Getting Even Page 11

  “I should think you’d be sick of them, then,” Torey said. “So you won’t miss me at all.”

  “Of course I’ll miss you,” Annie replied. “I just don’t understand why I should have to miss you.”

  “Because the world doesn’t revolve around you,” Torey said. “Annie, this is ridiculous. I can’t afford to come next weekend, and much as I appreciate your offer to pay for the bus fare, I still can’t afford to come. I don’t get that many chances to work an extra day a week. That money will come in handy when we have to pay the electric bill. I know your salary doesn’t go for boring things like food and shelter, but mine does, and food costs and shelter costs, and I’m sorry if you’re bored by all these realities, but they’re my realities, what I have to live with, and I can’t just pretend they don’t exist so that you won’t miss me some weekend when you get to jet off to Long Island to visit your grandmother with the swimming pool and see your cousin Robin who’s jetting in from Ohio just so she can see her boyfriend.”

  “Torey!” Annie said.

  “Sorry,” Torey said. “No, I’m not. I’m not sorry at all. Have a good weekend, Annie, and give Robin my love, and if you miss me, just do one of my poor routines, and you’ll think I’m right there.”

  “Torey,” Annie said again, but Torey had already hung up. Annie stared at the phone. She couldn’t believe the way Torey had sounded. Sure, there had been times last summer when Annie had suspected that Torey had looked down at the three of them, thought them soft and spoiled, but she’d always seemed more bemused than anything else, and never angry. Annie wasn’t even sure what she had done to make Torey so mad at her, except to offer her a trip to Long Island, which wasn’t such a big deal, and certainly nothing that justified Torey’s attack.

  She went downstairs to join her parents in the kitchen, but when her mother asked if Torey would be able to join them, Annie merely shook her head. “She’s too busy,” she declared, as though that explained everything.

  It occurred to her suddenly that maybe she had crossed some line between friendly teasing and unintended putdown. They’d kidded Torey all the time last summer about her lack of money, and Torey had always been good-natured about it. They’d teased Ashley about her endless family sagas, and Annie had been needled about her enforced diet. At one point, Robin had declared the only reason she’d been picked for the internship was her perfect demographics, and after that she was called the Demographic Kid for a week and a half. The four girls had spent far too much time together not to fall into affectionate teasing with one another.

  But it wasn’t summer anymore, and Torey had to return to her very real poverty, Annie realized, as she nibbled on her sandwich. Annie didn’t think Torey ever went to bed hungry, but if she didn’t it was because of food stamps, and Torey spent every spare moment working to help her family. It was no wonder Torey didn’t see the humor in her situation anymore. She was smack back in it after her fantasy summer away from responsibilities and there wasn’t any humor to be seen.

  “I have to call Torey again,” Annie announced. “There was a misunderstanding, and I have to call her back.”

  “All right,” her mother said. “Finish your lunch and then call.”

  “I’m not hungry,” Annie replied. “I’ll finish later.” But as she rose to go upstairs, the doorbell rang. “I’ll get it,” she said, and went to the front door to see who it was.

  “Hi, Annie,” Chris said. “I just saw my father off, and I felt like a walk. Can you come out?”

  “Sure,” Annie said. “I should make a phone call first, though.”

  “Is it going to take long?” Chris asked.

  “I’ll make it later,” Annie decided. “I think Torey’s mad at me, and it might not be a bad idea to give her a chance to cool off.”

  “Fine,” Chris said, and Annie grabbed her jacket and joined him outside.

  “It’s a nice day,” she declared, as they began their walk. Chris was taking long strides, and Annie had to hurry to keep up with him.

  “It is,” he said. “I like autumn.”

  “So do I and so does your father,” Annie said, smiling at the memory of their dinner the night before.

  “My father likes lots of things,” Chris said. “He told me how much he liked you.”

  “Did he?” Annie said. “I’m glad. I liked him too.”

  “I figured that,” Chris said. “You acted like you did.”

  “He’s charming,” Annie declared. “You’re a lot like him that way.”

  “I am?” Chris asked. “I don’t see it.”

