The Perfect Comeback of Caroline Jacobs (10 page)

“That's a great shirt. I don't care what that stupid science fair judge said. It's funny. It's graphic. It's referential. And it actually makes fun of a legitimately stupid T-shirt. It's legitimate cultural commentary. It is nothing like this stupid shirt.”

“Can you just find one to sleep in for tonight?”

Polly scanned the rack, shoving aside shirts as she rejected them.

Caroline sighed. “We can literally throw the shirt away when we're done sleeping in it. Burn it, even.”

“Here,” Polly said. “This is good.” The shirt was white. It read W
IKIPEDIA
I
S
A
CCURATE
.
Below this sentence, in parenthesis, it added, C
ITATION
N
EEDED
.

“Yeah,” Caroline said. “It's good.”

“You don't even get it. Do you?”

“Not really,” Caroline admitted. “But if you'll sleep in it tonight, that's all that matters.”

Polly scanned the aisle. “How about some underwear?”

“I don't think we're going to find that in a convenience store.”

“That would be a great product,” Polly said, suddenly excited. “Don't you think?”

“Underwear?”

“No, like emergency underwear. Underwear in a can. Like the kind they put tennis balls in.”

“I don't know, how often someone is stuck without underwear? Seems like a niche product.”

“Maybe,” Polly admitted. “Still, it sounds good. So I guess I'm going commando tonight?”

“Unless we find a store first.”

“That's fine,” Polly said. “Some people believe it's healthier not to wear underwear. Doctors even.”

Caroline sighed. “Sometimes I hate the Internet.”

By the time they stepped off the elevator and walked the dozen paces to their hotel room, it was nearly 10:00
P.M
. Caroline was exhausted. The excitement she had experienced upon leaving the diner had given way to uncertainty and a looming sense of dread. Even with Polly tepidly onboard. Caroline's spirits were ebbing. She was beginning to feel foolish for even attempting this trip. She worried that tomorrow she might feel downright stupid.

Sleep, she hoped, would make things better.

She slid the plastic room key into the lock and pushed the door open.

“I thought you said nonsmoking,” Polly said as she sat down on the bed. “This place totally reeks.”

“Someone must have ignored the no smoking signs,” Caroline said, pointing to the placard on the nightstand.

“Mom. It's awful.”

Caroline thought about debating the point but reconsidered. “I'll see if I can get us another room.” She picked up the phone and dialed zero.

“Good evening,” a female voice answered. “May I help you?”

“Yes, hello. This is Caroline Jacobs in room 208. I requested a nonsmoking room, and this room smells of cigarette smoke.”

“Reeks of cigarette smoke,” Polly said.

“Room 208?” the woman said.

“Yes.”

“Room 208 is a nonsmoking room.”

“Yes, I appreciate that,” Caroline said. “Nevertheless, the room does smell of cigarette smoke.”

“Reeks!” Polly shouted.

“In fact, the whole floor is nonsmoking,” the woman said. “A previous guest may have violated our policy, but that room is supposed to be nonsmoking.”

“Yes, I know that the room is
supposed
to be nonsmoking, but the smell is bad. Could we be moved to another room, please?”

“Just a moment, please.” A clicking of computer keys, a momentary pause, and then, “I'm afraid I don't have another nonsmoking room available with two beds, Mrs. Jacobs. I could put you in a single and have a cot moved into the room if you'd like.”

Caroline looked back at Polly, who was scanning the available television stations on a laminated card. “Let me call you back. Okay?”

Caroline hung up the phone. “They don't have any doubles left. We can stay here or they can move us to a single and get us a cot. What do you think?”

“Seriously?” Polly said. “We stay in this disgusting room or I sleep on a cot? That's our choice?”

“I'll sleep on the cot. It's not a big deal.”

Polly shook her head.

“I'm going to use the bathroom. Let me know what you want to do when I get out.”

