Saving Phoebe Murrow: A Novel (11 page)

Throughout class, she toyed with the idea of talking with Jessie about her stupid, crazy mother, but something held her back. During lab, in which she and Jessie were partners, Phoebe reported that she had told Noah she couldn't go to the dance and that she was major bummed.

“Oh, man, that's awful. Maybe your mom will change her mind?”

Phoebe shook her head. She almost said,
You know her
, but again held back.

Jessie patted Phoebe's shoulder. “I heard Sam won't be going either; in fact he said his mom might pull him out of Georgetown.” Jessie didn't wait for a response. “I'm hoping Dylan'll ask me, but if he doesn't, Emma and I are going without guys. She doesn't care and neither do I. I asked my mom if I could have a party afterward and she said yes. So work on your mom. At least then you can spend the night with me and Emma.”

Phoebe looked at her blankly. Even if her mother let her go to the dance, which she wouldn't, she'd never let her spend the night at Jessie's.

“So what's up with that?” she said, as if Phoebe's thoughts were transparent.

Gazing at the plants they were supposed to classify, Phoebe tried to come up with a reasonable answer. She didn't do well in situations like this. Her thoughts grew into a kaleidoscopic jumble. Too many things to consider. She shook her head. “I know I won't be able to go, and if I could I'd have to be home before the clock strikes midnight! If not sooner.”

Jessie laughed. “That's it,” she said. “We just need to get you some glass slippers and a pumpkin coach!” The two giggled. Phoebe had felt sad all day and now, finally, the clouds seemed to lift a bit. “Have you met Emma's mom?”

“What made you think of that?” Jessie asked.

“She said her mom doesn't care what she does, and all mine does is worry. Isn't there some in-between?” She watched Jessie chew the inside of her cheek.

“Parents are weird,” she finally said. “I overheard my parents say your mom doesn't want you to hang out with me. Is that true?” Her face fell. “Why doesn't she like me, Feebs?”

Phoebe drew in a sharp breath. “It's not you, Jess. It's…it's complicated.” Her eyes grew watery. She held her hand out beneath the table. Jessie twined her fingers around Phoebe's the way they'd done nearly every day of their second semester of eighth grade. “Best buds for life!” they whispered.

A week and a half after the parents' party, despite all the selftalk, Isabel couldn't help dreading the meeting with the Academy's headmistress, one she prayed wouldn't include Jessie and Emma's mothers. Adams Morgan had come to this. She knew it would; Ron had been wrong.

On the morning of the appointment with Alison Kendall, Isabel was in the midst of a quick check of her personal e-mails, when one from Sandy appeared. She was in no mood to read anything from
her
, but the subject line itself was enough to grab her attention:
Slenderella: Special Discount for my friends
. On opening it, Isabel saw that Sandy had sent the email to every ninth-grade mother at Georgetown Academy.

She scanned the body of the text, in which Sandy touted the virtues of her “very own special high-protein weight-loss drink,” replete with a few grammatical and punctuation errors.

Hey, it was so great meeting you all the other night
.

Just wondered if you ever heard of
Slenderella
?

Its the new hi-protein weight loss drink I represent! Twice a day and you'll be slim for the holidays that are just around the corner. And if you're like me and hate to exercise, well
Slenderella
is the right stuff!! Really, I can attest to that
.

So don't let a couple pounds get between you and your favorite ball gown! (Get it? Like Cinderella!!
Don't want you stuck at home, while everybody else is having all the fun!)

If you order by the middle of October,
as my friend you'll get a 20% discount
. Click here:
www.slenderella.com
for more info, or call me at home. xoxox, Sandy

Isabel was appalled to think what impression this would make on the ninth-grade moms, especially on the spouses of diplomats – the elegant woman from Ethiopia, for example. And the very slender one from Denmark. Other people, too, like Members of Congress who considered their personal e-mails a very private thing. But she also saw it for what it was: yet one more attempt at breaking into the clubby culture of DC private school moms.

Had it not been for Sandy's flirtatious coziness with Ron, and the kids' getting caught smoking, well, Isabel might have called her and suggested this wasn't the way to make friends, at least not among the women of Georgetown Academy. As it was, she clicked the print icon and made two copies, relishing the idea of showing the item to Ron.

