Lauren Takes Leave (38 page)

“Except that I’m being serious.”

I have to remember who I’m dealing with here.

“That’s fine,” I say, taking my hand back, relieved that
we are at least talking about it. “I was more embarrassed than anything when
you passed me over. In truth, I don’t think administrivia is really my thing.”

Martha stands to alert me that our meeting is coming to a
conclusion. I do the same. What I want her to say is,
Oh, I think you’d make
a fine administrator, but I just couldn’t afford to lose you as a classroom
teacher since you show so much brilliance there.

Instead, her cool formality is back, as firmly in place as
her hair. Martha dumps the untouched coffee and scone into the garbage bin and
adjusts her pocketbook awkwardly on her shoulder. Then she turns to me and
smiles. “I agree, Lauren. Administration is not your thing.”

We walk together toward the front of the coffee shop, me
licking my wounds and Martha lost in thought. I push open the glass door and
hear the bell chime overhead. The dewy spring air smells like rain.

“Oh, and another thing, Mrs. Worthing.”

I roll my eyes and face Martha. “Call me Lauren,
please
,”
I beg.

She nods curtly. “Another thing,
Lauren.
You will
write up and then sign a report detailing how you spent your week’s leave. This
will be shared with the superintendent and placed in your permanent personnel
file. Should you ever disappear on us again, you will be terminated.”

I swallow, and look at the ground, concentrating on the
flecks of glass shining in the pavement. Now that I hear my job truly is in
jeopardy, all I want to do is keep it safe from harm.

I think.

I picture Martin and his antics, and the never-ending
parade of essays and homework just waiting for me to collect, grade, and
return.

Doug needs me to work. Maybe even I need me to work. But
do I want it to be there, at the same middle school where I began my career?

I think of my tiny notebook with just one promising research
idea scribbled inside.

I really need to put in a call to Georgie.

“And you will be docked for three days’ pay. Monday and
Tuesday, as we know, were actually spent on jury duty. The other days will not
be covered by the district.”

I wonder if Martha is a fan of Tim and Ruby. Now there’s a
plan: I could just go around town handing out autographed pictures in lieu of
taking responsibility or managing any fallout from the week’s adventures.

Instead, I shake Martha’s hand. “Of course. Consider it
done.”

Even with all of the reprimands and punitive actions
taken, I walk away feeling completely relieved. Why? Because Martha doesn’t
seem to know anything about Kat’s role as my accomplice.

I pick up my children from their activities and bring
them home to rest and play. Doug and I challenge them to a huge Wii Sport
competition in the basement, girls against boys.

“Mom, you suck at golf,” Ben says merrily, as he watches
me sink the ball into the water four times in a row. “Just forfeit.”

“Never!” I say. “I will never give up. And use the word
‘stink’ instead, please.”

“Sorry,” he says, quickly and with sincerity.

I smile back and give him the thumbs-up while holding the
Wii remote, thereby sending another golf ball off a cliff and into the water.

“You’re better than me, Mommy,” Becca says. Which is true.
We’re so going to lose this game.

“Let’s switch to shooting those ducks and balloons out of
the sky,” Doug suggests. “Mom’s really good at that one.”

We play silently for a few minutes, each of us concentrating
on racking up as many points as possible for our team.

Then Ben turns to me. “I missed you,” he says.

“I’m glad you came back,” Becca adds. Her particular
choice of phrasing makes me wonder if she was worried I might not return.

“Oh, Bec, the best thing about going away is coming back.”
I put down the remote and pull both children to me, and inhale the warm,
slightly puppy-dog smells trapped in their hair. “I’m sorry I had to go away in
the first place.”

I look at Doug while saying it.

“I think we need to set some new house rules about how we
talk to each other and how we treat one another, okay, guys? So that everyone
stays here and stays happy,” Doug says. “We’ll have a family meeting tomorrow
night at dinner, when Mommy and I have more time.”

“Okay,” I say along with Ben and Becca. I know that not
every minute with my family will be as warm and tender as this one. But it’s
nice to have this one, right here and now.

“Who wants to come with me to pick up the new babysitter
and a pizza?” he asks, looking at his watch.

