“Morning.” She smiled.
She served Hunter, who, with earbuds in, was busy playing his DS. He wasn’t supposed to play it at the table, but enforcing the rules she once had in place for him at nine was getting harder at fourteen.
“You seem stressed,” Damien said, sitting at the table.
Kay sighed. “Yeah . . . being a mom isn’t what it used to be. I mean, you should see them.”
“Who?”
“The high school moms. They’re nipped and tucked and tan and skinny. It’s ridiculous how much money they spend on themselves. Shameful, really.”
“Kay . . .”
“I’m serious. It’s like being in high school all over again, except I’m battling varicose veins instead of acne.”
Damien took her hand. “You look beautiful. Classy.”
“Maybe that’s what I have on them. Class. I’m not showing up in a tank top, you know?”
Jenna bounded down the stairs, her backpack swung over one nearly bare shoulder. Kay’s eyes widened as she noticed her outfit.
“Whites only?” was the only thing she asked as she threw herself into a chair.
“Yes.” Kay put a double helping on the plate and added two slices of bacon. She set the plate in front of her daughter and then went to pour some orange juice.
Jenna ate in silence while Damien read the morning newspaper.
Kay sat down across from her. Jenna glanced up and asked, “What? Why are you staring?”
“I thought we talked about ripped jeans.”
Jenna set her fork down and glared, folding her arms. “No. I think you did all the talking, as I recall.”
“We agreed you weren’t going to wear those kinds of jeans to school. And if I’m not mistaken, I don’t believe spaghetti-strap tanks are allowed either.”
“Everybody wears them and nobody gets in trouble. Besides, these jeans are ripped only at the knee. So don’t freak out.”
Kay was about to retort when she noticed something on Jenna’s wrist. It looked like white string. She remembered reading something about what these string bracelets meant. It was some sort of code for—
“I’ve got to go. We’ve got that cheer thing today,” Jenna said.
Kay glanced at Jenna’s eggs. Hardly touched. “All right. I’ll see you there.”
Jenna paused. “You’re coming?”
“The cheer moms are supposed to be there, aren’t we?”
“Yeah, I guess. Whatever.” Jenna grabbed her backpack.
Kay stood. “Why don’t you take a light sweater? or one of those cute hoodies I bought you last month? It’s December and—”
“I’ve got something in my backpack,” she mumbled. And she was gone.
Kay nodded toward the doorway. “You think she’s okay?”
“I don’t know. Probably just hormones.”
“I miss her. I mean, the old her. She was so bright and sunshiny.”
“She’ll pop out of this.”
“You should talk to her,” Kay said, sitting back down at the table. “About how she’s dressing. She’ll listen to you.”
“Honey, she’s a teenager. All parents hate how all teenagers dress. It’s just the way it is. Didn’t your parents hate your clothes?”
Kay sipped her coffee, trying to calm the nerve that struck. She wanted to explain that Jenna was giving off a lot of promiscuous signals with those kinds of clothes. And that string . . . she couldn’t get her mind off it.
They both noticed Hunter had taken his earbuds out and was staring at them.
“Sweetie?” Kay asked.
“I’m not really hungry anymore. Can I go?”
“Sure. Go ahead. I’ll see you tonight.” She checked her watch. “I probably should go too. I need to stop by work before going to the school.”
“Hey, I’ve got that thing with Frank tonight,” Damien said, wiping his mouth and looking at the bacon like it had personally insulted him. “Is this real meat?”
“What thing?”
“That whole ritual we do. Yesterday was his ex-anniversary with Angela. You know how he gets.”
“So you’re ordering chicken wings and beer and watching something violent on TV?”
“Exactly.”
She squeezed his hand. “Have fun.”
“And, um . . . wish me luck. I’m going to talk to Edgar today.”
Kay, halfway out of her seat, sat back down. “You’re sure this is what you want? Because for years all you wanted to do was write op-eds and crosswords. Why the change of heart?”
“Maybe I always wanted to change the world. Or at least my little square mile of the world. Op-eds aren’t what they used to be. People don’t read a lot anymore. But maybe some investigative journalism could change people’s lives. Hold people in power accountable.”
Kay couldn’t help but smile at him. He was a good man. Honorable. Always an optimist. “Whatever you want to do, sweetheart. You think Edgar will go for it?”