  “I guess you can’t,” Annie said. “Everybody tells me I’m just like my father, and I don’t see it at all. I guess you have to have some distance before you can see that sort of thing.”

  “What else did you think about my father?” Chris asked. “Besides his being charming, that is.”

  “I don’t know,” Annie said. “He seemed very intelligent, I suppose, and worldly. As if he’d been everywhere. And he’s so good-looking. You didn’t tell me how handsome he was.”

  “It slipped my mind,” Chris said.

  “Anyway, I thought he was just delightful, and I had a real good time,” Annie declared. “I’m glad the singer didn’t embarrass me. It was a great night, although you seemed a little sulky.”

  “Sorry I wasn’t as charming and delightful as my father,” Chris retorted. “It can be a bit wearing to be surrounded by so much charm and delightfulness.”

  “Cut it out, Chris,” Annie said. “I don’t know what’s the matter, but I don’t think I did anything to deserve that tone of voice.”

  “What tone?” Chris asked. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean the way you’re acting,” Annie said. “And would you slow down, please? This isn’t the fifty-yard dash.”

  “Sorry,” Chris said. “I’ll walk more slowly. With more charm and delightfulness.”

  “What happened?” Annie asked. “Did you and your father have a fight?”

  “My father and I never fight,” Chris said.

  “Sure,” Annie said. “I bet you’re mad because your father mentioned those problems you’ve had about your mother. You never told me about mother problems, Chris. Only father problems. What’s the matter, anyway?”

  “There were no problems between my mother and me,” Chris said. “And there aren’t any between my father and me either.”

  “There’s a problem around here somewhere,” Annie informed him. “Wait a second. Am I the problem?”

  “Why should you be the problem?” he asked.

  “I don’t have the slightest idea,” Annie replied. “But the way you’re acting, I figure I must be.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Chris said. “Just because you fawned over my father last night, practically drooled on his suit, no reason to think you might be the problem.”

  “I was polite!” Annie said. “I did not drool.”

  “Then why did my father spend half an hour this morning telling me everything perfect about you?” Chris asked. “Telling me that you were the best thing that ever happened to me. Telling me I’d be a fool if I ever let you get away.”

  “Maybe he thought I was a nice girl for his son to date,” Annie said. “I didn’t realize that was a crime. I’m happy my parents like you. It makes life a lot easier that way.”

  “Your parents are different,” Chris muttered.

  “What is this?” Annie asked. “You honestly think I like your father more than I like you? Is that it? You think I was flirting with your father last night? You think I’m on the list for wife number seven?”

  “You going to tell me you weren’t flirting with him?” Chris demanded.

  “Chris, your father is a flirt. He flirts with everybody. He’d probably flirt with his mailman if his mailman were a woman. Mailwoman.” Annie tried to stay calm and explain. “You know what I mean. He’s a charmer, Chris, and they’re fun to be around. You could use a little of that charm sometimes yourself. I
t’s no crime to make a person feel special.”

  “I don’t make you feel special?” Chris asked.

  “Last night you sure didn’t,” Annie replied.

  “Sorry,” Chris said. “But you were so busy flirting with my charming father, I didn’t think you realized I was there too.”

  “Oh, I realized,” Annie said. “You were the baby sulking in the corner.”

  “So I’m a baby,” Chris said. “Is that in comparison to my charming father, or did you always see me that way? I know how worldly and sophisticated you are. One of the four that were picked from seven thousand for the glamorous Image internship.”

  Annie stared at him. She felt hurt by his words but she didn’t want to lose him. Obviously he was jealous of his father and was lashing out. Chris really did look terrible. She walked over to him and kissed him on his cheek. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m crazy about you and your father is nothing but a big silly. I could never really like him.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Chris asked.

  “The way he goes on and on,” Annie said, hoping Chris would now feel better about things. “Why, I had to go to the ladies’ room last night just to have a chance to laugh at him.”

  “You laughed at my father?” Chris asked.

  “I giggled at him,” Annie said, wondering why nothing was going right. “That’s all. Just a giggle.”