Temple Beth El is aglow with spotlights as Doug and I
pull in to the parking lot. It’s clear that there is an event here tonight, and
that it’s going to be huge, like the opening of a new Target in a strip mall.

Doug hands the car keys to a valet wearing a robe and fake
beard.

“Jesus, they are taking this fundraising effort really
seriously, aren’t they?” Doug asks as we walk up the steps of the midcentury-modern
temple, a red carpet cascading under our feet.

“Moses, you mean.”

“The party’s theme tonight is
Dancing with the Stars
,”
I tell Doug. “Jodi’s pretending she’s not that into it, but I think it’s her
dream come true.” At the top of the stairs, we stop, greeted by life-size cutouts
of each of tonight’s Beth El “stars.” Six members of the temple’s congregation
pose and smile with cardboard stiffness. I put my arm around “Jodi”—tight black
dress, high heels, auburn highlights, hand placed defiantly on one curved hip—and
Doug snaps a picture of us with his phone.

And that’s when I see her. Well, not the
real
her,
but her likeness, right next to Jodi’s frozen self. I can almost hear her
calling me a bitchwhoreasshole through clenched teeth.

Even in cardboard, Leslie scares the crap out of me.

I grab Doug by the arm and try to lead him out of the
building. “We have to leave. Go. Home. Now.”

“What is it, her gift? Just bring it to her another time,”
he says. “I’m not driving back fifteen minutes for something you forgot.”

Thing is, seeing Leslie, I realize that I forgot my balls.

I try another tactic. “Might vomit. Very ill. Chills.
Legionnaire’s disease.”

“You mean, like, from a cruise?” Doug is studying me hard.

“Ballots here!” a voice calls from a table set up nearby.
“Buy some extra ballots for tonight’s fundraiser.”

Despite my desire for immediate flight from the building,
Doug and I walk over to the table and give the volunteer our names. She hands
us an envelope containing our tickets for entry to the ballroom and two pink
ballots. “You can buy extras if you’d like,” the woman explains. “They are two
for ten or four for
c-c-chai
.” She spits the Hebrew word for eighteen
with a good deal of throaty phlegm.

“Ah,
there
you are! I’ve been looking all
over
for you!” Jodi calls, grabbing me by the arm and pulling me inside. “Doug, go
find Lee and help him with the cameras. I need Lauren’s help getting ready.”

I fake-smile and wave good-bye to Doug as Jodi drags me
into the peachy, plush interior of the Beth El ladies’ room.

And just like that, I’m trapped. Trapped in temple.

“Jo,” I say, collapsing into an overstuffed armchair and
trying not to panic, “do you know Leslie Koch?”

“Yeah, sure. She’s one of the crazy bitches who’s dancing
with me tonight.” She leans into the glass and applies more makeup to her
already flawless look. “I don’t know her all that well, really. But the word
is, she had some sort of accident the other night and now her face is all
fucked—” She stops midcurse and turns, lip gloss wand extended toward me as an
accusation.

“Up,” I say. “Fucked up. What did Kat say? Six stitches?”

“That was
Leslie Koch’s
sex-toy birthday party?
With the kissing of girls and dancing round poles?”

“And the gashing of hostesses…yes, Jo!”

“That means…
your
dominatrix is the president of
our
sisterhood!”

“Small world,” a chilly voice from behind a bathroom stall
says. A flush follows.

Jodi mouths the word “Leslie” to me, and I mouth the word
“Duh” to her. I have my hand on the door handle and am about one second away
from freedom when Leslie’s words stop me.

“Always running from the scene of the crime, aren’t you,
Lauren?”

I let go of the door and turn to face what’s left of
Leslie’s face.

Her entire right check is covered in gauze held in place
with surgical tape. The rest of her face is masked in huge sunglasses. She
slides them up to her hairline and lets them rest there, so that Jodi and I can
have a good, long look at the full horror.

And look we do.

It’s really so much worse than anything I could have
imagined. Her eyes are rimmed in purplish green and the whole top half of her
face is puffy. “Did I…did I also break your
nose
?” I whisper-ask.

She merely nods.

Then she reaches up and removes the gauze from her check,
displaying a gnarly, jagged line of stitches caked over in dried blood.

“Yikes,” Jodi says.

