jaws and handed it sheepishly back to Rose. She grimaced at the thing, which was now covered with dirt and saliva, and then glared at Lois, who was standing to the side of the crowd, trying hard to disappear. Rose went back to the court, took out a new ball, and attempted to regain her composure, and the crowd’s laughter quieted down to a still-amused titter. The last point had put Rose down 30-40, and now, distracted, she double-faulted. It was 5-6. Stephanie Ikeda had serve, and Rose never recovered. She dropped the last game, love-40, and lost the match in three sets.
On the car ride home, Lois slumped in the back seat and suffered yet another berating from her sister and mother. Rose was almost hysterical, complaining to her parents about how Lois was a brat, and a bad student, and she was trying to ruin her life, and Mary scolded Lois for spoiling her sister’s day. Lois felt small, the bad daughter. Even her grandmother refused to look at her. But then, in the middle of this barrage, she caught Frank’s eye in the rearview mirror. He’d laughed right along with the rest of the crowd when the puppy went after the ball. Now Lois saw that his eyes were still laughing, despite his immobile face. He looked at her in the rearview mirror, not adding to the din of voices. Then he winked. And in that moment, as they drove up Crenshaw and back toward their house, although she didn’t say anything or even return the gesture, she felt the weight of everyone else’s fury lift off her, and became her father’s child.
DRIVING INTO her garage that night, after spending the day with Lois, was like walking into open arms. Jackie loved her apartment, a top unit in a four-plex that had been built in the 1920s. All the buildings on this block were old and solid—although her books had fallen off their shelves in the quake and the refrigerator had shuffled out into the middle of the kitchen, the structure itself had withstood the earth’s violence. The unit had a refinished hardwood floor; the furniture was simple and elegant. She’d lived in this apartment all through law school, and while she could have found a place much closer to campus, it seemed like too much trouble to move—especially since, in a few more months, she’d be able to afford a much nicer place. The real reason Jackie had stayed here, though, was Laura. It seemed to Jackie that if she moved at all, she should be getting a place with her girlfriend—they’d been together now for almost three years. But something in the strange, shifting nature of their relationship did not make this an automatic choice. For the last year or so they’d been poised at the edge of something—Jackie didn’t know exactly what. And any big actions or decisions needed to wait until they fell, decisively, one way or the other.
When she got inside, the first thing she saw was the red light of the answering machine, flashing three times, stopping, flashing again, as if sending out a distress signal. She flopped down on the recliner and looked at her watch. It was just before six. With a feeling that was equal parts anticipation and dread, she pressed the “play messages” button.
The first message was from Laura, at 1:30, checking in. The next was from Rebecca, a friend from law school. She was in Sacramento, interviewing for a public interest job, and she wanted copies of the notes that Jackie would be taking in their Tax Law class on Monday. The third, again, was Laura, this time sounding tired and just short of impatient. “Jackie, it’s me again. It’s 5:45. I was thinking you’d be back by now, but…I don’t know. Anyway, give me a call when you get in.”
Jackie picked up the phone, and as the answering machine rewound she dialed her girlfriend’s number. She half-hoped that Laura would be out somewhere; she needed some time to recover. your last call.” But Laura picked up on the first ring.
“Hi, I’m home,” Jackie informed her. “I must have just missed
“Hi. Where have you been? How’s Lois doing?”
“Oh, fine. I ended up staying with them all day.”
“What did she want you to do?”
“Just some little stuff. I’ll tell you about it later.” She wondered how much she’d really tell her, knowing there’d be gaps in the narrative. “What have you been up to?” she asked.
Laura didn’t answer at first, and Jackie could feel her considering whether or not to press further. “Oh, I just lazed around,” she said finally. “Had coffee with people. Went for a run with Marie.” She paused now, and Jackie could tell from the texture of the pause—she’d thrown a net around her emotions, but there were holes in the fabric and little bursts of feeling kept wriggling through—that her girlfriend was annoyed. Then Laura added, “Marie and Steven are having a cocktail party tonight. And I know you had a long day, but I was thinking that maybe we could go.”
That was it. Marie was one of Laura’s friends from work, another young politico, like Laura, who’d been hired out of elite private universities to work in city government. There were about twenty recent graduates who had jobs in City Hall, and they often met for meals or coffee and threw parties for themselves. They believed wholeheartedly that they were the future of the city, and Jackie, privately, hated their self-importance, but also, more privately, envied it. Now, Jackie knew why Laura had been so anxious—she didn’t expect Jackie to want to go out with her, and she was right.
“Laura, I’m exhausted,” Jackie said. “It’s been a really long day and I don’t feel up to being social. But why don’t you go by yourself? I’ll probably just do some reading and hit the sack.” There was silence on the other end. “Laura?”
“You never want to spend time with my friends,” Laura said.
Jackie sighed and squeezed her temples. “Of course I do. We just went to your friend’s dinner party on Wednesday, didn’t we? I’m just really tired now. I mean, I’ve had a lot going on the last couple of weeks. Besides, it’s already six o’clock. Why didn’t you tell me about this earlier?”
“Because I knew you wouldn’t want to go. I know you’ve had a lot to deal with, but can’t you just come and sit there? You do need to eat at least, right?”
Jackie twisted the phone cord around her fingers. “Listen,” she replied, “just go. You’ll have a better time without me, anyway.”
“But I want you to go with me.”
For a brief moment, Jackie considered it. The parties weren’t terrible. Maybe it would do her good to get out and have a couple of drinks. The food was usually decent and the conversation was interesting, even if the young golden ones tended to forget that there were a few people in attendance who did not breathe the specialized, government-issue air of City Hall. And really, it was a small victory that Laura wanted to take her at all. For her first year in City Hall, she’d been closeted at work, even among the people her age. Jackie had resented being hidden and lied about, but after she’d won this battle—after Laura had told her peers about Jackie (but not her boss), after she’d started taking Jackie to parties and barbecues (but not official functions)—Jackie realized she wasn’t missing much. Now, she was in the strange position of not wanting to spend time with people she’d once been furious about not being able to meet.
“I really just want to stay home. I promise I’ll go to the next thing.”
Laura was silent for a moment. “Fine,” she said. And something in her voice frightened Jackie—not because it was angry, but because it wasn’t. She wasn’t fighting anymore. She’d surrendered. “Fine. You’re right. I’m sorry. You’ve had a hard two weeks. Why don’t you just come over? I’ll go out and rent a couple of movies.”
Jackie
