ONE SMALL VICTORY (8 page)

Not only would that be helpful now, a decent
shirt might have gotten her out the door without the silent
accusation from Scott as he checked out the little jersey tube top
she wore and the gold chains that currently lay like thin strips of
ice across her upper chest. He hadn’t said anything since the
little spat the other day, but body language spoke loud and clear.
Most of the time she could almost see the questions spinning
through his mind. Then again, she had a few of her own.

When this whole mess started, she hadn’t
anticipated ending up looking and feeling like a hooker to play the
role of a drug-user. But Steve, along with Burroughs from the DEA,
had spent an afternoon coaching her on how to be “Connie who’s just
looking for a little fun,” and the image included a wardrobe
straight from a brothel. Frank Burroughs had worked Vice in
Baltimore for ten years before applying to the DEA. She figured she
could trust him to make her come across convincingly, even if the
part felt so alien.

So here she was now, dressed like a tart and
ready to make her first approach to the pushers. She was proud of
herself for using the right term. Thanks to the in-depth briefings
with Burroughs that had followed up on what Steve had told her, she
knew the chain of command from pusher up the line to the main man.
Jenny had almost laughed when Steve had first used that term. She
remembered it from high school, but it used to mean something
totally different. Or was that main squeeze?

Recognizing the mental stalling tactic, Jenny
shook the thoughts aside.
Concentrate on what you’re here
for.

Earlier, she’d parked her car three blocks
off Main Street and walked to the edge of the Dairy Queen parking
lot. Another piece of insider knowledge from Burroughs. “Always
have a get-away route and don’t let them see what you’re
driving.”

Now she watched the same three men who’d been
plying their trade by the school; but tonight it was a drive-thru
business. Two men in a small, black compact car indistinct in the
shadows, one outside, a tall, lanky black man who looked barely out
of his teens. He wore a fleece parka with a large front pocket.
Cars pulled up and a flurry of movement had money exchanged for
little plastic bags. Jenny knew they were probably Baggies. She
couldn’t even count how many peanut butter and jelly sandwiches
she’d packed in those over the years. How did something so innocent
become a carrier of such horrible destruction?

While she stood trying to talk her legs into
carrying her toward the pushers, a boy about fourteen sidled along
the building then hustled toward the car. He didn’t run. The action
was more like a fly moving from one piece of garbage to another.
From her intense two-day course in drug use and addiction, Jenny
recognized the nervous jangle of movements as signs of someone
desperately in need of a fix.

Only the imperative of not breaking her cover
kept her from doing a ‘mom’ thing and dragging the boy home by his
ear.

She turned away so she wouldn’t have to watch
him make his score, then dipped into her well of resolve and
stepped out of the shadows on the side of the building.

She wasn’t worried about the pushers
recognizing her. They weren’t the type to frequent a florist shop.
But the lack of recognition could be a detriment as well. She had a
big hurdle to overcome because they didn’t know her. They would be
cautious about someone new.

She approached the tall black man who lounged
against the rear fender. When she got close enough that he could
see her clearly, she flashed the money just like Steve had taught
her. “For it to ring true,” he’d said. “It has to look like you’ve
done this a million times.”

They’d decided on this approach after
realizing that she had no hope of connecting to local parties. The
kids wouldn’t accept her at theirs, and there was too much risk at
the adult parties. Someone there might recognize her.

The man eyed her carefully. “Lookin’ for
something?”

“About a nickel’s worth.”

“What you talking about?”

The question caught her off guard. This
wasn’t going the way they’d rehearsed. She quickly sifted through a
variety of responses, knowing only one thing; she couldn’t say the
word drugs.

She decided on bravado, despite the fact that
she didn’t feel very brave. “Listen. The longer we stand out here
jawing the more we both risk.”

The Hispanic man in the passenger seat leaned
out his window and scrutinized her for a moment. “Buzz off
lady.”

Then he motioned to the driver who started
the engine. The black man jumped in the back seat, and Jenny
smelled their exhaust before her mind accepted the fact that she’d
failed.

