Chapter 36
Rebecca and Maddy arrive at school early so Rebecca can work kiss-and-ride. Greeting kids, hauling backpacks out of trunks, dealing with rich parents who don’t heed the simple traffic rules, who don’t bother to get off their cell phones, who treat the volunteers like hired help.
Gray clouds pile up atop one another, threatening rain, which seems unseasonable in Los Angeles, no matter the season. Nerves jangle inside Rebecca as she breathes the wet air and waits for Mark’s call from the hospital.
It finally comes in, of course, at peak drop-off time. She cannot stop herself from answering, even as cars pile up and horns bleat. Her attention is split between the call and a tricky trunk latch.
“Someone stole one of his antique Porsches and injured him bad,” Mark is saying. “But he doesn’t know who.”
She turns, shielding the phone from the wind. “We know who, don’t we?”
A black silence stretches out. She pictures Mark trying to come up with a response.
She rescues him, asking, “You going home?”
“Office. Derek asked me to take over while he’s in the hospital.”
“Really? That’s . . .”
“Incredible? Unlikely? I know. Any sign of Mr. Man, just leave the house and I’ll come right away to handle it. I can leave whenever, now that, you know, I’m the new jefe.”
She loves hearing the playful lilt back in his voice. How long he’s been waiting for a shot of confidence, to have his competence pay dividends.
A horn blares at her. “Wrong backpack!” A young father in a Mercedes screams at her, Bluetooth earpiece screwed into his head. “Hey, lady, wrong backpack!”
A general rule Rebecca has learned: The rudeness of a parent is proportional to the price of his vehicle. She returns the Dora the Explorer backpack to the trunk, removes The Avengers.
The fourth grader grabs it from her without a word of thanks, shoulders it, and runs off.
The Mercedes screeches away and—of course—Sheila’s Jaguar pulls up next.
“Congrats, jefe, but I gotta go,” Rebecca whispers and hangs up.
Though it is barely seven o’clock in the morning, Sheila is made up for the red carpet.
Augmented lips, plumped and painted a metallic rose gold, match her sleek manicure.
Her hair looks like it was professionally blown out already, likely from a residential hairdresser since no reasonable salon is open at this hour.
Her silk camisole is full Saks Fifth Avenue, and she is braless, her nipples hard.
In the passenger seat sits the wide-mouthed brunette from the disastrous encounter at Sheila’s house, equally glammed up, chicken-pecking at her phone with an index finger bent back to protect the gel nail.
Her head is tilted down, and Rebecca feels a stab of schadenfreude at an intimation of a double chin.
Sheila’s voice is loud enough to be heard over the traffic; she is ordering someone to make her and “the girls” a brunch reservation at Ivy at the Shore.
Her gaze sweeps right across Rebecca, who stands there in her sweats and Monterey Bay Aquarium sweatshirt, waiting for the Jaguar’s trunk to be popped. She might as well be a street sign, a mailbox, a fire hydrant.
As Sydney clambers out, Sheila says, “Give Mommy a kiss.”
Sydney obeys dutifully.
Sheila’s eyes snag on Rebecca. And once again move right past. Still speaking into her dashboard, Sheila drives away.
Rebecca helps Sydney into her backpack, a leather-strapped Herschel that seems far too fancy for an eight-year-old.
“Thanks, Mrs. Higgins.”
“You’re welcome, Sydney.”
“You gonna be at student showcase night tonight?”
“I sure will.”
“Mom says she’s not sure she can make it.”
“I hope she does.”
“Me too,” Sydney says and scurries off.
Rebecca waves the next car forward to her orange cone. Vehicles are backed up all the way past the light, Tetris-ing their way through Westside congestion. Patrick is gesticulating angrily with the handheld stop sign. Ever since he was assigned traffic oversight, he has gone mad with power.
A Range Rover veers up too fast, front tire grinding the curb, and Rebecca takes a hop back. A dad wearing wraparound sunglasses gives her a flick of his hand to open the rear door and help his two sons out.
The boys spill free and sprint toward the playground, and the next car lurches forward.
After her shift, Rebecca needs to hit the grocery store, fill the fridge, clean not-Bao-Bao’s cage, prepare hummus and veggie plates for student showcase night, pick up Maddy, oversee homework, and be back at the school early for setup before the influx of arriving parents.
It will be a long day, but she will manage.
Unless, of course, Mr. Man shows up.