Miss Taken (15 page)

It didn’t seem likely, the apartment was so
gloomy. But then a croaky voice answered, “Yeah, hon. I’m
home.”

Diana winced. “I have a friend with me. Her
name is Jane.” She made no move to go through the door.

I was starting to wonder why Diana had pushed
so hard for me to come home with her.

Her mom called out, “Well, bring ‘er in
already. Let’s have a look at her.”

As soon as I got through the door, I wished
we had been locked out because the place positively reeked of smoke
and other unsavory things, like spoiled milk and body odor. In the
few seconds before Diana switched on a lamp, I formed a picture of
her mother: an old, worn-out shell of a person who had worked
herself to the bone to provide for her daughter. There was, I knew
already, no father in the story.

The only part I got right was that she looked
exhausted. Clad in a wrinkled kimono in a most unflattering shade
of olive green, her mother lay on the couch, cigarette in hand, two
inches of ash poised a little to the left of an overflowing
ashtray. She reached over and took a swig from a cheap-looking
bottle of beer, shedding ashes in the process.

In some ways, her mother looked very young.
Her hair, although messy, was thick and full. In other ways, such
as the wrinkles around her eyes, she seemed ancient, even older
than my own mother who is forty.

“Come on in,” she said, taking the trouble to
sit up halfway. “Clear a space for your friend, why don’t you hon.”
Diana’s mother shifted in a half-hearted attempt to make some room.
The couch groaned in protest.

Diana’s face was wooden as she emptied a
chair of clothing, magazines and various other detritus to make a
place for me to sit down. It didn’t look much sturdier than the
couch.

She had had some nerve acting all prissy in
my room for having the same stuff lying about.

Diana cleared a spot for herself next to her
mother on the couch.

“So, Jane and I are in several classes
together,” Diana prompted as her mother seemed like she might have
forgotten what I was doing in their home, or that I was there at
all.

“Oh?” said her mom with a little bit of a
blank stare.

“Yes,” Diana pushed on. “She’s quite good at
math. She’s even tutoring Hannah.”

Was it me or did Diana mention that
maliciously? And I wasn’t giving Hannah remedial help, but rather
helping her get ahead so she could take the next level during
summer school, although why she would voluntarily attend school
during peak tanning season was a mystery to me.

“Oh, that’s nice,” replied her mother
distractedly taking a long drag off her cigarette at the same
time.

There was another awkward pause. Diana filled
it by saying, “So, I think we’re going to listen to some records
now. Since you’re not feeling well, do you need anything?”

Her mother wasn’t sneezing or anything. And
to my knowledge, cigarettes and beer are not on a par with chicken
soup for clearing up illness. I figured Diana was covering for her
mother lying around in the middle of the day in a dark room.

Her mom said, “My head is killing me, so
don’t play anything too loud. Turn out the light too. I think I’ll
just get forty winks.” She took another swig of her beer.

“We won’t. Let me take that cigarette for
you. You don’t want to fall asleep with that in your hand.” Diana
said politely through gritted teeth.

“Thanks, hon,” replied her mother, nearly
dropping the cigarette as she surrendered it. Diana carried it and
the ashtray at arm’s length to the kitchen. I followed her since
her mother had already stretched out. The kitchen was just as
messy, with dirty dishes, pots crusted with food, open bags of
chips, etc. An odd little noise, different from the one that came
out of her on my porch bench, came from deep in Diana’s throat as
she set the ashtray down with a bang.

Walking back through the living room, we both
noticed her mom had lit another cigarette. Diana’s face turned to
stone as she marched back over to the couch. She ground out that
cigarette with a vengeance in a new ashtray she dug out of a drawer
in the side table.

“Come on,” she ordered me through tight
lips.

Down a short, dimly lit hallway was Diana’s
room. She had to kick some rags out of the way before she could
open the door. She said by way of explanation, “It helps keep the
smoke to a minimum.”

Diana shut the door firmly behind us and
carefully arranged a towel in front of the door on the inside. “I
apologize for the state of the apartment,” she said formally. “I
cleaned it before leaving this morning.”

