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She played the sequence she and Alex had worked on. She played it over. She cued up the song she wanted and sped it up to herky-jerky speed. She was deep in concentration when she realized Brian was looking over her shoulder. She turned around, trying to block his view of the screen with her head.
“What?”
“Is that it?”
“A part of it,” she said a little defensively.
His eyes were troubled. “Do you think your mom might be upset if you show her in the bathroom with a towel on her head?” He asked it as a real question, not an accusation.
She looked at him as if he were some kind of doofus. “It’s a film. Her feelings aren’t the point. It’s supposed to be … you know, like, art.”
Brian wasn’t backing off, art or not. “But if she sees it, it might make her sad,” he said simply.
“For starters, she isn’t going to see it. Do you seriously think my mother would show up for Parents’ Day? She doesn’t have time to read my report card.”
“But won’t you feel bad, making a movie about her that you wouldn’t let her see?”
“I’m not saying I wouldn’t let her see it!” Tibby snapped. “It’s totally fine if she sees it. I don’t care. I’m just saying, there’s no way she’s showing up for the festival, so it’s kind of irrelevant.”
Brian didn’t say anything more, and he didn’t watch any more of her movie. Quietly he drew as she played a loud section of a song again and again and again at varying speeds. That night there wasn’t any whistling.
“I guess she’s still angry. I’m not sure. She isn’t talking to me,” Lena said, squeezing the phone to her ear with her shoulder as she used both hands to hang up blouses.
There was always so much clothing to put back. For every twenty pieces of clothing a shopper tried on, she usually bought about one. And when Lena had anything to do with it, she bought none. Lena had no knack for sales.
“What a surreal party. At least I got a lot of it on film,” Tibby said.
Lena noticed the disjointed music in the background. Tibby was too progressive to like anything that just sounded good.
“Did you film the argument?” Lena asked heavily. She wasn’t sure why the mothers’ discord bothered her so much. Well, unless you considered that it was all her fault. There was that detail.
“Some of it. By mistake I erased the end of it, though, when I was filming my mom racing around the house with a diaper wipe stuck to her heel.”
Lena laughed anemically. “Oh.”
“My mom is a freak. When I left, she was still rambling and muttering about how your mother should be more open with you. Like my mom would spend ten seconds telling me anything.”
Lena clamped a bunch of hangers under her arm. “Yeah,” she said absently.
There was silence on the other end.
Lena suddenly realized she had broken a basic rule. You could rail against your mother. You could listen patiently while your friend railed against her mother. But you must never rail against your friend’s mother or agree with aforementioned railing.
Lena hadn’t meant to do it, but it was too late now.
“It’s not like she’s the only freak,” Tibby said, a little quietly.
“Yes. No. I mean, no.” Lena was trying to get a slippery blouse onto a hanger. She’d never been good at doing two things at once.
“And maybe you shouldn’t have tricked her into telling you about that guy.”
“Tibby, I didn’t trick her.” Lena stopped herself. Yes, she had. “I mean, I’m sorry if I tricked her, but still, she didn’t have to—” By mistake, Lena pushed a number with her cheek. Beeeep.
“She didn’t have to what?” Tibby snapped combatively. “Tell you all that stuff you were trying to get her to tell you?”
“No, I mean …”
“Excuse me. Uh, hello?” A woman was waving at Lena from a fitting room. Lena could hear her voice and see the arm.
In her anxiety, Lena let the blouses swish to her feet. She stepped on the arm of one. “Tibby, I—I can’t—”
“The sad thing is, my mom was trying to be big pals with you.”
Lena’s frustration bubbled over.
“Tibby! I’m not criticizing your mom! You’re the one making a film of her trailing a diaper wipe around the house!”
Tibby was quiet. Lena felt horrible. “Tib, I’m sorry,” she said gently.
“I’ve gotta go. Bye,” Tibby said, and she hung up.
The four of them had a policy that they never hung up on each other, no matter how mad they were. Tibby had come about as close as you could get.
“Excuse me?” the shopper called again.
Lena felt like crying. She dragged herself over to the fitting room. “Yes. Can I help you?”
“Do you have these in the next bigger size?” The woman waved a pair of pants over the curtain.
Lena grabbed them and headed for the racks. Women always seemed to bring the size they wished they were to the fitting room, rather than the size that would actually fit. Lena fetched the pants in a twelve.
“Here you go,” she said.
A minute later the woman appeared in the twelves. She had faded red hair and a pale complexion. “What do you think?” she asked Lena, looking hopeful.
Lena was preoccupied. She was still staring at the phone as though it had pinched her. “Well, I’d say they look a bit tight.” Lena tended to favor truth over charity.
“Oh. Maybe you’re right.” The lady disengaged quickly from the mirror.
“I think we might have them in a fourteen,” Lena offered.
The woman didn’t seem to want to consider that. She left a few minutes later without buying anything. Better not to buy anything than to face life as a size fourteen when you believed you were a size ten.
Lena still held the phone as she watched her sole customer trudge out of the store. Maybe it wasn’t such a mystery why Lena didn’t earn any commissions.
Carmen punched her mother’s cell phone number into her own cell phone. She stuck a finger in her free ear to lessen the noise of the coffee shop.
It wasn’t in service. Christina had turned it off. Unbelievable! What if Carmen were in an accident? What if she were lying by the side of the road, bleeding? She wished she were lying by the side of the road, bleeding.
“Is everything okay?” Porter asked.
Carmen realized she had inadvertently been making a by-the-side-of-the-road-bleeding face.
“Yeah.” She tried to rearrange her face. “I just can’t get hold of my mom.”
“Is it urgent? Because we could …”
No, it’s not urgent, Carmen felt like snapping at him. I have nothing to say to her at all. I just want to bother her and ruin her date.
Porter’s lips were moving and he seemed to be suggesting some possible course of action, but Carmen wasn’t listening.
She waved her hand. “It’s fine. It’s nothing.” She stared grimly at her pink milk shake.
“Okay, well …” Porter pushed his own milk shake glass aside. To his credit, he didn’t make a loud burbling, sucking effort to get at the last bit. He got his wallet. “The movie is starting in fifteen minutes. We should probably get going.”
Carmen nodded blankly. Her mind was already fixed on another subject. Her mother had been whizzing around the house all day like Martha Stewart on amphetamines.
She had repapered the shelves in the kitchen and arranged tulips over the mantel in the living room. Carmen had figured Christina was just shedding happiness and beauty all over the world, but now she had a darker suspicion. What if Christina had said okay to Carmen’s 10:20 movie because she secretly intended to bring David back to the apartment? What if they were going to …
