by KI Thompson
Kate set her laptop aside and returned to her other boring activity, channel surfing without absorbing anything. Normally, she hated killing time this way and rarely watched television, except for her own news program, and that was a matter of quality control.
In her business no one could afford to drop the ball on image and presentation. To keep herself in good shape, she usually ran several times a week, but she hadn’t been out jogging in quite some time.
Her body felt flaccid and weak, a state she detested.
She couldn’t recall letting so much time pass without running since high school. She could almost hear her father’s voice admonishing her to get up off her ass and get outside and train.
Weather conditions made no difference. Rain, a blizzard, subzero temperatures, he’d still made sure she was up an hour before getting ready for school so she could run. And she knew the feel of his belt on her backside if she didn’t. Track was supposed to be her ticket to college, since they couldn’t afford the tuition. She had been thrilled to disappoint him by being accepted to Northwestern on an academic scholarship.
She didn’t stop training, and her first experience with a woman was with a senior on the track team at Northwestern. Merely the thought of telling her father that his insistence on her running led her to a lesbian affair made her feel better.
The doorbell intruded on Kate’s recollections and she crossed the room expectantly. She was actually excited to see Ellen, not just because she was in need of entertaining, but she enjoyed the sympathy and concern Ellen expressed for her welfare. She got the sense that Ellen actually cared about her, and in fact was the only person who seemed to feel that way. The thought that someone she hardly knew was her only friend depressed her. Could her life be any more pathetic than it already was?
When she opened the door, she was stunned to come face-to-face with her producer, Mike Spencer. They froze instantly, she from the unexpected visit and he, she suspected, from seeing for the first time the results of her accident. Shame and anger burned her cheeks.
She looked everywhere but directly into his eyes.
She didn’t know what to do, but it was too late to turn away.
He had already seen her scar. Mike held a large floral bouquet in his arms but made no move to give it to her.
“Well, is that for me or what?” she snarled, wishing she could evaporate.
“Wha…oh, yeah, yeah, this is for you, Kate.” He held it out to her stiffly, his eyes never leaving her face.
The awkwardness was palpable, neither of them saying a word for several moments. All the while anger boiled inside Kate, bubbling until she wanted to scream at him.
“I…I just wanted to stop by…and see how you were doing,” he mumbled.
“Well, now that you’ve seen me, you can go back and tell everyone how I’m doing.”
Without another word Kate stepped back inside and closed the door. She had difficulty breathing and gasped repeatedly, inhaling as much oxygen as she could. After a moment, she heard the elevator open and close and knew he was gone.
She looked down at the flowers and began to giggle. A small chuckle at first, which grew until she was hysterical. A catch seized her throat, and her amusement was replaced by sobs she couldn’t control. She wept bitterly, sitting on the cool tiles in her hall. She cried until she had no tears left and then put the flowers on the dining-room table and poured herself a drink.
She was working on her third scotch and had begun to calm down after her tirade, but she felt hollow inside. Now everyone at the station would know. She could only guess what the fallout would be, but she knew it wouldn’t be good. As if in answer to her question, the phone rang. She glanced at the caller ID; it was her agent’s number.
“Fuck.” She picked up the receiver. “Hello, Dean.”
“Hey, Kate. How’re you doing?”
“Great,” she said, knowing her tone suggested otherwise.
“I just got a call from the station’s attorneys, and they would like to meet with you.”
“Call Phillip,” Kate said, referring to her attorney. “He can handle it.”
“They specifically asked for you to be present.”
“Well, tell them I’m still recovering. They’ll have to meet without me.”
“Kate, they probably need for you to sign your contract. You never did, you know.”
She snorted. “Dean, I’ll tell you right now that signing the contract is the furthest thing from their minds.” There was a pause on the other end. “What do you mean?” Wishing she didn’t have to talk about this but knowing it was no use, she sighed. “Go to the meeting for me, will you, Dean? You and Phillip. See what they have to say and call me back.” She hung up without waiting for a response.
She picked up the bottle of scotch from the coffee table and poured another long shot into her glass. This was it, the end of her career. After everything she had achieved and after all her hard work, it had come to this. Were it not her own life, she would almost laugh at the absurdity. All the plans she had made, the benchmarks she had set for herself—she had achieved them on schedule. And they had disappeared in the blink of an eye on a rainy night on the Capital Beltway.
If she had only been early, or five minutes later, she would have missed the accident entirely. Three people had died and six walked away. She was in the heart of the collision, where the deaths had occurred. She shouldn’t have been one of the survivors, but here she was. Surviving, yes, but for what? To watch her career—no, her life—go down the shit chute?
When the doorbell rang again, she dragged herself over and greeted her next unwanted visitor.
“Hi, Kate.” Ellen juggled several bags and didn’t look up immediately. “They were out of Tide so I got you Cheer. I hope that’s okay. And since there was a sale on the bagels I—”
“Just give me the fucking groceries, will you?” Kate tore the bags out of Ellen’s arms and slammed the door.
Ellen’s ears rang with the sound echoing down the hallway. She stared at the wood-grain surface inches from her face, wondering what she’d done wrong. It was the Tide, had to be. No, Kate wouldn’t get all bent out of shape over detergent…would she?
