The Duet

by D'Angelo, Jennifer

  “Please hold.” The music was back, but this time I found myself humming along while I waited. Veronica’s door opened and she poked her head out. I gave her the thumbs up and pointed to the phone and she disappeared again.

  “This is Alexander Remington. Is this Veronica McDonald I am speaking to?”

  “Hello Alexander,” I purred. His voice was very sexy indeed. “Yes, this is Veronica. And how are you today?”

  “I am just fine, ma’am. I understand that you are unable to give us the last four digits of your social security number. Is that correct?”

  “No that is not exactly accurate. You see, Alexander, I do not ever give my personal information out over the phone. I was once the victim of identity theft, you see, and since then, I am vigilant about keeping myself secure. In addition to that, I own a very high profile law firm and I have made quite a few enemies over the years. Let’s just say there are people out there who would stop at nothing to ruin me. Or worse.”

  There was a long pause on the other end. Either Alexander had fallen asleep, or he was conflicted about helping me.

  “I’m sorry to hear that ma’am.”

  “Yes,” I let out a long-suffering sign for dramatic effect. “It can be difficult at times, but I take the necessary precautions and carry on.”

  There was tapping on Alexander’s side. “Mary here tells me you had a couple of charges to dispute. How about you tell me what the charges are, and I’ll see if I can help you?”

  “Finally. Yes, thank you.” I leafed through the statements and my face fell as I got a good look at them for the first time. All the “fraudulent” charges Veronica had asked me to dispute seemed completely legitimate. They were charges from local restaurants that I recognized, a small charge for a movie theatre down the road, and several from the Coach outlet two towns over. I had just that morning commented on how much I loved the satchel and matching carry-on suitcase I’d seen in Veronica’s office.

  Then there were late fees and service charges, all highlighted of course. She was even disputing the annual fee for having the card. Everyone knew you had to pay the annual fee!

  “Ms. McDonald, are you still there?”

  I grabbed a piece of paper and wadded it up into the receiver. “Alexander?” I said through all the noise. I wadded some more. “Alexander, I’m so sorry. I think there’s something wrong with my phone. I’ll call you right…” I hung up just as that scheming American Express non-payer burst through her door.

  “Izzy! I have the most wonderful idea,” she said, speaking to me as if we hadn’t just met for the first time six hours ago. I had to look around to make sure there wasn’t another person named Izzy in the room.

  “My husband and I are having a huge cookout this weekend; some friends, a bunch of clients, that sort of thing.” She waved her hand in front of her face as if to say ‘ain’t no big thang’. “You have to come! Bring your swimsuit, we’ll be poolside.”

  I nodded dumbly. Unless she forgot to order a clown or a court jester for this shin-dig, I could see no logical reason why she would want me there.

  “Did you get anywhere with the credit card company?” she asked sweetly.

  “Uh, yes. Yes, I did. I’m just making a few notes here. Can I bring them in to you in just a few minutes?”

  “Sure! Hey, you’re doing a great job here, Izzy. I knew I made the right choice bringing you on.”

  “Er, thanks,” I said, and she mercifully walked across the room to her husband’s office, leaving me to my work.

  She didn’t come back out again until five when she shuffled me out the door and congratulated me on a fabulous first day.

  Day two of my legal career was even more rewarding than day one. And by rewarding I mean that it made me realize in no uncertain terms, that I would never ever work with lawyers, or business partners who were married, or bipolar nut jobs again.

  I arrived on time – a true miracle indeed – only to find I was the first one there. Veronica had given me a key, the security code and the instructions to disarm it, but I didn’t think I would need it so soon. I rummaged through the giant canvas bag I used for a purse to find the tiny scrap of paper with the information on it.

  Ah, there it was! There was a twelve digit number, followed by the pound sign, then ten other digits, then I had to hit the green button twice. Or did that say hit the green button and then the numeral two?

  I shrugged and unlocked the front door. How hard could it be? I would have at least thirty seconds to disarm the thing, so if I tried it one way and it didn’t work, I’d have plenty of time to start over.

  As soon as I opened the door, the panel started beeping in that ominous way. I fumbled for a light switch but, not wanting to waste any precious time, gave up and blinked instead, trying to get my eyes to adjust to the almost pitch darkness in the vestibule.

  I typed in the first round of numbers with no mistakes, then the second. I hesitated for just a split second deciding which way to go, then went with the green button two times. The beeping continued in the steady monotone. It may have even gotten a bit louder. I forced myself to remain calm, and tried the whole sequence again. This time the beeping stopped and I breathed a sigh of relief.

  Then all hell broke loose.

  The entire front of the building began flashing like an overdone house with too many Christmas decorations. My over-caffeinated brain screamed in protest. I heard sirens off in the distance and had the fleeting thought that it was nice to know if I was ever in trouble, the emergency response time was excellent in this part of town.

  It was so excellent, in fact, that by the time I got my wits about me and sauntered back out to my car, there were no less than four police cruisers, an ambulance and the fire chief’s truck in the parking lot.

