The Smart One and the Pretty One (14 page)

“I believe in being
hygienic
,” Ava said. “That’s a different issue.”

“Oh, you’re just making up distinctions now. It all falls on a sliding scale of trying to make yourself look good. Why not just slide a little further up the chain?”

“First of all, you’re mixing metaphors like crazy. Second of all”—Ava pointed out the window—“it looks like the new Pinkberry is finally open. Should we get some?” Lauren assented enthusiastically, and pretty soon the girls were plunging into large scoops of frozen yogurt covered with fresh strawberries, their conversation forgotten.

That night, Ava clipped her shoulder-length hair out of the way to wash her face, then stopped and looked at herself. Feeling a little silly, she removed the hairclip, then experimented with pulling her hair back into a twist and clipping it into some semblance of an updo. It fell out immediately, so she tried pulling just the front pieces of hair back, the way Lauren often did, but no matter how she played with the different bits of hair or repositioned the clip, it always looked uneven and a little silly to her. She finally just pulled it severely back and out of the way again and scrubbed her face clean.

Chapter 8

N
ancy met Lauren at the front door, purse already in hand, sunglasses pushed up on her head. “Let’s go,” she said by way of greeting.

“Am I late?” Lauren asked. It was Tuesday and she was picking her mother up for chemo.

“By most people’s standards, yes,” Nancy said.

“Time is relative, right?”

Nancy wasn’t amused. “It tends to be fairly constant when you’re talking about hospital appointments. We’ll be okay so long as we leave right away and traffic isn’t terrible.”

“It’s not great,” Lauren said, having been stuck in it on the drive there. Nancy was letting her use her car so long as she made herself available to run errands on demand.

They headed down the uneven walkway and she had to resist the urge to reach out and support her mother’s arm; she suspected that Nancy would only resent the attempt. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Nancy said. “Really fine, at the moment. Just in time to feel worse again. That’s the hardest part about going—knowing it will make me feel sick tomorrow.”

“But ultimately it will make you better.”

“One hopes.”

Her mother’s gloomy mood made Lauren feel guilty about the fact that she was kind of looking forward to going to the hospital. Looking forward to seeing Daniel again.

Being back in L.A. and living with her sister had been bad for Lauren’s social life. She was used to going out a lot, either on dates or with friends, and all these evenings she’d been spending at home eating dinner and watching TV with Ava managed to be simultaneously quite pleasant and intensely boring—sort of like a walk down a tree-lined dead-end street.

Daniel had piqued her interest. There was something dark and angry about him that appealed to her worst instincts. She was well aware that those instincts were likely to lead her in a self-destructive direction—but she was
bored
. A small, manageable amount of self-destruction trumped boredom, in her opinion.

She had once been bounced right off a motorcycle by a date who had insisted on riding drunk and without a helmet. Since Lauren had also been drunk, she had willingly thrown on a helmet and joined him on the ride and had paid the resulting stupidity tax with a large portion of the skin on her right arm and thigh. Her date was less fortunate and ended up in the hospital for two weeks with a fractured skull. She waited until he had healed and then she broke up with him, making a silent vow to stick in the future to men who were clean-cut and well-scrubbed. And who didn’t ride motorcycles.

Daniel was well-groomed enough, so that was good, and she doubted he had a motorcycle—he didn’t have the oversized adolescent vibe peculiar to guys who rode bikes—but even so, she suspected he wasn’t likely to be good for her emotional health. On the other hand, Lauren thought, to hell with health. She was spending her days being a dutiful daughter and a supportive sister, and she needed something risky to balance out all that goodness.

“We’re going to be late.” Nancy snapped the windshield shade down peevishly. “Look at all this traffic. We should have left earlier.”

“Sorry,” Lauren said. The car in front of her moved forward and she stepped eagerly on the gas but had to brake almost immediately as the other car stopped again.

“Don’t lurch,” her mother said. “It won’t get us there any faster and it wastes gas.”