Ellen felt dazed as she stumbled down the hall. General Beauregard ran to her as soon as she stepped inside, rubbing against her as usual. She picked him up and hugged him to her chest, agonizing over what she’d done to cause Kate’s outburst. She examined every word repeatedly, including the discussion they’d had earlier that day about what Kate needed. No matter how many times she revisited each scene, she was still mystified as to what had set Kate off.
“Come on, PGT.” She kissed Beau on the top of his head. “You and I need a treat to make us feel better.” She went into the kitchen, dropped him on the counter, and tried to decide what she felt like eating. The refrigerator revealed a takeout box of fettuccine Alfredo from the lunch she’d shared with Linda when they were shopping on Wednesday. Her stomach grumbled and she contemplated making a salad to go along with the pasta.
But as she removed the carton from the refrigerator, she thought of the sexy new black dress hanging in her closet. Images assaulted her mind. She could see herself in that dressing room mirror, pale flesh in all directions. Her date with Sandra was in two days and she had done nothing to improve her condition. Her stomach coiled again, this time with unease, not appetite. Tossing the takeout into the trash, she decided today would be salad only.
She washed some lettuce and set out the carrots, cucumber, and tomato, but as she began to chop, her flimsy enthusiasm waned.
She couldn’t help but think about Kate’s behavior. Maybe she was angry about Ellen’s intrusion into her life and just wanted to be left alone. If so, she could have raised the topic politely. There was no reason to curse and slam the door in her face. Ellen had done nothing to warrant that type of conduct, and the more she thought about it, the more the outburst upset her. She couldn’t believe how out of proportion Kate’s reaction had
been. She’d agreed to their arrangement, even putting grocery lists together for specific items she would need. If she wanted to stop, all she had to do was say so.
Whatever Ellen’s imagined faux pas, she certainly didn’t deserve such rude, unfair treatment. She was only trying to help. How dare Kate speak to me that way?
She tossed the knife onto the chopping board, wiped her hands on the kitchen towel, and located a notepad and pen. Angrily, she jotted a brief note.
Kate,
I’m sorry about the tough time you’re having, but I’m not your punching bag. If you’d like some groceries again and think you can show basic courtesy, give me a call. I won’t knock on your door in the future unless invited. I hope you feel better soon.
Ellen
She ripped the page off the notepad, folded it in half, and marched out of her condo. Striding down the hall, she discovered that her eyes were prickling. She had allowed herself to imagine a friendship, even picturing the two of them going out occasionally once Kate was better. She had envisioned evenings together at the theater or out at dinner, behaving like close, caring neighbors.
Admittedly, she had also fantasized that their relationship might evolve with time. Even if the thoughts were unrealistic, she couldn’t help wishing Kate saw her as more than just a neighbor. Ever since Ellen first began watching her on TV, Kate had drawn a powerful physical and emotional response from her. Now that they were in contact more often, it was self-delusional to pretend she felt nothing.
And she did not indulge in self-delusion.
She paused at Kate’s door, her emotions in a muddle. For a split second she almost knocked, then recalled Kate’s face contorted with anger, those penetrating green eyes blazing contemptuously. Hurt engulfed her like an acid tide, eating away at her self-confidence.
With a bitter sigh, she crouched and shoved the note under Kate’s door, then escaped quickly along the hallway.
Her heart was still pounding erratically ten minutes later when she poured herself a glass of wine and deposited her freshly made salad on the table. She pondered the meal and decided that she wasn’t hungry after all. Doubt crawled from her throat to her gut. She had acted rashly toward a woman who had been through a terrible ordeal. How could she be so insensitive to Kate’s plight? Her frustration was a natural reaction to a situation beyond her control. It was bound to spill over sometime, misdirected at whoever happened to be there.
Ellen wished she’d waited to calm down before delivering that note. She wondered if Kate had noticed it yet. Maybe she was watching television, or sleeping. Ellen tried to think of a way to get the note back. If she slid a coat hanger under Kate’s door, perhaps she could hook it. How could she have done such a stupid thing? What would her mother think of her lack of manners? Ellen cringed.
The thought also pulled her up short. Her mother’s birthday party was in two days and she hadn’t even looked for a gift. She was responsible for the dessert as well, so she’d better stop at Marvelous Market after work tomorrow. She picked up her fork and stabbed a slice of cucumber. To hell with Kate. She needed to focus on Sandra and on looking good for their date. If it meant eating nothing but rabbit food from now on, so be it.
CHAPTER SIX
Ellen pulled into the driveway of the brownstone in Alexandria, Virginia, and parked behind her sister’s minivan. Her parents had lived in this house her entire life, and she and her sister Joan had grown up here in rooms filled with Webster family history. Ellen always loved to visit, even when she had to endure Joan’s company as well. Today was their mother’s birthday and, like all other family occasions, they celebrated it together.
She picked up her present and a pastry box from the passenger seat and got out of the car, admiring the tulips sprinkled brightly around the house. The sound of Joan’s two whining children assaulted her at the front door. Each insisted on handing Grandma her present, and they almost had a crying fit until Joan told them they could both carry it to her.
