forward, extending her fist. Reflexively, I extended my own, and she dropped a key ring with a single key into my open palm.

  “That was yours,” she replied simply.

  “Oh…” I said, realizing it was a key for the house. “Don’t you want it anymore?”

  “I don’t need it, remember?”

  I nodded, my spirits sinking. She never intends to visit me?

  “How’s school?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “School’s a bore.”

  My mind shifted through another dozen possible replies and questions, thinking better of each one, navigating carefully through the eggshells that seemed scattered in front of us.

  “So…” I started, hoping something verbal would follow, like: Will I see you this Saturday? But nothing emerged.

  “I have to go,” she said, taking several small steps backward.

  “Sure good to see you, kiddo,” I said, then cringed. Did I just say kiddo?

  She smirked, the first intimation of a smile since she’d arrived. Before I knew it, she was pushing through the glass door. Just like that, a wonderful opportunity slipped away. She started hopping down the steps, then, as if realizing hopping didn’t quite mesh with the attire, slowed to a sauntering descent.

  I turned around just as Larry exhaled. “That was a close one. I thought you were going to have a coronary.”

  “I did,” I replied, opening my hand again, staring at the ring.

  Larry chuckled. �
�She didn’t come to give you that key.”

  I considered his statement. “So … did I pass?” I asked, still trying to erase the image of my ghoulish daughter.

  “I’m not sure,” Larry said, looking out the window. “There’s always the possibility that she just wanted to see how you’re doing.”

  He peered down toward the street again and then gestured for me to join him at the window. I moved to him and followed his gaze. What appeared to be a young man, equally black-attired, had his arms around Alycia.

  “Apparently, she needed moral support,” Larry said. “Know the guy?”

  “Haven’t a clue.”

  “So … she’s dating.”

  “Apparently.”

  “He looks at least sixteen,” Larry added. “Almost a foot taller than her.”

  “Thanks for the analysis,” I muttered.

  “Could be eighteen,” Larry added. “Of course, Alycia herself looks four years older than her age.”

  Especially now, I thought.

  Larry patted me on the shoulder before returning to his office. “Wake up and smell the hormones.”

  I stood at the window a moment longer before retreating to my own office.

  That evening, I summoned the courage and called the apartment. Sally answered and I asked for Alycia. Minutes later, Donna came on the phone. “Stephen?”

  “Sorry to bother you. I was trying to get Alycia.”

  “She won’t come to the phone,” Donna said coldly. “Why don’t you give it a rest? You’re accomplishing the opposite of what you want.”

  No kidding, I thought. “I need to talk to her.”

  “I’m not going to force her.”

  “Would you ask her again?”

  I’d intended to talk to Alycia first, elicit some kind of assurances or promises regarding this boyfriend before I informed her mother. If I didn’t, Alycia was likely to say, No fair, Dad. You told on me. You broke our deal.

  According to Alycia, not coming to her first was tantamount to betrayal. Although I always told Donna in the end, it was usually after the fact, after the situation had been discussed and solved by us first. “Mom always overreacts!” Alycia had told me countless times. “She gets mad, but you and I can talk about stuff.”

  But since I couldn’t get Alycia, I had to change course. Unfortunately, Donna didn’t give me a chance. “I’m hanging up, Stephen. We’ve already had this discussion.”

  “Donna we need to tal—”

  Click.

  I stared at the phone. I couldn’t believe it. Donna had never hung up on me before. In fact, she wasn’t the type to hang up on anyone. Her deeply ingrained sense of courtesy and ethics prevented her from being rude, even to solicitors. Through the years, we’d often joked about her inability to freeze out a sales call.

  I decided against trying again tonight. That evening, I fell asleep in front of the TV, an old boxing replay of Ali versus Foreman.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  When I awakened on Saturday, I considered briefly throwing in the towel. Maybe Donna was right. Maybe my weekly vigil was accomplishing exactly the opposite of what I intended. What was to be gained by further alienating my daughter?

  And yet, regardless of my frustration, I needed to talk to Donna about Alycia’s boyfriend, dire consequences aside: Thanks for telling on me, Dad! You certainly have a knack for ruining my life!

  I arrived at nine fifty-two, pulling up to the curb. By now the routine was starting to feel very familiar. I’d brought my usual books, including the IBD newspaper featuring the weekend market report.

  I sipped my coffee, read the news, then about ten-thirty heard a rapping at the passenger window. It was Donna, wearing her maroon coat. Her eyes were shadowed, and I couldn’t read her expression. I rolled down the window.

  “Alycia’s not here,” she said, her voice flat.

  She pushed off from my car, but I called after her, “Alycia has a boyfriend, Donna.”

  She wheeled around, shoving her hands into the pockets of her coat. “What are you talking about?”

  She approached the car again, and I recounted Alycia’s appearance at my office. In spite of the boyfriend news, Donna seemed just as shocked to hear that Alycia had stopped by to see me.

  “He looks pretty old,” I commented.

