BFF* (38 page)

J
essica has hardly been home this week. She and her friends are looking for summer jobs. I saw them downtown this afternoon, while Steph, Alison and I were shopping for shorts and T-shirts. Jess and Kristen were inside Ed's car. They seemed to be having a heavy discussion, so I didn't wave or anything.

Later, when we sat down to dinner, Dad asked Jess how the job hunt was going. Jessica put down her fork. “I've been all over town. I've answered every help-wanted ad in the paper and I always get the same reaction. They take one look at my skin and say, ‘Nothing available now.' One woman even whispered, ‘Come back when your skin clears up, dear.' Can you believe it! I mean, is that discrimination or is that discrimination? I'm thinking of suing.”

Jess caught the look that passed between Mom and Dad. “Well, why not?” she asked them. “You can sue
for sex discrimination and race discrimination and other discriminations, so why
not
skin discrimination?”

Mom said, “It's a temporary condition, Jess. Painful, but temporary.”

“Does that make it okay for people to treat me like a freak?” Jessica asked. “Maybe my skin will never clear up. Maybe no one will ever hire me for anything. Maybe I'll just wear a face mask for the rest of my life!”

“An interesting idea,” Dad said, and we turned to him. “I mean,” he said quickly, “the idea of discrimination based on a skin condition.”

Jessica sat up, her eyes bright.

“Or could it be viewed as a disability?” Dad asked Mom.

Mom mulled that over while she chewed, then swallowed whatever was in her mouth. “The law says you can't discriminate against someone because of a disability,” she said. “If we could prove that acne is a disability …”

“So you'll take my case?” Jessica asked Mom.

“As a judge I wouldn't be able to represent you, Jess.”

We all stopped midmouthful and turned to Mom, who flushed.

“You heard?” Dad asked.

Mom nodded. “Today.”

“Why didn't you say something?” I asked.

“I was waiting for the right moment,” Mom said.

“Well,” Dad said, “this calls for a special toast.” He poured himself half a glass of wine and held it up. “To Nell Babcock Robinson, who will bring her sense of fair play and justice to the bench!”

Jess and I joined Dad in his toast, raising our water glasses to Mom. “Will you still have to finish your big case?” I asked.

“Yes, but this will be my last one as a trial lawyer.” Then she said, “It'll mean a substantial cut in income.”

“We'll manage,” Dad said.

I love you
, Mom mouthed at him.

I love you, too
, Dad mouthed back.

“Does this mean we're not going to decide about my lawsuit?” Jess asked.

Mom snapped back to reality. “What I started to say, honey, is … as a judge I wouldn't be able to handle your case. Dad can talk to his friends at the Employment Rights Project. They might have some ideas for you.”

“But not you!” Jess exploded. “Not my own mother, the greatest trial lawyer who ever lived. I'll bet you'd help Tarren, though, wouldn't you?”

Mom winced.

“Jessica …” Dad said, touching her hand.

“What?”

“That's not fair.”

“Exactly!” Jess said.

Mom started to say, “Don't you think I know …”

But Jess got up from the table and marched into the kitchen with her plate.

Mom's face tightened but she continued to eat, taking very small bites.

Dad tried to reassure me. “She'll be all right,” he said, knowing I was thinking about Jess. “She's just upset over not getting a job.”

I nodded, trying not to show how close to tears I was, trying to eat the rest of my dinner exactly like Mom, cutting my food into tiny pieces so I barely had to chew.

O
n Friday night Stephanie invited Alison and me to her house for supper. Steph's mother came home from work with two pizzas—one plain and one with the works. She put them into the oven in their boxes, then went upstairs, calling, “Be down in a jiff.”

Mrs. Hirsch is a lot younger than Mom. Her name is Rowena and she has permed hair and big eyes. She dresses in clothes that look like costumes. One day she'll wear a long peasant skirt—the next she's in western gear. She used to look more like your basic working woman, but since she and Mr. Hirsch split up she's become more exotic.

Steph's house is cluttered, with piles of magazines and papers waiting to be read, and odd pieces of furniture
that don't make any sense, like the sink in the foyer. Mrs. Hirsch has taken off the cabinet doors in the kitchen, so everything, including cereal boxes, is right out in the open. Steph's father is the complete opposite of her mother. You wonder how they got married in the first place but not why they've split up.

Stephanie's brother, Bruce, is ten. He's a worrier, like me. He should have been
my
brother. “What's new?” I asked him, as we sat around the kitchen table.

“Only good news, Bruce!” Stephanie warned. “Nothing about the rain forest, endangered species, global warming or the homeless. We don't need any of your gloom and doom tonight.”

Bruce thought that over and finally said, “The Mets beat the Cards ten-zip.”

“You call that news!” Stephanie said.

“Yeah, I call that news,” Bruce told her. “I call that very good news.”

“I wonder if my brother's going to be a baseball fan,” Alison said.

“Your brother's going to be a baby,” Steph said.

“I wish you'd stop saying that!” Alison told her. “I was talking about when he's older.”

Mrs. Hirsch came back into the kitchen wearing tight jeans and a lacy top. She pulled the pizza boxes out of the oven. They were beginning to smell like burned cardboard. She set them on the table and told us to help ourselves.

“Yum …” Alison said, taking the first bite.

As much as I enjoy pizza, I can't eat it without thinking about Jess and those obnoxious boys who call her Pizza Face.

As if Mrs. Hirsch could read my mind, she suddenly asked, “How's Jessica?”

“She's trying to get a job,” I said, “but so far she hasn't had any luck.”

“Tell her to give me a call,” Mrs. Hirsch said. “I'm looking for someone intelligent and responsible.” Mrs. Hirsch owns a travel agency in town. It's called Going Places.

