I'll Stay Page 15

  We took the subway south to Christopher Street and then walked on West Fourth Street, past NYU and up to Astor Place. It was late June but the night air was cool and damp. People were standing on street corners, gathering in restaurants, hurrying by us. It was a different crowd and neighborhood from what I knew in Boston; less provincial, less student-oriented. More sophisticated, worldly, darker somehow. I walked with my backpack across both shoulders and my bag tight at my stomach.

  We stopped at a burrito place, small and not what I had in mind, but at least it wasn’t too dark and Lee insisted it was good and served big portions. We sat at a table next to the window and ordered beers. Through the glass I watched a woman, her hair dyed an outrageous pink, walk by. The crowd at the surrounding tables was young, in jeans and T-shirts, like us.

  The entire way here, Lee had been talking about her job. Her boss told her that her job was to make his job easier. If that meant getting coffee for him or making squash court reservations, so be it. The list of menial jobs went on and on. She was nothing more than a secretary. But unlike other times when I’d heard her complain about jobs, she wasn’t in tears. She mostly seemed annoyed.

  “Did you tell him that making his squash court reservation isn’t in your job description?” I asked. When our waitress set our beers on the table, I smiled at her and said thank you but she simply shrugged and hurried off.

  “Well, no, he’s my boss.”

  I took a sip of beer. Ben had to put up with a lot at work, too; it was what you did to get ahead, he said. But something about this felt different. I didn’t understand why she kept working for bosses who took advantage of her. It was like this at her last job, too. And the film director for whom she interned was the worst.

  “What do you think I should do?” Lee pulled off the label on her beer bottle, folded it several times and then wedged it into a crack in the wood table.

  My God, it was a stable job with a guaranteed salary, vacation time, and health benefits. So many people would love to have this opportunity. “You want to get into the business of videos and TV. This is a good stepping stone. Right?”

  She tried to pull out the label but it was stuck in the crack. “But I haven’t touched a camera, and I don’t get to see a studio unless I sneak into one. Do you think I should, you know, ask to do more?”

  “Maybe you have to be patient and work your way up.”

  “Maybe it’s not a good fit for me?” She sunk her head into her hand.

  Maybe she wasn’t a good fit for them. Maybe she should think about getting rid of the clogs and start wearing makeup and doing something with her hair instead of letting it hang in her face. I imagined that she fit right in down here—another woman with colored hair just walked by the window—but a place like ABC had standards. Maybe they didn’t appreciate her sulking around, either.

  I put my hand on my chest, surprised at how angry I felt. But God, could she sulk. It took months to get her out of the funk she was in after the internship ended. Every night on the phone she cried while I listened and tried to talk her down. You didn’t know he was a drunk. A boss should never call you a bitch. This isn’t your fault. You aren’t a failure!

  She took everything so personally. Like the time she was let go from the library. It wasn’t her fault that the school eliminated her position. I sighed and glanced out the window. What was wrong with me? Why wasn’t I more patient? I lowered my voice, trying to make it sound gentle. “Look, this isn’t easy. You’re in a really competitive field. You’re lucky to have gotten in the door at a place like ABC.”

  “And I’m grateful. I know I’m complaining a lot, but I’m working really hard. I know your dad had to pull some strings to get this for me.”

  “It’s okay. He made a couple of calls. I just think that you have to learn to play the game,” I said. Ben always talked about this. Jockeying for positions. Placating your boss. It was like a chess game.

  Lee scrunched her forehead, as if she had no idea what I was talking about, and fiddled with the label again. Then she drained her beer and sat back in her seat. “Ah, forget it. How are you? And the writing center?”

  I could tell her about Lucy’s accusations or Joel’s phone call but I didn’t want to get into all of that. “Oh, Lee, I wish you liked your job.”

  She sighed. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I know I’m lucky to be here. It’s just that I hoped, you know, to be doing something else.”

  “Filmmaking?”

  She nodded, slow and methodical and not at all convincing.

