Kate Jacobs (20 page)

twelve

Puffing a bit as she reached the top of the
stairs, Anita
stopped to catch her breath. Maybe Nathan was right—she was getting a bit old.
Since when had a flight of stairs been so daunting? For once, she wished she'd
picked up one of those crazy neon sports drinks from Marty's instead of her
usual coffee. Thinking of him, she tried to stifle a silly grin rolling across
her face; trying to get her breath under control and stop smiling at the same
time only led her to lapse into a terrible coughing fit.
She was so loud that she drew
Peri
to the doorway.
"Anita, are you okay?" said the tall young woman, reaching out to
pull her inside. "Gosh, you sound awful. Here, I'll take the drink; you go
sit down in the office." Georgia looked over from where she was stocking
yarns, worry all over her face. She knew Anita well enough not to make a huge
fuss; still, she was watching the older woman's every move.
"I'm"—breath—"fine," Anita insisted, a wave of her hand as
if to swat them all away. "Quit fussing." She let
Peri
take her to the back office, if only to avoid the prying eyes of all the
customers. That was something that had been lost with her generation, it was
true—the fine art of minding one's own business. Okay, okay, a sip of water.
Why did everyone seem to think water cured everything? All it did was wet the
throat. Still, she took the glass, nodded a thank-you to
Peri
,
leaned back into her seat with relief when
Peri
left
the office.
Goodness. So she wasn't in tip-top shape anymore. Well, what of it? She'd kept
her figure all these years; she deserved to take it easy. Good thing Marty
wasn't taking her to the movies again—another tub of popcorn she didn't need.
No, they were going to see the ballet. A surprising choice, really; she
suspected Marty was trying to impress her. But if she wanted to be going out
with a minister of cultural affairs, she would be. There was something so solid
about Marty. He was just the guy to have on your side. And the way he always
looked out for Georgia. It was something special to see.
There was no forgetting Stan, but you know what? There didn't need to be. Marty
was his own man. Which was more than okay with her. Okay, just a few more
minutes and she'd go back out to the shop, let Georgia have a turn to put her
feet up.
"Anita?" She opened her eyes to see
Peri's
pretty brown eyes looking at her.
"I'm okay, dear."
"I know—I just, well, wanted to ask you a question."
Anita gave
Peri
her full attention.
"I've been wondering a lot about Dakota's father, James. He's got this
whole European chic thing going on and I—" Anita cut her off before
Peri
got carried away in possibilities.
"Don't even go there, dear. It's a situation filled with emotional
landmines and I don't think you're old enough to have developed the right
armor." She wagged a finger. "Besides, I wouldn't date the boss's ex,
no matter how many years have gone by. It's not smart politics."
Peri
sighed. "It's impossible to meet anyone in
the city. And I work with a bunch of women…" Her voice trailed off.
"Smart women, and don't you forget that." Anita straightened her
jacket, which had become twisted when she sat down. "Don't worry,
Peri
, we'll get the blind-date network in action when it's
time. Until then, enjoy your youth."
"But that's just it. I'm not enjoying myself. I go out with my friends for
drinks, dinners, clubbing. It doesn't make me less lonely."
"Well, that, my dear, isn't about finding a man. It's about getting to
know yourself." Anita patted
Peri's
cheek.
"You know, my generation had that all backward—we married young, and then
we were left on our own too soon. Nearly every girl in my class is a widow now.
So either we ran to Florida to play mah-jongg with all the same people we
already knew, or we toughed it out." She continued, "But I was lucky.
I had a teacher to show me the way."
"Who?"
"Georgia, my dear, Georgia. Now there is a woman who had to learn to know
herself—and she embraces her life even when it's hard."
"Yeah. Georgia's got it all together—she's one of the juggling-it-all
supermoms."
Anita let out a whoop of laughter.
"Oh,
Peri
, you've got it all wrong. Georgia is
filled with exactly the same kinds of conflicting emotions and insecurities we
all are. You. Me," said Anita. "The thing is, she loves herself in
spite of it all."

