S.D. Youngren - Rowena 3 - Rowena Deals With Life.txt Read online

  Rowena went back and sat with her dad and his ballgame. "Well?" asked her mother.

  "She's on her way."

  "Did she say that?"

  "Mom--"

  "Three balls two strikes!" said Rowena's father, leaning forward.

  "Just because nobody answered--" began Rowena's mother, when the doorbell rang. Rowena's father let out a groan and began to stamp his feet as Rowena's mother went to the door.

  When Rowena and her sister were little, their father took them to a petting zoo and bravely went up and fed one of the llamas a handful of food pellets. He held Rowena up so she could pet the llama's neck while it ate. Maralynne was still trying to reach through the fence to one of the turkeys; she joined them at the llama pen and their father boosted her up too; they stood with their feet on the fence and a big strong arm around each of them, the remaining pellets divided up among their cupped hands.

  "Hi, Dad," said Maralynne. "Happy Father's Day."

  He glanced up at her. "What are you wearing?" he asked. Maralynne looked down in surprise. She had on a tight, low-cut blouse, black vinyl miniskirt, and stiletto heels. "I always dress like this."

  "Disgusting. No daughter of mine--"

  "Dad, I've been dressing like this for ages. Don't tell me you've never noticed."

  "If I'd seen you like that I wouldn't have let you into the house," he grumbled.

  "You don't even look at me!"

  "Go put something decent on."

  "Dad-dy--"

  "Put on something decent!"

  Rowena caught her sister by the arm and pulled her into the hallway. "Come on," she said. "Let's get you fixed up."

  "Rowena--"

  "Just this once, okay? Because it's Father's Day."

  "Some father. He doesn't even know what I look like."

  "Yeah, well, you're not on a sports team, and you're not a cheerleader any more, either." Rowena opened the door to their parents' bedroom and pulled Maralynne inside. She locked the door. "Let's see if Mom has anything you can wear."

  "Rowena!"

  "Just for today. For Father's Day. Okay? Nobody will see you."

  "Brian's supposed to be coming over later."

  "He can't forgive you a slightly frumpy dress?"

  "Rowena, nothing'll even fit."

  "Pretend you're playing dressup again." Rowena pawed through the closet, came up with something she thought wasn't too bad. "Look, it's got a sash. You can belt it way in."

  "Oh, God."

  "Look." Rowena pulled out an ancient chartreuse thing with flowers of a suspicious off-lavender. "How 'bout if I wear this?"

  Maralynne stared at her a moment, then despite herself began to giggle.

  Maralynne stood in front of her father. "Er-hum," she said. "Dad?"

  He glanced up. "That's better," he said. He turned to Rowena. "Isn't that better?"

  "Sure," said Rowena, in her chartreuse-and-purple dress. He looked at her more closely.

  "I like that dress," he told her. "Is it new?"

  Brian arrived as they were starting dinner; in other words, just in time. Rowena went to let him in. He gawped at her.

  "What the hell's that?"

  "One of my mom's dresses. And if you say a word about the one Maralynne's got on, I will kill you. I will kill you with my own hands and I will not go to your funeral."

  "What the--"

  "I'm sure Maralynne will explain it all later. C'mon, dinner's ready."

  "Dinner?" And in he went.

  After dinner they did the presents. Maralynne had brought her father a beer stein, which was duly passed around and appreciated. Rowena's gift was a book of sports statistics, just in case there was anything the recipient didn't already know.

  He busied himself with this for several minutes, making h'mm-h'mm noises and occasionally reading a bit out loud. And then he let out a bellow.

  "Two years off!" he roared. "Don't they know ANYTHING? Look at that!" He showed the book to his wife, who stared at it uncomprehendingly; then thought the better of that and shoved it at Brian.

  "The year they claim Gaylord Perry started in the majors. Right there. How stupid can you get?"

  Brian looked, dutifully. "Which way are they off?"

  "Which way?"

  "I mean, I'm not, like, real up on all the old days and stuff."

  "Old days? Old days? Let me tell you--How do--When--What do you know, anyway?"

  "Daddy--"

  "Oh, right; I don't know anything. You still owe me ten bucks on the Knicks game."

  "Brian--"

  "The Knicks? Listen--"

  "Oh, stop that," said Rowena's mother. "Who wants cherry pie and who wants lemon?"

  "Just see if I ever do anything nice for him again," said Maralynne, gathering up her miniskirt. She was near tears.

  "We should have--I don't know." Rowena sighed. Maralynne slumped into the bathroom (she had wanted to change there because the mirror was better), and Rowena kicked off her shoes and unzipped her dress. She thought she heard something like crying from behind the door; she hesitated, and decided to ignore it tactfully. She got dressed, and presently the crying stopped. She was sitting on the bed reading an article in one of her mother's magazines ("Should You Look For Your Biological Parents?") when Maralynne called her.