  The beer had gone to my head or maybe I was just hungry—I hadn’t eaten since before work this morning—and so I wasn’t as careful as I usually was. I said, “Maybe you don’t want to make films anymore?”

  Her lips parted as she turned her head toward the window. And then she barely seemed to move or breathe. She was stunned and I didn’t know if this was because I’d said out loud what she’d been feeling or because she hadn’t quite let herself know this yet. Or maybe I was wrong? But I began to worry because she still wasn’t moving and I hadn’t meant to upset her—this wasn’t at all how I wanted the evening to go—and so I leaned forward. “Hey, sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  She shook her head and mumbled, “It’s okay.”

  “Have you thought any more about graduate school?” I asked.

  “I don’t see how I can pull that off. Financially.”

  Outside the window two men were arguing although we couldn’t hear through the glass what they were saying. Then the shorter one punched the bigger one, who fell back against the window with a thud that shook the restaurant. People turned to look and I gasped and gripped the edges of the table. The men continued shoving and arguing as they walked down the street.

  “Oh, my God, what was that about?” I asked.

  The waitress, who’d walked over to see what had happened, leaned into the window and watched the men disappear down the street. Her dirty blond hair was pulled behind her in a sloppy bun and she had four earrings that ran up the sides of both ears. She hissed, “Assholes.”

  After she walked away, I turned to Lee, who was staring at her beer bottle. She hadn’t even flinched. Did she see what happened? Random acts of violence occurred every day in this city and you had to be prepared. You couldn’t just zone out like she always did. Where was she? Maybe she was still thinking about what I’d said. I’d upset her, damn it, and now it was my job to make her feel better.

  “Listen, I’ve seen what my mother has gone through.” I didn’t want to think about how I left her today in the living room. “It’s hard to be an artist. It’s hard to choose that life.”

  Lee startled. “You think it’s a choice?”

  And suddenly there they were, the most magnificent burritos I’d ever seen. Huge and warm, bulging with grilled vegetables, black beans, chunks of chicken, and gooey, melted cheese. As we ordered more beer and dove into our food, I felt the mood lift. We ate and drank as if it had been weeks, months, since our last meal.

  When we finally finished, Lee pushed her empty plate away and rested her elbows on the table. The color was back in her cheeks from the food and the beer. No wonder. She was on her third bottle.

  “I’m glad we’re meeting your parents tomorrow night,” she said. “You’re so lucky that they like to do fun stuff. I wish my parents were like that.”

  Over the years she’d said this kind of thing to me a lot. I asked, “So, you said on the phone that something happened with your mom?”

  “Yeah, I called on Sunday and told her that I was thinking about coming home for The Miracles’ thirteenth birthdays. And she said, ‘just give us the money you’d spend on an airplane ticket. If you can afford to fly around the country any time you feel like celebrating someone’s birthday, then you must be doing a whole lot better than you’ve been telling us.’ And then she laughed.”

  I took a sip of my beer, now warm. “She didn’t mean that. Right?”

  Lee shrug
ged. “She thinks everyone in New York is rich. I should have never told her about the house-sitting I did. She didn’t get why someone would hire me to stay in a house as nice as that. She thought it was where I lived, permanently. If I thought she’d use the money to pay bills or buy The Miracles some presents, I’d find a way to get it to her. But she’d probably just spend it on herself.”

  I reached for Lee’s label, still stuck in the crack in the table, but I couldn’t remove it, either. I didn’t know what to say about her family. “Oh, Lee.”

  “I know. It’s kind of pathetic. I wasn’t even going to fly back home. I was going to take a bus. Anyway, it’s just confirmation that I’ve done the right thing, you know? Coming out here? Trying to make it work? What do you think? I mean, what would you do if your mom said something like that to you?”

  Our mothers are nothing alike, I nearly blurted. I looked down at the label again and thought about my visit to Lee’s farm junior year. When meeting me, her aunt Gail compared my mother to Lee’s mom, and I’d been offended.