“I’ll probably have to threaten an op-ed piece about him.”
***
Damien actually put on a tie. Usually he just wore a blazer and a semipressed shirt to work. Dressing up was more about self-dignity than anything else. He’d once read about a novelist who got up and put a suit on before writing every day to put him in the right mind of a professional. So maybe the tie would help.
He let a couple of hours pass in the morning. Edgar was hardly tolerable before ten. But if you waited until too close to lunch, then his blood sugar dropped and you had a whole new set of problems.
So at 10:17, according to the digital clock that was set by satellite or nuclear power or something, Damien knocked on Edgar’s door. The grunt meant “Enter.”
Edgar glanced up from a pile of papers on his desk, a strained expression almost in permanency. Everything looked strained on Edgar, from his undersize sweater to his bloodshot eyes. But usually, when he saw Damien, all that seemed to melt away.
“You got a second?”
“I never have a second,” Edgar glowered, but a hint of a smile gleamed in his eyes. “I’m going over the numbers. It’s not good. People don’t read. Why don’t people read?” Then he held up the crossword from Thursday, half-finished in blue ink. “This one’s a doozy. Some of these clues are ridiculous.” He set the paper down. “Anyway, people don’t read.”
Damien ran his hand down the synthetic silk of his tie. “They do read. Blogs are a huge hit.”
“That is a curse word around here. Nothing but someone’s opinion. Hardly ever backed up by fact.”
Damien smiled to himself. Edgar was already making his point for him. “So I wanted to talk to you about that very thing.”
Edgar’s face dropped. “Please tell me you’re not going to start a blog. We have eight going already. Not to mention a bunch of people Tweetering, which honestly seems like the quickest way to lose testosterone, but that’s just me.”
“No, no. Not interested in all that. In fact, it’s the opposite. I was hoping to do more investigative pieces.”
Edgar blinked, that strange sleep apnea sound he made during waking hours the only noise in the room.
“So that’s a yes?”
“It’s your generation. Never happy with where you are. I’ve been a newspaperman all my life. Done nothing else.”
Damien sat down. “That’s admirable. You know how much I admire that. And you. But I think it’s also healthy to venture out, not stay in the same place. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think I had something to contribute.”
“But people like what you do. You’re a popular column. Controversial. Thought-provoking. People write in about it all the time. Don’t you read those?”
“Of course. And I’m glad to do what I do. But maybe it’s time for a change. Like . . . like the clocks. Digital as of 2006, right? So now we’re right on time with the universe. See? I’m going from analog to digital; that’s all.”
“That sort of nonsense might work in your op-ed pieces, but it won’t work with me. What is it? You want a raise?”
“No. It’s not about money.”
Edgar scratched his double chin. “I don’t know. Bruce runs the investigative pieces.”
“He’s a sportswriter. He just does that because we’re trying to cover all the bases since you cut Jim’s position. I could help Bruce cover some of that.”
The leather office chair creaked as Edgar leaned back, staring first at Damien, then at the ceiling, and then at the clock. “It’s not even noon yet. This is going to be a long day.” He slapped both hands on his desk. “I don’t want the op-eds to stop. That’s your first job, and they better keep coming. If you want to throw in a few investigative pieces, we’ll see how it goes.”
Damien jumped up. “Thank you!”
“Bruce is not going to take this well.”
“I’ll handle Bruce. I’ll talk to him right now. He’ll be fine.”
“Okay. Hey, you want to go grab a sub for lunch?”
“Sure. In about an hour?”
“Yeah, sounds good.”
Damien raced out of the office and headed for Bruce’s desk, which sat across the room from his.
Bruce looked up from his
Sports Illustrated
. “Hey, Damien. What’s going on?”
Damien lowered his voice. “Edgar’s going to let me do investigative pieces.”
Bruce’s magazine dropped to his lap. “What?”
“Yeah, I just talked to him. Figured he wouldn’t go for it, but he said to go ahead, except I gotta keep doing the op-eds. So basically I’m doing twice the work for the same pay, but at least I’m not dying a slow death at my desk.”
“So . . . you’re doing the investigative pieces? Not me?”
“Kind of. He still wants you to—”
Bruce threw his magazine to the floor, jumped out of his seat, and tackled Damien, backing him up several feet before managing to wrap his arms around him and pick him off the floor a good two feet. “My man! My man! How did you manage that?”