  “You laughed at him,” Chris said. “My father is one of the biggest divorce lawyers in the United States, and you think you can laugh at him. Are you making fools of both of us?”

  Annie sighed. “I’m not laughing at his legal skills,” she declared. “No, I take that back, I didn’t laugh at him at all. Not really. It’s just he lays things on a little thick, you must know that, Chris, and I needed a chance to—”

  “To laugh at him,” Chris said. “Did you laugh at me too, while you were hiding out in the ladies’ room?”

  “I laughed until I was sick,” Annie declared. “Not as sick as I am today, but sick enough. I laughed until my face turned green. I laughed at your father the dolt, and at you, the young dolt. Feel better, Chris? Feel reassured? Does it do something for you to hear me say that you and your father are a matched set of idiots?”

  “It makes me feel a lot better,” he said. “It makes me realize just what a waste of time it’s been seeing you.”

  “You’re not the only one who’s been wasting time,” Annie replied. “It’s been swell, Chris. See you around.”

  “Not if I have any say in the matter,” Chris said. “Bye, Annie. Give me a call, if you ever grow up.”

  “You wouldn’t recognize a grownup if you ran over one,” Annie said, and turned her back on him. She tried to keep from crying and maintain some dignity as she headed home.

  Chris didn’t turn around, race over to her as she began to put distance between them, or cry out “Annie, stop!” the way she expected him to. The way he was supposed to. The way he would have if it had been a movie, or a television show, or a novel. He just kept on walking in the opposite direction. Annie knew, because she allowed herself to turn around and take a peek. He was walking away, faster and faster, until he was half running from her. She stood absolutely still after that, and watched as his figure got smaller and smaller until she couldn’t see him anymore at all.

  She stood there for another moment, staring at all the strangers who were walking where Chris had been, and she tried to understand how she had managed to lose a close friend and her boyfriend in less than an hour. It was an outrage. She hadn’t done anything, and they were attacking her. She didn’t deserve it. She didn’t deserve any of it. She didn’t deserve anything at all, she thought as she began to walk, slowly at first, and then with greater and greater speed until soon she was running, the way Chris had run, running back to her house, back to her room, back to her bed, where she could hide from the anger and loss she didn’t deserve and couldn’t understand at all.

  Chapter 12

  “So,” Murray said, as Annie took her jacket off. “What are you waiting for? Call already.”

  “Give me a chance to breathe, will you,” Annie replied. Sunday had probably been the worst day of her life, she reflected. In spite of Annie’s sitting by the telephone for hours, waiting for it to ring, Chris never called. Twice she had dialed Torey’s number. The first time she got a busy signal, and the second time, she hung up before the phone had a chance to ring. Suddenly she didn’t know what to say to Torey. She was afraid she would yet again say the wrong thing and damage the friendship permanently. She’d spent half the night crying, and the other half having bad dreams. School on Monday hadn’t been all that much better, with a surprise quiz in physics for which Annie was completely unprepared, and the first appearance of the Bulletin. The newspaper actually looked as good as Annie could have imagined. It wasn’t that she wanted it to be a disaster without her. But now that her life was a disaster, she didn’t care to see how little they had needed her after all. And she was in no mood to be gracious about the fine job Mrs. King and the staff had managed.

  “Fine,” Murray was saying, as Annie began paying attention to him. “Your jacket is off, your breath is caught, feel free to take your shoes off, make yourself at home, just as long as you make that phone call.”

  “I have to find the number,” Annie said. Murray wasn’t behaving the way she wanted him to either. Of course the way she wanted him to behave was unlikely under the best of circumstances. She dug through her pocketbook until she located the slip of paper she’d scribbled the number on, and made a big production of showing it to Murray.

  “Great,” he said. “Remember how to dial?”

  “It’ll come back to me,” she replied. “Murray, do you have to hover so? You’re making me nervous.”

  “I’m moving,” he said, and inched away from her, although nowhere near far enough for Annie’s satisfaction. “So dial already.”

  “Murray,” Annie said, but she dialed. Someone said “Boston Morning” and Annie asked for Stacy Livingston. Murray began pacing. Annie raised her eyes to the heavens.

