I crossed the street right before the music store, five-dollar bill ready in my hand. I’d eat well tonight.
I was right. Hurricane Phoebe slowed her roll right off the coast of Cuba and came gusting in as a tropical storm instead. I’d eaten my chestnuts in the dark, listening to the wind and the rain. Even if there weren’t a tropical storm I would have eaten my chestnuts in the dark. I’m morbid like that. On Friday morning, my best friend called to check on me. She yodeled as soon as I picked up. I already knew she was going to, so I was holding the phone away from my ear.
“Must you always?” I asked, slipping on my heels and snatching up my purse.
“I need to exercise my vocal cords before a show.”
But, it was all a lie. She yodeled every time she called. It was obnoxious.
“I’m heading to work,” I said. “I have class tonight.”
“Fine! I was just calling to see if you were alive. Saw Phoebe on the news…”
“Good luck tonight, Seets. Love you.” I hung up just as she was yelling something about “Break a leg.”
After college, I came home and Seeta went home to London. She was working in the ensemble of a big time musical. We hadn’t seen each other in three years, but we spoke every day. As soon as I finished law school I’d go see her. Or at least that’s what I told myself. My mother’s insurance money was draining quickly. I could have gone to law school in Boston and had a cheaper ride, but I wanted to take my bar and get licensed in my home state of Florida. The school wasn’t as prestigious and the weather wasn’t as nice, but at least I was…home.
“Olivia,” Bernie said, when I walked in the door. “I need you to do something and you’re not going to like it.”
“What?” I said suspiciously.
In the past Bernie had asked me to do a number of distasteful chores, including taking her cat to be spade, and taking her greasy, touchy feeley brother for drinks while she was in a meeting.
“I need you to go to a toy store. It’s my goddaughter’s birthday, and it’s too late to order something online.”
I pushed up my bottom lip until it pushed up the top one.
“Mmmkay,” I said. Because a toy store actually sounded like fun. When was the last time I was in a toy store? I got the logistics of the gift, the age, the interests, and I peeled out of work, glad for the few hours of free time.
It was eleven o’clock in the middle of the week. The aisles were empty except for a few stragglers here and there. I passed a father and a little girl who were talking animatedly about dolls. She had about five of them lined up on the floor, and she was crouching in turn in front of each one, presumably making her choice.
He glanced up as I walked by, and for a second, he looked familiar. I didn’t know men like him—with children and camel-colored shoes that cost a month of my salary. I breezed past and found the aisle with the Barbie dolls. Bernie told me to find an ambitious Barbie. A lawyer, but not a doctor…maybe a vet. I scanned the shelves. Most of the Barbies were professional sluts, beach bums or clubbers. I was at a loss when I felt a little tug on my dress.
The little girl I saw earlier was staring up at me.
“Whatcha looking for?”
“A smart Barbie,” I said. “Have you seen one?” She scrunched her cheeks up until her eyes almost disappeared. “My daddy is smart. He likes money.”
I nodded agreeably. “I wonder if any of these Barbies like money?”
“That one.” She pointed a chubby finger at a Barbie wearing a fur coat and gold sunglasses. I stifled a laugh and picked the box up. It would be funny to see Bernie’s face…
“Cora…?” A man came around the corner, his face a little panicked. “You can’t just run off like that. I thought someone took you.”
“I’m helping her choose a Barbie,” she said to her father.
He picked her up, squeezed her, and turned to me.
“She wanted a smart Barbie,” she informed him.
“And you picked that one, eh?”
I held the box awkwardly looking at them, not sure if it was okay to walk away, or if I was technically involved in a conversation.
“Looks like her mother,” he mouthed at me. “Not smart.”
This time I did laugh. “What does that make you?”
He grinned at me. “An idiot.”
He set Cora down, and she ran off to look at the Barbie house on display.
I took his minute of distraction to look at his ring finger. Bare. Naked. Nude. A nudist finger. A divorced finger. Or he could have stuck his ring in his pocket to come over and hit on me. He had an accent. British, I think. Maybe that’s how they do things where he comes from. I make to leave; my Barbie and I, when he grabbed Cora’s hand and followed me. She wailed, but he swung her up on his hip and handed her the toy she chose earlier.