Authors: Eileen Cook
“What do you want?” a woman barked. She was painfully thin and had dark circles under her eyes. She wasn’t wearing any makeup or shoes. Her toenails were a nicotine-stain yellow. She looked like a creature extra from the
Lord of Rings
.
“Hi. I’m looking for Diana,” I mumbled. I held out my hand and she looked down at it, but didn’t shake it. She gave a loud sniff and rubbed the back of her hand against her nose. My hand drifted down to my side. I’m getting a sense why Diana might not want to spend a lot of time here. She certainly didn’t look like the type who had a clipping file of Princess Diana articles.
“What has she done now”? She looked at me. “You with welfare?”
“Me? No. I’m just a friend.”
She gave another juicy sniffle and I looked into her face trying to convey I was a trustworthy person in case she was leery of a strange woman showing up at her door looking for her daughter. Her pupils were so dilated that they looked like black nickels pressed into her pale flesh. I took a step back. She didn’t look like me being strange would be an issue. She looked like she might not even be aware that I was there.
“Friend, huh? Well, she’s not here.” She scratched her arms and I concentrated on not looking for track marks.
“If you see her will you tell her that Erin stopped by?”
“Wait a minute.” She went into the house leaving the door open. I could see into the hallway. There was a worn oriental-style runner down the hall and at the far end a glimpse into the kitchen. The chipped laminate counter was piled with dishes. I heard a flush and a guy wandered into the hall wearing a pair of jeans and no shirt. His hair was oily and he had entirely too much hair on his back. He gave me a flat, expressionless look and walked out of sight. I had my doubts that this guy was Diana’s dad. He also didn’t have a general positive male role model look to him. Diana’s mom came from the kitchen, preceded by a dog that looked like a mix between a German shepherd and a rabid beaver. The dog was straining at the leash toward me. The dog’s toenails clicked and scratched the floor as it thrust itself forward. I took several steps back.
“Here.” She tried to hand the leash to me and a wrinkled plastic bag. I held my hands up as if it were a robbery.
“I don’t want a dog,” I said. This struck me as one of those things that shouldn’t require an explanation. Did she think people went door to door in search of pets? Like a wandering Humane Society?
“The dog belongs to Diana. Give it to her when you see her.” She thrust the leash forward again. Her hand touched mine and her skin felt hot and dry like paper about to burst into flame.
“I don’t know when I’m going to see her.”
“Me neither, and I don’t want the damn dog around. He bit Craig.” She didn’t explain who Craig was, but I suspected he was the shirtless wonder. I looked down at the dog. I wondered if he had caught any type of communicable disease from his contact with Craig.
“I can’t take this dog.”
“Well then leave him to play in the street. I don’t care.” She dropped the bag and I heard a couple metal bowls clang inside. She snorted back another glob of mucus and shut the door in my face. The dog sat there looking at me. His tail thumped on the stoop. I gave a sigh. I bent over and picked up the leash and led the dog back to my car. He jumped in the backseat, his tail picking up speed. As it wagged, clumps of fur flew off and started to coat my black upholstery in hairy drifts. I sat in the front and rested my hands on the steering wheel taking a few deep breaths. The dog’s muzzle was inches from my ear and I could both feel and smell his breath.
“You have a name, dog?” He gave a few enthusiastic pants. Garbage Breath was a possible option. I wonder if Wayne had dog issues as a child. My cell rang in my purse and I fished it out. It was the station’s receptionist. Diana had shown up there to see me. She was in the lobby right now. The receptionist wanted to know if I still wanted her to call security. I told the receptionist to get Diana a cup of hot chocolate or something and to keep her from leaving. I was holding her personally responsible for making sure that girl stayed put. I revved up the car and raced back to the station.
Diana was waiting in the lobby. She looked younger than I remembered. She was tall, but she tended to hunch her shoulders and her knees bent inward when she sat. She nibbled on her thumbnail. She looked up as I came in.
“Must be nice to be paid for a job where you don’t even have to show up.” Her hands laced together and swung back and forth. Then she saw the dog trailing behind me while he sniffed along, possibly considering peeing on the carpet in the corner. “ROOSTER!” She dropped to one knee and the dog bounded to her side, licking her face with abandon.
“You named your dog after a chicken?”
“No. Rooster. After the year he was born on the Chinese calendar.” She gave the dog a ruffle of the ears. He laid his muzzle on her shoulder. It looked like the dog equivalent of a hug. “How did you get Rooster?”
“I stopped by your house.”
“You came looking for me?” Her voice sounded full of suspicion.
“Yeah well, we need to talk about that.” I pulled her and Rooster into one of the empty conference rooms and shut the door. It was time to take control of the situation. Rooster began to make a sniff inspection of each inch of carpet in the room. “Look, I know I told you that I didn’t want to do the program and that I didn’t have time.”
“But then why…”
I held up a hand to cut her off.