  “Put your hands where we can see them, miss.” I instantly obeyed, thinking it was a bit of overkill to use a megaphone. Mine was the only car in the lot and the officer was maybe ten feet from where I was standing.

  Another officer got out of his car and walked over slowly. It was clear that I was not going to shoot anyone, so megaphone over-reactor relaxed as well.

  “Can you tell me what you’re doing here, miss?”

  I lifted my chin in the air. Just because my hair was blue (I wish I’d thought to wear the pigtails again) didn’t mean I was up to no good. “I work here.”

  The officer crossed his arms over his chest. “You work here,” he repeated as if that were the most ridiculous thing he ever heard. I could feel my blood start to stir and I knew this wasn’t going to end well. It was one thing to be a smartass to human resources or some fat, lazy warehouse supervisor with his hand where it shouldn’t be. But I didn’t really think me mouthing off to these four – no wait, now there were five – police officers was going to get me very far.

  Lucky for me, Veronica and her husband pulled in at that moment. After the mess was straightened out, and a few laughs and pats on the back were exchanged between my bosses and the cavalry, it was time to face the music.

  I listened as a still jovial Veronica explained the alarm system one more time (I was to do the entire sequence, hit the green button one time, then repeat the entire sequence again – huh!). Mr. McDonald didn’t say much. He just smiled at me and walked into his office.

  As soon as his door clicked shut, Veronica whirled on me. I nearly fell backward as her finger jabbed my chest. “Do you have any idea how much this little stunt of yours will cost us?” she said in a voice that sounded oddly like the Exorcist.

  “I…”

  “Shut up! Now I have a lot to do today, so I can’t be babysitting you. There’s a stack of billable hours that need to be entered and I want all the bills to be mailed before lunch.”

  I nodded, not trusting my voice. She stormed off, and I had to do a double-take when I looked over at my desk to see a mountain of paper; no, make that three mountains, all piled neatly, side by side.

  Well, this was no investment firm. I would clearl
y have no time to take one of Cooper’s quizzes or shop for office supplies.

  I worked in silence for several hours. I thought it somewhat odd that the phone didn’t ring once in that time. With this volume of paper I was dealing with, you’d think one of the hundreds of clients would be calling.

  Just before lunch, Veronica danced out of her office. It was as if the morning had never happened. “Izzy! Take a break for goodness sake. You’re working so hard. I just love the dedication!”

  Holy shit, this lady was crazy.

  We chatted amiably while I sipped a cup of coffee in the break room. Or rather, Veronica never shut up for two seconds. She’d ask me questions about myself, but wouldn’t wait for me to answer before chatting on about something completely unrelated. I wondered what kind of medication she was on.

  She spent most of the afternoon in her husband’s office again. The phone still did not ring, and I made a big dent in the piles of papers on my desk. I even caught a rare glimpse of one of the paralegals, and she may or may not have given me a nod as she walked past.

  “Izzy!” I was so immersed in my typing that I hadn’t even realized Veronica was back in her own office. I walked in, wondering if she was going to tell me more about the amazing sale they were having at Nordstrom’s or her allergic reaction to the body cream she’d ordered from Paris.

  “This is not working out,” she said as I approached her desk.

  “I’m sorry?”

  She waved her hands over her head like a mental patient. “This. You’re not a good fit for this law firm.”

  What. The. Hell.

  I didn’t really know what to say, so I just stood there.

  “Get out!” Okay then. I silently gathered my purse and my keys. Veronica stood in her doorway staring at me with her beady little Damien eyes. “You owe me those notes on the American Express charges. Give them to me and then leave.” She turned and slammed her office door.

  I pulled out the file with the credit card statements and jotted down a few things. Then I wrote “All highlighted charges to be removed. Spoke to Michael Rotch (Mike for short), supervisor. He will take care of everything.” I added a smiley face for good measure, then left my brief legal career behind, without an ounce of regret.

  8

  Dear Izzy,

  They found out I had dyslexia when I was nine. There was a big to-do about it. My parents blamed the teachers and the school administration blamed my parents for not noticing. But honestly, it wasn’t anyone’s fault. I did a great job covering it up. I knew I learned differently than others and I’d figured out ways around it. I observed more than your average person, and was able to think on my feet much more quickly, as a result.

  I still use those survival skills today. They’re coming in handy here at the Center. For instance, I already have my shrink figured out. I know exactly what he wants to hear and what he expects to hear. If I wanted, I could probably turn the whole thing around and have him crying on the couch while I asked him how that made him feel.

  People are pretty transparent. Most people, anyway. I don’t know if you are yet. But I’ll admit, I’ve spent more time observing you than you would guess. I know when you came back to live with us, you thought I didn’t like you; that I didn’t want you around. But it was just the opposite. You are a powerful presence, Izzy. I fell into your trap right away, and though I’ve tried to figure you out, I have yet to succeed. I don’t even know if I want to anymore. I like watching you just be you. And not knowing what you’ll do or say next, is what makes you so compelling.

  Jay

  “Cooper? Are you awake?”

  “Uuumph. Uh, yeah. Now that you just bounced on my mattress and yelled in my ear.”

