Betsy Robinson
A feast of silly, serious, strange, slightly subversive, transcendent, and laugh-out-loud funny stories of girls and girl-women, including "Ice Cream" and, as part of a 1-act trilogy, a new, updated version of Darleen Dances. "I was seduced into believing these were just ‘stories’ and then was zinged with surprising twists. The precision of the writing is gripping, dialogue is riveting. Each story stands on its own but then becomes a part of a greater whole, with some characters appearing and reappearing, as though they want us to know them better." —Diane Booth, psychotherapist |
PretendingAt closing time, a lifeguard found Katy and called her father to come pick her up. He arrived in a huff, and Katy could feel how angry he was, even though he pretended to be concerned about her. Several times after that, her mother had come in subtle body and told Katy how sorry she was. She said it wasn’t Katy’s fault, that it was “the whole situation,” whatever that meant. She said Katy’s father was in love with another woman, and when Katy tried to ask her father about that, he hit her. Really hard. Katy was so stunned she forgot to keep quiet when she heard her father’s inner agonized scream. She felt his shame and self-loathing, and she forgot to not speak and she said “It’s all right, Daddy.” And she’s never forgotten his look of hate. Because that was the last time she saw him. After that, she’d lived in a series of foster homes. People always remarked on what a good and silent child she was. She had finally learned that her talents were best kept to herself. So this morning when her boss, Josh Coates, calls her into his office to ask what she thinks of the new layout for the cola ad, she pretends she doesn’t hear him think, “Great lips, greater tits.” When she’s sitting in her office pondering sanitary napkin ad copy, and Josh and his partner, Fred, are in his office with the door closed, she pretends she doesn’t know they are joking about how she might use her mouth in bed. When they open the door and Fred gives her a “nice guy” smile and says “Partner stuff” to explain their lengthy meeting, and then Josh invites her to lunch at the downstairs coffee shop, she quips, “Hey, free food! You’ve got a deal.” And she pretends not to know he’s offered out of guilt for the way he’s been talking. “So, how’s it going?” he asks over his club sandwich. “You like the new job?” “It’s great,” says Katy, smiling brightly, pretending she doesn’t hear him wondering if she’s noticed that she’s doing the work of a manager on the salary of an assistant. She ignores his loud hope that she’ll just attend to the details he hates and not make demands like his pain-in-the-butt former assistant. Josh and Fred are 35 and 36, respectively. Katy is a youthful 52. She’s grateful for the job. She’d been looking for over a year. “You gonna eat that pickle?” asks Josh. “It’s yours,” says Katy, spinning her plate so he can take it and pretending not to know this is a test — a kind of litmus for how relaxed Josh can be with her. Can he be himself, or will he have to watch out for a lawsuit if he accidentally brushes against her in the hall between their offices? “I’ve never cared for pickles,” says Katy. At five o’clock when Josh says have a nice weekend, he’ll see her on Monday, Katy pretends not to feel that he feels ashamed of all his secret agendas, manipulations, and strategizing. She pretends not to know that he thinks she’s a really nice woman and he’s a really bad boy, and he wishes he could kiss her goodnight on her big, sensual lips and say he’s so sorry and please would she not think badly of him. Josh stops at the florist in Grand Central and buys a dozen white roses for his wife because he knows it will surprise and delight her, and that always makes him feel like he is a really good man, which is important because he knows deep down that he isn’t. Katy buys broccoli in garlic sauce, brown rice, and chicken with cashews at the Chinese takeout restaurant on her corner. Then she goes home to walk her dog. “Hey, Bozo,” she giggles as he licks her face clean of the rouge she uses to disguise her anemic complexion. Katy has a mild form of leukemia. It will be years before it becomes a problem, the doctor has assured her. She is grateful for a job with good medical coverage, and she feels a little guilty for pretending to be healthy on all the insurance forms. “You want to go to the park, Bozo?” she asks, grabbing his leash as he gallops out the door. After an exuberant half-hour of fetch, Katy and Bozo come home. Katy settles in front of the TV with still-warm Chinese takeout, while Bozo throws kibble about the kitchen. Ever since he was a puppy, he’s enjoyed playing with his food. Katy laughs and pretends she isn’t desperately lonely for somebody to share the sight of her giant mutt with floppy ears pouncing on a tiny piece of kibble. Josh is dead tired by nine o’clock, but he pretends to be happy to play tea party with his 10-year-old daughter. He pretends her high-pitched voice doesn’t wear on his nerves and that he doesn’t doubt his choice to have a child. He knows a father is not supposed to feel that way, so he smiles and laughs big when she tells him the same knock-knock joke she’s been telling all week. And at 9:30 when he tucks her into bed, he pretends he doesn’t wish her and his wife out of existence so that his life can be simple again. His own bedroom is already dark. “I love you, sweetheart,” he whispers as he climbs into bed beside his wife. “I’m glad you liked the roses.” “You knew I would,” she answers, snuggling against his chest, and instantly they both fall asleep. Katy turns off the eleven o’clock news. She gives Bozo a quick walk just to pee, then crawls into bed. She closes her eyes and feels Josh’s breath on her neck. She feels his arms pulling her close, pushing into her breasts with his hairy chest. She feels his mouth on hers, ever so softly nibbling her lower lip. She hears him say, “Katy, I want you. Please don’t hate me,” and she wonders if she can do this again and not go mad. “You’re asleep, Josh. You’re asleep.” “I know,” he answers. “I’m so sorry.” “You’re asleep, and I’m awake. Are you sure you want to do this?” “Please,” he implores her. “Please.” “Okay,” she murmurs, “okay.” And she lets him enter her. It feels good. Warmth surges through her pelvis and her heart floods. Monday morning Josh kisses his wife and daughter goodbye and boards the 8:05. He can tell by the sweater on the doorknob that Katy is already at work when he gets to his office. “Hi, Katy,” he calls, trying to sound Monday morning dull. “Hi, Josh,” answers Katy. “I’ll have those art estimates for you in a minute.” “No rush,” calls Josh. “D’you have a nice weekend?” “Fine, and you?” “Great,” says Josh dropping his briefcase and searching for coffee money in his middle drawer. “Hi,” says Katy. “Hi,” says Josh, thrown by her sudden presence in his doorway with an armful of files. She has a kind of radiance he’s never seen before. “Hi. You look nice.” And he instantly wonders if this is too forward. But Katy smiles easily. God, she’s gorgeous. Josh suddenly remembers his dream and blushes. He wonders if … but no, that’s stupid. Flaky and stupid. It was just a dream. “Hey, listen,” he says, “can I get you anything? I’m going downstairs for coffee.” “No thanks,” says Katy, gently placing the files on his desk and pretending she doesn’t know that he’s guessing that she knows about their rendezvous. And she wishes, oh how she wishes, that the truth weren’t always so damned lonely. © 2005 Betsy Robinson This story is a sketch for a new novel, Cats on a Pole. If you would like to receive publishing announcments, click on Newsletter at the top of the page. |
|
