said Betty.
Ilene added, “A penniless itinerant actor? He’s lucky to stand next to you on line for the bus. Besides which, if you’re old, what does that make me?”
Betty said, “Older.”
Ilene said, “Let’s drink to that.”
The women drank. They refilled the glasses, killing the bottle—and they hadn’t even ordered their entrees. This happened every time. Frieda offered to run to the wine store a half block away. She grabbed her purse and hurried to the door.
The oldest and youngest sisters remained. As soon as Frieda was out of earshot, Ilene said, “You know Sam Hill isn’t going to last. He’s nothing like Gregg. Where’s the compatibility?”
Betty dipped another crust of bread into the olive oil. She knew Ilene was watching her soak up the golden puddle of fat and calories. Betty said, “The whole stepfather thing. I don’t see this twenty-eight-year-old filling Gregg’s shoes there. He’s just too young to deal with that kind of responsibility.”
“Exactly,” said Ilene. “So you agree with me.”
Betty nodded. “I agree that Sam Hill won’t be around in a year. But we disagree about…”
“We’d have to disagree about something.”
“Let this run its course,” warned Betty. “If you try to steer Frieda away from Sam Hill, she’ll cling even tighter to him. It’s all premature anyway. She hasn’t had a date with him yet.”
“But she’s set on him,” said Ilene. “She wants him, so she’ll have to have him. But I know enough to be discreet. There are ways to dissuade her without overt criticism. Planting seeds, that kind of thing.”
“Evil gardening?” asked Betty.
“How’s your love life?” asked Ilene.
Frieda had rushed back in, bottle in a brown bag, able to catch that last part. “How is your love life, Betty?” she asked.
The conversation now focused on her, Betty drained her glass before speaking. “Okay. Here’s the thing.”
“The thing is…” prompted Frieda.
“The thing is,” said Betty, “I like a guy.”
Ilene and Frieda pounced on the morsel of candor. “Who is he?” asked Frieda.
“His name is Earl Long,” she started. “He works at Burton & Notham, but only temporarily. He’s setting up audio-books booths. I guess he’s in his mid-thirties. I have no clue about his religion, background, status, financial standing.”
Betty tried to sound casual about it, even though she was obsessed with Earl Long. Her thoughts chased him around Burton & Notham like a panting dog. If he stepped into the bathroom at work, she imagined following him in, locking the stall door, and assaulting him. If he sat down at the café for a sandwich or coffee, Betty pictured joining him, sneaking her fingers onto his thigh for a squeeze.
Frieda asked, “Does he know you like him?”
Betty nearly laughed. “No way.” She avoided him whenever possible. Their conversations were terse, businesslike. Betty’s attraction overwhelmed her, and she couldn’t muster a degree of warmth in his presence. She’d been aware of the tendency since high school: Out of fear, she treated the boys she liked with disdain. In return, they hated her. Their rejection emptied her of confidence, a void she filled with Ring Dings. She had put on five pounds since Earl appeared in her office. Despite the mini-chats she had with herself (e.g., “You know you’re eating this Big Mac because Earl Long pays more attention to Starr, the eighteen-year-old cashier, than he does to you ), Betty was powerless to stop herself.
“Does he like you?” Ilene asked.
“How should I know?” In the two weeks he’d been on site, Earl had touched her once, to get her attention. She’d been supervising a delivery at the store’s 17th-Street rear entrance, clipboard in hand. His touch on her shoulder had surprised her so much that she dropped the clipboard, alarming the delivery man, who asked if she was having a seizure. She couldn’t meet Earl’s eyes afterward. He apologized
Ilene added, “A penniless itinerant actor? He’s lucky to stand next to you on line for the bus. Besides which, if you’re old, what does that make me?”
Betty said, “Older.”
Ilene said, “Let’s drink to that.”
The women drank. They refilled the glasses, killing the bottle—and they hadn’t even ordered their entrees. This happened every time. Frieda offered to run to the wine store a half block away. She grabbed her purse and hurried to the door.
The oldest and youngest sisters remained. As soon as Frieda was out of earshot, Ilene said, “You know Sam Hill isn’t going to last. He’s nothing like Gregg. Where’s the compatibility?”
Betty dipped another crust of bread into the olive oil. She knew Ilene was watching her soak up the golden puddle of fat and calories. Betty said, “The whole stepfather thing. I don’t see this twenty-eight-year-old filling Gregg’s shoes there. He’s just too young to deal with that kind of responsibility.”
“Exactly,” said Ilene. “So you agree with me.”
Betty nodded. “I agree that Sam Hill won’t be around in a year. But we disagree about…”
“We’d have to disagree about something.”
“Let this run its course,” warned Betty. “If you try to steer Frieda away from Sam Hill, she’ll cling even tighter to him. It’s all premature anyway. She hasn’t had a date with him yet.”
“But she’s set on him,” said Ilene. “She wants him, so she’ll have to have him. But I know enough to be discreet. There are ways to dissuade her without overt criticism. Planting seeds, that kind of thing.”
“Evil gardening?” asked Betty.
“How’s your love life?” asked Ilene.
Frieda had rushed back in, bottle in a brown bag, able to catch that last part. “How is your love life, Betty?” she asked.
The conversation now focused on her, Betty drained her glass before speaking. “Okay. Here’s the thing.”
“The thing is…” prompted Frieda.
“The thing is,” said Betty, “I like a guy.”
Ilene and Frieda pounced on the morsel of candor. “Who is he?” asked Frieda.
“His name is Earl Long,” she started. “He works at Burton & Notham, but only temporarily. He’s setting up audio-books booths. I guess he’s in his mid-thirties. I have no clue about his religion, background, status, financial standing.”
Betty tried to sound casual about it, even though she was obsessed with Earl Long. Her thoughts chased him around Burton & Notham like a panting dog. If he stepped into the bathroom at work, she imagined following him in, locking the stall door, and assaulting him. If he sat down at the café for a sandwich or coffee, Betty pictured joining him, sneaking her fingers onto his thigh for a squeeze.
Frieda asked, “Does he know you like him?”
Betty nearly laughed. “No way.” She avoided him whenever possible. Their conversations were terse, businesslike. Betty’s attraction overwhelmed her, and she couldn’t muster a degree of warmth in his presence. She’d been aware of the tendency since high school: Out of fear, she treated the boys she liked with disdain. In return, they hated her. Their rejection emptied her of confidence, a void she filled with Ring Dings. She had put on five pounds since Earl appeared in her office. Despite the mini-chats she had with herself (e.g., “You know you’re eating this Big Mac because Earl Long pays more attention to Starr, the eighteen-year-old cashier, than he does to you ), Betty was powerless to stop herself.
“Does he like you?” Ilene asked.
“How should I know?” In the two weeks he’d been on site, Earl had touched her once, to get her attention. She’d been supervising a delivery at the store’s 17th-Street rear entrance, clipboard in hand. His touch on her shoulder had surprised her so much that she dropped the clipboard, alarming the delivery man, who asked if she was having a seizure. She couldn’t meet Earl’s eyes afterward. He apologized
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