  “I know, I’d be bummed out, too.” I reached for the label again, this time pulling as hard as I could, but no use. It was stuck.

  “I shouldn’t be surprised or anything.” She sighed and stood. “I’m going to the bathroom. Order me another beer, okay?”

  I finished my beer and ordered two more. And then I turned to the window.

  It was March of junior year when we visited her farm, but still very much winter. Dirty, porous mounds of snow lined the two-lane highway and on both sides flat, empty fields stretched for as far as I could see. We passed one tiny, depressing town after another, many with boarded-up storefronts, pawnshops, and giant grain silos that stood next to farm feed stores and taverns.

  Finally, we turned down a long driveway and at the end I saw a one-story house with dirty yellow siding, standing alone in a field and attached to a small barn. Cars, some without wheels and doors, were scattered across the dirt yard. A rope swing hung from a lone tree off to the right. A scrawny dog, tied to a stake, was barking at us as it ran back and forth, nearly hanging itself with each lunge.

  “Now why’d they do that to Barney?” Lee stopped the car and hurried over to the dog. She tried to hold him but he was still frantic as he tried to escape.

  The skies had darkened and I watched small, grainy snowflakes bounce off the windshield. This was no longer a working farm, Lee had told me, and they had little money. But I hadn’t known, exactly, what that meant. My God, the house was tiny—like a trailer, really—and the yard so bare. No bushes, no flowerbeds. I couldn’t move, not even when the door to the house opened and two kids—Pammy and Billy, The Miracles—ran across the dirt and knocked Lee over.

  Lee told me about the help she’d gotten over the years—encouragement from teachers, financial help from her benefactor, emotional support from her aunt. But as I watched her wrestle with The Miracles, I thought how truly difficult it must have been for Lee to get out of here. How was she able to hold on to such big dreams?

  Inside, the house was smaller than it seemed. The dark paneled living room had a low ceiling, only two windows, a giant sectional couch, and a TV. When The Miracles jumped on the couch, it slid and banged against the wall, shaking the house. Lee let Barney go and he scampered into the next room, his nails clicking on the linoleum.

  “Why’s it such a mess?” Lee began picking up clothes and straightening piles of blankets. I didn’t see books, magazines, or newspapers. “It’s not usually like this.”

  “Who let the dog in?” A woman stood in the doorway. She didn’t introduce herself nor did she look at me. She was dressed in a deep purple, velour warm-up suit, her bleached hair piled in a bun on top of her head. Her lips were painted red and sparkled in the dim light.

  “I did. He was miserable tied up like that.” Lee, her cheeks red and eyes wild, hurried around the room. I’d never seen her like this.

  “Hello, nice to see you, too, Lee Ann,” she said. Lee told me that her family still called her by her formal name, even though she didn’t like it, but it was startling to hear it. “I can’t control that dog. He won’t listen.”

  “But why tie him up?” Lee piled glasses and plates into the pizza box.

  “I can’t have him running away!”

  “It’d be better than having him freeze to death! Why’s it a mess in here?”

  “You think I got time to do anything with these two around?” She nodded at The Miracles and put her hands on her hips. “I’m sorry we don’t live in a mansion or a new fancy condominium. But at least we pay our bills!”

  I didn’t know what to make of this. Nor did I know what to do, so I turned to the TV. As I watched the Road Runner speed down a dirt road, kicking up dust behind him, I felt a plummeting sensation in my stomach. Now I knew why Lee didn’t put photos of her family and farm on the walls of her room and why she wouldn’t invite her mom to Mom’s Weekend. She was embarrassed. This was what she wanted to leave behind.

  I smiled and held out my hand. “I’m Clare. Thanks for having me.”

  “Oh! Here we are blabbing away.” She smiled and shook my hand, loosely, limply. “Clare this, Clare that. You’re all Lee Ann ever talks about!”

  Lee still wouldn’t look at me but at least she’d stopped cleaning.