Caroline was suddenly worried. She and Polly had been enjoying themselves for the past couple hours. There had been banter. She and Polly had been
bantering
. Speaking without sarcasm. Communicating without contempt. It hadn't exactly been a profound conversation, but the fact that they were speaking at all was amazing. The room situation had put everything in jeopardy. She and Polly were standing atop a shaky pedestal, shifting back and forth in order to maintain balance. It sounded stupid, but she knew that something as simple as a smelly hotel room might be enough to knock them over. Restore their routine.

She was unbuttoning her jeans when she heard Polly's voice in the other room.

“Hello, this is Caroline Jacobs in room 208 again. May I ask who I'm speaking to?”

“Polly?” Caroline shouted. She quickly rebuttoned her jeans and pulled open the bathroom door.

“Are you in charge this evening, or is there someone above you in the chain of command?”

Polly placed a finger over her lips in a vaguely conspiratorial gesture. “Perfect,” she said. As she moved her finger away from her mouth, Caroline saw that her daughter was grinning. “Here's the problem: I paid for a nonsmoking double and you put me in a room that reeks of cigarette smoke. And now I've been offered a single and a cot in exchange. This is not acceptable.”

Caroline opened her mouth to speak but Polly appeared to anticipate this, widening her eyes in disapproval and holding up an index finger to signal that she needed a minute. In that moment, Caroline saw her own mother in those green eyes and that snap of disapproval.

“Hold on, Tina,” Polly said. “I'm not finished. Here is what I will do. If I am not placed in a nonsmoking double or better, I will be placing a call to the Holiday Inn corporate offices tonight. I don't think anyone will answer, but I'll leave a message on as many voicemails as I can find. Then I'll get online and start talking about how my asthmatic daughter is being forced to sleep in a room that smells of cigarette smoke. I'll e-mail every organization I can find that deals with children with asthma, and then I'll ask my ten thousand Twitter followers to retweet my posts. You know how social media works. Right?”

Polly paused a moment, still grinning and then said, “Sure. Call me back.” She hung up the phone.

“Polly!” Caroline said. “What do you expect them to do? Build us a nonsmoking room?”

“Gimme a break. They'll find something.”

“I didn't know you have a Twitter account.”

“I don't. Twitter's for assholes. Just trust me, Mom. I know what I'm doing.”

“You don't have any idea what you're doing. You're fifteen years old, for God's sake.”

“Just trust me. Please?”

As if to offer Polly support, the phone rang.

“This is Caroline Jacobs,” Polly said, flashing a smile at her mother. Polly listened for a moment and then said, “That will be perfect, Tina. Thank you. And I'm sorry I had to be so bitchy. I just get a little crazy when it comes to my daughter.”

Another longer pause and then Polly said, “Perfect. Thank you. You've been very helpful.”

“What?” Caroline said, trying to hide her grudging admiration.

“We've been upgraded to one of their executive suites. Someone will be up here in a second with our new keycards.”

Caroline just stared. Despite her overly earnest, aw-shucks father and her uncertain, nonconfrontational mother, Polly had somehow grown into a person who could manage people and solve problems with efficiency and ease. She reminded Caroline of Tiffany. Okay, Polly's ability to lie with so little effort was troubling, but she had also managed to exhibit more self-confidence and nerve than Caroline had exhibited in most of her life.

“You've really become your own person,” she said.

“What did you expect me to do? Become another you?”

“Hey!”

“I'm not saying that you're lame or anything. You're not half bad. And if I'm ever a mom someday, I'd totally want to be like you. At least try to.”

“Yeah?” A smile filled Caroline's face.

“Don't let it go to your head.”

“No chance of that,” Caroline said.

“And even though I'd want to marry someone way cooler than Dad, at least you guys are still married. It's more than I can say for most of my friends' parents. It's kind of cool. I hope my husband is still into me when I'm as old as you.”

“As old as me?”

“You know what I mean.”

She did.

“And you take great pictures,” Polly said. “You're totally wasting your talent, but at least you got some.”

“Thanks,” Caroline said. She felt herself blushing and turned away.

“But Mom, you can be such a pushover.”