Diana’s room was amazing. Not only was there
no hint of smoke (it had a pleasant, citrus-y scent), but it was
immaculate. I got the feeling that if I were to check her sock
drawer, they would not only be neatly folded but arranged by color
as well. The cover on her bed was pulled so tight, I was sure I
could have bounced a quarter on it. I sat down carefully on the
edge.

“My mother hasn’t been well lately,” she went
on, still sounding stiff and formal. “She...” Diana paused and
pressed her lips together. “I’m not sure what’s wrong.”

Even though her mother - who may well have
been a teenager when she had had Diana - was crying out for
explanation, Robin Jane’s code of honor did not permit me to
pry.

“I expected her to be at work,” Diana
added.

I nodded, a model of discretion.

She sat down next to me. The silence was
allowing certain unwanted thoughts to creep back into my
consciousness. I still wasn’t out of the danger zone of the tear
factory starting up again. I asked, “Do you feel like putting on
some music?”

Diana jumped up. “Sure. What are you in the
mood for?” She walked across the room to her record player. There
wasn’t a speck on the thing even though they collect dust every
five seconds. She looked at me expectantly.

“I-I don’t know. You pick.” Then I wished I
hadn’t let her choose. She put on “I Want You to Want Me.” I
started blubbering like an idiot.

“Oh, oh, I’m sorry!” Diana cried. “How about
this one?”

But “Always on My Mind” was not any better.
Neither was “Do You Believe in Love?,” “Open Arms” or “Why Do Fools
Fall in Love?” By the time she finally came up with “Harden my
Heart,” I had melted into such a mass of bubbling goo that I
couldn’t even accept the round hairbrush she proffered.

“Go on. Take it,” she insisted.

I was so weak with misery, my arm almost
broke under the strain of holding up a four-ounce hairbrush that
looked like it had never been used. I let it and my arm flop
uselessly on the bed. You really can bounce stuff off her
blanket.

“Aw, you poor thing. Let me get us something
to eat. That should cheer you up.”

Diana left the record on auto-repeat. By the
time she came back, I had at least been able to swallow a
sufficient quantity of my tears to hum along, if not harden my
heart enough sing full throttle into the hairbrush. I did manage to
play a little bit of saxophone with it however.

Things weren’t so bad; at least I had walls
around me to do my crying rather than embarrassing myself on a
street corner like Rindy Ross. But she does play a mean sax.

The Soke, Aereos and chips helped improve my
mood too, but I still wasn’t able to handle “Hurts So Good” that
Diana suggested. We went with “Shake it Up” instead, but I had to
stop dancing after only half a song because the carbonation and
junk food weren’t cooperating with being shaken up.

Diana sat back down too. Gesturing exactly
like a certain talk show host, she crossed her legs and curled her
hands around the top knee. She cocked her head at me with the
telltale serious expression. “So,” she began in a deep voice, “Tell
me how you’re really feeling, Jane.”

“Who are you, my shrink?” I tried to laugh it
off because seriously she was creeping me out.

Diana pressed her lips together, but whether
it was because she was trying to hold back words or barf from
dancing on a full stomach, I didn’t know. “It’s a career I’m
considering.”

“Oh,” I said with a nod. If she was serious,
she should consider spending some time with the school psychologist
because Miss Kindley knows a thing or two about facial expressions
that make a person feel comfortable and not freaked out.

“Yeah, that or join the Navy as a first class
petty officer yeoman.”

I was mid-sip. Soke came snorting out of my
nose with that one. “What?” I coughed, surreptitiously wiping my
face.

“Are you going to make fun of me?”

“No, no,” I said, looking around for a tissue
box. Soke really unclogs the nasal passages. “It’s just...that’s a
very specific job. What the heck is a first class officer petty
yeoman?”

“First class petty officer yeoman,” Diana
corrected. “But then again, I think women have progressed enough to
where I can aim higher. I don’t see any reason why I can’t become
an Admiral of the Fleet.”

I was glad I hadn’t taken another swig of
soda before she dropped that one on me. Picturing Diana in one of
those funny hats and a military uniform was enough to make me
forget about Ned for a minute.

