Everything is just fine, p.14
Everything Is Just Fine, page 14
Dear Jacqui,
I know that we don’t know each other very well, but I wanted to slet yyou know that I was thinking about you tonight. Maybe it’s the fact that we aren’t close friends that allows me to feel like I can talk to you honestly about something that is very sensitive. Sometimes friends are the last to be able to speak. They risk so much. The potential cost to me is somewhat lower.
So Jacqui, you know that way that you always talk about Calvin and what he does as, “Hey all kids are like this, right?” Well, and please just take this in, all kids aren’t like that. The kicking and rocking and eating rocks and huge tantrums over any little thing isn’t what all kids do. Occasionally they do one of those things, but not all of them, and not as often as Calvin. And tonight, when he had to be coaxed down from the ledge by pouring sugar inhis mouth. Soemthing else is going on. I think that it’s possible that there’s more to Calvin’s issues thatn him simply being a sensitive kid.
Have Calvin’s teachers suggested that you have him tested to see if there’s more that can be done for him? I hope that they have and that my letter doesn’t come completely out of left-field.
Anwya, feel free to talk to me if you need to. I truly mean to be supportive. Or if you’re mad, delete this whole letter and act like I never said a thing, and I won’t bug you.
Warmly,
Diane
In a living room in West Hollywood, Karen sips her lavender tea, even though she’d rather have a scotch. According to her new-agey doctor, lavender is supposed to calm her down. Of course, scotch is more reliable, but she has been consciously avoiding becoming a cliché single mom who stays up half the night boozing and firing off e-mails to her ex. Besides, she used to drink scotch with Mark, and right now, if she were to allow herself to dwell on him, she could end up wrapping a kitchen knife in a dish towel, driving over to Mark and Kelli’s, and plunging it into both of their chests.
She sits on the couch, legs folded under her, comfy throw over her lap, listening to some classical station and concentrating on her breathing. Down the hall, Ben’s door is closed; slammed shut a couple of hours ago. A poster of Dumbledore lying in front of it, having fallen on impact. Karen hasn’t bothered to pick it up. Earlier, she’d had some notion of demanding that Ben put it back up on the door himself. At least she is calm enough now to realize that adding the poster battle to the current war would have been like throwing a Molotov cocktail into an angry mob.
Even though Ben is presumably asleep, she can feel his hatred licking at the doorframe. The iPhone is in the basement of her apartment building, having been tossed down the garbage chute. “I hate you so much I want to kill you!” Ben had screamed, pulling on her arm so hard that she had to drag him out the door into the hall and up to the chute. God, what must the neighbors think? They must have heard it all. She’s a monster.
No. No. She’s not a monster. Or at least, she didn’t used to be. And Ben used to be an easy kid, before the divorce. Cocky, sure. But what did you expect with a dad like Mark?
Mark. It’s near impossible for her to remember why she married the man in the first place. There’s not a sliver of love or attraction left for him. So what the hell is she fighting Kelli and him for?
She hasn’t the faintest idea. All she knows is that she can’t let go of her anger. Because what would she have then? A middle-aged body, a tasteful but small apartment in West Hollywood, and no life?
She stretches out her legs. Her bare feet, extending past the blanket, feel a chill. She puts the cup of tea down on the coffee table and reaches down to pull the blanket over her toes. There’s a thought that she is refusing to allow herself. To push it aside, she tries to retrieve a list of injustices that Mark has heaped upon her since he took up with Kelli. This list is a constant comfort. But that persistent thought won’t let her stay with the list.
Number one on the list, of course, is the lying.
The shadow thought remains, waiting patiently, which is profoundly distracting.
Number two is: with the fucking nanny—seriously?
The thought stays, marking time.
Oh hell, numbers three through two hundred will still be there when she wants them.
Then, she allows the thought, because tonight, this fight with Ben, if she’s honest, has shaken her like nothing else in this whole dismal saga. She exhales and faces the thought, which is fully formed and ready to be seen.
If you do not let all of this go—right now—you will lose your son.
A few miles away, Jacqui lies in bed after sending a thank-you e-mail to the team. Normally, she stays up much later than Steve, organizing and planning for the day ahead. But tonight, a great weariness overtook her after all that drama on the field, and she was sure that she would fall asleep earlier and easier than usual.
She was wrong. As soon as she lay down on her side of the bed, she felt anxious. She tried her usual tricks. She concentrated on a pink heat, warming her from the inside of her tummy and slowly radiating out to her extremities. But she couldn’t lie still long enough and turned onto her side. She tried mentally writing her to-do list on a piece of paper, then imagined crumpling it up and throwing it away. But she had a hard time coming up with to-dos, which has never happened before. She always has to-dos. Then she tried imagining that she was at a perfume counter at Nordstrom and Harrison Ford (from the first Indiana Jones movie) spotting her from the men’s department, where he was getting a suit fitted. Then, just as Harrison Ford started walking over to her, he vanished and she couldn’t get him back.
At this point, she has to admit defeat and do the only thing that ever works: eat a pot brownie and clean the kitchen. She gets up from her bed noiselessly (Steve never stirs) and grabs her slippers from the closet.
