Where'd You Go, Bernadette: A Novel (6 page)
Read Where'd You Go, Bernadette: A Novel Online
Authors: Maria Semple
Tags: #Fiction / Humorous, #Contemporary Women, #Humorous, #Family Life, #Fiction, #Fiction / Family Life, #Fiction / Contemporary Women
*
That day, I had a hall pass because our music teacher, Mr. Kangana, asked me to accompany the first graders for the song they were performing for World Celebration Day, and he needed me for rehearsal. I was at my locker getting my flute, and who did I run into, but Audrey Griffin. She was hanging some prayer rugs the third graders had woven for the art auction.
“I hear you’re going to boarding school,” she said. “Whose idea was that?”
“Mine,” I said.
“I could never send Kyle to boarding school,” Audrey said.
“I guess you love Kyle more than my mom loves me,” I said, and played my flute as I skipped down the hall.
*
From: Manjula Kapoor
To: Bernadette Fox
Dear Ms. Fox,
I have researched medicines for motion sickness. The strongest remedy available by prescription in the U.S. is called ABHR transdermal cream. It is a composite of Ativan, Benadryl, Haldol, and Reglan, formulated into a cream for topical application. It was devised by NASA to administer to the cosmonauts to combat motion sickness in outer space. It has since been embraced by the hospice community to use on terminally ill cancer patients. It would be my sincere pleasure to send you links to various message boards that sing the high praise of ABHR cream. However, I must warn you, there are accompanying photographs of gravely ill patients, which you may find disturbing. I have
taken the initiative to research the obtainment of ABHR cream. It is available only through “compound pharmacies.” We do not have these in India. Apparently, they are widely used in the U.S. I have found a doctor who will call in a prescription. Please advise me how you wish to proceed.
Warm regards,
Manjula
*
To: Manjula Kapoor
From: Bernadette Fox
If it’s good enough for astronauts and cancer patients, it’s good enough for me! Call it in!
*
Tom,
Here’s the check for your past work. To confirm, we’ll meet at my place Monday afternoon and pop up the hill to the house with the blackberry bushes. I understand your hesitation about entering the neighbor’s property uninvited. But I know for a fact nobody will be there.
*
ONDAY
, D
ECEMBER
6
That day, we had art sixth period, and I had gunk in my throat, so I stepped into the hall to spit it in the water fountain, which is what I
always did when I was in art. Who turned the corner as I was hawking it up? Mrs. Webb, the nurse. She got all panicked that I was spreading germs, which I tried to explain I wasn’t, because white phlegm is
dead
germs. Ask a real doctor and not some office administrator whose only justification for calling herself a nurse isn’t nursing school but a box of Band-Aids she keeps in her desk.
“I’ll get my backpack,” I grumbled.
I’d like to point out that Mr. Levy, my biology and homeroom teacher, has a daughter who has viral-induced asthma like me, and she plays travel hockey, so he knows my cough is no big deal. In a million years he would never send me to Mrs. Webb’s office. When I get gunk in my throat, it’s easy to tell because I’ll be answering a question and my voice will start cutting out like a bad cell-phone connection. Mr. Levy will do this thing where he passes me a tissue behind his back. Mr. Levy is really funny. He lets the turtles walk around the classroom, and once he brought in liquid nitrogen and started freezing our uneaten lunch.
I didn’t feel that bad about Mom having to pick me up early, because it was already sixth period. The thing I mainly felt bad about was that I wouldn’t get to tutor at homework lab. The fourth graders were doing a debate, and I was helping them prepare. Their class was studying China, and the debate was going to be
pro and con
Chinese occupation of Tibet. Have you ever heard of such a thing? Galer Street is so ridiculous that it goes beyond PC and turns back in on itself to the point where fourth graders are actually having to debate the
advantages
of China’s genocide of the Tibetan people, not to mention the equally devastating cultural genocide. I wanted them to say that one of the pros was that Chinese occupation is helping with the world food shortage because there are fewer Tibetan mouths to feed. But Mr. Lotterstein overheard me and told me I’d better not dare.