Great. Now what am I supposed to do?

The one thing she knew she couldn’t do was
stand out here and be conspicuous. She pulled her jacket closed
against the chill wind and headed back to her car. Maybe it
wouldn’t feel so much like a complete fiasco after a hot bath and a
call to Steve.

Alicia was already asleep when Jenny got
home, so she slipped quietly went into the girl’s room to kiss her
goodnight and remind herself again why she was doing this. Then she
went back out to the living room where Scott was watching TV. He’d
barely acknowledged that she’d come home early and still kept his
attention on the program.

“Everything okay, Scott?”

“Sure.”

“Did you finish your homework?”

“Didn’t have any.”

Jenny fought the urge to question the
veracity of that, but things were so rocky between them, maybe she
should show some trust. One of his major beefs was always that she
didn’t trust him.

“I’m going to take a shower. Then we could do
something if you want.”

“No thanks. I’m on my way to bed as soon as
this is over.”

His indifference created a pain deep inside
and she longed for one those rare moments of closeness that had
become even rarer of late. But you can’t force it. You know
that.

Letting out her frustration in a deep sigh,
she turned and headed for her bedroom. After a quick shower, she
wrapped a towel around her head, slipped into her fluffy robe and
called Steve on his cell phone.

“Problem?” he asked.

“You could say that.” Jenny sat on the edge
of her bed.

“Wait. I’ll go to a landline phone and call
you right back.”

A few minutes later, her phone rang. She
picked up on the first ring, hoping that Scott hadn’t picked up in
the kitchen.

“What happened,” Steve asked without any
preliminary small talk.

“The dealers drove off.”

“Don’t worry. We told you it was going to
take a while for them to accept you.”

There was a pause and a rustle of movement,
and Jenny wondered where he was and what he was doing. Then she had
this sudden awareness of being naked beneath her robe, sitting on
her bed, and talking to this man who was starting to make her feel
things she hadn’t in years.

She stood up.

“Was there something else?” he asked.

“Uh, no. I just wanted you to know.”

“Listen, just keep going back until they let
you make a buy. Trust me. They won’t put you off for long.”

Jenny felt marginally better after they hung
up. She dried her hair, put on some sweats and a t-shirt and
crawled into bed, even though she wasn’t particularly sleepy. A new
Laura Castoro novel was on her nightstand and she picked it up.

After reading a few pages, Jenny realized
that she kept losing track of the story, which wasn’t fair to the
author. She rested the book on her stomach and thought about what
she was doing. Who was she to think she could pull this off? She
was no super hero. She was a middle-aged mother whose biggest
challenge up to this point was surviving her bad choice in men.

CHAPTER NINE

Jenny just barely remembered the
parent/teacher conference in time. She had fifteen minutes to get
there and could forget about a shower first. If only she’d
remembered earlier, it would have been the perfect excuse to put
off a major cleanup of the flower cooler.

She washed the big chunks of grime off, then
locked the doors and headed for her car. She wouldn’t have to
contact the kids. Scott would remember she had the conference. It
was for him, and they’d argued last week about her need to go. She
was sure she should, he wasn’t. He said the failing notice from his
biology teacher was taken care of. He’d pulled his grade up.
Everything was fine. But Jenny knew it wasn’t fine. And she should
have questioned him that first time he said he didn’t have
homework.

But then, wasn’t everything a lot clearer
with hindsight? Long before the current mess of her life, Jenny had
learned that it was better not to beat herself up for past
mistakes. Not a damn thing she could do about them in the
present.

She pulled into the school parking lot,
locked her car, and headed for the redbrick building. She was
supposed to meet the teacher in the lab.

For being such a small community, Little Oak
High School had a state-of-the-art biology lab, much better than
the one in the metropolitan school Jenny had attended in Dallas.
Walking in, she noticed the strong aroma common to all labs,
formaldehyde. She also took note of the three people sitting at a
table near Mr. Taylor’s desk. So it wasn’t just a conference with
him. She recognized the other teachers. Both had taught Michael,
and she’d had conferences with them in the past.