Downstairs, she flicks the light on in the living room and shuffles over to her desk, where she opens the drawer and retrieves a key buried in a small cup of paper clips. The key unlocks the file cabinet, and behind the files is a Tupperware container housing the brownies. She takes one out and lays it on the desk before reversing the process, returning the container, locking the cabinet, burying the key, and closing the drawer. It is a routine she has gone through hundreds of times before and it has a satisfying rhythm to it.
Now she sits at her desk, eating the brownie, thinking about Calvin on the roof. How small he looked and how much she wanted to protect him from everyone watching and judging. How she could only stand there and give Coach instructions. The whole time praying that no one thought she was odd or Calvin was being difficult again. She pushes aside the wish that Calvin were someone else. Because that’s an awful wish, and she replaces it with the wish that he will get better. Grow out of it. He’s so smart. Yesterday he alphabetized the books in his bedroom just for fun. She bends her mind toward the things she loves about him. His spiky hair, his neat handwriting, and his fascination with clocks. And he would never harm anyone. There isn’t anything mean about him.
The pot starts to fog her brain and her limbs loosen. Her phone buzzes and lights up on her big calendar blotter. Who could be sending an e-mail so late? She picks up the yellow-framed phone and looks. From Diane. I’m glad that Calvin is safe. Jacqui opens the letter. Reads. Her eyesight is a bit fuzzy and her glasses are upstairs. She strains her eye muscles until her tear ducts hurt. Have Calvin’s teachers suggested that you have him tested… She bites her bottom lip. Yes. There have been teachers and doctors. A lot. The school is even threatening to reject them for sixth grade if they don’t agree to an IEP and behavioral plan. Despite the fact that Jacqui is one of their hardest working parents and fund-raisers. But she can’t quite—what? She can’t quite give in yet. That’s what it feels like, giving in.
Calvin is a sensitive boy. Yes, maybe he has trouble transitioning. Even ADHD. And other diagnoses she can’t allow herself to think about too long. The pot settles into her bones. Finds its groove. She can focus now. Looks back at the glowing phone in her hand. Or if you’re mad, delete this whole letter and act like I never said a thing, and I won’t bug you. Hell, by tomorrow Jacqui will barely remember the letter at all. She swipes her thumb across the phone’s glassy face. Delete.
Decisive now. Energy crackles through her. She neatly swipes the crumbs from the brownie off the desk and into the trash can. As she stands, she feels everything click in. She will clean the kitchen for the second time tonight. Then she will feel whole. A clean kitchen is an attainable act and efficiency is her salvation.
CHAPTER 29
From: RTChampion@gmail.com
To: DPlatt@ca.rr.com
sent Thu, Oct 14 9:00 am
Subject: Practice yesterday!
Hey Diane,
How are you this morning? I hopped out of bed like a new man, and today I feel like anything is possible! Last night, on the roof with Calvin, it was like I couldn’t make one false move. Why is that, Diane? Why is it that I can mess up my whole life, but come through when it matters the most? I’ll tell you why, because there is a reason why all this is happening. I am meant for something bigger than OneStopOffice.
I’m going to spend my time here at the library, writing a list of things that I’m good at—things that I might have forgotten that I was good at. If you can think of anything to add, send it along!! Just kidding. Seriously.
This is going to be fun!!!
Randy
From: JHandHRasst@OneStopOffice.com
To: FavoriteCoach@gmail.com
sent Thu, Oct 14 9:05 am
Subject: Meeting
Dear Mr. Tinker,
Please respond to our request for a meeting regarding questionable expenditures, billed to OneStopOffice. We would like to keep this in house, but are prepared to go through legal channels if necessary.
Thank you,
Heather
Heather Stanfield
Executive Assistant/Human Resources
OneStopOffice
739 La Jolla Drive
Los Angeles, CA 90042
From: FavoriteCoach@gmail.com
To: JHandHRasst@OneStopOffice.com
sent Thu, Oct 14 9:08 am
Subject: Re: Meeting
Dear Heather,
I apologize for not getting back to you sooner. I took my family out for a vacation in the desert. They call it being “off the grid”—there’s no Internet or phone service. Have you ever been on the high desert? You should go sometime, Heather. It’s a truly spiritual experience.
Of course, I can meet with Ms. Hand. Legal channels are completely unnecessary and I am eager to pay OneStopOffice back if there are any mix-ups. My schedule is pretty full for the next couple of weeks. How about early November? The week of the eighth?
Sincerely,
Randy Tinker
“I’ve been through the desert on a horse with no name…”
America
From: JHandHRasst@OneStopOffice.com
To: FavoriteCoach@gmail.com
sent Thu, Oct 14 9:09 am
Subject: Re: Meeting
Dear Mr. Tinker,
The week of the eighth is a month away. Ms. Hand was hoping to have some clarity on this in the next couple of days. Please find an opening in your schedule.
Thank you,
Heather
Heather Stanfield
Executive Assistant/Human Resources
OneStopOffice
739 La Jolla Drive
Los Angeles, CA 90042
From: FavoriteCoach@gmail.com
To: JHandHRasst@OneStopOffice.com
sent Thu, Oct 14 9:11 am
Subject: Re: Meeting
Dear Heather,
Of course, I didn’t realize that the eighth was so far away. I blame my desert brain. Out there you lose all track of time because you are thinking about your place in the universe, as opposed to the daily grind. You would love it. How about next Monday at the close of day?
