Young Wives (22 page)

“Look they haven’t indicted me. They got nothing,” was all he’d repeat to her, but she knew he was spending hours on the phone and in conferences with Bruzeman. How could Frank afford to spend less time on work yet spend more than ever on costs—cleaning up the house and replacing everything, as well as paying attorney’s fees?

Michelle left the bedroom and walked down the hall to get her hot rollers, which, typically, Jenna had borrowed and never returned. She heard a noise and stopped, poised to listen. Scratching. Was it the dog? She immediately ran downstairs, taking two steps at once.

“Pookie! Pookie!” God, it had made all the difference to Frankie now that the dog was back. He was sleeping through the night again.

The dog was scratching at the door. Was there someone—a cop or worse—hanging around out there? Frank had been paranoid about even using the phones, afraid they might be tapped. But Michelle would not be intimidated in her own house. She flung open the door only to find the local “freebie” newspaper, one she’d requested they
not
deliver, at her feet. Michelle couldn’t even gather the energy to bend over to pick it up. She simply shut the door and bent over to scratch Pookie’s ears. “Good dog,” she said.

She got the hot rollers, went into the bathroom, opened the little cabinet on the wall where she kept close to forty plastic jars, tubes, and compacts, and selected a handful to begin painting onto her face. She plugged in the rollers, then shook the foundation bottle hard, because otherwise she wound up smearing some oily water with occasional cementlike chunks of color on her face. No wonder they called it foundation! Looking at her pale skin, the sootlike marks under her eyes, and her colorless lips, Michelle shook her head. Then she got busy.

As she rolled up her hair and began painting her face, she thought of the song that began, “Gray skies are going to clear up, put on a happy face.” She couldn’t remember the rest of it, but she forced herself to hum it. She
had
to stop feeling sorry for herself.

After she finished with the blusher, she started working on her eyeliner. However bad she felt, she reminded herself that Jada was ten times worse off. What was it like right now for Jada, with her children missing and no news since Clinton had taken them, except for a quick call on her answering machine that said “I have the kids and they’re all right” in Clinton’s voice? It was cold. Jada had made her come over and listen to it.

Yes, Jada had it so much worse. Michelle still had her husband and children. She still had her family intact. She couldn’t imagine what it felt like to Jada, adrift, alone, isolated from everyone she loved and cared for. Her horror wasn’t public, but in a way that was worse, far worse than Michelle’s. Putting another layer of mascara on her lower eyelashes, Michelle had to stop because her eyes had gotten so wet. Well, she was finished anyway.

She looked in the mirror at her renovations. Her skin was now evenly ivory, with no freckles but with pleasantly pink cheeks and a matching mouth. The creases above her eyes had just the right amount of pale brown eye shadow, while the darkness under her eyes had disappeared.
Funny how we’re supposed to have shade over our eyes but not under
, she thought. She looked fine. In fact, she’d taken pains, so she looked better than usual. She was ready for the day. Now she just had to be brave and achieve re-entry. As she walked out of the bathroom, as a little encouragement to herself she began to sing about how gray skies were going to clear up.

Michelle and Jada had talked it over and decided Michelle could come in a little bit late this morning. Jada was going in, too. She couldn’t afford to take another day off from work, not with the legal bill she was going to have to pay. And though both women would have preferred driving in together, Jada hadn’t thought it was a good idea. For a moment, Michelle had been hurt and thought that Jada might not like to be seen with her in public. Then she got her head straight. They almost never drove to work together before. Why should they do it now?

Michelle pulled up to a parking space just before nine o’clock, got out of the car, and took a deep breath. This was normality, and it felt better than the ups and downs of the last week.
Just be brave and friendly now
, she told herself.
You’re guilty of nothing
. She walked to the employees’ entrance and rang. Bobby, the part-time security guard, opened it for her. He was a nice kid. “Say, hey,” he said casually and she smiled. Maybe this would be easy as pie.