* * *

Standing on the top of the ladder, Georgia
could see the top yarn bin was filled to the back, far beyond what any customer
under seven feet tall could reach. She really had to come up with a better
storage system because this one wasn't quite selling the merchandise.
A throat cleared.
"Hi." Oh God. That voice. Then louder.
"Georgia. Hi. Umm, hi." Georgia looked down the length of her body.
There, just under the ladder, stood James. Staring up at her.
"Hi." She felt her face grow hot, the thought of kissing him the
Sunday before running on instant replay in her mind. Wanting to jump off the
ladder and make out all over again.
"Just passing through the neighborhood on the way back from work and
thought I'd stop by. To, you know, visit. Say hi." James raised a hand in
greeting. "Hi."
Dammit
it all to hell, he thought to himself. He
hadn't sucked this much at talking to a girl since asking Ellen Farris to the
junior prom. Pull it together, James. Be casual. He put his hand out to one of
the yarn bins, expecting to lean his weight onto the wooden shelf and awe
Georgia with his masculine cool. The shelf, however, had other ideas, not
accustomed to supporting more than a few pounds of wool, and rapidly collapsed
on its brackets.
Georgia watched, as if in slow motion, James's body resting on the shelf for a
nanosecond, then the piece of wood falling to the floor, as chunky,
heathered
yarns in gray and camel rained all around.
"Oh, shit!" James was flustered, trying to catch the wool falling to
his feet. It was good to see him a little frazzled. "I'm sorry, Georgia, I
didn't know, I…
dammit
."
She took her own time climbing off the ladder, then reached out to take the
skein he was holding in his hands, the occasional ball of yarn still sliding
out of the bin.
"Hi, James," she said, smiling. "I was just thinking about
reorganizing."
"Yeah, well, I guess I helped you along with that. Sorry."
Georgia stared at James for just a moment too long; she could see he was
regaining his composure just as she was melting a little bit too much.
"Dakota's not here right now; she's out at a friend's."
"I didn't come by to see Dakota—at least, not just Dakota."
"Did you want to take up knitting?"
"No."
"So…"
"I was just wondering if, maybe, you'd like to join Dakota and me on
Sunday—you know, my previously scheduled appointment?"
"I know. I was the one who approved it." Georgia noticed she was
twisting the loose end of the skein, and promptly put the thick yarn in a bin
to her right. With the sparkle ribbon.
Ack
, she had a
tough policy on mixing up the materials—just ask
Peri
.
She turned, abruptly, hiding the misfiled yarn with her back. As if James would
notice.
He took her sudden movement as his cue to move a little closer.
"So what do you say? A visit up to Hyde Park?" His lips were getting
nearer.
"
Okey-dokey
. Dakota will love it!" She took
a step sideways, conscious of Anita and
Peri
and some
pokey old customers debating the merits of machine-washable toddler knits. Why
couldn't she just pull out some kind of suave response, act as though men were
flooding the store to ask her out every day?
Georgia checked her wristwatch.
"See you Sunday then—I've got to get this cleaned up before the club
meeting. Bye!" And she turned around and began pretending to check
inventory. "Thanks for coming by, James. I'll just get back to work."
She could feel Anita's eyes watching her, so she purposely didn't turn around,
preoccupied with replacing the shelf and putting the materials in their
rightful place.
So Sunday it would be—a day together, just the three of them. It was only when
the job was almost done that it hit her: a person didn't return home to the
Upper East Side from a building site in Park Slope, Brooklyn, via the West
Side.
James must have made a special trip.
Just to see her.

