Seen It All and Done the Rest (11 page)

EIGHTEEN

W
hen I walked into the house, I was surprised to find Zora sitting on the couch cradling a drink in both hands and watching
The Wizard of Oz.

“Hey, darlin’,” I said. “You’re home early. I’m so glad!”

That was the truth. I needed somebody to help me sort through the events of a very bad day. I kissed the top of her head since she was slumped down so far I couldn’t get to her cheek without major contortions.

“Hey, Mafeenie,” she said, without taking her eyes off the screen. “How was the house?”

“It’s a mess,” I said. “They really just let it fall apart at the…you okay?” She didn’t look okay.

“Isn’t it better to be right?” she said as Dorothy’s three newly emboldened friends searched for her frantically in the bowels of the Wicked Witch’s castle. “Okay is such a subjective thing. It can change up on you in a heartbeat.”

That sounded like vodka insight to me. “What are you talking about?”

She turned her head without lifting it from the sofa and looked at me for the first time since I’d walked into the house.

“My boss told me he doesn’t want me to participate in the conference after all.”

“What about your presentation?” I knew how hard she’d been working on it and how disappointed she must be.

“Nope. He said it was nothing personal, he just didn’t want the kind of publicity I generate to be associated with the program, so maybe it would be better if I stayed away this weekend.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said, pushing my own troubles out of my mind for a minute.

“You know what else?”

“What?”

“A guy came in today and asked me if I was the chick in the magazine.” She turned back to watch the friends first liberate, then embrace Dorothy, then head for the nearest exit as fast as they could run. “When I told him I was, he told me that if I liked vets, he was willing to help me get that booty back in shape with some special push-ups.”

Her voice shook a little when she said it and she took another sip of her drink. I wanted to say
I hope your boss threw him out into the middle of Peters Street,
but I didn’t.

“What are you going to do?”

She looked at me and raised her eyebrows. “You mean other than lie around the house watching
The Wizard of Oz
and drinking vodka?”

“Well, I was wondering if you were open to other options,” I said, refusing to be drawn into an argument about alcohol.

“Like what?”

“Oh, nothing major. A walk around the block. Dinner up at that new Mexican place. We can order shrimp fajitas and I’ll tell you about the house.”

“Actually,” she said, “I can’t. I’m going to Birmingham for the weekend. A friend of mine’s brother is getting married and since I don’t have to work…” She glanced down at her watch and frowned. Drunk people are always surprised by the passage of time. “In fact, he should be here in a minute.”

“Who?”

“My friend. The one whose brother is getting married. The one who’s going to Alabama with me.”

She was making no sense and I could hardly hear her. I leaned over to turn down the sound.

“Don’t turn it down!” she said. “They’re just about to melt the witch. It’s my favorite part.”

“Mine, too,” I said, taking a seat beside her on the couch. “That witch has one of the best exit lines in movie history.” And I quoted it, with an appropriately witchy voice. “‘Who would have thought that all my beautiful wickedness could be defeated by one little girl?’”

Zora laughed at that without taking her eyes off the screen. Maybe that’s why we both found this scene so satisfying. In spite of the best efforts of the thoroughly intimidating, undeniably powerful, absolutely evil, inexplicably green wicked witch, she was defeated by a girl in a blue gingham dress and a pair of red ruby slippers. Once Dorothy melted the witch and was hailed by the faithless guards and flying monkeys as their new queen, Zora put down her now-empty glass and stood up.

“It’s better that I’m going away this weekend, Mafeenie,” she said. “I wouldn’t be fit company with the conference going on a few blocks away.”

“You keep telling me you’re not fit company,” I said. “Why don’t you light somewhere long enough for me to decide for myself?”

“I will,” she said, moving toward the stairs. “But I’ve already promised Jabari, so it’s too late to cancel.”

“Who’s Jabari?”

“He’s the one who’s coming to pick me up, and he’s already late,” she said. “But then again, so am I! Just tell him to come in. I won’t be a minute.”

She took the stairs two at a time and left me to witness the wrap-up of the movie where the Scarecrow, the Tin Man, and the Lion get their rewards from the wizard: brains, a heart, and some courage, respectively. It was funny when you thought about it. All the guys wanted something that would change them, make them better, more able to survive and thrive in Oz, or wherever they decided to settle down. Dorothy didn’t want to change anything about herself. She just wanted to get back home. She was already endowed with the qualities that her traveling companions desired. She was smart as well as resourceful. She felt things deeply, loved her friends, family, and adorable dog, and was fearless when it came to defending them from nasty neighbors, green witches, and even the wizard himself. She was complete when we met her, except for one thing: She was mystified by the presence of cruelty and meanness. Her encounter with evil in the form of Elvira Gulch, who was fully prepared to euthanize the adorable Toto for digging in her garden, left Dorothy so confused that she ran away and ended up in Oz, looking for answers all up and down that yellow brick road. Maybe that was what Zora was looking for, too. Some explanation for the bad things that happened to well-meaning women and soldiers who found themselves at war.

Just as Dorothy got ready to click the heels of those famous ruby slippers, somebody out front blew a long blast on a very loud horn. When I went to the front window to see what was going on, I saw a dirty green car with one young man in the front seat and another in the back. They were playing Kanye West loud enough for me to hear it clearly even though all the windows were closed up tight.

I ain’t sayin’ she a gold digga,

But she ain’t messin’ wit’ no broke nigga…

The one in the front laid on the horn again and leaned over to peer at the house. The one in the back peered out, too, bobbing his head in time to the music. Seeing no one coming down the walk, the driver gave the horn another blast, this one even longer and more insistent.
Please tell me she’s not riding to Birmingham with these fools,
I thought, as Zora came down the stairs with her backpack and grabbed her coat from the closet.