  “They all look old,” she countered, sniffing softly. The cold did that to her—it made her sniffle endlessly. I’m allergic to winter, she often joked. Who isn’t? Alycia usually muttered.

  “Did you know about him?” I asked her.

  “No,” she admitted.

  “Donna…” I gestured to the passenger seat, “just get in the car, okay, so we can talk about this?”

  Expelling a frustrated sigh, she opened the door, settling in. When she pulled the door shut, it didn’t click fully. The scent of lavender was muted.

  “So … what are we going to do?” I asked.

  She crossed her arms quickly and glared at me. “Who’s we ?”

  I hadn’t expected her to make this easy. She had never been good at enforcing rules, and our separation obviously wasn’t making it any easier. She stared straight ahead before putting her hand on the door handle. “I’ll handle it.”

  “She’ll lie, you know.”

  She released the door handle and glared at me. “Alycia doesn’t lie.”

  “You’ll need to forbid her to see him, Donna,” I said.

  “She’ll defy me.”

  “Then I’ll talk to her.”

  “Yep. That’ll work.” She expelled another sigh. Her eyes glistened in the reflection of sunlight off my windshield.

  “She’s only thirteen,” I said.

  “She had a training bra at eleven,” Donna countered. “She looks, and acts, like a sixteen-year-old. Besides, I’m not the disciplinarian you were.”

  “Much good it did us,” I muttered.

  “It worked when you two were…” Donna’s voice trailed off. She leaned back, closing her eyes. A moment passed before she spoke. “Is it so surprising, Stephen, that she would be looking for older male attention?”

  Touché. “Is she home now?”

  “No,” she replied. “Alycia leaves the apartment just before you arrive.”

  I whispered the obvious. “To avoid me?”

  Donna shrugged. “Maybe to avoid knowing whether you showed up or not.”

  My heart sank. What was the point? Donna was right. I was accomplishing the exact opposite of what I intended.

  Donna reached toward the handle again, then hesitated. “But she asks me the moment she gets in, so that couldn’t be it.”

  I could tell she was dying to get out. She turned again and gave me a piercing look. “I don’t approve of this game of yours. Have I told you that?”

  “Yes,” I replied.

  “I asked for a few months, that’s all.”

  “You asked for a year,” I said.

  “Maybe a year is what she needs.”

  “By then, I’ll have lost her.”

  Donna expelled an exasperated breath. “You should know better than that.”

  “I can do this,” I insisted.

  She narrowed her eyes, “Oh, really? Why now? What will make the difference this time?”

  I didn’t answer. As if sensing my struggle, Donna sniffed softly again.

  “How’s church?” I asked, hoping to veer our conversation to less stressful topics. My change of subject was clunky and obvious, and I expected her to answer, None of your business, or to ignore my question altogether. Instead, she gave me a dubious glance. “Loraine has dismissed me from the choir.”

  I was taken aback. Singing in the choir was one of Donna’s few genuine enjoyments.

  “Why?” I asked.

  She gave me an incredulous expression. “You have to ask?”

  Of course, I realized. Divorce. The cardinal sin. According to the official evangelical line, the church was filled with sinners saved by grace, but in reality, some Christians eat
their own.

  “It’s the platform, Stephen,” she continued. “We’re being observed by others.”

  “So what are you going to do?” I asked.

  “I deserve whatever I get,” Donna said.

  “No, you don’t.”

  “I would expect you, a nonbeliever, to say that.”

  Neither of us spoke for a moment, and then she forced a chuckle. “But it’s really absurd, you know. One half of the church can hardly stand to look at me anymore, and the other half, mainly the guys, have suddenly decided I exist. Even some married men are paying attention.”

  I looked at her, and she gazed back at me. I experienced a strange flutter of jealousy. “I don’t blame them,” I said. “I mean … you’re an attractive woman.”

  It was, perhaps, the most patronizing thing I could have said, inappropriate to our discussion, and I half expected her to lay into me. Instead, she made a halfhearted pull on the knob, then stopped. The tone in her voice was full of subtle wonder. “I don’t think you’ve ever said that to me.” She looked away after she said it, perhaps embarrassed, but I touched her arm, and she visibly bristled.

  I could think of dozens of times I’d marveled—aloud—at her attractiveness. Had she never heard, or had she refused to believe me? Unsure of what to say, and hoping to avoid another argument, I said nothing and removed my hand.

  “Never mind.” Donna opened the door and got out. Before pushing it closed, she placed her hand on the doorframe. “I’ll talk to Alycia.”

  She granted me a small smile, and I watched as she put her hands in her pockets again and slowly trudged up the sidewalk.

  I drove home in a fog as pieces of our conversation played over in my mind. What will make the difference this time, Stephen?

  Hadn’t I been asking myself the same question? If there was one thing I had learned in college Psych, it was that the river of human behavior reverts to its habitual groove.

  At the moment I was sitting on one hundred fifty-thousand dollars in profit. So far, so good. Maybe I’d learned my lesson after all. Maybe the passage of time had eliminated my bad habits. Sometimes an overflowing river cuts another furrow!