Beloved Evangeline (16 page)

“
Food poisoning is a nasty business... had it myself a time or two.” He shook his head, his face arranged in an expression of distaste. “But to have that in combination with the swine flu...” His entire forehead raised in apparent astonishment. “Well, let’s just say we didn’t expect you back for another few weeks. I must say I really appreciate your dedication and hard work in finishing up those assignments, particularly in your condition. I do have a special assignment or two that I’ve been saving, if you’re interested?”

Hu?
Swine flu? Food poisoning? Both of those ailments filled my head with less than appealing images.

“
Sure,” I finally managed, muscling through my growing confusion and nausea.
What
was
he talking about
? My curiosity was threatening to get the better of me, though the most prudent course seemed to be to just go with it.

Gregorio handed me two double-decker manila envelopes. I took them wordlessly and turned for the door.

“
If you find yourself feeling weak and just need to leave for the day, please,
just go.
In fact,” he contemplated for a moment, “maybe you should just work at home for the next couple of weeks, seeing that all of your regular work has already been taken care of... I can’t have the entire office coming down with...
something
.” He made a face at me as though germs were literally leaping off of me and onto the files that were now in my hand.

I nodded in understanding before quickly fleeing what felt like the scene of a crime.

I returned to my office momentarily to turn off my computer and collect my things. There was an instant message flashing at me on the screen from Nicky. I owed her a face-to-face explanation, so I went ahead and turned off my computer, heading down the corridor to her office.

There was quite a bit of chatter coming from somewhere. It was alarmingly loud the closer I drew to the beginning of Nicky’s hallway.

“
What if she kills herself or something?” came a voice I recognized as belonging to Veronica, one of the growing number of people to whom I am nothing more than a blight on their orderly world.

She continued in an excited whisper, “now that her dirty little secret is out... who knows what will happen? I mean, the girl’s a total
freak
. I’ve always known there was something off about her. She scares me. She just can’t dress the way she does without something being wrong—it’s like I dunno, too weird. There’s just too hard an edge to her black suits with navy shirts and punk rock shoes. She just doesn’t belong here.” There was a muttering of agreement from my lovely coworkers. I looked down at my jagged, raw-edged Mary Janes.
This is punk rock?
I supposed my clothes were a reflection of my personality, my longing for the artistic and sublime—every article of clothing purchased reflecting notes of a melody emblazoned upon my soul.

It also occurred to me I was becoming quite the eavesdropper lately, but found I couldn’t stop myself. Hearing what others thought of me had proven
enlightening
of late. Painful and humiliating, but enlightening. And wasn’t this better than actually engaging in gossip about someone else? I thought about that for a moment.
Of course it was,
I decided at last.

“
She never goes to any of the office functions...” Veronica continued, “and when she finally does... she acts like a total
whore
.” My back stiffened as though my face had literally been slapped. “That must be what guys see in her. I mean, I
guess
she’s pretty, but she’s not
that
pretty, you know? She’s got that whole tomboy thing going on—I guess some guys are into it, but I just don’t think she’s all that. Plus, she’s always, like, dark and moody or something, right? She doesn’t, like, smile. And her hair always looks like she’s just been through a roll in the sheets. What guy wants to hang around with
that
? Now we know
for sure
what they were interested in...” She sounded positively ecstatic about my humiliation.

She was always so falsely cheerful and phony; underneath the façade lurked pure evil. She’d dished out a number of thinly disguised insults to me over the years. She told me once that I was very brave for not covering my freckles with makeup. I wear eye makeup—a messy, smoky eye thing—and that’s it. I wish I could just take it when things like that are handed out—turn the other cheek. Instead I replied, “Sorry, the eyesore must be really hard on you.”

Even that is probably still better than the blank stare I typically give in response to such comments.

This is just one of those things I could never stomach. The purpose of a woman’s life is not just to be window dressing, right? Having to go around marking our territory, competing for male attention—attention I don’t even want in the first place? Why did it need to be this way again? See, this is exactly why I don’t normally venture from my little corner office.

“
Somebody said she had, like, a breakdown or something and just quit without
any notice
. Can you believe that? Anyway,
thank God
we don’t have to see her sour face here ever again.”

My resolved stiffened, and I smiled despite myself.

I marched into her office doorway casually, popping my head inside. “Hey guys!” There were eight or nine people crammed into her little office. Lisa, Tiffany, Brittney, who is, like, 22 years old, the crux of Veronica’s clique, were clearly in view. Two or three men were among them, I noticed John M., briefly, but the others were a blur. My eyes flickered over their faces, settling on Nicky’s face for just a fraction of a second longer than everyone else’s. I kept the hurt and surprise from showing on my face, however, and turned back to Veronica.

“
Just curious to see if anyone saw
Dexter
this weekend?” I powered on, determined now.

Their mouths hung open slightly, eyes wide.

“
No? That’s a shame—it was
awesome
. But no one died in the whole episode, so it left me with a certain longing.” I gestured with my hands. “Just didn’t satisfy my
bloodlust
, you know?” I added in salivatory fashion, grinning mischievously.