  I tossed a pillow at his head. It was a rare Sunday morning that Cooper and I were home alone. I wasn’t going to let him sleep all day. I wanted company.

  I crawled up the bed and rested against the headboard. Cooper rolled onto his back and looked up at me. “What’s on your mind, kiddo?”

  “Do you think Jay and I make sense?”

  “You mean, as a couple or individually?”

  “As a couple.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Don’t just say that because it would be convenient for you to have your two best friends dating. Really think about it. I mean he’s so closed off and introverted and I’m so… well, loud.”

  “You are loud. Especially when a guy is trying to sleep but you suddenly need dating advice.” He took my hand, letting me know that though he was joking around, he was also taking me seriously.

  I slid down, leaning on my elbow to face him. He tugged on my hair. “Why couldn’t you and I just fall in love?” I asked. “We’re practically the same person.”

  Cooper chuckled. “That’s exactly why it wouldn’t work. We’d kill each other trying to be the center of attention all the time. Besides… yuck! You’re like my baby sister.”

  I rested my head on his chest and we lay in silence for a while. I was enjoying just spending time with him. Trisha was always around and we never got to do this anymore.

  “You doing okay, Coop?” I asked.

  “Just ducky. Why do you ask?”

  “I worry about you sometimes is all.”

  He kissed the top of my head. “I don’t know how I survived all those years when you were gone,” he said. “You’re always looking out for me.”

  I chuckled. “If there’s one thing you have plenty of, it’s people who look out for you.”

  “That’s different. They’re all family, they have to worry. But you’ve always been there for me, even when I didn’t deserve it.”

  Something in his voice made me look up at his face. Cooper was rarely ever serious; not about anything. But he sounded almost forlorn. His eyes were gentle, then the mischievous twinkle was back. I decided that if he were really in trouble, he would tell me. I didn’t want to push.

  I rested back down and closed my eyes. “I love ya, kiddo. You’re good people,” he said after a while. He was snoring within minutes.

  “Don’t get hurt, you big goofball,” I said quietly, and I drifted off to sleep.

  9

  Dear Izzy,

  Do you think weakness is a character trait that’s hereditary? If it is, I am going to do everything in my power to fight it. Most kids say they want to be just like their dads when they grow up. Not me. I want to be just opposite what he turned out to be. I thought he was weak because of my mother; because he couldn’t function without her. But I was wrong. He had a choice. He could’ve left her, broken that cycle of pain they inflicted on each other year after year. But he chose instead to numb the pain with pills and booze. Would it have been hard for him to walk away? Yes, of course. But how can we ever know joy without feeling what it’s like to suffer?

  Jay

  The relationship between parent and child is the most complex, ever-changing phenomenon there is.

  My mother and I were a testament to this fact.

  When I was young, before my father died, I adored my mother. She was so beautiful and so free and so loving. She took such good care of me, always laughing or smiling. After my father died, my adoration turned to worry. My mother was a mere shell of the woman she once was. And she worked all the time – day and night. All I wanted was for her to be around more; to see her laugh again and dance around the house like she used to.

  Then came the day when my mother announced we were leaving California to go help my Uncle Fred with his tackle shop in New Jersey. She tried to make it sound fun – we’d be living near the ocean, we’d be a couple of beach bums. But I knew she was lying. We were running away, plain and simple. From that moment on, it was no longer worry over my mother that consumed me. I resented her.

  Now that I was grown, I no longer felt that resentment. This phase of our relationship may have been the worst. Because I had become indifferent. It was one of the reasons I had been in such a hurry to move back to California. I couldn’t stand by and wa
tch my mother wallow in self-pity and helplessness for one more minute. She was so fragile, so sensitive about everything – and the tears were almost a constant thing anymore.

  I had to get away.

  “You should try to talk Uncle Fred into selling the shop,” I said into the phone for probably the tenth time. My mother, whom I had taken to calling Miranda since I was a teenager, was sniffling on the other end, and my patience was growing thin. I fought back the urge to say something that would no doubt make her cry more. Sometimes I felt like she’d just given up.

  “But the shop is Fred’s whole life. What will we do for money?” There was panic and the unmistakable weariness in her voice.

  I sighed. “Miranda, we’ve talked about this before. You work day and night in that place, and it hasn’t made a profit since Walmart opened two years ago. You’re exhausted, Fred is frustrated, and the place is crumbling more every day. It’s in a great location. Sell it before you lose everything and use the money to put a monster kitchen in the house. You can start baking again; do what you love. Maybe you can start getting some catering jobs.”

  “What about Fred?”

  I pulled the phone away from my ear and stared at it for a minute as if it had grown horns. “What about Fred? He’s been a business owner for thirty years; twenty-eight of those were successful years. I’m sure Uncle Fred will be fine.”

  “I don’t know, Izzy. Fred isn’t like your father you know. He isn’t aggressive. I feel like if he loses his store, he’ll just curl up and die.”

  Like you’re doing? I thought to myself, and instantly regretted it.

  “Fred has always lived in the shadow of your father. Even when they were kids. Your father was so confident, so energetic, larger than life. He was…”