Sincerely,
Randy Tinker
“I’ve been through the desert on a horse with no name…”
America
From: JHandHRasst@OneStopOffice.com
To: FavoriteCoach@gmail.com
sent Thu, Oct 14 9:12 am
Subject: Re: Meeting
Dear Mr. Tinker,
If Monday is your earliest availability, then I will set the appointment for 10 am.
Heather
Heather Stanfield
Executive Assistant/Human Resources
OneStopOffice
739 La Jolla Drive
Los Angeles, CA 90042
From: FavoriteCoach@gmail.com
To: PPousaint@mac.com
sent Thu, Oct 14 10:02 am
Subject: Off the Record
Hi there, Paul. Hope you’re OK with an e-mail instead of the old phone, but I’ve got some time in the middle of the day and I wasn’t going to call you at the office with team business.
First off, I hope you’re on board with trying Mason on goal for two quarters. I think league regs will allow for it. Hell, if they don’t, that means Majors and Zacharian have been breaking regs all season! So I’m going for it.
I’ve been dropping by the Woo’s occasionally and kicking a ball around with the kid, and I can tell you that his issues are mainly mental. As you know, his skills are outstanding, but he tenses up every time a coach yells at him. It’s kind of tough to work around, right, so I’m recommending that you, Alejandro, and me work on adding “That-a-boy” or “Got it, Sport?” into our coaching, when specifically dealing with him.
In conclusion, I have a little matter you may be able to help me with. I’m transitioning out of my job here at OneStopOffice and I’m looking for non-traditional ways to enhance cash flow for the interim. Do you know of any such venues? I’m just beginning to put out feelers.
Coach
“I’ve been through the desert on a horse with no name…”
America
From: PPousaint@mac.com
To: FavoriteCoach@gmail.com
sent Thu, Oct 14 10:15 am
Subject: Re: Off the Record
I’m on board with your e-mail regarding coaching. However, I am unclear about “cash flow venues”. Are you looking for a part-time job? By “cash” I assume you mean something that won’t affect unemployment? So you mean something like dog-walking? Can you be more specific?
Paul
From: FavoriteCoach@gmail.com
To: PPousaint@mac.com
sent Thu, Oct 14 10:19 am
Subject: Re: Off the Record
Hey Paul. Yes. I am looking for work on a purely cash basis, for a short-term, of course, something that would supplement unemployment for a month or two.
I don’t expect to be out of real work for long. Dog-walking seems a little “public” for me. I would like to avoid running into a neighbor in the morning with five dogs on a leash, holding a sack of poop, if you know what I mean. I’m good at sales, but I’m not sure that I would be able to sell that as anything but desperation! Not that I am desperate, but I would like to avoid the APPEARANCE of desperation. I was thinking of something closer to dishwasher or a job in a meat locker, something in the shadows.
Coach
“I’ve been through the desert on a horse with no name…”
America
From: PPousaint@mac.com
To: FavoriteCoach@gmail.com
sent Thu, Oct 14 10:20 am
Subject: Re: Off the Record
Randy,
I have to admit, your e-mail concerns me. Don’t you have savings or a portfolio? Why don’t we meet for a drink after work today, so we can discuss the team and your situation?
Paul
CHAPTER 30
PAUL WATCHES RIVULETS OF RAIN cling to the passenger-side window as they drive quietly down the streets of Beverly Hills. Silence sits behind them like an uninvited stranger.
Marianne is an expert driver, and he turns to look at her jawline, glowing softly. He smiles to himself and returns to watch the light glint on the glass. Nothing soft about Marianne silently driving like a cyborg. Her taking the wheel after the party had been a wordless transaction, because he had had several drinks (while she had stuck to her two glasses and stiff black coffee rule) and because all their transactions are wordless these days. Except when the kids are around.
He knows better than to attempt small talk—or even gossip about the partygoers, which she used to love.
In the days following the big confession (was it only six weeks ago?), he’d attempted light banter, reminiscent of the chummy marital accord that they had maintained since the beginning of their marriage. In fact, all the way through his secret affairs, sometimes with the very women at a function they had just left. But since the confession, Marianne had refused to respond to even the smallest of his observations or questions. Refused to pretend that anything was like it was before. Even though, he could have argued, it really was the same. All that had changed was that now she knew.
Earlier this evening, over drinks with Randy Tinker, Paul told him about feeling captive in his own home. Penance for the infidelities he’d racked up following a career humiliation that even now he can’t think of without feeling his balls retract. The affairs became unsustainable because Paul had begun to fear for his immortal soul. Damn the nuns. But even more so, because he actually loved Marianne. He takes another sideways glance. Her gaze does not waver from the wet road ahead.
He had warned Randy. Don’t blow everything just because of a midlife slump. Look what happened to me. But Randy hadn’t made—or couldn’t make—the connection, because Randy, of course, wouldn’t know the first thing about having an affair.