  “Stacy Livingston,” Stacy said a moment later. Annie was grateful she was put directly through and didn’t have to go through lengthy explanations about who she was and why she was calling.

  “Hello, Stacy, this is Annie Powell,” she said, trying to sound as if it were the most natural thing in the world for her to be calling. “I was on the show a couple of weeks ago.”

  There was a pause, while Stacy obviously tried to remember who Annie Powell might be. “Image,” she said. “The high school girl.”

  “That’s right,” Annie said, although she wasn’t thrilled by the description. “I’m glad you remember me.”

  “I remember you very well,” Stacy replied. “You were a godsend that day. Dan sang your praises all afternoon.”

  “Thank you,” Annie said, wishing she could hang up on the spot.

  “So what can I do for you?” Stacy asked.

  Annie was reasonably sure she heard a smile in Stacy’s voice, but that didn’t mean she had forever to make her speech. “I saw some talent that I thought might be good for Boston Morning,” she began. “And I just wanted to call and tell you about her.”

  “Of course,” Stacy said, sounding a little more distant. Annie had a sudden image of Stacy picturing Annie calling to recommend the star of her senior class play, or a truly fabulous cheerleader she’d seen at a local game.

  “Her name is Barbara Sullivan,” Annie said, trying to sound self-confident. It didn’t help that she could see Murray biting his lip in the corner of the office. “I saw her Saturday night at one of the local clubs.” For one awful moment, she couldn’t remember the name of the club. She only hoped Stacy wouldn’t ask which one it was. “Anyway, she sings ballads and stuff, normal kinds of songs, and she has a nice voice, but what makes her special, why I thought of her for Boston Morning, is the songs she writes herself. She writes satirical songs, about local politics, and s
he’s very clever. The songs were really good, and the audience seemed to like her, and I just thought she’d be perfect for Boston Morning. Local talent, you know.”

  “Yes, I do know,” Stacy said. “And it’s interesting that you should call to tell me about her. You’re the third person who’s mentioned her to me, and I can see that I’m going to have to hear her sing and soon.”

  “You mean you think you’ll put her on the show?” Annie asked, trying to keep the relief out of her voice. She certainly didn’t want Stacy to think Barbara Sullivan was some kind of long-lost relative.

  “We’ll give her a call,” Stacy said, “and set up an audition. Is she still appearing?”

  “I think so,” Annie said. “I mean, I don’t know her, I never even met her, but I was so impressed with her and I just naturally thought of Boston Morning, and I think it’s great that you’re taking my recommendation.” She wished she could make her mouth stop moving.

  “Thank you for the phone call,” Stacy said. “And for thinking of Boston Morning, Annie. I appreciate it.”

  “Thank you,” Annie said. “I mean, you’re welcome.” She wasn’t sure what she meant anymore, so she hung up before Stacy had the chance to make polite hang-up noises of her own.

  “So?” Murray asked practically before Annie had the phone back on the hook.

  “She said she’d call Barbara Sullivan this week and set up an audition,” Annie replied. “Satisfied?”

  “Satisfied?” Murray said. “Anne, you’re a wonder.” He walked over to her and gave her a smacky sort of kiss on her right cheek. “Now get out of the way and watch a master at work.”

  Annie got up and walked away from the phone. Murray picked it up, grinned broadly, and dialed a number.

  “Adam, Murray Levine here,” he said. “I’m fine, right, and you? Great, great. I just wanted you to know that I pulled a few strings, and Stacy Livingston, she’s the producer of Boston Morning, she’s agreed to audition Barbara for Boston Morning. She’s planning to call later this week. Yes, that’s right. I don’t know for sure, but I think it’s her satirical numbers they’re most interested in. Right. Well, when I hear about talent, I like to do what I can to help it along. That’s right. Well, I just wanted you to know, so you could tell Barbara, give her a little warning. All right. You’re welcome, Adam. I’m always pleased to be of service. Bye.” He hung up the phone and grinned some more. “He’s thrilled,” he said to Annie. “Television. You could practically hear him salivate. I’ll tell you, that Barbara Sullivan is one lucky chicky.”