Kate Jacobs (4 page)

* * *

Now Anita looked at Marty, admired his thick
salt-and-pepper hair, the neatly trimmed nails on his large, strong hands, the
almost-dimple on the left side of his mouth.
"You won't believe it, but our little miss has found out that I don't know
how to ride a bike—and she's decided to teach me once the weather gets
warm!" Anita shook her head at Marty and sighed. "She doesn't know
that you can't teach an old dog new tricks."
"Not so old." Marty's eyes were warm. "With more than a few
tricks up her sleeve, I'd bet."
And so, as they did every afternoon, Marty and Anita would speak Dakota, the
language of mutual love. She was the granddaughter that Marty always wanted but
would never have and the proxy for the grandchildren that Anita hardly ever
saw. And she was always a safe topic.
They had talked all through diapers and first days of school and summer camp.
For years, whenever Anita would mention taking Dakota to see the latest
tween
movie or treating her to ice cream at Serendipity on
the East Side, Marty would make a sincere suggestion of how he and Anita should
go down to Film Forum and catch something with more appeal to the older
generation, or try a more sophisticated dessert at Café
Lalo
.
Maybe a little slice of German chocolate cake. Anita would agree with
enthusiasm, laughing at how Dakota kept her young but adult company was in
short supply, though neither of them ever went so far as to actually pick a
date. Or to exchange phone numbers.
Then the moment would fade away, or a new customer would pop in for a bottle of
water, or one of the afterschool kids would shuffle over and buy a pack of gum.
Better be off so I can start my shift, Anita would say.
Marty would follow up with a round of "say hi to…" all the
mutuals
at the knitting shop and she would be out the door,
feeling lighthearted and desirable, coffee in hand, her low heels making a
muted click-clack on the concrete as she walked speedily up the flight of
stairs to Walker and Daughter.

* * *

And then Marty broke the pattern: He cleared
his throat, uttered several ums and
ahems
, and asked
Anita if she would be so gracious as to accompany him to dinner. On a date.
Anita felt as though all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room.
"It's Friday," she squeaked, nearly spilling her coffee as she
grabbed her purse and coat in a swoop and made a beeline for the door,
overwhelmed by a potent mix of white-hot anger in her face—how dare Marty upset
their regular routine!—and bubbles in her tummy. "I have the knitting
club. The girls need me there. I have to go."
And she was gone.

