Saving Phoebe Murrow: A Novel (21 page)

As Ron left the
Washington Post
building, he had to wipe the shit-eating grin off his face. He wondered if passersby noticed that his feet weren't even touching the ground. He'd done it! A new job, start as soon as you like, sure a story on Palin would be great, a little more money why not, though he'd have to oversee a few interns hell-bent on doing political stories. To follow in the footsteps of Woodward and Bernstein, the famous Watergate reporters. No problem, he thought, already savoring his new status.

He stopped off at Starbucks to grab some coffee before going back to the AP office, where he now had the unpleasant task of giving management notice. Of course, he'd offer to stay the requisite amount of time, but would request early departure. He knew they could survive without him. They might even be happy, given that they could replace him with someone younger, someone for far less pay.

In line ahead of him, he saw the back of a woman. Her ass-hugging jeans, her curvy figure, and the way she stood with a hand on one hip all reminded him of Sandy. He stared at her streaked hair, almost thinking it might be her. He willed her to turn, though when she did she looked nothing like Sandy, nor was she dressed in a cleavage-revealing top. He tugged his phone out of his pocket and called up her name in an email, then began to type.
Thursday looks good
, he wrote.
I don't have long, but meet me at the Quill in the Jefferson Hotel on 16th St at noon
. Satisfied, he tapped the word “send.”

Already he imagined how impressed she would be when she heard his news.

Today, when Phoebe opened her locker, hanging inside she found two images taped onto one piece of paper smiling at each other. One half was of Noah at the fall dance and the other of herself. The torn edges met in the middle. She knew it was Emma's work. The two routinely rendezvoused at their neighboring lockers, and each time they did, it boosted Phoebe's spirits. She realized how much she truly appreciated her willowy friend.

The images made her smile. Instead of showing her and Noah as they more often appeared – with shy grins or reticent smiles – they were laughing and dancing, not with each other, of course, though Emma had made it appear that way.

Underneath she'd written the caption:
What shoulda coulda woulda been! Maybe next time?!!

Phoebe thought about this, then decided she'd eventually reply by using images of herself and Shane. She neatly placed Emma's note between a stack of books, wrote a quick message back, and shoved it through a crack in Emma's locker.

It surprised Ron that he felt slightly nervous as the day for his lunch with Sandy approached. Now that he'd made a reservation at the Jefferson, he wished he'd invited her for a drink later in the day. Though he swallowed the crazy thought that surfaced briefly – making a hotel reservation and ordering room service – he understood his urges and knew he'd have to tame them. Nevertheless, as he sat at his desk, he couldn't help the wave of images that arose: first, Sandy slowly and teasingly stripping, revealing her large beautiful breasts, then kissing him with her slick tongue, sitting down on his lap and finally letting his thick cock slide in. In his imagination she was a perfect piece of ass, talented in the art of sex, waiting to devour him.

Isabel navigated the narrow, sun-drenched streets of Cleveland Park as she and Phoebe headed out to do some shopping. They'd decided to go to Westfield Mall on Democracy Boulevard, then head off to Georgetown, first to a thrift store and then to Dylan's. In an effort to conserve driving time, Isabel had set up an afternoon appointment with Amanda to review room parent tasks, while Dylan and Phoebe browsed more secondhand clothing stores.

While shopping with Phoebe, Isabel hoped to ask how things were going with Dr. Sharma. She had to wait for the right moment, but when it came she'd ease into the conversation.
How are you feeling about things, honey? What did Dr. Sharma say?
And so on.

She'd ask her, too, how she felt things had gone with Skyla and Liz a couple of days ago. Maybe that was the better place to start.

“Are you looking forward to your birthday party with Skyla?” she asked once they entered the mall, which literally vibrated with activity.

“Yeah, sure.”

Her answer seemed awfully lukewarm, Isabel thought. Hmm…how to probe without prying? “That doesn't sound entirely convincing. Are you sure you want to go through with it?”

“Yeah, it's fine.”

Clearly something else was on her mind.

“Anything you want to share with your mom?” Isabel poked her playfully.

“Well, as a matter of fact, there is,” she said quite seriously. “There's this guy I've met and I'd like to invite him.”

“Well, that shouldn't be a problem, should it?” Isabel asked. “Is Skyla objecting?” She'd noticed how much Skyla controlled the planning while chatting with her and Liz. Not to mention how clearly Liz was using the party as another means of currying favor with her and Ron. Another attempt at gaining entry to the Chevy Chase Club was underway.

“No, though I haven't mentioned it to her. He goes to another school,” Phoebe said.

“Oh? How do you know him?”

“He friended me on Facebook.”