“Good morning,” Michelle said in passing, then opened the closet to hang her coat, put her gloves and hat in the place on the shelf where she always kept them, and walked directly to the coffee machine. She’d only been away for a few working days, but she was touched to see that her mug was still in its place. She poured herself an almost-full cup. She took it to her desk, but before she could put her coffee down, she realized it wasn’t her desk. Her pictures of Frank, the kids, Pookie, the little ivy plant she’d gotten last Mother’s Day—nothing was there that was hers. Her stomach tightened, and shyly, almost fearfully, she looked around at the others.

Was this some awful, mean joke? Were they all watching her to see how she’d react? Several officers were talking with customers. Ben and Anne were on the phone and everyone else seemed to be avoiding her eyes. She sat down anyway, unsure of what to do. Her hand began to shake. She’d spill the coffee if she didn’t set it down soon. Then Anne hung up the phone and walked over to her.

“Hi, Michelle,” Anne said in a brittle voice. “So, while you were gone the consultants rearranged the desks. Yours is over there now, in the bin.” She pointed to the spot where the internal wall took a jog, creating a small alcove near the vault. It was a spot coveted by some, because it gave you privacy from the eyes of the bank customers. Of course, that was why it was inappropriate for an office to be located there.

“But Betsy sits there,” Michelle protested. Betsy serviced the lockboxes and needed easy access to the vault, which was what had made the wall jog there.

“Betsy will be servicing them from the front, over there, so that we don’t get interrupted by being asked for the safety deposit person. Something about efficiency.” Then, without another word, Anne turned her back on Michelle and moved over to her own desk where she sat and managed to keep her head down, busily looking through a file drawer.

Michelle, her face reddening under the ivory foundation makeup, stood up slowly and walked over to her new desk. She slid between the wall and the desk and then sank into her own chair. Seated in the alcove, her back almost hitting the wall, the desk became a bulwark in front of her. Michelle could almost have been in a closet; her range of vision was cut off.

She thought of the nuns who had taught her in grammar school. They wore wimples that had acted as blinders, just as this desk’s position did. Michelle couldn’t see any of the customers as they came in, nor could she see the first two rows of officers’ desks. All she could view was Anne’s desk and Jada’s glass-windowed office behind it. She was all alone, isolated, and out of view. Was it just a coincidence? She didn’t think so. Michelle lowered her head and pretended to look at the loan requests on her desk, but she was actually trying to remember how to put on a happy face.

Michelle had worked through the morning, catching up on paperwork and making a few calls to customers who had neglected to complete parts of the loan application properly. She also had had a few approvals, but she was saving those calls to make at lunchtime, when some people might be home. She’d like to give somebody some good news. There didn’t seem to be much good news here for her, though.

It was almost eleven-thirty and aside from two loan applicants, no one had spoken to her. She’d been too frightened to get up and walk over to Ben’s desk or to one of the tellers and try some small talk. What if they rebuffed her as harshly as the woman at the bake sale had done? Michelle couldn’t have taken it.

She wondered again whether her desk had been moved to keep her out of the sight of “decent people.” She didn’t want to be paranoid, and she didn’t think Jada would let the consultants or the bank staff do such a thing, but she wasn’t completely sure. After all, Jada was not only her friend but also a working mother who had to take care of her children financially. The job meant everything to Jada.

Now that it felt jeopardized, Michelle realized that emotionally her job meant a great deal to her as well. She liked to help people. She enjoyed teaching them ways to reorganize their financial needs, to fill in the forms, and it was very gratifying to feel that she’d done them some good. It gave her other adults to talk to, even if it was just about a funny
Seinfeld
episode or the new luncheonette that had opened next to the bank.

It gave her something to talk about in the evening, too. When Frank told her about his day, she could tell him about hers. Although sometimes the job was complicated, and sometimes she had the heartbreaking situation of turning down money to people who were desperate for it, she found most of the work fairly easy and had time to joke and enjoy herself during the day.

But this was no fun; sitting in a lock box away from everyone and being cold-shouldered by her coworkers felt really awful. She thought of the times she’d locked poor Pookie in his crate when he’d been bad. Maybe it was just a combination, Michelle thought, of her first day back, her new location, and her coworkers’ awkwardness. If she made the first move, perhaps everything would slide into place and she’d come to see this desk as an advantage. The phone rang and she lifted the receiver.