The email renewed Isabel's vow to keep the girls apart. Nothing good could come of hanging around with the daughter of someone so lacking in judgment. It occurred to her to have a word with Alison Kendall about it; perhaps that could change the outcome of the meeting, the thought of which made her stomach flutter slightly. Stuck at the back of her mind was the possibility that Alison might ask her and Amanda to step down as room parents, an embarrassing blow to say the least.

Isabel's fingers were poised above the keyboard as she contemplated how to respond.
Remove my name from your list
, she typed, hesitated for a moment as the memory of Sandy on the sofa beside Ron coiled back into her mind, then added,
slut
. Isabel knew the dangers of writing such things, even in jest, and clicked the delete bar four times, removing the word “slut,” then typing in “please” before striking the “send” button.

Isabel briefly reviewed her calendar. Nothing but meetings. One with the man who'd misused campaign funds. Oh, joy, she thought, borrowing one of Phoebe's expressions. But the appointment with Alison weighed on her. She prayed she could turn it into an opportunity to let the headmistress know what sort of parents she and Ron were – the responsible good kind. On her way out the door she grabbed the extra copy of Sandy's e-mail.

Afraid she might be late, Isabel sped breathlessly into the reception area of the headmistress's office and greeted Ms. Kendall's secretary, Mrs. Watson. The prim elderly woman looked up and acknowledged her. “Why don't you have a seat? I'll let her know you're both here,” she said politely.

Both? Isabel glanced around. There in a corner chair, watching her like a predatory feline, sat Miss Slenderella herself. Even though she thought Sandy might be invited, the sight of her startled her. As usual she was dressed in a shape-hugging outfit. Her skin-tight pale green sweater simultaneously lifted and revealed her breasts. And though she was sitting down, if her pants fit any tighter she might just faint from lack of oxygen. How could she wear such an outfit to a meeting with the headmistress? She seemed to lack not only good judgment, but also common sense.

“Hello, Sandy. How are you?”

“Just fine and dandy,” she retorted coolly. “And you?”

“Perfect,” Isabel said with only a hint of sarcasm, and a faint smile.

Isabel had intended to ignore Sandy without appearing to, but her plan was foiled when Sandy asked, “Could we talk a minute before we go in?”

Isabel hoped her dislike wasn't apparent and seated herself a little nervously in a leather wing chair perpendicular to Sandy's. A small, round, highly glossed mahogany table occupied the space between them. Several beautifully designed Academy magazines lay there, waiting for someone to browse through. “What's on your mind?”

“Well, I might as well come straight out with it. No point in—” she fixed Isabel with a hardened stare, “—pussyfooting around. Can you explain why you don't want Phoebe hanging out with Jess? I mean, she didn't do anything wrong, no different than your daughter.”

Of course there were a million reasons, she wanted to say, not the least of which was that Phoebe had admitted both Jessie and Emma had smoked, but what could she say without betraying Phoebe's confidence? She straightened her back. “Well, I'm not sure exactly who did what on Friday, so without getting into all that, I just think it's better they all take a break from each other, don't you agree?” Using her courtroom skills, Isabel hoped to confuse Sandy, but she just shook her head.

“Maybe you'd better spell it out for me.”

“Well,” Isabel said, leaning in toward Sandy and lowering her voice, “I don't know who was smoking and who wasn't, but from my standpoint, and Ron's,” she added pointedly, “they were moving down a path that could lead to trouble, big trouble, and Phoebe's never been in trouble like that before.”

Sandy's eyes narrowed. “Well, neither has Jessie, so why do you think she's a bad influence?”

“I didn't say that and I don't mean that.” Though of course she meant exactly that. Isabel paused for a moment, evaluating what to say next. “Look, I'm not trying to incriminate Jessie, it's just that, what if the situation had been slightly different and they'd gotten caught by the police instead of Sam's mother?” She noticed Mrs. Watson stopped typing.

“Incriminate Jessie?” Sandy asked, looking annoyed. “Could you just speak plain English?”

For heaven's sake, this woman didn't know the meaning of incriminate? Cop shows had to be a staple of her TV diet. “You mean you want me to define incriminate?”

“Of course not,” Sandy said sharply, a flash of fury in her eyes.

Before Isabel could further clarify, the door to Alison Kendall's office popped open and the straitlaced headmistress stepped into the reception area. “Won't you come in?”