  "Yes?"

  Maralynne stood there in her underthings. "I'm getting a stomach, aren't I?"

  "What?"

  "Tell me the truth; am I getting a stomach?"

  "Maralynne, you just ate."

  "Look at me!" Rowena looked. Front view and side.

  "No," she said. "You are not getting a stomach."

  "You're just saying that."

  "Maralynne, why are you asking for an opinion if you won't believe it when you get it? Your stomach is fine. You don't have one."

  Maralynne stood a bit longer. "My ankles are fat."

  "Maralynne--"

  "They're fat. I should start wearing those shoes with the thick heels. But they'd make the rest of my legs look too thin."

  "Your ankles are fine. You just see them from the wrong angle."

  "Yours are better than mine."

  "Maralynne, for Pete's sake. Why don't you just go home, have a nice--"

  "Fight. Brian's gonna be furious."

  "So go to a movie. Or--" Rowena was surprised at herself. "Walk in the door and start right off telling him how angry you are with Dad. He'll have to either agree with you or say something nice about him."

  Maralynne considered. She smiled. "Maybe I should put this stupid dress back on," she said. "Tell him Dad wouldn't let me change."

  "Is this supposed to be evidence, or is it comic relief?"

  Maralynne laughed. She gave her sister a pat on the cheek, as if Rowena were much younger than she instead of a little older, stepped back into the bathroom and closed the door.

  Rowena sat back down on the bed. She looked at the article she'd been reading. "`When I was little,' says Amanda, `I wanted my real parents to be circus clowns.'"

  Rowena looked up at the ceiling and started to laugh.

  Rowena Catches Cold

  Fiction by S. D. Youngren

  --------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  Rowena sat with her head on her desk. It had been a while since she had moved. "Tell Eloise I'm going home sick," she said. A hand pressed itself against her forehead.

  "Youch!" said Molly's voice. "You better go to the doctor."

  Rowena didn't even open her eyes. "He'd just tell me to stay home," she said.

  "What's going on here?" asked Lorraine.

  "Rowena won't go to the doctor." Another hand materialized on her head.

  "H'mmm," said Lorraine. "Macky had a fever like that once. Apparently when a baby--"

  "Rowena's not a baby."

  "Do you have a thermometer?"

  "What, in my desk?"

  "What's going on here?" asked Berna.

  "Rowena's sick," said
Lorraine. "Feel her forehead."

  "Lorraine--" said Rowena. Berna's hand came after her too.

  "Wow!" said Berna. "I mean, uh, you seem to have a fever."

  "Thank you, Dr. Kildare," said Molly.

  "What's all the fuss?" asked Leslie Campbell.

  "Get him out of here," said Rowena.

  "She can't be too sick," said Berna.

  "Scat, Leslie," Molly said. "Shoo."

  "Oh, come on," said Leslie.

  "If you don't leave right now," said Berna, "I'm telling Eloise you're the one who ate her brownies."

  "Shit." Silence. Then Lorraine asked, "Was he the one?"

  "I wouldn't be surprised."

  There was a brief pause. Rowena listened to her blood crashing around. Maybe if it calmed down a little, the room would stop rocking. She shivered violently. She would never be warm again.

  "I suppose everybody's had lunch," said Molly. "Who's going to take her home?"

  "Just sign out. Whoever."

  "Eloise would never approve such a frill." Berna was doing her Eloise imitation.

  "Employees are not frills."

  "I could name a few," said Berna.

  Rowena had meant to go home herself without bothering anybody, if at all possible. But now she wanted Sammy.

  "She looks like she couldn't even give directions."

  Somebody picked something off her desk. "Is her mother in here?" asked Lorraine. Rowena managed to rouse herself. She picked up the phone and dialed Sammy's office.

  "You see?" Lorraine waxed sentimental. "The mere mention of her mother and she feels better."

  Sammy tucked her into the jacket he'd brought and zipped her up. There were still a few other people around, but Rowena didn't pay much attention to them. "Your keys are in here, right?" he asked, picking up her purse. "Mind if I dig them out?"

  "Fine," said Rowena. She didn't ask why. Sammy pawed around a while, and brought the keys up with a jingle. "Okay," he said. "Are you ready?"

  "I hope so."

  "Come on. Careful, now." He helped her stand, helped her walk, supporting her with a strong, comforting arm. Some of the bustle seemed to be coming with them; she let Sammy take care of that, too. They went out the door; there was a final volley and things went quiet.

  "Okay," said Sammy. "Here we go." He got the car door open--the door to her car, the passenger's door--and helped her inside. He tilted her seat back for her, carefully. "Is that going to be all right?"

  "What about your car?" she mumbled. He put her purse on her lap and she clutched at it.

  "I'll take a cab back here and drive home. Don't worry, Sweetheart; everything's going to be taken care of."