That’s when I notice the bandages on Leslie’s hands. “What
happened there?” I ask, gesturing to the Band-Aids covering both palms.

“When you knocked me to the living room floor, I broke my
nose against the coffee table and then cut my hands on some shards of glass
from a broken,
priceless
Baccarat vase that you will have to pay for.”

I try to remember that scene from Wednesday night, and
shake my head. “I’m really sorry about hurting you with the heel of my shoe,
Leslie. Really, I regret it more than words can say, and I’m hoping I can find some
way to make it up to you. But the rest I didn’t do. The coffee table had been
moved out of the way, to make room for the pole dancing.”

“According to who?” she asks, moving in so close that I
can smell the kosher hors d’oeuvres on her warm breath. “It’s your word against
mine, Worthing, isn’t it? Everyone at my party
saw
you gash my face.
Everyone
saw
you and Kat run for the door, and everyone—”

“That’s because you were calling me a—” I cut in, in my
defense.

“I was a
wonderful
hostess through and through, and
you shat on me!” She steps away from me and toward the sink, where she calmly
dispenses soap into her hands and begins to scrub between the bandages. She
looks at us reflected behind her in the mirrored wall. “Who do you think a jury
would believe?”

Jodi and I stand there, mouths open, trying to take in the
fact that I’m being fucked sideways.

Yes, who would a jury believe?

“But—” I begin. “But—you said you had the whole thing
caught on tape! From a nanny cam!” Not that this would help my case exactly,
but at this point I think it must be better to have proof of the terrible acts
I really did do, rather than being framed for the awful things I didn’t.

Leslie smiles with half her mouth, like that character
from
The Dark Knight
after his face melts and he turns all evil. “Maybe
I have it, and maybe I
lost
it.”

“’Shat’ is such a weird word, isn’t it?” Kat says. “I
never like how it sounds.” We all turn toward her voice.

“I slipped in unnoticed at some point during her tirade,”
she explains. Turning to Leslie, she adds, “Quite a performance. I only hope
you can be as convincing out there in the ballroom tonight.”

Leslie stays cool. “Well, if it isn’t Lauren’s little
garden gnome.”

“A short joke! How original,” Kat says. “Jodi, don’t you
have to get out there now? I think you’re on first.” Jodi and I move toward the
door like lost sheep finally collected by our loving shepherd.

We are out in the hallway when we hear Leslie’s parting
words. “Oh, Kat? Make sure to slip Jodi some tongue when you kiss her good luck
tonight. I know how much you like the pretty ones!”

Which can only mean one thing: she’s seen the videos.

“Wow, she’s got a dark side I never saw at Sharing
Shabbat,” Jodi says, shuddering. “Not to mention, she did that Keratin
treatment on her hair this week, and now she looks like a drowned rat.”

“That’s what you noticed about her appearance, Jo?” I ask.
“Her newly straightened, processed
hair
?” Then I turn my attention to
Kat. “You okay?”

She reaches for her phone and begins tap-tapping in a way
that’s reminiscent of the gestures that preceded our trip to South Beach. “Oh,
I’m just awesome,” she says. “Fan-fucking-tastic.” She turns away from us, her
phone glowing ominously.

“No more trips, Kat!” I joke, but she waves me away,
half-listening.

Then I turn my attention to Jodi. “
You
going to be
okay?” I ask, worried that Jodi might have lost her focus before her Big Night.
The three of us walk toward the ballroom together as crowds of people are being
ushered to their seats.

“I’m fine,” she says, taking a deep breath. “My whole
family is here to support me, and you guys are here, and I’ve been practicing
this for months, and now I get to do it in my grandmother’s honor.” She pauses,
tears in her eyes. “It’s going to be a beautiful evening. Nothing can spoil it
for me.”

“Amen to that, ladies,” MC Lenny says, swooping down over
our little huddle and making me jump.

“Lenny!” Jodi smiles, embracing him. “I was getting
worried!”

“Because…he’s
supposed
to be here?” Kat asks,
putting her phone into her bag.

“That’s what I was wondering.” I quickly scan the hallway
for signs of Doug. This is very wrong. I feel faint. I glare menacingly at
Jodi, who seems oblivious to my pain, her arm tucked neatly into the crook of
Lenny’s elbow.