* * *

Upstairs, the redhead rushed into the shop for
the seventh time that day, a manila envelope peeking out of her messenger bag
and a newsboy cap on her head; Georgia had stopped asking if she could help her
by the third visit. They'd had a lot of
looky-loos
since that magazine article and she wasn't sure if that was good or bad, to be
honest. Now she just raised her eyebrows at
Peri
, her
paid morning-shift employee, who was walking into the store from the back and
flipping through a new knitting book. Georgia knew just how lucky she was to
have Anita—she'd never have been able to pay for two employees—but she was also
grateful that the
twentysomething
Peri
was comfortable doing much of the physical work that would have been too taxing
on Anita. She'd just spent the morning in the back opening boxes and cataloging
the latest inventory of yarns. Not to mention she was fun company in the front
of the store, always up on the latest fashion trends and eager to try them out.
"Watch this," Georgia murmured to her employee, giving a slight nod
in the redhead's direction. "She's bought and returned the same tape
measure I don't know how many times today." The flame-haired stranger did
a quick scan around the room, then sidled alongside a brunette with long hair
and looked her up and down. Suddenly the young woman walked over to the
register.
"I'd like to return this tape measure, please," she said, while
continuing to scan the room.
"Were the measurements off?" Georgia kept a straight face. The girl
looked at her blankly, then went and sat at the table, drumming her fingers on
the top. Some of the customers seemed mildly perturbed; still others didn't
seem to notice, engrossed in difficult stitches or daydreaming about cashmere.
"What is that all about?" said
Peri
under
her breath.
"She's been in and out every hour since I unlocked the door—and I'm pretty
sure I saw her in the deli on Tuesday," Georgia answered in a whisper.
"I can't tell if she's nuts or just creating some sort of performance art,
waiting for everyone to react."
After ten minutes of sitting, the girl stood up and slowly, slowly dawdled her
way out of the shop, peering intently at any new customers as she headed toward
the door. A moment later, Anita ran through the doorway, her cheeks flushed
pink, a little out of breath.
"I think we should offer extra classes in manners," Anita huffed.
"I was nearly plowed down as I came up the stairs by a girl with a giant
handbag!"
"So you've met our mystery shopper—or
nonshopper
,
as the case may be." Georgia shrugged. "She was loitering here this
morning so I thought she might be a shoplifter. I pointed her to the remnant
bin and told her she could pick whatever she liked free of charge. But she just
looked right through me and then she bought a tape measure." Her face was
impassive, but her eyes revealed worry. The store attracted all types, it was
true, but typically they weren't certifiably nuts, just mildly annoying.
"Then she returned it and bought it over and over again. I wonder if she
just needs a place to get out of the cold?"
"Drugs. She's high out of her mind."
Peri
was definite. "Ladies, I advise you to watch your purses and arm yourself
with some knitting needles if she comes back. Ta for now, I've got to catch the
train in time to get to class." She buttoned up her red cardigan, pulled
on an overstuffed navy parka to protect her from the icy March air, and smoothed
a knitted cap over her dark cornrows. A glance in the mirror by the door as she
checked for smudges of eyeliner, smoothed her fingers over her rich mocha skin
and reapplied a dramatic red stain to her lips, a quick smooch to leave a big
red mark on Dakota's cheek as she strolled in with the friend she walked home
with every day, and
Peri
waved behind her as she
walked out the door. If Anita was Dakota's fairy grandmother,
Peri
was her fashion-idol Barbie doll come to life.
"So it's going well for her?" Anita was hopeful. Georgia nodded. She
knew that employees came and went—for most years of running the store, she
hired students who were happy enough with minimum wage and part-time hours. She
accepted that her shop was just a way station until they journeyed to better
things, however sweet or hardworking they may have been. But
Peri
Gayle was different. She had graduated from college
three years ago and had been well on her way to NYU law school; working at