* * *

Women were streaming in for club—the soap
actress was here for the first time, as were a couple of Barnard girls, part of
the college brigade of knitters sweeping the nation—and Georgia was delighted
to see them all. The regulars were all there, of course, K.C. and Lucie and
Darwin. Georgia had expected
Peri
to dash out as soon
as her workday was done; she didn't have class and it was a Friday; she rarely
stayed for the meeting. But tonight she strolled over to the table, sat down
next to Georgia.
"So how are things with James?"
She was taken aback, quite frankly, to have such a personal question from her
employee. A dear employee, absolutely, but not someone with whom she'd swap
confidences. She had listened to
Peri
many times; the
sharing hadn't been reciprocal.
"Fine, thank you,
Peri
, everything is fine."
Georgia's tone made it clear: No more snooping. She changed topics.
"It's nice to see you staying here tonight."
"Oh, I made a deal with K.C.: I'm going to tutor her for the LSAT in
exchange for a lunch date with her cousin Jane, who's a buyer for
Bloomie's
."
Georgia looked over at her old publishing friend, who was pulling a copy of
Ace
Your Way into Law School
out of a worn leather briefcase. K.C. caught
Georgia's eye, gave her the thumbs-up from across the room, then cupped her
hands around her mouth as if she was yelling all the way down a football field.
"I've given up bad knitting for a more noble pursuit," she hollered,
as the drop-in knitters swiveled, surprised to hear such a noise coming out of
a woman so short.
"Can people just come here and not knit?" asked one of the college
students, a tone of mild outrage in her voice. Oh, to be young and expect
everything to be just so!
"Who
woulda
thunk
it?" replied Georgia, with a wink. She caught the girl's look of
consternation. "No, everyone has to knit when they're here. I promise you.
But not every person has to use yarn."

thirteen

The office at the back of the shop was
transformed: tubes
of lipstick, bottles of hairspray, and containers of powder and blush
lay on the piles of paper covering Georgia's desk; the loveseat was even
cleared off—miracle of miracles—save for the green-and-gold afghan tossed just
so over the back, a video camera set on a tripod to one side. Anita perched
precariously on the arm-rest, her back to Lucie.
"I have one word for you, Anita-pie," said Lucie, standing behind the
older woman, hairbrush in hand. "Layers."
Anita's hand rushed to pat her smooth silver bob, which fell to a sharp edge an
inch below her chin.
"Oh, certainly not. I've worn my hair this way for years. It's who I
am."
"Well, it's smooth. It's shiny. It's exactly how I'd expect someone as
polished as you are to look. But you know? I think it's time you went a
little…more adventurous."
Dakota, sitting cross-legged in Georgia's desk chair, perked up.
"A girl in my class dyed her hair with Kool-Aid. It's, like, totally
orange."
Anita shared a look with Lucie.
"I don't think Lucie has orange hair in mind for me, darling."
"No," agreed Dakota. "But if you do it, then Mom might let me
Kool-Aid my hair, too."
Anita wagged a finger but didn't say a word. She was busy concentrating on her
lines. After much discussion, she, Georgia, and Lucie had finally come up with
a game plan to go ahead with the knitting videos. They would simply run film at
some of the club meetings, then later edit it and cut in separate, personal
interviews with the knitters, followed by detailed images showing how to cast
on, knit, purl, and so on. In this way, the show would be so much more than a
simple how-to video—it would capture the essence of the shop and of the pure
fun of knitting together. A knitting club that anyone can join from the comfort
of their own home, suggested Lucie; Georgia had been uncharacteristically
enthusiastic—when she thought she was going to be mostly doing off-screen
narration. When she learned just how much time on camera was required, she
nearly put the kibosh on the whole thing. But Dakota, who had already been
enlisted as the boom
mic
operator, let out the words
that guaranteed all things were possible: "This is way cooler than
anything I've done with Dad!" And so the project was under way.
Right now Anita was getting ready for her close-up—she'd had a manicure that
morning—and had taken care to wear a soft angora cardigan in a sky blue, which
she'd knitted years ago on tiny needles to keep the stitches delicate.
Lucie bent down so her mouth was very close to Anita's left ear. She spoke oh
so quietly to keep Dakota from hearing. "I guarantee a new 'do will take
off five years." Lucie clucked her tongue. "Chop
chop
."
"So when people see me on the street they'd say more than 'There goes a
sixty-five-year-old senior?'" Anita didn't let on that she was really
seventy-two.
"No, they'll say 'Who's that sassy lady? She looks awesome for
sixty,
'"
Lucie whispered. "Maybe even fifty-nine."
Just then Georgia popped her head in.
"Dakota, your dad is here to take you for a bike ride," she told her
daughter, who had gone back to reading
Seventeen
at the desk. "And
how's the film crew?"
"We're taking a break," answered Anita. "I'm going out for a
haircut."