There I was, sitting on the overpass steps in the rain. (We weren’t allowed to wait in the office ever since Kyle Griffin was sent there one day, and when nobody was looking he went through the Galer Street directory and started calling all the parents from the main office number. So when the parents looked at their cell phones, it said there was an incoming call from Galer Street. They’d answer, and Kyle screamed, “There’s been an accident!” and hung up. From then on, all the kids had to wait outside.) Mom drove up. She didn’t even ask how I was because she knows Mrs. Webb is totally annoying. On the drive home, I started playing my new flute. Mom never lets me play in the car because she’s afraid someone might crash into us and my flute will impale me into the seat. I find that ridiculous, because how could that even happen?
“Bee—” Mom said.
“I know, I know.” I put the flute away.
“No,” Mom said. “Is that new? I’ve never seen it before.”
“It’s a Japanese flute called a
shakuhachi.
Mr. Kangana lent it to me from his collection. The first graders are going to sing for the parents on World Celebration Day and I’m going to accompany them. Last week, I went to rehearse, and they were just standing there singing. It was my idea they should do a little elephant dance, so I get to choreograph it.”
“I didn’t know you’re choreographing a dance for the first graders.” Mom said. “That’s a huge deal, Bee.”
“Not really.”
“You need to tell me these things. Can I come?”
“I’m not sure when it is.” I knew she didn’t like coming to school, and probably wouldn’t, so why pretend.
We got home, and I went up to my room, and Mom did what she always did, which was go out to the Petit Trianon.
I don’t think I’ve mentioned the Petit Trianon yet. Mom likes to get out of the house during the day, especially because Norma and her sister come to clean, and they talk really loudly to each other from room to room. Plus the gardeners come inside to weed-whack. So Mom got an Airstream trailer and had a crane lower it into the backyard. It’s where her computer is, and where she spends most of her time. I was the one who named it the Petit Trianon, after Marie Antoinette, who had a whole mini-estate built at Versailles, where she could go when she needed a break from Versailles.
So that’s where Mom was, and I was upstairs starting my homework, when Ice Cream began barking.
From the backyard, I heard Mom’s voice. “Can I help you with something?” she said, all dripping with sarcasm.
There was an idiotic little shriek.
I went to the window. Mom was standing on the lawn with Audrey Griffin and some guy in boots and overalls.
“I didn’t think you would be home,” Audrey sputtered.
“Apparently.” Mom’s voice was superbitchy. It was pretty funny.
Audrey started short-circuiting about our blackberry bushes and her organic garden and the guy who had a friend with a special machine and something that needed to get done this week. Mom just listened, which made Audrey talk even faster.
“I’ll be happy to hire Tom to remove my blackberry bushes,” Mom finally said. “Do you have a card?” A long painful silence as the guy searched his pockets.
“It seems like we’re done,” Mom said to Audrey. “So why don’t you go back through the same hole in the fence you crawled in, and keep out of my cabbage patch.” She spun around and marched back into the Petit Trianon and shut the door.
I was, like, Go Mom! Because here’s the thing. No matter what people say about Mom now, she sure knew how to make life funny.
*
From: Bernadette Fox
To: Manjula Kapoor
Attached, please find information for a fellow who “abates” blackberry vines. (Can you believe there’s such a thing?!) Contact him and tell him to do who-what-when-where-how he needs. I’ll pay for it all.
*
From: Bernadette Fox
To: Manjula Kapoor
I need a sign made. 8 feet wide by 5 feet high. Here’s what I want it to read:
PRIVATE PROPERTY
NO TRESPASSING
Galer Street Gnats
Will Be Arrested
and Hauled Off to Gnat Jail
Make the sign itself the loudest, ugliest red, and the lettering the loudest, ugliest yellow. I’d like it placed on the western edge of my property line, at the bottom of the hill, which will be accessible once we’ve
abated
the despised blackberries. Make sure the sign is facing toward the neighbor’s yard.
*
UESDAY
, D
ECEMBER
7
From: Manjula Kapoor
To: Bernadette Fox
I am confirming that the sign you would like fabricated is
eight feet wide
by
five feet high
. The gentleman I have contracted remarked it is unusually large and seems out of proportion for a residential area.
Warm regards,
Manjula
*
From: Bernadette Fox
To: Manjula Kapoor
You bet your bindi that’s how big I want it.
*
From: Manjula Kapoor
To: Bernadette Fox
Dear Ms. Fox,
The sign has been ordered and will be erected the same day Tom completes the abatement work.
Also, I am pleased to inform you I have found a doctor willing to write a prescription for ABHR cream. The only compound pharmacy in Seattle that will fill it, unfortunately, does not deliver. I inquired about messenger services, but, alas, the pharmacy insists that you pick up the prescription because they are required by law to review the side effects with you in person.