Walker and Daughter was supposed to be a summer gig while she learned her way
around the city. And then, just as Georgia was on the verge of making a new
hire to replace her,
Peri
asked if she could stay on.
Peri's
family was outraged; her mother flew in from
Chicago and came to the shop to make a personal appeal to Georgia: Fire her and
she'll have to go to law school. But
Peri
insisted
she wanted to keep her job. Georgia gave her a tiny bump in wages, and waited
for
Peri's
case of cold feet to subside, for the
potential of making $325 an hour to beckon her downtown. But
Peri
stayed put, working that first shift every day, making
sweaters on commission after hours, and reading issue after issue of
Vogue
—the
British, French, Italian,
and
American versions—during her downtime. She
was creative, boisterous, and her boss loved having her there. Georgia spent
the majority of her waking hours in the shop, thinking about the shop, or
stocking the shop. Running Walker and Daughter had become her entire life. She
was a mom and a business owner, and she didn't make much room for anything
else. Of course, she had Anita—she adored Anita—but
Peri
was hip and young and energetic. And she was around the same age as Georgia was
when she discovered her pregnancy; perhaps, she thought with more than a hint
of guilt, she was so willing to keep
Peri
on for the
chance to relive her twenties, sans baby. She thought it unprofessional to seem
interested in all the gossipy tidbits of
Peri's
life,
and often seemed preoccupied as
Peri
shared the
latest with Anita or one of the many regular
twentysomethings
who loved to come in and chitchat with her young employee.
Peri
had a great ability to turn customers into friends, Georgia had noticed.
And, secretly, she loved to hear about
Peri's
crew of
friends and their forays to champagne bars and speed dating and winter skating
at
Wollman
Rink. Georgia remembered times like that,
too, when she'd skip breakfast, allot $1.35 for lunch (a nutrient-lacking pack
of red
Twizzlers
and a can of root beer), and eat
just a slice for dinner; pocketing her so-called food money until she and the
other assistants went off to Webster Hall or some other club on the weekend.
Yeah, she'd had many a night when she walked all the way uptown in the cold
because she couldn't afford the buck for the subway, not sorry to be going home
with empty pockets and hazy, beer-soaked memories of fun. Then she'd met James
and settled into a cozy sort of domesticity that seemed so natural at the time.
It had to be love, right? Now she recognized it for the playing house that it
was. Had they ever sat down to pay the bills? Argued about cleaning the toilet?
No, they ordered in pizza and had great sex and laughed and watched movies.
That's what monogamy meant to her when she was twenty-four: watching movies on
the VCR instead of going out to the Cineplex. When she was with James, she
splurged on taxis she couldn't afford and pricey designer shoes (but quality
lasts—she still had those cowboy boots and wore them damn often, thank you very
much) and gobbled up smoked salmon when she would have been smarter to buy a
case of tuna fish. Sure, she had her worries then (the demanding boss and
uncertain prospects for promotion,
natch
) but all was
overshadowed by her confidence in a bright personal future and a partnership
that would sustain her.
Ha! She gave up on love after James. No, that
slimeball
didn't just break her heart; she held him responsible for stealing her ability
to trust. Georgia hadn't been in a serious romantic relationship since James
had returned the sweaters and toothbrush she had left at his place. Hell, she
wasn't even good at making friends—just friends—with either sex, especially
with people her own age. "I'm stunted," she once told her longtime
friend K.C., who was bemoaning her own latest sexual misadventure. She met Anita
when she was pregnant; she found her current apartment above Marty's deli
around the same time. And when Dakota arrived on the scene a few months
later…well, that was it for new people. In the shop, Georgia was knowledgeable,
professional, friendly, definitely welcoming. In that running-a-business kind
of way. She could talk your ear off about stitches. But chitchat? Georgia
always hung back, letting Anita—and then
Peri
—get to
know the names of pets, spouses, in-laws. Ms. Walker was a listener, not a sharer.
Which made her, by her very nature, just that little bit lonely.

