After that, life was good for them. They went on vacations, Catie's grades improved, and they were genuinely a happy family. When Catie was eighteen, the Johnsons were killed in a car accident. I didn't think Catie was going to make it through that time. Sophie and I couldn't get her to leave the house at first. She barely made it to the funeral, and everybody wondered what would become of her.
She would talk to me about missing her parents, but she didn't cry much. The Johnsons had left her their four-bedroom house, three insurance policies worth over three hundred and fifty thousand dollars, and a Mercedes-Benz coupe. My parents helped her to sell the house and put the money in a trust. Catie moved in with us for about a month; during that time she was accepted into several colleges, but she opted for the University of Santa Cruz.
Mom was excited. She helped Catie get all of her financial aid paperwork filled out and found grants and scholarships to pay for Catie's education. Mom paid for most of Catie's other expenses, because she didn't want Catie to get accustomed to spending the money the Johnsons had left her. Mom's biggest disappointment came when Catie dropped out of school after one semester. We couldn't figure out what had happened, because Catie had gotten A's in every class. She told Mom that school just wasn't for her, and she wasn't going back. Shortly after that, Andrew died, and Mom wasn't able to keep up with Catie anymore. Mom would not be happy if she knew Catie's current situation.
“Look,” Catie said, pointing a manicured finger at me. “I have a date in forty minutes, and you agreed to drive me. Can you just do that, please?” She blinked her eyes a few times, looking as if she wanted to cry.
I didn't pry. Keeping my word, I drove her to the appointment, which was somewhere in San Bruno, north of the airport. We just stayed quiet. I don't know what she was thinking, but I didn't want to do small talk, and I didn't want to get into a serious conversation, so I just kept my mouth shut.
When we pulled up in front of a huge house with beautiful landscaping and a red sports car parked in the driveway, Catie added some lip gloss, sighed, and got out. I watched her clop up to the front door in her six-inch red sandals. When the door opened, she quickly disappeared inside.
It didn't really make sense for me to be driving her. I wondered what would happen if she came running out and needed my help. What if I couldn't get the car started fast enough? Or what if the man came after me? Also, it was just irritating as hell, sitting in that car and knowing what she was doing inside. Of course, leaving wasn't an option, and I had forgotten to bring along something to read.
I tried to call Sophie, but she didn't answer. This was the third time that week that I had tried to reach her but didn't get through. I checked my voicemail and played a card game on my cell phone. I must have dozed off, because I woke up to knocking on the window.
“Open the door!” Catie growled, irritably.
That was fast! Or was it? How long had I been asleep?
When she got in, she threw her shoes into the back seat and stared straight ahead. I wanted to know what had happened, but she seemed so moody. When I asked if she wanted something to eat, she ignored me. When I asked her how to get back to the freeway, she pointed.
“What happened in there, Catie?” I asked her as we headed toward the freeway entrance.
She didn't say anything.
“Catie?”
“He wanted Greek, and I said no,” she finally said in a nonchalant tone.
“Why?”
“Because I don't do that.”
“I thought you did everything.”
“Well, I don't!” she yelled.
I looked over at her sharply. She had asked me to drive her out here, had ignored me almost the whole way down, had an attitude on the way back, and now she was yelling at me. I wasn't going to keep putting up with that.
“Contrary to what you and anybody else might think about me,” she said, “I do have rules and I do
not
do everything. Okay?”
That did it!
“Catie!” I snapped. “I drove you out here. You know I don't like doing this, but I did it because I'm your friend and because you asked me to. You acted crappy all the way down here. I don't have to be here, and I don't appreciate you talking to me like that. All I've ever been is a friend to you, and when you get in these moods, you take your frustrations out on me. I don't care if that man in there wanted you to be Greek, Iranian, or French. You don't get to take that problem out on me.”
“Are you kidding me?” she asked.
“What?” I asked, irritated.
“Greek is a
position
, Anaya, not a nationality.”
Who the hell knew that?
“Well, whatever. I don't know about all that. Why are you so mad? And why are you leaving so early?”
“I'm mad because he's one of my regulars. That was four thousand dollars.” She smacked her teeth like a little kid. She always had been a pouter.
“Well, it just wasn't meant to be,” I said dryly.
Did she say four thousand dollars?
“Catie, do you get paid by the hour?”
I knew it was off-subject, but I was curious.
“What?” she shrieked.
“Do you get paid by the hour or by . . . the things you do?” I sounded like I was in grade school.
“It depends,” she said after a long pause.
“And do you have sex every single time you have these appointments?”
I could feel her glaring at me.
“Yes, I do,” she said slowly. “I could try to make it sound all glamorous, and tell you sometimes they just wanna talk or have somebody keep them company, but that's not true. I deal with men who have people around them who listen all damn day to what they have to say. They don't want that. They don't want conversation. They don't need companionship. They have wives, kids, and employees for that. They want sex, Ny! Every time I see them, they wanna have sex with me, in one way or another. They wanna fondle me. They wanna kiss me. They want me to be their whore. Sometimes they want me to be their mama. Hell, one wanted me to be his damn third-grade teacher.”
I held up my hand. “Too much information, Catie.”
“Well,
you
asked,” she said, and pushed her seat far back. We were quiet the rest of the way home.
Catie showered as soon as we got to her apartment. I sat in the living room, looking at some pictures she had on the table. She was on a beach somewhere, looking gorgeous. There was a whole pile of pictures, but they were all of her. I wondered who had taken them. In contrast to the photos, she finally came into the living room in sweats and a tank top, with her wet hair in a high ponytail, looking exactly like she did when we were in high school.
“Anaya,” she said, handing me two hundred-dollar bills and a fifty, “thank you for driving me tonight.”