“I know,” Caroline said. Her smile had diminished, but it was still there. “And

I'm glad you're not. It's just—it's strange how a person can become something so unlike either of her parents.”

Polly smiled. “Henry Shrapnel's father was a vicar.”

“What did his mother do?”

“That was like two hundred years ago. She was a housewife. Women couldn't exactly have careers back then.”

Some don't exactly have careers even today, Caroline wanted to say.

“So?” Polly said. “Are you impressed? With the new room, I mean.”

“You got us the room, but it wasn't right,” Caroline said, more out of a sense of parental duty than genuine belief. “You can't just lie to people to get your way.”

“And Tina can't just stick us in a smoking room or make one of us sleep on a cot. They should have upgraded us when you first called.”

She couldn't argue with that.

“I'd tell you to get your bag packed,” Polly said, “but we still don't have any clothes.”

“We'll get some tomorrow. Okay?” she said. “No, forget the
okay
. We'll get them tomorrow. No more complaining.”

“I was just kidding. Geez, what's your deal? I just got you into an executive suite. I'd think you would be happy.”

“I am,” Caroline said. In fact, she couldn't remember a time when she had been happier.

ten

When Caroline left the room, Polly was lying on the bed, watching a movie on an enormous flat-screen television and eating a bowl of ice cream—compliments of the management. She was still gloating, and rightfully so.

Caroline needed to call Tom. But she also needed her own victory. That's why she was seated here, in an armchair chosen for its stain resistance, in front of a fireplace never designed to hold a flame, listening to music that was written for its propensity to be forgotten. She chose this spot in the lobby because she was well out of earshot from the comatose desk clerk. A perfect spot to call Wendy.

It was late, but Caroline knew her friend would answer. Wendy possessed the energy of a thousand angry bulls and was up at all hours of the night.

“Sorry, my arms were full,” Wendy said, a little out of breath. “What's up?”

“Hi,” said, Caroline, pushing back with pleasantries. Her simple “What's up?” already felt judgmental. “How are you?”

“I'm fine. Just bringing in some groceries. What's up?”

“You're going to think I'm crazy,” Caroline said, feeling more foolish by the second. “Maybe I should just go.”

“All the more reason to talk. Tell me what's going on.” Caroline could practically hear her friend settling in an armchair, ready for a good story.

“Okay,” she said. “But no laughing.” Caroline took a deep breath and told Wendy about the events of the past twenty-four hours: the PTO debacle, her extraction of Polly from the clutches of Mr. Powers, their upgrade to the executive suite, even the apparent similarities between the Queen of England and topless women in New York City. “If Polly could con someone into giving us some clean clothes, we'd be all set.”

“I don't get it. You broke Polly out of jail so you could visit your mom?”

“Not exactly.”

“Good, because as a story, that sucks.”

“I wasn't finished,” Caroline said.

“Then finish already.”

“Remember Emily Kaplan?”

“Of course,” Wendy said. “What kind of friend do you think I am?”

“I'm going back to Blackstone to confront her.”

In the silence that followed, Caroline could see her friend's nose wrinkle and her eyes narrow to slits. Her confused look. The one she'd seen a million times before. “To what—?”

“To tell her off.”

There was a longer pause. Three full seconds this time. Three endless seconds to allow Caroline to come to grips with how completely insane her plan sounded.

“Are you serious?” Wendy finally said.

“Am I crazy?”

“Yes,” Wendy replied. “Bat shit crazy. Loony toons. Certifiable. But—”

“But…?” Caroline repeated hopefully.

“I kind of love the idea, too.”

“You do?”

“Yeah,” Wendy said. “Who doesn't want to get revenge on their high school bully?”

There it was. The b-word again.

“She wasn't exactly a bully,” Caroline said, defending Emily once more. “Don't be stupid. She was a total bully.”

“I don't know if what she did qualifies as bullying.”

“What is wrong with you?” Wendy asked. “Emily Kaplan was the worst kind of bully. She was a bully with a smile. She isolated you.”

“I don't know if that makes her a bully.”