Two by Two(75)

"I spoke with her last night. After Vivian left."

"Ah."

"What do you mean by ‘ah'?"

"You know the old saying: The quickest way to get over someone is to get over someone else."

"Classy."

"Don't blame me," she said. "I didn't invent the expression. And we both  know it goes for women, too. As in, the quickest way to get over  someone is to get under someone else."

"Emily and I are just friends."

She reached over and gave my shoulder a squeeze. "Keep telling yourself that, little brother."





After Marge left, getting to the office was easy, but immersing myself  in work was more elusive. While the emotional intensity of the last two  days didn't come close to rivaling the days immediately following  Vivian's announcement that she was in love with Spannerman, my reserves  were low. Too much had happened in too short a time; it hadn't even been  a month since all the upheaval began.

Nonetheless, there were things to do. At the top of the agenda was  ensuring that the filming of Taglieri's fourth commercial was on track.  By the time I reconfirmed everything, I was surprised to see an email  from the editor, stating that the editing for the third commercial, the  one featuring the child actress, was complete.         

     



 

Because the third commercial had turned out so well, my instincts were  to start airing both the initial one as well as the third, right away. I  left a message at Taglieri's office suggesting that, and soon received  the go-ahead. As I locked in the schedule with the cable company, I felt  a familiar thrill at the thought that my work-and my company-would soon  reach hundreds of thousands of people.

On a less thrilling note, I also left two messages at the dance studio. Ms. Hamshaw had yet to return my call.

London was all smiles when I spotted her at pickup amongst her  classmates, and though she walked more slowly than usual to the car, I  could tell already that she'd had a good day.

"Guess what?" she said as soon as she climbed into the car. "My teacher let me be her helper today. It was so much fun!"

"What did you do?"

"I got to help her hand out papers and I got to collect them. And I got  to clean the whiteboard with the eraser during recess. But then she let  me color on it and I got to erase that, too. And I got to wear a badge  that said ‘Teacher Helper' all day."

"And you could do all that with your sore wrist?"

"I just used my other hand," she said, demonstrating. "It was easy. And at the end of the day, I got a lollipop."

"That sounds like a pretty amazing day. Do you need my help buckling yourself in?" I'd had to do it for her that morning.

"No," she said. "I think I can do it now. I had to learn to do a lot of stuff with one hand."

I watched as she tugged at the seatbelt. Though it took a bit longer than usual, she was finally able to manage.

I pulled out of the lot and was beginning to accelerate on the road when I heard her voice again.

"Hey Daddy?"

My eyes flickered to the rear view mirror. "Yes, sweetheart?"

"Do I have to go to dance tonight?"

"No," I said. "The doctor said that you should probably take it easy this week."

"Oh," she said.

"How was your head today? And your wrist?"

"My head didn't hurt at all. My wrist hurt sometimes but I tried to be strong like Bodhi."

I smiled. "Is Bodhi strong?"

"He's very strong," she said, nodding. "He can pick up everyone in the whole class. Even Jenny!"

I gathered Jenny was big for her age. "Wow," I said. "I didn't know that."

"Do you think I could go over to Bodhi's house? I want to see Noodle again."

I flashed to an image of Emily. "I'll have to ask Bodhi's mom, but if  it's all right with her, it's all right with me. Not this week,  though-maybe next week, okay? Since you should be resting?"

"Okay," she said. "I like Miss Emily. She's nice."

"I'm glad," I said.

"And it was fun going to the zoo with her and Bodhi. Can I see the pictures I took on your phone?"

I handed my cell phone back to her and she began scanning through the  pictures. She reminisced about the animals she'd seen and what they'd  been doing, and as she chattered on, I noticed that London didn't  mention her mother at all, even though she'd seen Vivian the day before.

London, I realized, had grown accustomed to spending time with me alone, for better or for worse.





Because she'd watched television for much of the day before, I didn't  want to park London in front of the electronic babysitter again. At the  same time, I had to limit her activity, and we'd already done the  coloring thing not too long ago, so I was at a bit of a loss. On a whim,  I decided to swing by Walmart on the way home from school. There, I  chose a board game called Hoot Owl Hoot! The box explained that the goal  of the game was to help the owls fly back to their nest before the sun  came up. Each player drew a color card and flew an owl to a color tile  on the way to its nest, but if a player drew a sun card, the game moved  one step closer to sunrise. All the players won if the owls made it back  to their nests in time.

I figured that it was something both of us could handle.

London was thrilled to visit the toy section of the store, and she  wandered from one side of the aisle to the other, enthralled by one item  after the other. More than once, she pulled an item from a shelf or  rack and asked if she could have it; while I was tempted to give in, I  didn't. Nearly everything she'd shown me would have held her interest  for only a few minutes after we returned home, and her toy box and  shelves were already bursting with neglected stuffed animals and  knickknacks.

The game ended up being a hit. Because the rules were simple, London got  the hang of it quickly, and she was alternately overjoyed or  despondent, depending on whether the owls appeared as if they would make  it home in time. We ended up playing four games at the kitchen table  before she began to tire.         

     



 

Afterward, I relented when she asked if she could watch TV for a while,  and she lay on the couch, yawning. Maybe it was just Vivian's voice  harping in the back of my mind, but I felt that I still needed to let  Hamshaw know about the accident. Because she hadn't returned my call,  however, I felt like I had to do it in person.

I told London about swinging by the studio, loaded her in the car, and  spotted Ms. Hamshaw in what I assumed was her glass-walled office.  London elected to stay in the car. Ms. Hamshaw had looked over at me as  soon as I entered, but took her time before finally making her way over  to me.

"London wasn't in class on Monday," she observed, arching an eyebrow in  apparent displeasure, before I even had a chance to speak.

"She was in a pretty bad accident on her bike," I said. "I left you a  couple of voicemails. She ended up at the hospital. She's recovering,  but she won't be in class today or Friday, either."

Ms. Hamshaw's expression did not change. "I'm glad to hear she's all  right, but she has a performance coming up. She still needs to attend  class."

"She can't. The doctor says she has to take it easy this week."

"Then unfortunately, she can't perform in the recital next Friday night."

I blinked. "Excuse me?"

"London has already missed two classes. If she misses a third, she's not  eligible to perform. You may feel that to be unfair, but it's one of  the ground rules of the studio. She was informed of that when she signed  up."

"She was sick the first time," I said, with dawning incredulity. "On Monday, she was unconscious."

"I'm sorry to hear of her misfortune," Ms. Hamshaw said, sounding  anything but. "As I said earlier, I'm glad she's recovering. But rules  are rules." With that, she crossed her skinny arms.

"Is this because she needs to practice? She's one of the trees and she  showed me what she's supposed to do. I'm sure if she's here next week,  she'll have more than enough time to master it."

"You're missing the point." Ms. Hamshaw's mouth was a thin line. "I have  rules for the studio because parents and students will always find a  reason not to come to class. Someone is sick or a grandparent is  visiting or there's too much homework. I've heard every excuse  imaginable over the years, but I can't foster a culture of excellence  unless everyone shows commitment."

"London's not participating in any competitions," I reasoned. "She hasn't been chosen to do so."

"Then perhaps she should practice more, not less."

I squelched the urge to let Ms. Hamshaw know what I thought of her  ridiculous little quasi-military operation, and instead said patiently,  "What do you suggest that I do? Since her doctor told us to limit her  activity?"

"She can come to class and sit in the corner and watch."