* * *

There it was. Georgia Walker was lonely.

* * *

And so having
Peri
around, day in and day out, was like drinking a cool glass of water on a steamy
New York–style summer day. More than refreshing. Life-sustaining.
Still, after a year had passed since
Peri
arrived at
Walker and Daughter, Georgia's maternal instinct kicked into high gear and she
decided it was time to sit
Peri
down for a big talk.
She had a place at the shop, to be sure, but was that what she wanted? And then
Peri
came out with it: she had designs on becoming
the next Kate Spade and had been secretly taking fashion marketing classes at
FIT all along. She worked during the day and went to school at night. She had
even registered a URL—Peripocketbook.com—that was idling while she figured out
how to build a damned Web site. (She was taking a class on that, too, and had
offered to create a separate one for the shop at Walkeranddaughter.com.) Oh,
she had plans, all right, Georgia needn't worry about that—but
Peri
knew her parents would want her to take a more certain
career path, so she kept her design ambitions to herself. As for the knitting
shop, well, it was a good job. A toe in the fashion world. And she planned to
make a specialty line of knitted bags, so if Georgia didn't mind displaying a
few…
Georgia didn't mind at all.
"I don't want to hear 'I told you so' from my mother for the next fifty
years,"
Peri
had confessed. "If it doesn't
work out, I'll just claim I've been finding myself and reapply to law school.
Let's be real: I had straight A's at Smith, my LSAT kicked ass, I'm West
Indian, and I'm a woman. It's a double win for the quota freaks and a bonus for
the profs who actually care about ability."
Georgia admired
Peri's
chutzpah, her daring to take
chances because she could, not because she had to. Now, two years later,
Peri
still took classes and the Web site remained under
construction, but she had started selling her knitted and felted bags in the
shop and hit the flea market scene with her fabric purses as often as she
could. And when she wasn't planning to be a playwright, pastry chef, or
archaeologist, Dakota had informed Georgia that she very much intended to
become
Peri's
vice-president. Or the model for her ad
campaign. She wasn't sure which.
"So it's been a strange day up here, too." Anita's watched the door
close after
Peri
; her voice was mild but it was
shaking ever so slightly. Georgia assumed she had been startled by her run-in
on the stairs.
"I'll say—mystery girl has been making frequent appearances. But don't
worry, I don't think she's dangerous, just a bit mixed up." Georgia wanted
to sound reassuring. "She's not our only new visitor for the day:
Peri
said some wafer-thin
fancypants
—Mrs.
Investment Banker So-and-So—came in with that magazine clipping from
New
York
and said she wants to hire me to make a very important gown. She
arrived when I was at the bank." Georgia was secretly thrilled at the
prospect. "Here's the thing: she wouldn't leave any details with
Peri
, just a name and number and said I was to call her
immediately. With a big stress on the 'immediately.'"
"So naturally you haven't called yet?" Anita knew Georgia too well,
knew her automatic distrust of people with money to burn. "Being wealthy
doesn't make someone a bad person, sweetheart."
"I love to knit, I love to work, I loathe being treated like the hired
help," said Georgia evenly. There was a certain kind of New Yorker whom
Georgia had always had trouble accepting. The entitled. The demandingly
entitled. The trust-fund babies she once worked with at the publishing house
who hadn't fretted over supporting themselves. Who had treated everyone as just
a little less than they were. As for how she felt about the stereotype of the pushy
New Yorker? That was almost redundant. Georgia had never had a problem with a
person who knew her own mind, but she simply couldn't abide anyone who believed
a moneyed background made them that little bit better.
And maybe she was a tad envious, too. Not that she'd admit it—to herself or
anyone else, for that matter. Anita was wealthy. Rich, even. But Georgia's
problem wasn't really people with money. It was people who thought money was
what mattered. People like James.
Anita was smiling benignly, waiting for Georgia to come back from her thoughts.
"That's the nature of business, my dear, making your client feel that
somehow she's got something over you. It makes her want to come back again and
again. And that's what you want: for your customers to spend loads of
money."
"I promise I'll call this woman tonight, before everyone gets here for
your regular extravaganza." Georgia raked her curls with her hand. "I
think I'll sit in. Dakota is planning to make cookies tonight—something about
extending her product line. She's given up on the bike sales and is working on
a plan to convince Marty to invest in her little enterprise; I've got to warn
him. She's been asking me how to write a business plan."
"He's on to her already; she popped in after school to snoop around the
Little Debbie cakes." Anita took a sip of her coffee.
"If I know Marty, he probably put in an order with my kid! No wonder she's
upstairs making a double batch!" Georgia laughed. "That man is the
best—I don't worry so much knowing he's just down the stairs."
Anita nodded, seemingly preoccupied with her gloves.
"You missed your cue!" Georgia chided, hanging up Anita's coat for
her. "That's the part where you tell me something funny Marty said today,
or tell me how he donates his leftover bagels to City Harvest, or how he's
really a very good-looking man…Anita? Don't worry so much about that kid on the
stairs—I don't think she'll be back. Do you want to sit down for a bit?"
Anita turned to Georgia. "I don't need to sit," she said. "But
Marty asked me out to dinner. On a date. I think. A dinner date. I don't know
how it happened. He just said it and there it was."
"Did I just hear you? Oh my God, Anita, that's fantastic!" Georgia
gave her a quick squeeze. "What did you say?"
"Oh, Georgia, of course I said no! We have club tonight, and I'm talking
about Continental style." Anita turned so Georgia couldn't see her face,
wouldn't notice the look of excitement mingled with fear, wouldn't sense the
flip-flops in her lower abdomen.
"People eat dinner every night of the week, you know," Georgia teased
gently; she wasn't about to be put off. "And you've never really dated
since Stan passed."
"That's not true, I shared a subscription to the Met with Saul Ruben back
in ninety-six, and we had a lovely time." Anita turned to face Georgia,
her expression stern, her eyes troubled. It was clear to Georgia that time to
discuss Anita's private life was running out fast.
"It's one thing to share an evening with another heartbroken widower—and
quite another to be asked out by the man who's so perfect for you!"
Georgia spoke quickly. "Marty's a great guy—and seriously, the two of you
have been flirting with each other like two teenagers for years now!"
Georgia held her breath, worried she had crossed the line. Even though they
were close, she felt uncomfortable, as though she had just asked Mom if she
wanted to get it on with Dad. Anita looked her full in the face, her eyes
moist.
"Stan was a great guy, too." Her voice was higher than usual.
"And if it didn't work out with Marty, where would I get my afternoon
coffee?" She flashed a small, tight smile and turned to the table in the
center of the room, where a few customers sat around, trying to decide between
yarns. "Becky, are you still working on that scarf?" She spoke
loudly. "Just wait until tonight. I am going to show you a much faster way
to get going on those stitches. Let me come over and take a look…Georgia, don't
you have a call to make?"