“He’s just trying to be funny,” she said, sounding annoyed. “I told him to come up and ring the bell!”

I didn’t say anything.

She gave my cheek a quick peck as she headed out the door. “I’ll be back Monday. Don’t worry. We’ll hang out next week, I promise, and you can tell me all about the house.”

“Be careful,” I said, but I didn’t think she heard me.

Zora opened the car door, increasing the volume of the music to a decibel level that made me concerned for her eardrums, tossed in her backpack, and hopped into the front seat without a backward glance. I’m not a religious woman, but I still said a little prayer. Something told me Zora’s eardrums weren’t the only things I needed to be concerned about this weekend.

NINETEEN

T
here are advantages to living in a house with a heated pool. It’s even better if that pool has an amazing brown mermaid on the bottom with flowing curls and a mysterious smile to remind you that there’s always more to the story than meets the eye. I had packed a bathing suit as soon as Zora told me about this particular perk of her house-sitting assignment, but this was the first time I’d actually had a chance to use it.

As soon as I shed my robe and slipped into the sparkling water, I wondered what had taken me so long. There are obvious health benefits to doing a series of energetic laps that push your body to its limits and allow your lungs to show you what they’ve got, but there are equally important psychological benefits to just lying back under the stars and watching the steam come off the warm water and disappear into the cool late February air.

The night was clear, and even in the city, there were an impressive number of stars on display. It only took a couple of hours to drive from Atlanta to Birmingham, so by now Zora would have arrived at her destination. I hoped she was somewhere where she could see these same stars. Somewhere she could take a deep breath and stop running from herself so fast.

But that was unlikely. The mood she was in when she left, and the road-trip energy flowing from the guys who had come to get her, pointed more toward hard drinking, fast driving, and a series of bad decisions. I kicked my feet gently and sent up a little prayer for Zora’s well-being.
Next week, we’ll hang out,
she kept saying, and I intended to hold her to it. That would be the time to tell her about the duplex after I’d had a chance to think about it. It was, after all, my problem, not hers. What kind of grandmother dumps her troubles on a grandbaby who’s having a hard enough time just keeping her own head above water?

That thought made me feel guilty. I was supposed to be here to help her, not join her in some kind of self-destructive pity party. The mermaid’s expression suddenly seemed vaguely accusatory. I swam to the edge of the pool, hoisted myself out, grabbed my robe, and headed inside. Only one person could talk me back before I went too far down this road. I went upstairs, rummaged around in my purse until I found my cellphone, and punched in Howard’s number on speed dial.

“Your ears must have been burning!” he crowed on the other side of the world. “I just spoke your name this very minute. Where are you?”

“I’m at Zora’s place in Atlanta. Where are you?”

“I’m cooking dinner for six at my place. Let me speak to Lil’ Bit.”

“She’s gone to a wedding in Birmingham.”

“Alabama?” The idea horrified him.

“No,
England
,” I said. “Of course, Alabama. It’s just one state over, remember?”

“Alabama isn’t just a state, sweetie, it’s a state of mind,” he said. “Tell me you’re not spending Friday night all by your lonesome.”

The way he said it made me sound pathetic and not at all like my formerly fabulous self. “Just me and the mermaid,” I said.

“What mermaid? Oh, there’s the bell.
Somebody get that! I can’t leave the pasta!
”

I could hear the sound of one of Howard’s famous dinner parties in full swing. Loud music, lots of laughter, and what I knew would be a great big delicious meal.

“I’m making my world-renowned pumpkin ravioli,” he said. “Of course, I thought of you!”

“I miss you.”

“I miss you, too, sweetie. You okay?”

“I’m fine,” I said, realizing this was not a moment when he could indulge me in some good old-fashioned whining about how hard my life was these days, but unable to resist giving him a thumbnail sketch. “The house is a wreck, Zora’s a mess, and I have no idea what I’m supposed to do about either one.”

“I thought you said the house was fabulous.”

“Not this house. The one I own.”

“The duplex?”

“That’s the one.” A loud burst of laughter made me feel so lonesome I actually teared up. “Listen, this can wait. I was just missing you and wanted to hear your voice.”

“I miss you, too, sweetie. These gatherings just aren’t the same without you. When are you coming home?”

“You tell me,” I said.

“I’m working on it,” he said. “Those fools don’t stand a chance. Between now and next week, I’m going to have so many folks demanding your triumphant return, Miss Thing won’t know what hit her.”

I was confused. “Who?”

“Didn’t you get my message? That little Cuban chippie who’s sleeping with François has floated the idea that she should close the season in a splashy new production of—are you ready for this?—
Medea
!”

I felt like he had kicked me in the stomach. All the air left my body.

“You there?”

“She’s not a chippie.”

“Stop being so noble. This is Howard, sweetie.”

“I’m…I just…I can’t believe it. I’ve only been gone a few days.”

“Time waits for no diva,” Howard said. “She saw an opportunity and she’s trying to work it.”

“What did François say?”

Howard made a rude noise and I could hear the faint ding of his oven timer. “Monsieur LeGutless said he’d let the board decide.”

“That’s reassuring,” I said.

“They’ll never agree to it. The American piece is one thing, but your fans would never stand for it. Trust me.”

“I do.” At this point I didn’t have much choice.

“You’d better! Gotta go, sweetie! If this ravioli is not al dente, my rep will be ruined. I love you!”

“I love you more.
Ciao!
”

“Ciao!”

So there it was. A perfect storm of bad luck. I was glad that Abbie would only be gone a few days. The way things were going, maybe a visionary advisor was exactly what I needed.