Isabel got up hurriedly, and with several long strides made it into Alison's conservatively appointed office ahead of Sandy.

Alison invited Isabel and Sandy to sit at the small antique conference table in her office. Nearby, Isabel noticed two straight-backed chairs opposite her desk and understood the politics of seating. For stern lectures and disciplinary measures, she imagined students sitting there, and for more relaxed, informal situations, she would seat them here in the upholstered chairs. Likewise with parents. She prayed this was the case today.

“I had hoped Emma's mother could join us, but she had a conflict, so it's just the three of us. I'm having a separate meeting with the mothers of the boys.”

After her conversation with Lorraine, it didn't surprise Isabel that she was a no-show, though she did find it interesting she was speaking to Amanda and the other boys' mothers separately. Perhaps smaller groups were more manageable.

“Would you two like some coffee?” Alison asked, interrupting Isabel's thoughts.

They both nodded. “I'll take two sugars and some cream if you have it,” Sandy said with an eager-to-please smile.

Two sugars? Isabel thought of the
Slenderella
ad as she said, “I'll have mine black, thank you.”

“I won't keep you long,” Alison said, “I'm sure you're both busy. I just wanted to touch base on this issue with the mothers of the girls closest to—” she hesitated, obviously choosing her words carefully, “—to the incident last Friday. Because it happened off campus, it's really beyond the purview of the school, but since it involved seven of our eighty freshman students, I thought I'd try to understand if you think we have a larger problem?”

Alison's approach surprised Isabel. And relieved her, at least for now.

Noting Sandy's perplexed expression, Isabel took the opportunity to speak up. “First, I assume by problem you mean drugs?” She waited for Alison to nod before continuing. “That's a good question. From my perspective, though, it's too soon to say. I'm simply unfamiliar with many of the students. However, I can say with relative certainty that, prior to Friday, Phoebe had never been around drugs, or alcohol for that matter,” her gaze briefly settled on Sandy, “and we're taking steps to make sure it stays that way.”

Alison then turned to Sandy, who still seemed at a loss for words, and asked if she would like to add anything. Isabel had never seen her so reluctant to speak and had a hunch that formal settings intimidated her. Somehow this was vaguely pleasing.

Sandy finally managed to utter, “Jessie's always been a good girl,” then paused, as if gathering her thoughts. “I think kids just get into trouble sometimes, but they're not bad kids.” She ended the sentence with a small shrug.

“No one's suggesting they are,” Alison said. “I just hoped you might be candid with me. Do you think we have a problem, Mrs. Littleton?”

“Please call me Sandy. Well, as Isabel said, it's a little soon to tell, but I hope not.”

A sense of smugness wrapped itself around Isabel. If this was the best she could do to articulate her thoughts, how could she possibly communicate important life lessons to her daughter? And what sort of influence did that make Jessie?

Alison Kendall spent a moment staring out the window. Isabel followed her gaze to the boxwood hedges, the two stately evergreens, an ancient oak blazing with color, and towers of gray-white cumulus clouds that would have been the envy of any Hollywood director. A typical fall day in Washington. She could almost taste its crispness.

“Can you share the girls' explanations about what happened?” Alison said.

Isabel turned abruptly. Suddenly she felt like one of the parents on the
Dr. Phil
show. His prodding not dissimilar from Alison's probing. Calming herself with a deep inhalation, Isabel decided the truth, up to a point, was probably best. “Well, according to Phoebe they went to meet several boys at Five Guys for a soda in Adams Morgan. After that, she was planning to go to a secondhand shop.” She inspected Alison's face, but could discern neither belief nor disbelief. “Phoebe has this thing about used clothing stores. She buys clothes and then refashions them.”

“Hmm, how interesting. I'll have to ask her about that. I'm all thumbs when it comes to sewing.” She took a sip of coffee before adding, “So how did they end up at Sam's, if you don't mind me asking?”

Again, Isabel was quick to answer. “I don't want to incriminate anyone, and obviously I'm relying on Phoebe's version, but she said the boys mentioned going to Sam's, and once there someone pulled out some marijuana and the kids smoked it. She insisted that she did not smoke, but she also felt she couldn't just leave. I imagine that after last year – she had a difficult time at Woodmont,” she said, briefly looking off, “well, she didn't want to be the oddball.”