“Michelle? It’s me, Jada.”

“Oh, hi,” Michelle said. “How ya holding up?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t call you when you came in, but first I had to face Mr. Marcus and then I just had an hour-long meeting with Data Processing and I swear I don’t know one thing that was said in it.”

“Doesn’t sound good,” Michelle told her. What a relief! Jada wasn’t cutting her off. “You want me to come in? Have you got a lunch break? We could go out to lunch.”

“Not a good idea. Look, I wouldn’t be honest if I didn’t tell you there’s some pressure I’m getting about your job here. No problem. Just a little pressure. But I think we better…well…”

“No problem,” Michelle said, though her throat seemed to close up as she took the news in.

“Also, I really need your help.”

“Sure,” Michelle promised. “So, what’s up?”

“Open your bottom righthand drawer,” Jada said. “And don’t look up.”

“Is it a present?” Michelle asked. “A present for me?” Slowly she pulled the drawer open.

“Hey, it ain’t even a present for
me
.” Jada’s voice almost crackled over the phone. “Though I need it.” Michelle pulled out a piece of paper and recognized it in a second. It was a loan application made out by Jada. An unsecured loan for ten thousand dollars. Uh-oh.

“I got it,” Michelle said. “What now?”

“Michelle, I don’t know what to do. I already gave Rick Bruzeman a check for ten thousand dollars to pay his retainer.”

“Ten thousand dollars?” Michelle whispered. “He asked for that much?”

“That was just a start,” Jada admitted. “But he’s going to be aggressive and get me my kids back.”

“It’s difficult,” Michelle agreed. “And it’s a ransom. I never imagined…”

“It’s worse than that. I haven’t been able to get him on the phone since, just messages from his assistant. He’s always in court or in transit or in something.”

“Well, he is a busy guy. Because he’s good.”

“So good he said we have to move real fast and then he took my money and is gone.”

God! Michelle wondered what Bruzeman was charging Frank. It must have been lots more, lots and lots more than this. She thought of a bitter joke Frank had told her. What can a goose do, a duck can’t, and a lawyer should? Stick his bill up his ass. She was afraid to tell it to Jada, not only because this wasn’t the time, but because Jada didn’t like vulgarity. “How are you going to do it?” Michelle asked Jada.

“You got the answer right in front of you.”

Michelle looked up from the piece of paper in her hand and over to Jada’s office. Jada was standing, the phone held to her ear with one hand, the other hand massaging the back of her neck. She shook her head when she saw Michelle’s eyes on her and turned away. “Don’t be looking over here,” Jada almost snapped. They were both silent for what seemed like a long, long minute.

“Listen, Michelle,” Jada said. “This isn’t any kind of Whitewater scam. I’m not asking you to do something you wouldn’t do. I think I can guarantee the loan. I can’t touch the equity on the house because I need Clinton’s signature to do that. But I can pay this back as soon as I can tap the equity. What I need you to do is look at that application the way you would any other, but make it happen a lot quicker. Because if I don’t get cash in my account by tomorrow, I am definitely going to bounce Mr. Bruzeman high and wide. Okay?”

“Okay,” Michelle said. “Listen, while I have you on the phone, can you tell me why I’ve been stuck in this corner?”

“B-O,” Jada said.

“Are you saying I stink?” Michelle asked—Michelle, who showered at least twice a day and almost never left the house without freshly washed hair.

“Not body odor. Boss’s orders,” Jada told her. “Marcus was worried. A few jerks said something. But I think once everyone settles down, you’re not going to have any problems except for one or two assholes. But for now they’re
all
assholes. I’m looking out this window at a sea of assholes.”

“Not a pretty picture,” Michelle told her.

“I don’t know. I think it’s better than their faces,” Jada said, and Michelle had to laugh. The laugh freed her up; as awful as all this was, Jada was her friend and they both would live through this.

Michelle had done her best for most of the afternoon filling in the legion of forms it would take to approve Jada’s loan. She’d also called around and got verbal approvals segment by segment. The trickiest thing she’d done was to back-date it all so that it appeared as if Jada had been on the queue waiting, and Michelle’s absence or lack of follow-through was at fault.