“Backseat driver,” Lauren muttered. But she was careful not to overaccelerate the next time the traffic started moving, just took her foot off the brake and let the car roll gently forward. The space between her car and the one in front widened, and another car suddenly darted in front, cutting her off so tightly that she had to slam on the brakes even though she was barely moving. The car that had cut her off made it through the next intersection just as the light turned from yellow to red. Lauren had to stop and wait. “Damn it,” she said. “I could have made it if it hadn’t been for that jerk.”

“Calm down,” Nancy said. “It doesn’t do any good to get annoyed.”

“You’re the one who keeps telling me we’re going to be late.”

“I said that
once
.”

The light changed again and Lauren quickly zipped through the intersection—only to be slowed to a standstill again half a block later, within sight of the hospital. “L.A. traffic sucks,” she said. “I better drop you off before I park. That way you can go up and get started.” As Lauren pulled into the hospital drop-off lane, she saw the car that had cut her off pulling away from the curb, heading toward the parking garage—and this time spotted Daniel in the driver’s seat. “I should have known,” she said, amused.

“What?” Nancy looked at her, hand poised on the door handle.

“Nothing,” Lauren said. She pulled up to the curb. “I’ll meet you upstairs. You going to be okay?”

“Fine,” Nancy said. She got out of the car and Lauren watched her walk up to the entrance. She looked a little more slumped about the shoulders than usual, but she still walked with the same fierce determination she’d always had. She passed a woman in a wheelchair being pushed by a volunteer up the ramp, and Lauren realized that the seated figure was Daniel’s mother. She felt a strange and uncharitable sense of relief that her own mother was striding along on her own power when Daniel’s mother couldn’t even walk the few feet, but then was hit by a sudden superstitious fear that her selfishness would bring on her own mother’s decline. She shook her head to get rid of the thought.

She lingered in the drive-through for a moment, waiting for Nancy to enter the front doors, and realized just in time that a security guard was bearing down on her, waving his hand with a “move along” gesture. She responded with a deliberately obtuse cheery wave and pulled back out into the street. She continued on to the parking garage but didn’t see Daniel down there.

She had to go down five levels to find an empty parking space, so by the time she made it up to the chemo ward, a nurse was already settling her mother in the public reclining chair area.

“Actually, I kind of like it here,” Nancy said when Lauren wondered out loud whether there were any private rooms available. “If I get bored, I can look at the other people and decide whether or not I look better than they do.”

“I can tell you right now you do,” Lauren said.

“That’s because they’re all old.” Once she was hooked up to the IV, Nancy closed her eyes with a sigh of exhaustion, then immediately opened them again. “I’m sorry. Did you want to talk? Something about being here always makes me so sleepy.”

“Nah, I’m fine,” Lauren said. “You relax. I’m going to go do a little exploring.” She gave her a quick kiss on the forehead and walked over to the snack area.

And there was Daniel, sitting in a chair, leafing restlessly through a newspaper. The second she entered, he looked up and tossed the newspaper aside.

“There you are,” he said. So he had been waiting for her. She was glad.

“Hi,” she said. “Did you know you cut me off?”

“What do you mean?”

“In your car. You cut me off.”

He stared at her. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Never mind. Is your mother all settled?”

“Yeah,” he said. “We got a private room this time.”

“So no yelling?”

“What do you mean?” he said again.

“You know. You were screaming at the nurses when you didn’t get one last time.”

“I wasn’t screaming,” he said. “I was just pointing out that they had promised us something and not delivered it.”

“Very loudly,” Lauren said. “It was very loud pointing out.”

“I wasn’t that loud.”

“Not by monster truck rally standards.” She sat down in a chair near him and blessed the addition of spandex to snug-fitting jeans as she crossed one denim-clad leg over the other. “Ready to play cards? I’ve been sharpening my skills by watching poker tournaments on TV all week.”

“You have way too much time on your hands,” he said. “You need a hobby.”

“Watching TV
is
my hobby,” Lauren said. “I’m very good at it. I may even go pro.”

“I’m hungry,” Daniel said, springing to his feet. “Can we get something to eat before we play cards? But not just cookies and orange juice. I didn’t have lunch today.”

“There’s a cafeteria downstairs. According to the sign in the elevator they have chicken soup just like Mom used to make.”

“My mother never made chicken soup.”

