The Friend by Mary Jane Clark

The
Friend
    B ottled
water, shampoo, conditioner, lip balm, moisturizer, dog food. Piper Donovan
moved up in the express checkout line and placed her six items on the conveyor
belt.
    “What kind of dog do you have?” asked the cashier,
scanning a box of canine treats before depositing it in Piper’s reusable
shopping tote.
    “A Jack Russell terrier,” answered Piper, smiling.
“He’s such an imp. He lives for these Fido Fudgies.”
    When the order was tabulated, Piper slid her debit
card through the slot. It didn’t take. She slid it again.
    “I don’t know what’s wrong,” she muttered,
concerned that her account balance was even lower than she’d thought. “It’s not
working.”
    The young woman held out her hand and Piper gave
her the card. The cashier scrutinized it. With stubby, nail-bitten fingers, she
tapped numbers onto the register keypad. The transaction went through.
    “Thanks,” said Piper with relief as she took back
the card and slipped it into her wallet.
    “No problem,” said the cashier. She watched
longingly as Piper picked up the bag and walked away, that blond ponytail
swinging behind her.

    A s
Piper inserted her key in the lock on her parents’ door, she could hear the
excited barking coming from the other side. The terrier sprang to greet her as
soon as Piper stepped into the front hall. The little dog enthusiastically
licked at Piper’s cheek as she bent over to put her packages down.
    “Hey, Emmett,” laughed Piper. “Hey, buddy, did you
miss me? I missed you.”
    Piper unwound the scarf from around her neck,
unbuttoned her wool coat and kicked off her Uggs while the dog stuck his snout
into the shopping tote. His tail wagged furiously.
    “Oh, I know what you want,” said Piper. “Don’t
worry, Em. I got them.”
    The terrier stood up on his hind legs, his front
paws held out eagerly. Piper opened the box, reached in and plucked out a treat.
Emmett snatched it.
    Watching the dog happily chomp, Piper felt a
vibration coming from the pocket of her jeans. She took out her iPhone and
checked her e-mail. Her heart leapt. Her agent Gabe had gotten her an
appointment to audition for another commercial. With the pet food commercial she
had just shot, she had high hopes for a magic mailbox-ful of residual checks
that would replenish her depleted bank account when the spot started to air. It
had been a long dry spell.
    “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Emmett?” Piper
asked out loud as she stroked the dog. “If I had two national spots running at
the same time? After all these months of booking nothing? That would be huge,
buddy.”
    Emmett cocked his head, and Piper was certain that
the terrier was happy for her.

    W hen
she got home from work, Splendor went straight to her room and booted up her
computer. She logged onto Facebook and, finally, set up an account. While others
chattered about Facebook all the time, up until now, Splendor hadn’t seen the
point of it. The talk about “friends” made her feel that she wouldn’t really
belong on Facebook.
    She paused when it came time to post a profile
picture. She didn’t have an image of herself that she liked. Instead, she took a
shot of Aggie, her beloved teddy bear, and used that.
    Splendor found Piper Donovan’s page and stared at
her profile picture. Smooth, creamy skin; shining green eyes; small, straight
nose; a headful of lustrous golden hair. Splendor had seen Piper—tall, thin and
glowing—many times at the supermarket. While Splendor watched with admiration
and wondered what it would be like to be that pretty, Piper never seemed to
notice Splendor. Sure, Piper always said “thank you” and smiled when she took
her receipt, but Splendor sensed she might as well be invisible.
    When Piper had handed her card over today, Splendor
had even admired her name imprinted in the plastic. It had given her an
idea.
    Now, as she scrutinized the Facebook page and
relished Piper’s gorgeous professional headshot, Splendor