finished opening and revealed Lunther's full-size form. "Pardon me, ladies," he continued in the same I'm-just-a-Southern-bumpkin style. Lunther often seemed to forget that he was from New Jersey. His eyes, Lonnie noticed, immediately zeroed in on the spiral notebook in her hand.
How much had he heard?
Lunther said, "I just wondered if I could have a word or two with you, Macey. About a legal matter, a'course." Translation: beat it, ignorant temp. Lonnie could take a hint. She politely excused herself and left Macey's office.
* * *
The good news Thursday morning was that she got a seat on the 8:15 T. The bad news was that it was the first seat by the door, which meant if anyone boarded who looked more "in need" than her, it would be Lonnie's civic duty to give up the seat. Please don't let anyone handicapped or elderly get on. Please no crutches or canes or pregnant ladies. She had a splitting headache—the only cure for which she figured was Starbucks—and Beauregard was scheduled to be back in the office today. She decided she could use a little fortification.
Lonnie leaned her head back against the wall of the T, right under a poster for adult education that read: Are you tired of your life? She closed her eyes and thought back to the night before. She and Peach had gone to dinner at their parents' town house in Brookline.
On the T heading there, Lonnie had issued a warning to Peach that if their mother annoyed them—excessively more than usual, that is—it was going to get ugly. Of course Lonnie adored Margot, who was actually a near-perfect mother. She was super-affectionate, and had the self-sacrificing thing down pat. Unfortunately, she was a little bit of an overachiever when it came to that nagging-about-things-you-already-know-but-are-trying-to-forget part. And Lonnie could always count on her to hit the basic talking points. Point one: career update. Point two: husband-prospect update. Point three: you-have-such-a-pretty-face-and-if-only-you'd-just-lose-fifteen-pounds pep talk. Oh, goodie.
Occasionally, Margot tried to be subtle. For instance, instead of making a direct comment about Lonnie's weight, she'd just serve her smaller portions than everyone else, and slice her a super-thin piece of pie for dessert. Then she'd conversationally say things like, "So, I hear Delta Burke's lost some weight." But Lonnie was no fool, and she knew the way her mother's mind worked. Margot figured that if her daughter slimmed down a bit, she'd gain the kind of confidence needed to secure a prosperous career—not to mention, a successful man. Her mother meant well, but Lonnie just didn't share her oversimplified, reductive reasoning.
The night pretty much went the way she had expected. As soon as she and Peach walked through the door, Margot captured each in a loving bear hug and called to their father who was in the other room. "Jack, the girls are here."
"Nazi storm-trooping pigs!"
Okay, so he was watching the news.
"Jack!"
"They're stealing your freedoms! Does anyone even care? They're stealing your freedoms!" Margot waved her hand and shrugged: in dismissal. "He's watching his news shows. Jack, I'm putting dinner out in five minutes!"
"Yes, fine, " he answered in a very put-out voice, as if she'd been telling him that most of his adult life.
Four minutes later, Margot put out dinner: baked rigatoni with garlic bread and broccoli on the side. Lonnie skipped the broccoli, although she did accept her puny portion without question... or furtive augmentation. The truth was, despite her regular slips, she was trying to watch her weight. But not for any other reason than lifting her own mood. She could deal with curvy, and had accepted that she would never be skinny, but chubby just wasn't comfortable to lug around every day. She wasn't there yet, but she didn't feel all that far from it.
There had only been one point when Margot was more direct than usual. Point two. Over dessert, she'd flat-out asked: "So, Lonnie
How much had he heard?
Lunther said, "I just wondered if I could have a word or two with you, Macey. About a legal matter, a'course." Translation: beat it, ignorant temp. Lonnie could take a hint. She politely excused herself and left Macey's office.
* * *
The good news Thursday morning was that she got a seat on the 8:15 T. The bad news was that it was the first seat by the door, which meant if anyone boarded who looked more "in need" than her, it would be Lonnie's civic duty to give up the seat. Please don't let anyone handicapped or elderly get on. Please no crutches or canes or pregnant ladies. She had a splitting headache—the only cure for which she figured was Starbucks—and Beauregard was scheduled to be back in the office today. She decided she could use a little fortification.
Lonnie leaned her head back against the wall of the T, right under a poster for adult education that read: Are you tired of your life? She closed her eyes and thought back to the night before. She and Peach had gone to dinner at their parents' town house in Brookline.
On the T heading there, Lonnie had issued a warning to Peach that if their mother annoyed them—excessively more than usual, that is—it was going to get ugly. Of course Lonnie adored Margot, who was actually a near-perfect mother. She was super-affectionate, and had the self-sacrificing thing down pat. Unfortunately, she was a little bit of an overachiever when it came to that nagging-about-things-you-already-know-but-are-trying-to-forget part. And Lonnie could always count on her to hit the basic talking points. Point one: career update. Point two: husband-prospect update. Point three: you-have-such-a-pretty-face-and-if-only-you'd-just-lose-fifteen-pounds pep talk. Oh, goodie.
Occasionally, Margot tried to be subtle. For instance, instead of making a direct comment about Lonnie's weight, she'd just serve her smaller portions than everyone else, and slice her a super-thin piece of pie for dessert. Then she'd conversationally say things like, "So, I hear Delta Burke's lost some weight." But Lonnie was no fool, and she knew the way her mother's mind worked. Margot figured that if her daughter slimmed down a bit, she'd gain the kind of confidence needed to secure a prosperous career—not to mention, a successful man. Her mother meant well, but Lonnie just didn't share her oversimplified, reductive reasoning.
The night pretty much went the way she had expected. As soon as she and Peach walked through the door, Margot captured each in a loving bear hug and called to their father who was in the other room. "Jack, the girls are here."
"Nazi storm-trooping pigs!"
Okay, so he was watching the news.
"Jack!"
"They're stealing your freedoms! Does anyone even care? They're stealing your freedoms!" Margot waved her hand and shrugged: in dismissal. "He's watching his news shows. Jack, I'm putting dinner out in five minutes!"
"Yes, fine, " he answered in a very put-out voice, as if she'd been telling him that most of his adult life.
Four minutes later, Margot put out dinner: baked rigatoni with garlic bread and broccoli on the side. Lonnie skipped the broccoli, although she did accept her puny portion without question... or furtive augmentation. The truth was, despite her regular slips, she was trying to watch her weight. But not for any other reason than lifting her own mood. She could deal with curvy, and had accepted that she would never be skinny, but chubby just wasn't comfortable to lug around every day. She wasn't there yet, but she didn't feel all that far from it.
There had only been one point when Margot was more direct than usual. Point two. Over dessert, she'd flat-out asked: "So, Lonnie
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