“Ms. Jasik, thank you for coming.” Taylor
stood in that ungainly stance often used by very tall men and
motioned her to an empty chair. “You know Brenda Ames with the
English Department and Sylvia Comstat our History teacher. And
please call me Gordon.”

Jenny nodded to the pert, young blonde and
the older woman who had an incredible cascade of auburn curls. Then
she perched on the edge of the seat and willed herself not to brush
at her rumpled clothes. They looked better at the end of their day
than she ever did even at the beginning of hers. They must think
I’m a moron coming in looking like a slob.

Obviously, they didn’t, as they all gave her
bright smiles and didn’t glance once at the bleached out spot on
her jeans.

After greetings were exchanged, Gordon sat
back down. “I asked them here today because we’ve all been
concerned about Scott’s lack of attention to schoolwork.”

His pause was met with more eager smiles from
the other teachers and a sense of impending dread from Jenny. She
didn’t know if this was an opening for her to offer a comment, but
what could she say?

Brenda Ames cleared her throat. “It’s not
that he’s doing horribly. And we’re certainly cognizant of his
recent loss.”

Another pause, and again Jenny couldn’t find
an appropriate response. She nodded and Brenda continued. “We
noticed that he seemed to be rebounding from his grief up until a
few weeks ago. Then everything seemed to bottom out. Has something
else happened at home that we should be mindful of?”

Jenny had to fight to stifle a laugh, and
perhaps Gordon mistook that effort for a sign of distress. “Are you
okay?” he asked. “Can I get you anything?”

“I’m fine. Just a little fall allergy
problem.”

“If you’re not feeling well, we can
reschedule,” the history teacher said.

“No problem.” Jenny turned to Gordon. “Scott
said he’s worked to bring his biology grade up.”

“Yes. Yes, he has made some effort.” Gordon
leaned back in his chair, tipping it on two legs the way Jenny had
always yelled the boys not to do. But perhaps it would be best not
to reprimand the man who held Scott’s scientific future in his
hands.

“Well, I’m not sure what to say. Of course,
I’ll talk to Scott. But I really don’t know why he’s fallen so far
behind. He’s home most nights studying—” Jenny stopped abruptly
when she realized she really had no way of verifying that. She’d
been out most nights the past week trying to do a drug deal. Did
she dare share that little tidbit of information with this august
gathering?

Another urge to laugh nearly overcame her and
again she turned it into a cough. She glanced over at the biology
teacher. “Perhaps I could take a glass of water.”

Gordon rose, unfolding his long body in small
increments and went out into the hall. Brenda leaned forward with
an earnest expression and touched Jenny’s leg. “You know we were
ever so sorry about Michael.”

Jenny nodded, staying rigid lest the surge of
grief rise too far. Luckily, Gordon reappeared with a paper cup of
water before she had to respond.

“Has Scott talked to you about how things are
going with the school counselor?” Sylvia asked.

“No.” Jenny took another sip of water. “I
know he’s seen her a few times. But he’s very private about those
things.”

“Well, we’d certainly like to do all that we
can to help,” Gordon said. “But there is only so much the school
can offer. Perhaps it would help for him to see the counselor more
frequently.”

“I’ll talk to him about that.” With a sudden
clarity, Jenny realized that the cause of the problem lay solidly
at her feet. She’d been out almost every night the past week. But
what was she to do? She could hardly quit when they’d barely just
begun.

She set the cup on the table and stood up.
“We’ll also work out something to make sure he does his
homework.”

“We appreciate that, Ms. Jasik.” Gordon rose
and towered over her. “We’ll keep you advised of his progress.”

~*~

After pulling into her driveway and turning
off the ignition, Jenny sat and listened to the soft metallic ticks
as the engine cooled. All the way home she’d wrestled with the
problems with Scott. If this whole silly quest was responsible,
should she just abandon it?

She hated to even consider that. Could she
live with herself if she gave up something this important? But can
you live with losing another son in the process?