Attached please find the address of the pharmacy and a copy of the prescription.
Warm regards,
Manjula
*
RIDAY
, D
ECEMBER
10
From: Bernadette Fox
To: Manjula Kapoor
I’m heading down to the pharmacy now. Not a terrible thing to be getting out of the house while this infernal machine with spikes, telescoping arms, and vicious rotors is chewing up my hillside and spraying mulch everywhere. Tom has literally lashed himself on top of the beast so he doesn’t get bucked off. I wouldn’t be surprised if it starts spitting fire.
Oh! The fishing vests arrived. Thank you! Already, I’ve tucked away my glasses, car keys, cell phone. I may never take this thing off.
*
From: Soo-Lin Lee-Segal
To: Audrey Griffin
As Ollie-O would say…
REAL-TIME
FLASH!
I told you I was being made admin of a new team? I just found out the team is Samantha 2, headed by none other than Elgin Branch!
Audrey, my body is a cauldron of emotions right now! When Elgin unveiled Samantha 2 at the TED conference in February, it caused a near riot on the Internet. In less than a year, his is the fourth-most-watched TEDTalk of all time. Bill Gates recently said his favorite
project in the whole company is Samantha 2. Last year, Elgin was given a Technical Recognition Award, Microsoft’s highest honor. The Samantha 2 guys, and Elgin in particular, are like rock stars around here. You go over to Studio West and you can tell by their swagger they’re on Samantha 2.
I
know I’m good at my job, but to be put on Samantha 2 means everyone here knows it, too. It’s a giddy feeling.
Then there’s Elgin Branch himself. His rudeness and arrogance that day on the Connector, it was a slap in the face that still stings. Wait until you hear what happened this morning.
I went to HR to get my new key card and office assignment. (In ten years, this is the first time I’ve had a window office!) I was unpacking my photos, mugs, and snow baby collection when I looked up and saw Elgin Branch across the atrium. He wasn’t wearing any shoes, just socks, which I found odd. I caught his eye and waved. He vaguely smiled, then kept walking.
I decided to be proactive (one of the three P’s that serve as the interpersonal foundation for Victims Against Victimhood) and initiate our first face-to-face meeting in our new roles as manager and admin.
Elgin was at his stand-up desk, his hiking boots in a tangle at his feet. Immediately, I was struck by the number of patent cubes haphazardly piled around the office. (Anytime a developer patents something, he receives a ceremonial cube, a cute thing we do at MS.) My last GM had four. On Elgin’s windowsill alone there were twenty, not to mention those that had fallen on the floor.
“Is there something I can do for you?” he said.
“Good morning.” I straightened myself. “I’m Soo-Lin Lee-Segal, the new admin.”
“Nice to meet you.” He held out his hand.
“We’ve actually met. I have a son, Lincoln, at Galer Street, in Bee’s class.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Of course.”
The Dev lead, Pablo, popped his head in. “It’s a beautiful day, neighbor.” (Everyone on the team teases Elgin with Mr. Rogers references. It’s a quirk of Elgin’s, apparently, that as soon as he gets inside, like Mr. Rogers, he removes his shoes. Even on his TEDTalk, which I just rewatched, Elgin is standing there in his socks. In front of Al Gore and Cameron Diaz!) “We’re on for noon,” Pablo went on. “We have a third-party meeting in South Lake Union. How about we turn it into lunch downtown? Wild Ginger?”
“Great,” answered Elgin. “It’s next to the light rail station. I can go straight to the airport.” I had seen on the Samantha 2 calendar that Elgin has an out-of-town presentation tomorrow.
Pablo turned, and I introduced myself. “Hooray!” he said. “Our new admin! Man, we’ve been dying around here without you. How about you join us for lunch?”
“You must have heard my stomach growling,” I chirped. “I have a car. I can drive us downtown.”
“Let’s take the 888 Shuttle,” Elgin said. “I’m going to need the Wi-Fi to get some emails out.”
“The 888 Shuttle it is,” I said, insulted at the rejection but a little consoled because the 888 Shuttle is for VPs and up, and this will be my first opportunity to ride it. “Wild Ginger at noon. I’ll make a reservation.”
So here I am now, dreading the meal on what should be the happiest day of my life. Oh, Audrey, I hope your day is going better than mine.