“Oh,” Isabel said again, feeling some anxiety about this. “So you don't actually
know
him?”

“Well, not yet.”

Their conversation was cut short when Phoebe ran over to the cosmetic counter to test a new shade of lip gloss. Next they bought a pair of leggings for her at J. Crew. Twice she entered a dressing room and allowed her mother to join her. Neither time seemed quite right to dive into the sacred realm of cutting. Somehow, the intimacy of the situation – Phoebe was letting her see her scarred arms and legs – precluded any of the conversations Isabel had imagined. It relieved her that Phoebe hadn't further inflicted injury on herself. And, really, wasn't that enough?

Isabel purchased a pair of slacks at Nordstrom's and a sale shirt for Ron. They looked for a new video game for Jackson, discovered the store was awaiting a shipment, then left for a thrift shop Phoebe had discovered on the Internet.

Unwittingly, the route Isabel had chosen took them past Walter Johnson High School. Right past the chain link fence that surrounds the football field, where a raucous football game was underway, the bleachers crammed with students and parents. Cheers, shrill whistles and all the sounds that accompany a high school football game rose above the traffic noise.

“Go, Wildcats, go!!”

“Oh, my gosh, Mom, could we stop?” Phoebe said, craning her neck as she looked outside.

“What on earth for?” Isabel said.

“This is where Shane goes. He plays for Walter Johnson,” Phoebe said, as if Isabel should know.

“I take it Shane's the guy you mentioned earlier?” Phoebe nodded. Isabel added, “But, we have things to do, honey.”

“Fine!” Phoebe crossed her arms and stared out the window. “We can never
do
anything! You're always on a schedule. God, Mom, you are sooo
not
fun!”

Isabel stared at her daughter. How had they gone from having a perfectly lovely day to this? As much as she loved Phoebe, she couldn't wait until they could look back on these moments and laugh. One thing she was sure of: it couldn't happen soon enough. She sighed. “I don't think I deserved that, Phoebe. But if you really want to stop here, then fine. We can always go to the secondhand store another time.”

A wide grin replaced the scowl. “Really, Mom? Thank you. Thank you. You're the best.”

Isabel had to stop herself from rolling her eyes, shaking her head and heaving another sigh as she maneuvered the car into the jammed parking lot. “Now, can you tell me a little more about all this? Who is this boy?”

Phoebe's face transformed yet again – a bashful smile replacing her enthusiasm. “Well, a few weeks ago Shane friended me. He's new to the area and,” she glanced at Isabel sheepishly, “and he, well, he really wants to meet me.”

Though having Phoebe “meet” some stranger through the Internet conjured all the worst images, she was now glad she might actually lay eyes on him. It was this that allowed her to keep the alarm out of her voice. “Oh. Who else has he friended?” This was a call for caution and a return to Facebook ground rules. Isabel would discuss it with Ron; they'd set up new guidelines for the use of Facebook, and computer use in general (for both kids); they had set up controls, but she now realized their standards had relaxed at the very time when they ought to have become more vigilant.

“Pretty much all my friends,” Phoebe said.

“Skyla? Jessie? Emma?”

“Jessie, Emma, yes.” Then she added, “All of Skyla's friends. They all think he's adorable, Mom. He is sooo cute. Wait till you meet him.”

“Okay, but what about Skyla?”

“No…and I'm not sure why. I'll ask him.”

“Which is why you're worried that Skyla might not want to invite him?”

“A little.” But then excitedly she added, “He asked to see
me
.”

“You, and no one else?” She hoped Phoebe couldn't hear the distress in her tone.

“Well, I don't know for sure. He asked if I could meet up with him this weekend.” She sounded so full of eagerness, full of innocent desire, until she added, “But I told him I was grounded.” She released a disgruntled snort, which Isabel ignored.

Isabel found a narrow parking spot and pulled in. “I guess we're okay here for a few minutes. Be careful getting out.”

Phoebe nodded. “We don't have to stay long. I just want to be able to tell him later that I watched some of the game.” She turned to Isabel, her eyes alit like amber jewels. “Maybe I'll even see him!” Isabel nodded.

Inside the stadium, they stood at the end of the bleachers gazing off at the jerseys and helmets crashing into one another on the field. The other players huddled in tight packs along the sidelines behind their coaches, and two sets of cheerleaders thrust their pom poms high into the crisp air. A huge cheer rose from the fans. “Who's the best? Wildcats! Yes!”

“Do you know his number, honey?” It would ease her mind to put a face to a name. If she could see his face behind the mask. If he shed his helmet. But at least to have seen this mystery boy, even from a distance, would help.