  After that, we went into the kitchen. I did most of the talking, asking Lee’s mom about her tomato plants on the window ledge and how she’d liked growing up here. She answered everything in sweeping paragraphs that included multiple layers of information with a little hostility. “There’s not a darn thing wrong with living here. These are good people. I just said yesterday that we’re blessed to have this farm. Lee Ann and the twins have a roof over their heads, plenty to eat, and loads of family for as far as the eye can see. Everything you’d ever want is right here.”

  I smiled and said, “That’s nice.”

  Lee’s dad was tall and thin, like Lee, with black hair and small black eyes. He nodded when he came in the back door and Lee introduced us, nodded when her mom told him to clean up, and didn’t say a word until midway through dinner when he turned to Lee and said, “Does the Chevy need an oil change?”

  “Nah, I did it the other day,” she said.

  I glanced at her, surprised. “I didn’t know that you could do that.”

  “She’s a girl of many talents,” her mom said. “Did you know that she was the champion state miler and president of her class and editor of the yearbook, too?”

  “Mom,” Lee mumbled.

  “It’s true! She can do anything. People think so highly of her around here.”

  Lee’s mom hadn’t touched her dinner. Little beads of sweat dotted her forehead and two giant red circles colored her cheeks. Over the years, Lee had told me many stories about her. That she’d barely graduated from high school. That while pregnant with the twins she nearly lost them a dozen times and had to be on complete bed rest until they were born. That she was insanely jealous of her more successful sister. Watching her fan her face with her hand, I felt sorry for her. She was trying so hard. I wanted to ask something else, but I’d run out of questions.

  “You gonna make movies, too?” Billy turned to me.

  “No, I’m an English major.” I glanced at Lee’s dad, hunched over his food and so quiet you didn’t even know he was here. He’s shy, Lee told me, but I also felt a somberness that made me think he was deeply worried. Or unhappy.

  Lee’s mom laughed, nervous. “Lee Ann says you have books all over your house. My goodness. She gave me a copy of your mom’s book but I haven’t had time to read it yet. I will though. I know how famous it is. I hear it’s real good. You must be real, real proud of your mom.” She licked her lips and wrinkled her forehead and looked at me as if she were so uncomfortable that she might launch out of her chair.

  “I am proud of her,” I said. “But she’s not perfect or anything.”

  Mrs. Sumner relaxed her forehead, relieved for a moment.

  A
fter we finished dinner Lee and I met her aunt Gail at a bar in town. Gail looked a lot like Lee’s mom (they were only fifteen months apart) but her hair wasn’t as bleached and her lipstick not as red. She wore gold hoop earrings, a gold necklace, and dozens of gold bangles. A Coach pocketbook hung from the back of the stool. She looked both at home in the bar and completely misplaced.

  Gail and Lee’s mom had a love-hate relationship, Lee told me, and at the moment they weren’t speaking. Which was why she wasn’t invited to dinner.

  “So, you’re the famous Clare.” Gail put her hands on her big hips and tilted her head back. “I read your mom’s book. I didn’t care for it.”

  I felt my lips part and glanced at Lee. I had no idea what to say.

  “Ah, I’m kidding! Call me Gail. No Miss or Ms.” When she laughed a little too loudly, two guys at the bar turned to look at us. I smiled although I wasn’t sure how to take her. I glanced at Lee again but she was smiling at Gail. “Come on, let’s get some drinks! I’m paying. The night’s on me!”

  We walked to the back and sat next to a pool table, the green edges worn to the wood. Above us, beat-up Indiana license plates were nailed to the wood between posters for Schlitz and Budweiser. The ceilings were low. So were the lights.

  “Good lord, what are you wearing?” Gail asked as Lee draped her coat over the back of her chair. It was an oversized brown military trench coat that she’d recently bought at the Army-Navy Surplus store for a marked down price of only seventeen dollars. It was lined with wool, had huge, deep pockets, and a circular tear on the chest that Lee told everyone was a bullet hole.