Ellen couldn’t stand her niece and nephew, the annoying little gnats. She swatted them away whenever they came near her, which was only when they wanted something. After the kids ran out the back door, Joan turned to the counter and scowled at Ellen.
“Well, I thought you’d never get here,” Joan said, exasperated as usual.
Ellen glanced at her watch. “I thought we were supposed to be here at one.”
“Yes, of course, but there’s so much preparation beforehand. I could have used some help.”
“Joan, Mother’s seventy-two years old today and can’t stand a fuss. She enjoys a simple, quiet meal and family, that’s all.”
“That’s easy for you to say. You just show up, enjoy yourself, and then leave. I do all the work.”
“You know that’s not true. Mother does most of the work because she enjoys it, and I’ll be here to clean up. Where are she and Dad?”
Joan nodded toward the back door. “They’re on the patio. Dad decided to grill the steaks outside since it’s so nice today. I made a salad and the baked potatoes are in the oven.”
“Here’s dessert.” Ellen placed the pastry box on the counter.
“What is it?”
“Bostocks, of course. Mom’s favorite.” Ellen lifted the lid so Joan could see.
“Oh, Ellen, you know she shouldn’t be eating that. She has to watch her cholesterol.”
“One bostock on her birthday won’t kill her. At her age she deserves to have some fun.” Ellen wiped a bit of almond cream from the side of the box with her finger and popped it into her mouth.
“Yeah, right. You just enjoy having an excuse to eat that junk yourself. Have you gained more weight since the last time I saw you?” Joan gazed at her and frowned.
Ellen’s cheeks burned. “Leave it alone, Joan.” She was in no mood to argue with her sister over this ongoing theme.
Joan raised her hands in protest. “Fine, fine. If you want to ruin your body, that’s up to you.”
“Thank you.”
“With summer not that far away I thought you’d want to look decent. You can’t go to the club like that.” Joan made a sweeping gesture toward Ellen’s belly and hips. “No man there would look twice at you.”
Ellen clenched her fists and struggled to control her temper.
“Joan, you know I don’t give a damn about men. How many times do I have to tell you that?”
“Oh, that’s right, you like women.” Joan emphasized the last word as though it were obscene. “Whatever. Go have your fun, get it out of your system. One of these days, though, you’ll wish you’d stayed in shape. The older you get, the less likely a man will find you attractive.”
Ellen closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Her sister’s determined denial always amazed her. No matter how many times they had this conversation, it was as though she spoke to the dead.
She wondered why she even bothered to engage her at all. Picking up the pitcher of iced tea, she headed for the door.
“I’ll be right there with the salad and the potatoes,” Joan trilled after her.
Barbara Webster sat at the glass umbrella table, sipping a vodka gimlet as she watched her husband at the grill. The sound of sizzling steaks and the delicious aroma reached Ellen the moment she stepped outside, calling to mind various cookouts in their backyard since her childhood. She immediately relaxed. But it would take a stiff drink to help her forget Joan’s nasty remarks.
“I hope you have more of those,” she said, pointing to her mother’s gimlet.
“Help yourself.” Her mother pushed a pitcher toward her. “Are you and Joan at it again?”
Ellen poured herself a glass. “She just won’t leave it alone.”
“I’ll talk to her,” Barbara offered.
“No, Mom, you know that won’t do any good. She’s always been this way. She won’t accept me for who I am, and she insists that her way of life is the be-all and end-all. I’ve had it with her.”
“She just wants you to be happy,” he
r mother said.
“She wants me to be like her, that’s all. Well, I can’t, and I’m not going to try and convince her of it any longer. I’m happy with my life the way it is, and she’s going to have to get used to it.”
“Are you happy?”
Ellen paused. She loved her work, and her mother knew that, but that wasn’t what her mother was asking about. Her parents had been very careful about inquiring into any relationships she might be involved in. She knew they didn’t want to add to any pressure she had already placed upon herself, but they were still concerned for her well-being.
“I have a date tonight.” She hoped this announcement would placate them, at least for a while.
“Really?” Barbara glanced to her husband. “Do we know her? Where did you two meet?”
“Meet who?” Joan came out of the house carrying two bowls.
Ellen ignored her. “She’s a friend of Linda’s and Janice’s. All I know is that she’s an attorney and works with Janice on Senator Teasdale’s staff. She asked me to the symphony tonight.”
“How lovely.” Barbara squeezed her arm. “Have a good time.”
“Oh, Ellen, no.” Joan put the two bowls on the table. Her children ran up beside her and grabbed a potato from the bowl, fighting over who got the biggest one.
“Don’t start, Joan. I’m warning you.” Ellen got up, taking her drink with her, and escaped into the house. She was still unsure of her feelings about Kate, as well as Sandra, and she felt dangerously near the edge of her ability to control her emotions. Once inside, she strolled toward her old bedroom, which contained many of the mementos of her childhood—her record collection, the various plaques and awards demonstrating her academic successes, and several photo albums. It was familiar and safe, and she often retreated there when she was going through uncertainty in her life.