Saving Phoebe Murrow: A Novel (24 page)

“Do as I say and I have a feeling Dylan won't even give that Phoebe girl another glance,” she said as if Phoebe were some stranger. “I can't believe he'd care about her when he can have you.” She was at the door, about to exit, when she stopped and swiveled to face her daughter. “Anyway, didn't you tell me that Phoebe was all sweet on that guy Shane?”

Jessie nodded.

“I'll bet Dylan doesn't know that?” She tossed her daughter a meaningful look.

“Nope,” Jessie said, grinning.

Adopting a look of concern, Sandy added, “She isn't still doing that awful cutting thing, is she?” She paused, observing her daughter nod yes. “Sure hope she outgrows it. Sleep tight, Jess. Mama loves ya.”

With that, she closed the door and swayed her hips down the hall to her bedroom. On the way, she made a detour to her office to see if Ron had written back yet. She rubbed her hands in glee when she saw his simple, elegant one-liner:

“Great seeing you, too. Maybe we'll meet up after things die down post-election?”

On her way to bed, the mere notion of seeing Ron was making her feel super turned on. I know, she thought, I'll invite him to help chaperone the party next Saturday. That seemed as good an excuse as any to initiate contact and brought a huge smile to her lips. She prayed Bill was still up. If not, she'd have to wake him, gently. Slowly. The way he liked it. And fuck his brains out.

The morning after Barack Obama's momentous win, Isabel felt justified heading into work late. She could almost feel the elation sweeping over Washington – with its largely Democratic constituency – and imagined the celebratory mood in her office. She had offered to buy a few items for a party they were hosting later on. First, she needed to do something else.

Ron and Jackson had left a few minutes earlier and she'd watched Phoebe run down the sidewalk to catch the bus.
If
Phoebe was going to Jessie's party, she needed to get a handle on Shane. And in Isabel's mind a great big “if” still existed despite Ron's proclamation: “Of course she can go.” She'd raised other factors besides Shane. The hostess, for example. Ron had reacted as if she were an incorrigible child. “What is it with you and Sandy Littleton? It'll be fine, Iz.”

She logged onto Phoebe's Facebook page, then connected to Shane's to see what he was up to. He seemed older than 15, but maybe not. Hard to tell. But Phoebe was right, he was good-looking. That stray lock of hair, those intense eyes. A slight air of mystery. That caught her short. No, mystery was not good, not for her daughter, not with a stranger and not when she could police Phoebe's Facebook site, at least officially, only until she turned 14. Only one week and six days away. According to Facebook rules she'd then have to become one of Phoebe's “friends,” which gave her no access to private messages.

She recalled the moment Phoebe had turned 13, the legal age for Facebook, when her pubescent daughter had asked that she be allowed to have her own page, and of course Ron had supported her wish. Ever since, it seemed as if life for Phoebe had been on a downhill slide. Not that Facebook had caused it, but somehow her mind linked the two.

She reviewed the comments Shane had posted on her wall. Nothing out of line there. Then she checked the private messages between the two. A few seemed unusual for a boy. Why would he want to know about her outfits, for example? And other guys? There seemed an unusual number of references to Jessie as well. But she continued on.

Aha, so his jersey number was 10. But the next few sentences nearly made her gasp.
I bet you're a 10 too! I want
you
to be
my
number 10. Are you coming to Jessie's party? I'll show you what a 10 is all about!

You will do no such thing, not if I can help it, Isabel thought. She would tell Ron. This should change his mind. Innocent, right! There was no way she would let her daughter go to that party and meet up with this vulture. Another one ready to steal her daughter's innocence. Oh, God, male hormones. Surely, Ron would agree with her.

As she began moving back in the history of Phoebe and Shane's messages, she ran across:
Oh, come on, your mom can't be that big of a…you know what! Rhymes with w-i-t-c-h!
And Phoebe had called her “crazy.” Well, as she scanned the rest of their frequent interactions, she felt that she had plenty of ammunition to keep her from attending the party. Of one thing she felt certain, it was time to have a mother-daughter talk – not just about this guy, and guys in general, but once again about being careful of what she said to others on Facebook. She could easily imagine things getting out of hand. Because there it was in writing. But first she'd talk to Ron. Hopefully, for once, he'd see things her way.

When she reached him, he said a little breathlessly, “It'll have to wait til tonight, Iz; I'm hot on the trail of an Obama story.” She hung up, feeling proud of her husband and his renewed enthusiasm for work and career. Of course it could wait.

Phoebe and Skyla hopped off the bus and walked to school together, as they did quite often. Along the way, Phoebe mentioned that things between her and Jessie had gotten pretty tense again, and that she thought it might be about Dylan. “I feel like I don't even know her anymore. It's weird, you know?”

“Jessie, well, she's not really the kind of girl I like to hang with,” Skyla said in her know-it-all manner. “No offense, Feebs.” Then she put her hand on Phoebe's arm and fixed her with a confidential stare. “Did you know her mom got pregnant with Jessie in high school.”

Phoebe had never heard this and wondered if Skyla was making it up. “Are you sure?”