“I’ll tell you as soon as my feet are on the ground.”
“Sorry.” Bruce let go and Damien dropped straight down. “Dude, this is amazing!”
“I can’t believe he went for it. But look, you’re going to have to play up some disappointment. The man was nervous, certain you’d be devastated.”
“I only intimidate Edgar because I’m six foot three and can quote sports stats.” Bruce high-fived him. “I owe you big-time. Let me know if you want tickets to the game or something.”
“All right. See you later.”
“Hey, Damien?”
“Yeah?”
“Frank okay?”
“Why?”
“It’s his ex-anniversary, right?”
Damien smiled. “He’ll be fine. I’m feeding him chicken wings tonight.”
***
Kay put on another coat of light lipstick and got out of her Navigator. She tugged at her T-shirt, which must’ve shrunk in the wash.
Once inside, she checked into the office, then went to the gym, where the ladies were setting up the cheer moms table. “Hi. How can I help?”
Nobody bothered to look up. Nobody responded. All five women continued their conversation as if she wasn’t there. Which wasn’t unusual. It was like no one had ever taught them any social skills. She decided to start arranging the brownies on the platters.
“I wouldn’t do them like that.”
Kay looked up. Jill Toledo, dressed in a tight tank and a tighter miniskirt, stood above her, hands on her hips. “Do what?”
“I’d arrange them more stacked, so people will see them.”
“They might get knocked over or off the plate.” Kay tried to eyeball how many inches Jill’s skirt was from her knee. Six, maybe? The woman looked ridiculous.
“I’ve been doing this a long time since I’ve had three daughters in cheer, and I’m telling you that if you don’t stack the brownies, people will walk right on by. These are kids. They have no attention span.”
“What about these balloons we’ve got tied here? That’ll draw attention.”
“Yeah. Right. Like this is fourth grade.”
Kay glanced behind Jill at two of the other moms who were watching. She tried a smile, but they just stared. This was her first year as a cheer mom. She’d been against Jenna trying out for cheerleading, but Damien had convinced her Jenna was really good at it. She hated how pressured the girls were to wear those tight, belly-exposing uniforms. “All right. I’ll stack the brownies. No problem.”
Jill spun around. “Who has the change bag?”
“Nobody’s picked it up,” one lady said.
“Can’t anybody do anything around here?” Jill threw her hands up. Fifteen bracelets clanked against each other. “I’ll be back.”
As Jill stomped away, Kay took in a deep breath. All this drama over brownies? She began taking the brownies, which she’d laid in a perfectly acceptable circle, off the platter and started over.
“Don’t worry about her.” An attractive woman with a sleek ponytail and darkly lined eyes stood next to the table.
“Oh, um . . .”
“I’ve done cheer moms with her twice, and she’s a total control freak. I’m Shannon Branson, by the way.”
“Kay Underwood.”
The blonde behind leaned in. “She’s having an affair.”
Shannon glanced at her. “Kelly, you’re serious?”
“Totally serious. Susan told me.”
Susan popped up from a box she was digging through. “Nobody really knows what’s going on, except she’s coming home at two in the morning. That’s what her neighbor told me.”
“How do you know her neighbor?” Kelly asked.
“We go to church together.”
Kay tried a casual lean against the table. “All I know is she and Mike are getting a divorce.”
Shannon’s eyes widened. “No kidding.”
“Yeah, um, she told me herself.” Not exactly true. She’d heard something about it while eavesdropping on one of Jenna’s phone conversations.
“Maybe that explains her mood,” Kelly said, then looked at Kay, putting a hand over her arm. “Well, whatever. Don’t mind her. She’s a brat and always has been, which is probably why she’s getting a divorce. Did she say anything else about it?”
Susan said, “The day we were making the posters, I went to the bathroom and she was on her cell phone in there, really upset and crying.”
Kelly roared with laughter. “I see where Natalie gets her drama-queen genes. According to my Madison, Natalie cries at the drop of a hat.” She checked her watch. “The kids will be here in about fifteen. Kay, you want to come with me, grab some Starbucks for us?”
“Yeah, we’ll definitely need Starbucks,” Susan said. “You’ll be our lifesaver and forever friend!”