Before Phoebe could answer, another shout erupted. “Push 'em back, push 'em back, way back!”

Phoebe grabbed her mother's arm. “Wait here a sec', okay?”

“Where are you going?”

“To ask someone Shane's number.”

“Okay, but you have your phone with you?” Isabel couldn't help asking.

“Really, Mom?” Her eyes widened. “I mean really?”

“I'll wait right here.” She stared after her daughter. Phoebe wore the leggings they'd just purchased and a long-sleeved lacy t-shirt with her navy blue Georgetown Academy sweatshirt draped over her shoulders. She had to admit that since Phoebe had slimmed down, she cut quite a figure, maybe accentuated by the tight clothes. No wonder this boy was after her. She'd have to talk to her about that. She knew how carnal boys were at this age, which reminded her of that wretched Michael. Not contacting his parents had galled her, but the implications for Phoebe had been too formidable. She did confide in Jane, and they'd agreed to spread word through the grapevine about his behavior without mentioning Phoebe.

Isabel checked her watch. It was nearly 1:30. As she gazed emptily at the game, she wondered about this latest development. It seemed only minutes ago that Phoebe had been mad for Noah. Now she seemed gaga over someone named Shane. Internet aside, she wasn't crazy about the fact that he attended a school way out here, but she tried not to be judgmental. After all, he might be a very smart, nice boy. More importantly, she would make a point of being present when Phoebe met this young man, whoever he was.

Less than ten minutes elapsed before Phoebe returned, her brow furrowed.

“What happened?” She wondered if Phoebe had inadvertently discovered this Shane character was a
player
.

“Well, I asked a couple of people and they didn't know him. No big deal,” she said, clearly trying to brush aside her disappointment. “I'll ask him.” Then a smile returned to her face. “At least I can tell him I saw part of his game.”

“It's a little odd though, isn't it?” Isabel's interest was piqued. No one knew him. That could be coincidence, after all, he was supposedly new, but as a member of the football team, you'd think…

“No, Mom. I mean I only asked three or four people. You can hardly expect everybody that goes to a game to know him,” Phoebe retorted.

She supposed Phoebe was right, but made a mental note to keep tabs on this situation. In fact, she'd encourage Phoebe to invite him to her birthday party, no matter what Skyla wanted. After staring at the guys on the field for a few more minutes, Phoebe seemed ready to leave.

“Should we grab a bite in Georgetown?” Isabel asked once back at the car.

“Sure, if we have time.” Phoebe gazed outside, as if her mind had already bounced elsewhere. “There's something I want to ask you, Mom. And it's kind of big. And important.” Phoebe turned and looked at her mother, apparently waiting before continuing.

“Okay, I'm all ears.” Now what, she thought as she carefully backed out and pointed the BMW toward the main road.

“There's a party in a couple of weeks and I'd really like to go. I think I've been acting responsibly and doing everything you asked me to. Right?”

Isabel suspected there was a catch to Phoebe's request, so she proceeded cautiously. “Yes, you've been fairly good.” She almost brought up the fall dance, and the fact that drinking had obviously taken place, but decided now was not the time. “And we really appreciate it. So who's having a party?”

“Jessie.”

Isabel's hands gripped the steering wheel more tightly. Why couldn't she get Phoebe away from her? Then she recognized Sandy's strategy. Be Party Central, have the house where kids congregate. Make your kid popular. If she didn't think Jessie was eager for popularity too, she'd actually feel sorry for the girl, burdened with a mother like that. She took in a deep breath. “You really want to go? Despite all the stuff that's been going on between the two of you?”

“What stuff?” Phoebe asked innocently.

“Come on, Phoebe, you know what I'm talking about.”

“You don't want me to go, I can tell. It's because
you
don't like Jess. Tell the truth.”

“I haven't said anything yet. Can we talk about it before you decide?”

“But I think Shane is going to be there.” Phoebe's voice had turned into a whine.

“I see,” Isabel said cautiously. “What about Noah? Don't you like him anymore?”

“Sure I do, but only as a friend.”

“But you haven't even met this guy. How do you know you'll even like him?”

“I just do.”

Isabel found this sad. The mercurial life of teens. “All right, but let's ask Dad about the party and…and this situation with Shane.”

“Situation?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Anyway, he already knows about him, Mom.”

What!?
She felt like shouting, but all she said was, “He does?” She'd deal with him later.

“Yeah, I told him last Sunday, after … you know, the whole stupid Michael thing. So, is that a strong maybe?”

Strong
maybe? Had she said that? She didn't think so. “All right, we'll discuss it,” Isabel said, although in her mind it was a
weak
maybe, if anything.