  She sat with her eyes closed, spinning, just beginning to shiver again, her stomach sullen. She felt his hand on her face. In another minute she would cry.

  "Get back, Linus! Linus!" Finally Sammy picked her up and carried her so she wouldn't be stumbling over her dog. He got her to the bed and set her down, not quite on top of her pet. The room tipped and swung; Rowena wished she could just fall and get it over with. But she was lying down; she was lying down, and she was home at last.

  "Should I leave him here?" Sammy asked. "Or lock him out?"

  "Leave him." Linus settled himself down and Rowena put her hand on him. He looked at her with big worried eyes. "Oh, Linus," said Rowena. "Linus."

  "Do you have any flannel pajamas or long johns or anything?" Sammy asked.

  "The bottom drawer there." The chills came back and Rowena's grip on Linus tightened. He squirmed loose and poked at her with his nose. She wiggled her fingers at him and he came to be petted.

  "Here we go," said Sammy. Rowena winced, seeing what he held: the old greyish pair with the great big menstrual-blood stain on the bottoms. "Nice and toasty," Sammy said. They were; it was the only reason she hadn't thrown them out. He changed her bottom half first and slid it into bed; then changed her top half and tucked her in properly. He fetched a couple of extra blankets and turned up the furnace. He found her thermometer and stuck it into her mouth. He checked her cupboards and fridge for fruit juice and soft foods, and her bathroom for cold-and-flu remedies. He pronounced her temperature to be 104.2, brought her some juice and toast, propped her carefully up, and sat by her as she ate.

  "How do you feel?" he asked. He managed not to make the question sound stupid; he sounded concerned and very sweet.

  "A little better," Rowena said. "Thank you." She meant it.

  "You just relax and eat what you can. I'll get you more if you want." He smiled at her. "Am I supposed to remind you to drink up your juice?"

  "If you like." Rowena stared at her toast and tried not to go to pieces.

  "Anything special you'd like from the store?"

  "Oh, I don't know. I'm just . . ." She let it trail off. She had no strength.

  He kissed her temple. "Let me fix up your thermometer for next time. Just relax." He left; she could hear him moving about in her bathroom. There was something comforting in this, and something comforting in the muffled roar of the furnace, and in Linus' small soft body and the bright strawberry jam on her toast. The room still had a tendency to spin around her from time to time, but she tried to hold onto these things, to the warmth and the snugness of them. She closed her eyes.

  "I'll set your thermometer here," said Sammy. "And here's a refill on the juice."

  "Thank you."

  "So . . . I guess I'm going to the store now." It was a question. "Try and get some sleep."

  "Okay." He helped her settle herself. "Sammy?"

  "Yes?"

  "There's a locksmith about two blocks down from the store. Could you get my keys copied, please? So you can have a set to keep?"

  She opened her eyes and looked at him. He bent and gave her a sort of modified hug and kissed her.

  "Will do," he said.

  "Thank you."

  "Thank you." He squeezed her hand, put it on top of her stomach, and gave it a few pats. "Now stop expressing gratitude and get some rest. I'll be back soon."

  Rowena watched, smiling, as he told Linus to take care of her and produced a biscuit as a bribe. He waved to her as he left.

  Rowena lay in bed waiting for him to come back. Under all those blankets she was finally warming up a bit, and the juice seemed to be calming her stomach and keeping the dizziness under control. Linus lay watchfully beside her. She hoped dogs couldn't catch what she had.

  Perhaps she could even get some sleep.

  She stroked Linus a few times, looked over at Sammy's jacket on the back of her chair, and closed her eyes.

  Rowena Minds Some Children

  Fiction by S. D. Youngren

  --------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  Rowena answered the phone to find her mother at the other end. "I was wondering," her mother said, "if you'd like to pick up some extra money."

  Rowena couldn't imagine. She tried to keep her voice level. "How?" she asked, and waited.

  "My friend Libby Antwerp needs a babysitter for her grandkids--"

  "No," said Rowena.

  "Rowena, dear, you haven't even heard--"

  "Mom, I'm not fifteen any more. I don't need--"

  "Rowena, you'd be doing poor Libby a favor. She has--"

  "Mom, I really--"

  "Just for a few hours, Rowena. They'll be no trouble at all."

  "Mom--"

  "I've seen their pictures; they're adorable. Libby's supposed to watch them, but she's had this emergency--"

  "What about Kimberly Chen? She must need money for college."

  "Oh, no; Libby wouldn't like that. Not--you know--an Asian girl."

  "Absolutely, positively NOT."

  "Rowena, she doesn't mean anything by it; she's just a bit set in her ways."

  "She can leave the kids with David Duke. I--"

  "I already told her you'd be happy to."

  "Mo-ther!"

  "I'll pick you up and take you there. It w
on't be any trouble; I have to drive Libby anyway."