“No big,” I said, taking the money.
“No, it is a big deal. It's a big deal to you, and it's a big deal to me. I know how you feel about this. Thank you for putting that to the side, to be there for me. You're the only person I know who cares about me like that. Everybody else only comes around because they need something from me. People always got their hands out for something. You aren't like that. You never have been. You're a good girl, Ny. I've never met anybody like you. I know I don't say this much, but I'm glad we're friends.”
This was a rare moment for Catie. She was a lot of things, but hardly ever vulnerable. I knew it was hard for her to say all this, so I didn't interrupt. I just let her talk.
Finally, after she was quiet for a while, I asked, “Why do you wanna go back to school?”
“I'm tired, girl. Tired of being used. Tired of getting screwed. Tired of being tired.” She got quiet again.
“So, what do you wanna do?”
“I don't know. Event planning maybe? I could open up a small office downtown once I build up a clientele. But I wanna do it right. I don't wanna have to hire a bunch of people to do stuff for me. I wanna know how to do it myself. But first I've gotta finish my education. It would mean a lot to Mama and Pop.”
This was only the second or third time I ever heard her mention them. And as she did, her eyes filled with tears. When she stood to go into the kitchen, I gave her a hug.
“I'll call you tomorrow,” I said.
“Okay,” she said, hugging me back.
“Love you,” I said, stepping into the elevator.
She didn't respond.
S
ometimes I went to the faculty offices after hours to study. The offices had only recently closed for the day, so the lights were still on. I made a cup of coffee and set up my books. I studied for only five minutes before I started thinking about Catie.
School would be a big change for Catie, in a good way. For the past few years, she partied with celebrities and shopped in places that most folks can only dream of. Living the life of a student would almost make her average again. I didn't know how she would handle that. My heart ached for my friend. When I heard my tears hit the textbook, I didn't bother to wipe them away.
“Anaya?”
I almost jumped out of my skin.
“Hi, Professor Alexander,” I said, absent-mindedly wiping my face with the back of my hand. “I didn't realize anyone else was here. I'm just here studying for my microeconomics class.”
He gave me a funny look.
“That's fine. I thought everyone was gone already. I'm gonna step out for a bit. I will be back.”
“Okay,” I said.
“Get back to the books,” he smiled, then walked away.
“Thanks,” I said. I was worried that he had seen me crying. After studying for about an hour, I got restless and wandered into his office. He still hadn't gotten back.
He was apparently very busy, because his office looked as if he had slept there. Disheveled papers littered his desk, and there was a pair of shoes in the corner by the couch. Instinctively, I started to clean up the mess. As I sorted through the papers, I found all of the graded student assignments and piled them together. All of his office-related memos and documents went into another pile, and all of his assignments in progress and ungraded papers went into two separate piles. As I cleaned the desk, a woman and a small child stared at me with big smiles from a picture frame on the wall. Aside from the shoes and a pair of socks, his office was now tidy. I put the shoes under his desk and placed the socks in the desk's bottom drawer.
“Is everything okay, Anaya?” Professor Alexander asked, walking into his office.
I jumped. As I closed the drawer, I slammed my finger. I searched my brain for words, but it was all I could do to mask the sharp pain in my finger.
“I straightened up your office a little bit.” I moved toward the door. My finger still throbbed.
He looked around the room, back at me, and then at his desk drawer.
“You had some socks over in the corner,” I said, still embarrassed. “I put them in the desk drawer.”
He didn't say anything.
“I'm sorry,” I stammered. “I came to take a break from studying, and when I came in here, it looked a little . . . well, it looked like you had been busy. I know you don't normally keep your office like that . . . I mean, messy . . . so I tried to straighten it up a bit.”
“Thank you for straightening the place up for me,” he said. “Believe it or not, I'm normally a pretty neat person.”
He smiled, but he looked tired. He put his briefcase on a chair and sat down at his desk.
“Did you get the e-mail I sent about helping me with that assignment?” he asked.
“Yes, I got it.”
“And?”
“I'll look it over and get back to you by Friday. Is that too late? Professor Klein has me working on a project. I should be finished with it by Friday.”
“That'll be fine. There's no rush, so if you have other things going on, I understand. I know the university fair is coming up, and I'm sure the Young Dems want to get a booth prepared.”
How does he know I'm a member of the Young Democrats?
I looked at him to see if I could find the answer in his face; nothing.
“You're right,” I said. “We want to get a booth set up, but we haven't been able to get approval yet. The Student Services office in charge of the fair is trying to limit the booths to on-campus organizations.”
“Oh, really? Is that a new policy?”
“I don't know, but it sure sucks.”
He smiled. I did, too.
“Well, I guess it's always good to be passionate about something,” he said, looking down at his desk. “Anyway, I have to get some work done, soâ”
“Right. Me, too. See ya.”
I turned around and almost tripped over a box of files.
He smiled. I didn't.
I straightened up and got out of there as gracefully and as quickly as I could.
The next morning when I got to work, I continued Professor Klein's project. As absorbing as the work was, it was not hard to notice that the cute mail-delivery guy had breezed into the faculty offices as cheerful as ever. He was always singing or humming. I don't think I ever saw him in a down mood. I couldn't figure out why it irritated me a little that he was so happy all the time. You'd think I'd be more appreciative of his appearances; after all, he was the cutest guy who ever came into that office, with great biceps and a Colgate smile. I'd never seen him anywhere around campus and never had him in a class, so I figured he was a freshman. I was always polite to him, but we never really talked. I didn't even know his name. He was one of those people who smiled so much that he looked like a different person when he wasn't smiling.
After leaving his cart at the door, he brought the mail over to my desk.
“Good morning,” he said.
“Good morning,” I responded. “How are you?”