She’d been a wreck ever since HR had sent the fat and fussy little man she referred to as The Stick - because he acted like he had one stuck permanently somewhere unpleasant-had asked her into his office to resign due to too many questions about her expense account again. It had all seemed very petty to Selene at the time, but the fussy Stick was serious, so she’d packed her things as quietly as possible and slipped out the employee entrance.
Today Selene was feeling almost like her old self. She’d faced up to her finances that morning on a yellow legal pad and the numbers hadn’t been as scary as she’d feared. She had two more weeks of vacation pay coming, and she had a decent chance of qualifying for unemployment insurance, depending on what “dismissal for cause” meant. She’d also put her one good piece of jewelry, a bracelet, for sale in a consignment shop. According to her calculations if the bracelet sold, and unemployment insurance kicked in she’d be all right for a few months, enough time to find something else or come up with another plan. With that thought in mind, she looked forward to the lunch date that was on her docket for the day.
She was meeting two of her former co-workers, Margaret and Alicia, for lunch and to catch up, but more likely to gossip about a third. Alicia, someone Selene knew had always looked up to her, had tipped her off when she’d called to make arrangements. It seemed Carrie, a woman Selene had considered just another interchangeable person when they’d all worked together, had been picked up for shoplifting.
Selene stopped to check her reflection in a store window, fluff her hair, adjust the collar of her coat, and mentally prepare for lunch. I’ll just find something better, and then I’ll make the grand announcement.
Selene had been born in Rocklick, in the heart of West Virginia coal country, but was born knowing she wasn’t going to stay there. By the time she was twelve, the women in her neighborhood had begun commenting on her style, saying, Selene could go into the ragbag and come up with an outfit, or that girl Selene- she looks like the city- but Selene already knew that. She’d begun cultivating an image, a word she’d picked up and adopted the first time she heard it; setting herself apart, and looking for a way out.
Her way out had come when she turned nineteen, right after graduating with a degree in retail merchandising from West Virginia Northern Community College. She’d started “cultivating” the man married to her mother’s best friend; a man most people considered a hoopie, what West Virginians call someone who didn’t deserve the label hillbilly, and whose only redeeming quality was a late model BMW. After a few distasteful weeks of groping behind the VFW Hall, and after a few even more distasteful nights at the Motel 6 the hoopie asked his wife for a divorce and asked Selene to marry him and move to Pittsburgh.
As soon as they bought a house in the working-class suburb of McKeesport, Selene got a job, and soon after that a lawyer. After that she a got divorce and half the value of the house, which wasn’t bad because the hoopie had sold his BMW to make the down payment.
The only work Selene had been able to get when she and the hoopie had moved to Pittsburgh was as a size sorter for Jack the Jobber, a man who sold odd lots, over-runs, and seconds mail order to small apparel stores in backwater towns, and she’d hated it. The people there reminded her too much of the ones she’d left behind. Within a year she’d moved on to work for a small accessories wholesaler who sold cheap beads and bracelets and what he called fancy junk. From there she had become misses’ sportswear buyer for Hornes’s, a regional department store. She’d been planning her next move, to a bigger group of stores out of Boston, when The Stick had darkened her door.
By the time Selene reached Lavender’s her game face was firmly in place. She spotted Margaret and Alicia seated at a banquette near the rear.
Margaret, a sensible woman with three kids under six, who’d left Jack the Jobber to marry the town supervisor of Moon Township, a wide spot in the road near the airport, was holding court as usual, if only for an audience of one.
Alicia, who looked as cheery and plumb as always and was still working for Jack for reasons Selene could not fathom, waved from across the restaurant. “Selene! Selene! Over here!” She patted the banquette beside her.
By the time Selene slid into the seat, it was obvious they were well onto the topic at hand.
“But is it out of character?” Alicia asked. “I don’t know.” Selene watched as Alicia dug the innards out of a piece of French bread, roll them in olive oil, and slip the whole mess in her mouth. “Didn’t Carrie leave Jack to be some sort of artist?” She glanced over at Selene for approval. “But I’ve never known anyone who wanted to be an artist who seemed so down to earth. Nothing ever got to her.” “Something got to her this time,” Selene said laughing while making a point of examining the menu. “Didn’t you say a piece of jewelry got to her, one that didn’t belong to her?”
“You’re so funny,” Alicia said pushing the breadbasket toward her and signaling the waiter with the short ponytail for another glass of wine.
“Wait a minute Selene,” Margaret said raising her voice. “Do we know she actually stole something? All we know is that she was picked up. I mean this is America.”
“You’re right Margaret,” Selene said folding her menu. “I’m being bad.” She was enjoying the conversation and attention from Alicia too much to start a fight. “I guess I was never that close to Carrie- she was never really my type of person. But I like her. And we all know she was a hard worker.”
Margaret began to dig around in her shoulder bag. “I’d asked Carrie to join us today, but now I don’t think it was a good idea.” She found her phone and started to make the call.
“No, don’t call! Let her come!” Alicia said. “I like her, I do! I’m just not smart like her. She wears me out.”
“That’s right Margaret, don’t call. Don’t.” Selene reached out and grabbed Margaret’s arm. “I’ll be nice. My God, of course, I will.” She looked around for the waiter. Suddenly she was hungry.
Slowly Margaret put her phone on the table next to her water and all three reached for their wine glasses in silence.
After everyone had a second sip, Selene turned to Alicia. “If she’s so smart why doesn’t she make more money? After she left Jack the Jobber she went to work in the layout department of that exhibit house. She’s a glorified assistant. They make squat.”
“That’s it. I’m calling Carrie.” Margaret picked up her phone then abruptly put it back down. “Carrie!” she shouted and slid out of the banquette to greet her. “You made it!”
Margaret and Carrie hugged and murmured a few feet from the table while Selene checked Carrie out for signs of additional wear, but she looked the same: short brown hair, indistinct features. She was wearing the same camel color coat and red scarf she’d worn last winter.
“I might as well put it out there,” Carrie said as soon as she was seated, “because you’ve probably heard, I’ve had a rough week.”
“Yes, we’ve heard, terrible,” Selene said sounding concerned.
“Do you want to tell us about it?” Alicia asked hopefully.
Margaret put her hand up and answered the question. “No, she doesn’t. I asked Carrie to join us today for lunch. She doesn’t have to tell us anything.”
“No, that’s all right,” Carrie said. She sat with her arms folded across her chest and her eyes focused on her water glass. “I want to at least mention this thing, clear it up.” A respectful silence settled over the table. “I went to a resale place to put a few things on consignment. I know it sounds creepy, but it was a nice consignment store, the one on the corner of LaSalle and North Main…"
Selene felt her back stiffen.
Conclusion Next Week
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