“Where did you come up with the idea to join
the Navy?” I asked, in a way I hoped sounded like I was interested
and not mystified by a career choice that could not be further from
Diana’s personality. Although she did have the military bed-making
down and the basic training would help her shave off a few lbs.

Diana considered me for a moment before
replying. “Promise you won’t laugh.”

“I promise.”

“Or make fun.”

“Promise.”

“Or tell anyone at school - or your brother,
especially not him.”

“I swear. I never tell Trey anything
anyway.”

I was totally intrigued now. I hope I can
keep my promise.

“Okay,” said Diana with a big sigh that
denoted the utmost gravity. She walked over to her closet and went
inside. “Remember, we’re friends Jane. And friends don’t trample on
other friends’ dreams.”

Scientific fact: Stress hormones have a
detrimental effect on every system in the body. Releasing
endorphins can help repair the damages.

Fortunately a good endorphin-releasing laugh
was near at hand.

I don’t know what I imagined she might have
had stashed inside that closet. A real live petty officer yeoman
maybe.

One of the hardest things I ever did in my
life was to hold it together when Diana emerged fully outfitted as
Wonder Woman, lasso of truth and all.

“So,” she said. “This is who I’ve always
wanted to be.”

Even though I had promised not to poke fun I
said, “Well, I guess with a name like Diana Prinz, it was
fate.”

Diana was not amused. “Jane! You
promised!”

“Sorry.” Still working very hard to control
myself, I said as seriously as I could, “Diana, ‘Superhero’ isn’t a
real job.”

“I know it isn’t,” Diana huffed at me
testily. “She’s just my inspiration. I want to be like her, not
actually be her.”

Right. That’s why she’s got the full regalia.
What I wanted to know was how she ever found a costume her
size.

Although I could relate to her on one level.
After all, I consider myself to be a superhero of sorts.

I just know instinctively to nix the green
tights and bow and arrow.

“Remember your promise, Jane,” Diana
said.

“Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.” I
couldn’t think of anything else to say on the subject of Wonder
Woman, so I tried another one.

Big mistake.

“So, I didn’t know you and Hannah lived in
the same building.”

I thought Diana might use her lasso as a
noose on me when I said that. A very long moment passed and then
Diana said icily, “You absolutely cannot tell her that I showed you
this.”

“I already promised not to tell anyone. But
I’ll say it again.” I put my hand up like a good girl scout. “I
promise not to mention it to Hannah. What’s up with you two anyway?
I thought we buried all those hatchets.”

Diana made some lip motions but nothing
audible came out. “Let me change first.” She disappeared back into
the closet. I had to work to compose my face, imagining her
twirling at top speed and reemerging, clothed in an army green
petty officer suit.

Diana was at least predictable as to her
non-superhero wear. She had put on a suit, one of the more
flattering ones in navy blue. She took her time redoing her hair
into the demure knot at the nape of her neck.

She came and sat by me on the bed. “So where
were we?”

“We were discussing why you and Hannah aren’t
getting along.”

“Ah, yes,” said Diana, crossing her legs in
that annoying talk-show host pose she had just picked up out of
nowhere. “The lovely but evil Hannah Sachs.” She nodded a few times
but didn’t add anything.

“So...”

“Where to begin?” Diana said affectedly. “Our
relationship spans years, decades even, well, one decade I
suppose...”

“Diana. Cut the crap. What’s going on?”

She shrugged. “Nothing. The more things
change, the more they stay the same.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what it sounds like. Now that
Hannah’s your friend, she wants me out of the picture. She’s very
territorial.” She nodded in a clinical sort of way.

“You’re saying she’s jealous?” I have never
had anyone argue over being my friend in all my life.

This was kind of cool.

“Yes.” Diana stood imposingly in front of me.
“So, the question is, who’s it going to be? Me or her? Because it
can’t be both.”

“What are you talking about? That’s
ridiculous. I can too be friends with you both. There is no need to
choose.”

“Yes there is. I’m mature enough to handle
it, but she isn’t. Trust me. She’ll start telling you all sorts of
mean stuff about me, if she hasn’t already.”