“Maybe that’s your problem.” She meant it as a joke, but his expression darkened.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” She stood up. “Let’s go get you some chicken soup.”

Daniel said he had to check on his mother first, so they agreed to meet in front of the elevators in five minutes. Lauren got there first.

“Your mom okay?” she asked him when he joined her a couple of minutes later.

“Define ‘okay’” was his response.

The elevator opened. It was already pretty full, but Daniel pushed his way in without hesitation. Lauren followed close behind, and people squeezed to the sides to make room for them. Once in, they turned and faced the front like everyone else. Lauren could feel Daniel’s body close behind hers.

The passengers were all silent for the ride down, except for one old lady in front who kept saying to the young man with her—presumably her son—“Why are they so long? Why are they so long?” Lauren wondered what that meant. The son didn’t answer, just patted his mother on the arm and murmured a weary “shush,” with no apparent faith in his ability to silence her. They got off on the ground floor.

Three other people accompanied them the rest of the way down to the cafeteria, which covered the entire basement floor. Half of the room was devoted to tables and chairs, the other half was scattered with kiosks offering foods that ranged from sushi to subs to desserts to the famous Mom-like chicken soup. Several cashier counters bridged the two areas.

“What looks good to you?” Daniel asked as they scanned the room.

“Frozen yogurt?” Lauren suggested. Daniel made a face. “Wait,” she said. “Don’t tell me. Partially hydrogenated fats?”

“Not that I know of. I just don’t like frozen yogurt. It’s got that weird tangy flavor and a wimpy mouthfeel. Give me real ice cream or just skip the whole thing.”

“I get that,” she said. “Especially if you’re talking Ben and Jerry’s Chunky Monkey.”

“Now you’re speaking my language.” He grinned at her and his face instantly transformed. He was a handsome guy no matter what—he had his mother’s wide-set blue eyes and patrician bone structure—but there was normally something cold and grim about the set of his face. When he smiled . . . it got better. Good enough to make her glad they had some time to spend together. Too bad he didn’t smile more often, Lauren thought.

On the other hand, maybe it was the rarity of the smile that gave it its potency.

They separated to get their food and reunited at the cash register. Lauren had scored a dish of chocolate frozen yogurt and Daniel a large Caesar salad. The cashier said, “You together?” and Daniel nodded and handed her his credit card. Lauren let him pay for her without comment.

They settled with their food at an empty table. Lauren stuck her spoon into her frozen yogurt and twirled it around. “So how is it your mother lives in L.A. but you live in New York? Where’d you grow up?”

“New Jersey,” Daniel said. He took his salad plate off of the tray and swiveled to drop the tray on the empty table behind him, then settled back in his chair. “Mom moved out here by herself about five years ago. She wanted to live somewhere warm—she’s always hated the winter. She thought Florida was for old people and Arizona for crazy New Age types, and she already had a couple of friends who’d moved to L.A., so she came here.” He picked up his plastic fork.

“Are her parents still alive?”

“No,” he said. “But my father’s father is. He’s in a nursing home in Connecticut now, and all he says when I call him is ‘It’s not right that a father should outlive his son.’ Can’t say I disagree with him.” He speared a mound of lettuce with a savage stab of his fork. “I’d trade the old son of a bitch for my father any day.”

“It does go against the natural order of things,” Lauren said. “But it’s not his fault.”

He glared at her. “Who said it was?”

“Relax,” Lauren said. “We’re in agreement here.”

“Yeah, I know,” Daniel said. “Sorry. I’m just in a bad mood. I hate hospitals. And I hate cafeterias.”

“So you’re
really
not crazy about hospital cafeterias,” Lauren said. “I’m just guessing.” She licked some yogurt off the back of her spoon.

“It’s depressing here,” he said, and looking around, Lauren knew what he meant—most of the people at the other tables were either doctors and nurses in their lab coats racing through a snack to get back to work or relatives of patients who ate without pleasure, the strain of dealing with illness showing in their exhausted faces. They all had the look of people who were only eating because someone had said they had to keep their strength up. You couldn’t pretend you were in a regular restaurant: the mood was too dark.