“
Wish I could stay and chat, but I’ve got a
wicked
lot of crazy things to do.” I winked and spun out the door, marching off. Maybe it was a little too dramatic, but it felt
good
.

When I’d reached the outer doors leading to the parking lot, I heard hurried footsteps coming up behind me.

“
Evangeline?” Nicky called meekly.

I paused at the door, not wanting to look back.

“
I just wanted you to know that we all started off talking about
work stuff.
..” she trailed off.

A terrible silence seemed to stand between us.

Nicky broke it at last. “Hey, there’s an indie film festival in Gainesville next weekend… I thought maybe you’d like to go.”

“
Yeah? That’d be great,” I replied, trying to hold my voice together.

“
Evangeline, I
didn’t
know she was going to start talking about you and...” she blurted out, “I just didn’t know how to leave when it started.”

I nodded slowly.

“
You know I wouldn’t say anything bad about you...”

“
I know,” I replied painfully.

“
So when did you get back?” She asked, clearly eager to change the subject. “Is everything okay? I left you a few messages...”

I knew Nicky hadn’t said anything ugly about me. I felt it in my soul. And how could I blame her for wanting to have more sociable friends? The answer was that I couldn’t. And now she was forced into explaining her behavior to me when it really wasn’t necessary. Now it was my turn to feel ashamed. I wish I could be more cheerful, sweet and outgoing like Nicky, but it’s just not the way my die was cast. What was she supposed to do—wait for me to come out of my funk forever? Of course not. None of this was her fault. The blame was all mine.

“
Yeah, everything’s fine,” I began, but my voice still sounded strained.

Even though I knew in my heart she hadn’t done anything to betray our friendship, I couldn’t help feeling betrayed. Betrayal somehow gets under my skin and takes time to work its way out. Therefore, any conversation I would make with Nicky right now, before I could work through my feelings, would be forced, and I didn’t want to be phony with Nicky. Admitting to her that I felt betrayed would only make her feel worse. How could I make her feel guilty about something that wasn’t really her fault in the first place? I couldn’t make myself continue.

She and I were kindred spirits, and always would be. I knew that, but there was a barrier standing between us, preventing us from having the kind of friendship we were supposed to. Again, not Nicky’s fault. She was just one of those rare genuinely kind and good people; she would never turn her back on me. My behavior, and the wall I protected myself with, wasn’t fair to her. But I simply didn’t know what else to do. The best thing to do would be to cut myself off from her completely.
Just let her go
, I thought.
And, for the love of God, stop destroying the people around you
.

And so, I turned to face the door and swallowed hard, in an effort to force down all of the bitter feelings steadily rising to the surface.

“
I’ve really gotta get going, Nicky. See you later.”

I punched open the doors, leaving her staring after me, processing her own different form of betrayal and confusion.

11.

As I stared at my calendar Sunday night, trying to calculate how many actual days were lost in my humiliation coma, the upcoming Friday stared back at me. For most people October 31
^st
is Halloween. For me it’s my birthday and—usually—the best day of the year.

When I returned to Florida, my father and brother began driving down to Jacksonville on that day every year just to keep me company, though they came under the guise of taking me out to dinner for my birthday. My brother had followed a girl out to Savannah shortly after I moved to Florida. She ultimately cheated on him and tore out his heart, but he stayed in Savannah anyway. With both of his kids on the other side of the country, our father decided to make the move himself. Deciding Jacksonville was too “low rent” for his taste, he settled with Chris in Savannah. The architecture is incredible and it’s beautiful and all, but Savannah is just a little
too
perfect and romanticized for my taste.

Though I truly looked forward to their visits, these things are not without their difficulties. Ironically, as I was mulling this over, my dad rung and formal arrangements for Friday night were made. The phone call was just like my father’s personality, slightly abrasive and abrupt.

Though technically the restaurant choice is mine to make (seeing as it’s my birthday), let’s just say my dad and I don’t share the same tastes. Restaurants that fall beneath a certain rating level, he simply will not patronize. On the other hand, I love trying new, exotic places and will eat absolutely anywhere—except for the super-fancy places, which tend to make me a little uncomfortable. Don’t get me wrong, I love nothing better than a fantastic meal, I could just do without the pretentious atmosphere. Whatever I pick, he’s destined not to like, and vice versa.

So I have my work cut out for me this week trying to choose a restaurant he’d dine in without grousing. My relationship with him is already awkward during the best of times, so I prefer not to add any unnecessary tension to the situation. For whatever reason, my father and I have never really gotten along together. Our relationship is more that of a stern father and a wayward son rather than that of typical doting father and adoring daughter. Conversely, my brother enjoys a terrific, drama-free relationship with him.

Chris seems to have enjoyed nurturing and support that I could never squeeze out, but I love my little brother dearly and would never begrudge him that. Chris is just easy-going and lovable—I’m…
not
. Besides, the fragile relationship between me and my dad probably owes more to my mother than anything else. He doesn’t ever really
see
me—he sees her. With that shadow of my mother comes a constant worry. He sees her in my every decision, every mistake and misstep. Although I had guessed the reason for this behavior, I suppose I still feared I was the one who somehow deserved his anger.