“Just do the math.” She smiled at her own cleverness.

“I always sort of liked her mom.”

“Seriously? You haven't noticed how her mom dresses? Like totally—” she searched for a word, but couldn't come up with one. “One time I saw her thong sticking out when she bent over! It was so gross. It's like she wants guys to notice her, you know?”

“Really?” This all came as news to Phoebe and she tried to imagine how Skyla knew. Probably something her mother had said. She gazed off, staring at the campus entryway in the distance. Red brick pillars connected by the famous Georgetown Academy wrought-iron arch, with the curlicue letters “GA” in Victorian script. The need to defend her old friend rose up in her. “Even if it's true, Jessie can't help what her mom does, or did.”

Skyla smiled knowingly. “No, but you know what they say.”

“No, what do
they
say?”

“The apple doesn't fall far from the tree. Jessie dresses kind of slutty too, in case you haven't noticed. I guess it's in the genes, Feebs.”

Phoebe stared at her a moment. Had Skyla found out about Monday's conversation at Dylan's? “So you think being mean or jealous or whatever is inherited?”

Skyla screwed up her face, looking slightly confused. “My advice: steer clear of her. But that's just me.” Then her eyes transformed into glittering emeralds. “Let's talk about our party, okay?” And for the next couple of minutes Skyla veered off in this new direction.

Though Phoebe nodded and added a word here and there, all she could really think about was Shane. Finally seeing him, actually meeting him, and maybe – well, probably – kissing him.

As Sandy got ready she kept worrying that Ron would cancel on her. She'd gotten a text from him mid-morning:
Are you up for adventure? Meet me at the Jefferson at 1. Text me from the lobby
. Did this mean he was getting a room for them? The thrill that coursed through her was palpable. And the word “adventure” kept echoing in her mind. She was in a kind of feverish state, almost like a teenager on her first date with a really hot guy, and she was also talking to herself, trying to keep her emotions in check.

She tried on an assortment of outfits, casting aside one after the other, until she finally found a slinky, pale pink cashmere dress with a black suede belt to cinch about her waist. Black suede highheeled boots to match. The ensemble would show off all her best features. But first she chose her lacy under-garments, all in creamy whites, and dabbed herself with perfume in all the important places.

As she got dressed, a hodgepodge of thoughts spun through her mind. Anxious thoughts. Would some last minute work assignment trump their date? Was this a “one-time” fling for him? How could she make sure Isabel eventually found out? Did she want Isabel to find out? What did she want? Only then did she think of Bill and Jessie. Certainly they couldn't find out.

After slipping into her dress, she gave herself one last long look in the mirror. Her reflection was pretty close to perfect. She gave herself a dimpled Marilyn smile, imagined what Ron would feel when he saw her and ran out the door.

The room she left behind looked like the proverbial tornado had just struck. But with her thoughts so far away, she hadn't noticed. She hadn't had an affair in a long time.

That evening over dinner Sandy noticed an unusually reserved Bill. It made her uneasy, but she said nothing. She didn't want to provoke him, not with Jessie there. Finally, in their bedroom, he launched a small grenade: “Can you tell me where the hell you went this afternoon?” Anger creased his brow.

Shaken, Sandy said, “What do you mean?” Though now she understood his earlier mood. Bill had only one rule:
No fucking around
. He'd made that clear when he proposed to her. And there had only been a couple of times that he'd questioned her this way.

“I came home this afternoon and your shit was all over the place,” he said.

How could he possibly know she'd gone to The Jefferson? It was rare for him to come home mid-day, which tempted her to ask why he had, but she thought better of it. She'd returned home after a frustrating few hours and hurried to make dinner, failing to take note of the mess when she'd briefly gone upstairs to change. “Went out with some of the Academy moms and wanted to look my best,” she finally said. She grabbed a fistful of clothes and tossed them into her roomy closet. “I'll get to it later, hon',” she said over her shoulder.

She took a moment to freshen up in the bathroom then hopped onto their king-size bed. “Now come here and tell me about
your
day,” she said breezily.

He eyed her then acquiesced. As he talked, she relaxed. Slowly, she began unbuttoning her sweater, one by one, keeping her eyes on him, just as Les had taught her. She continued undressing until there was nothing left between her bare skin and the air but a lacy thong and bra. She beckoned him. “Come here, baby?” She leaned back against the pillows and began to fondle her breasts.

A moment later, Bill had stripped down, and she felt the rough suck of his mouth on her nipple, his roughness being something she liked. She breathed a sigh of relief as he touched the wetness between her legs.

Though less than nothing had happened with Ron, she'd have to be more careful in the future.

It hadn't begun as an argument. Ron had showered, then after a little chitchat about the overwhelmingly positive international reaction to the first black president of the United States, Isabel switched gears and gave him a rundown of the private messages between Phoebe and Shane. He shrugged.

“So you think all that talk about making her his number 10 means nothing? She's your daughter, don't you feel a need to protect her?” Isabel said, hoping Ron would have a last minute change of heart about letting Phoebe go to the party.