“Jess is very intelligent and responsible,” I told Mrs. Hirsch.

“I know that,” she said. “I wouldn't expect anything less from your family, Rachel.” She turned to Alison. “And how's it going with
your
mom? Is she feeling okay?”

“She says she feels fat,” Alison said. “She can't see her toes in the shower.”

Mrs. Hirsch laughed. “When is the baby due?”

“July eleventh.”

“Tell your folks if there's anything I can do, just give me a call,” Mrs. Hirsch said. “Now, who's ready for a second slice?”

We all answered at once.

When we'd polished off both pizzas, Stephanie carried a plate of brownies to the table. “Well …” her
mother said, “as long as you're all here together, I may just run out for an hour or two.”

“Where to?” Steph asked.

“To see a friend.”

“What friend?”

“Really, Steph …” Mrs. Hirsch said, with half a laugh.

“Really, what?” Steph asked, shoving most of the brownie into her mouth at once.

“If you don't want me to go out, I won't,” Mrs. Hirsch told her.

“Did I say that?” Steph looked around the table. “Did anyone hear me say that?”

None of us answered.

“I just want to know
what
friend you're going to see,” Steph continued. “And I want a number where I can reach you. You
said
we should always have a number, just in case, remember?”

“Yes,” her mother said, “I remember.”

Alison and I exchanged glances as Mrs. Hirsch pulled the phone book out of a drawer and thumbed through it. She jotted down a number and handed it to Steph. Steph looked it over, then asked, “Who is Geoff Boseman?”

“A friend,” Mrs. Hirsch said.

“I never heard of him.”

Mrs. Hirsch sighed. “He's a new friend.”

“You mean this is a date?”

“Not unless you call two friends having coffee together a date.”

“I do if one is a man and one is a woman.”

“You're overreacting, Steph,” Mrs. Hirsch said. She dropped a kiss on Bruce's cheek, but when she tried to kiss Stephanie, Steph ducked and Mrs. Hirsch wound up kissing air. She gave Alison and me a kind of embarrassed smile. “I'll be back in two hours, at the latest. Keep everything locked.” She grabbed her purse and headed for the kitchen door.

When she was gone, Stephanie said, “You think I was overreacting?”

“Yes,” I said.

Then Steph looked at Alison, who nodded and said, “She's separated. She's allowed to have dates. But even if she was still married, she could meet a friend for coffee, or even dinner.”

“A friend that Bruce and I have never heard of?”

“I've heard of him,” Bruce said.

“You've heard of Geoff, with a G, Boseman?” Steph asked him.

“Yeah. Isn't he the guy Mom met at the gym?”

“The gym!” Steph said. “She's having coffee with some guy she met at the gym?”

“On the StairMaster,” Bruce said.

“The StairMaster?”

“I think that's what she said.”

“I can't believe this!” Stephanie said to the ceiling.

“Lighten up,” Bruce told Steph. Exactly what Steph is always telling me.

“Yeah,” Alison said, “stepfathers can be the best. Look at Leon.”

“I don't
need
a stepfather!” Stephanie said.

“Isn't this conversation premature?” I asked. “I mean, one cup of coffee does not necessarily lead to marriage.” As soon as I said it, I realized my mistake. Natural Helpers are supposed to listen carefully, not just to the spoken but to the unspoken. We're supposed to acknowledge feelings. But did I acknowledge Stephanie's feelings? No, I did not. And did I size up the seriousness of the situation and offer support and encouragement?
No
. If I'm going to be a Natural Helper, I'm going to have to learn to be a better friend.

At eight, Steph and I sat down to watch Gena's TV show. It's called “Franny on Her Own,” and it's the only show on TV I watch regularly. Actually it's not as bad as most half hour comedies. It doesn't have a laugh track and it's not stupid. Gena plays an intelligent woman who comes to live in the city after years in the country. It's a kind of city-mouse, country-mouse story. They finished shooting for the season before she looked pregnant. Alison says Gena would rather stay home with the baby next year, but it's hard to give up that kind of salary.

“This is so embarrassing,” Alison said as the show began. “I don't see why you want to watch it.”

“Because your mother is the star!” Steph explained. “We know her.”

“Why don't you tape it instead?” Alison said. “Then we could do something interesting.”

“It's just half an hour,” Steph told her. “You can read or something if you don't want to watch.”

“Or play computer games with me!” Bruce said. “I couldn't care less about your mother's TV show.”

“You're on!” Alison told him, and the two of them ran up to his room while Steph and I laughed over “Franny on Her Own.” It felt good to laugh with Steph again. According to
Psychology Today
, laughter is the best medicine.

J
essica got the job at Going Places. She'll be working full-time over the summer but just three afternoons, plus Saturdays, for now. After her first day of work she was bubbling with excitement, not just about the job but about Mrs. Hirsch.
“Rowena …
isn't that the most romantic name?” she said on Monday night. She was on the living room floor surrounded by travel brochures. “She's so warm.”

“Who is?” Charles asked. He was passing through with a copy of Stephen King's latest book. Stephen King is his hero. Maybe he can go live with him in Maine!

Jessica looked up at Charles. “I was talking about Rowena Hirsch, my boss.”

Mom came through then, with a mug of coffee. “What about her?” she asked.

“I was just saying how
warm
she is,” Jess repeated.
“How sincere. She's completely different from anyone I've ever known.”

Mom raised her eyebrows but didn't comment.

“I'm thinking of becoming a travel agent,” Jess said. “I mean, not right now, but later, when I finish college. I'd love to travel.”

“Travel agents don't get to travel,” I told Jess. “They arrange for other people to travel.”