“I don’t have time, but I will
make
the time.”
“What do you want from me, a humanitarian award? I told you I have a mentor, I’m doing you a favor, too, you know.”
“About that. I want you to be honest with me. Do you really believe you’re talking to Princess Diana?” I tried to pin her in place with my stare.
“What makes you think I’m not being honest?”
“That wasn’t an answer.”
“I wasn’t aware this was an interrogation. Should I have a lawyer present?” She pulled herself up so that she was standing tall and managed to look offended at the same time.
“Do you have an imaginary dead lawyer friend too?”
Diana looked away and ruffled Rooster’s ears.
“What does it matter to you?”
“It isn’t that it matters, just that I think things will go better if we start off on the right foot. You don’t have to pretend with me.” I tried to sound calm and soothing, and I reached out a hand for her.
“I’m aflutter with relief,” she said, shooting me a look of disdain. So much for a touching Hallmark moment.
“Look, you want me to stay as your mentor. As I remember it, your buddy Di doesn’t count in social services’ eyes, so you can stop playing hard to get. Let’s agree on some rules.”
“Rules?”
“Yes, rules. People in decent society adhere to rules. Things like not breaking into other people’s homes. Besides, I read an article; young people are looking for boundaries.”
“People who use the term ‘young people’ know nothing about ‘young people.’ You know, Diana was the people’s princess. You didn’t hear her throwing around labels.”
I held up the hand again.
“No talking when I’m talking. That’s one of the rules.” I started to count them off on my fingers. “No telling people you are Diana’s conduit to give me advice, or that you are some kind of reincarnation of Princess Di, or implying that you are anything other than a normal kid. Well, at least as close to normal as you think you can pull off. If you have some advice from time to time, that’s one thing, but I am not anyone’s charity project. No commenting on my love life.” I stopped.
“Is that it?”
“For now, but I reserve the right to make new rules as we go along.”
Her Keds traced circles on the carpet, making elaborate patterns.
“You have a lot of rules. It’s kind of rigid.”
“Is that advice?” I warned, holding up a finger.
“No. It was more of a comment.”
“Okay then. Do we have a deal?” I held out a hand.
“What made you change your mind? You didn’t want anything to do with me this morning.”
I looked at her. She looked so young. She wasn’t wearing any makeup except for some light pink lip-gloss. It most likely smelled like bubblegum. My words snagged in my throat.
“I just thought it might work, that’s all. It’s no big deal. I mean, I signed up for the program after all.”
“Just like that? You just changed your mind.” Diana raised one eyebrow.
“Look, it really isn’t a big deal. Maybe it was the idea that we could learn from each other. It doesn’t matter. Let’s just move on from here.”
“I don’t need you to help me.”
“Fine. I promise not to help you.” I raised one hand as if I were taking a vow.
“Okay, can I make a rule too?”
“What kind of rule?”
“You promise to leave just a bit of the door open. Not to your place, but to like new ideas and things.”
I tapped my foot as I considered whether it was a trick. It was a vague rule. It smacked of new age mentality. It wasn’t that I was against new ideas. I just wasn’t sure if I would like what kind of new ideas she was likely to come up with. On the other hand, there was nothing to say I had to go along with any ideas she had.
“Okay, deal.” I held my hand out again and we shook.
“Isn’t it time for your show?” she asked. I looked down at my watch.
“Shit. Let’s go. You can watch from the production room.” I took off down the hall toward the studios.
“Did you notice? I’m already helping.” She called out after me as we jogged along. “And it wasn’t even advice!”
* * *
“We’re discussing division of labor here on He Said, She Said. Erin, you were advocating an equal split of home chores. Let me guess, you think one of those charts on the fridge with a list of what should be done, and by who, is a good plan. Be honest now, do you have a package of gold stickers to reward me for a job well done?”
“Actually, Colin, not every man requires a gold star or a chart to know what he should be doing. Allow me to introduce a new concept to you called ‘personal responsibility.’ Now I know that has a lot of syllables, so let me break it down. It means doing what needs to get done because you’re an adult.”
Despite my effort to raise the discussion to deal with the very real issue of women dealing with “second shift” syndrome—work during the day and then all the housework at night—Colin kept trying to find ways to annoy me with his counter view.
“What’s wrong with a guy coming home after a long day of work and wanting someone to take care of him? Pamper him for a change?”
“Nothing if he lives with a paid servant. If he lives with any other woman, however, the chances are pretty good that she’s come home from a long day of work too. She’s not sitting around waiting to chill his martini. I’m not saying chores have to be split down the middle, but simply that they shouldn’t all fall to one person.”
“I would agree that the man should help out.”
“Help out? Puh-leeze. It’s not helping. It’s pulling your own weight. You aren’t doing anyone any favors by cleaning your own shorts. You make it sound like someone pulled a bait and switch on you, like you thought the bathroom cleaned itself.”