disappear back into the hinterlands somewhere, playing assistant to the president of the local savings and loan.
Tiffany picked up the photograph and studied it. “Is she the pretty one?” she asked.
“No,” Julianne said. “She’s the one in the turtleneck.”
“Oh. You never can tell, can you? Did the pretty one get famous?”
“No. No, she didn’t.”
“Well, there you are. It’s never the people you expect to get successful that get successful, is it? I’d have thought the pretty one would end up as a movie star, but I don’t recognize her and you’re a congresswoman and Karla Parrish is a famous photographer. She’s coming to Philadelphia, by the way. Karla Parrish, I mean.”
“I know you mean Karla Parrish. Why is she coming here?”
“To give some kind of talk at Penn. On photography, you know. That was what the story was about. It was in the Inquirer today. Anyway, I thought it would be a good opportunity.”
“A good opportunity for what?”
“For a photo op or whatever. You know. You and Karla Parrish. You’re old friends. You’re both concerned with refugees and relief efforts and that kind of thing. I thought it would get us some good press. If the two of you met up again, you know, in public.”
Tiffany had put the photograph down on the desk. Julianne picked it up herself and looked it over. There were six of them in this picture, but only four of them counted: Patsy MacLaren and Karla Parrish and Liza Verity and Julianne herself. Julianne couldn’t even remember the names of the other two. She put the picture back down on the desk and rubbed her forehead.
“Well,” she said. “A photo op. That’s fine, if Karla wants to go along with it.”
“I’ll contact her people. It’ll probably be a good career move for her too.”
“Maybe it will be.”
“I’ll get you the things you need for the health care people,” Tiffany said. “There isn’t much you need to know. There’s nothing you’re going to be able to do for them this year anyway.”
“Mmm,” Julianne said.
Tiffany hurried out of the office and shut the door behind her. Julianne picked up the photograph again. She could remember buying this frame, the urgency she had felt at the time to keep this remembrance pristine, to make sure it didn’t tear or fade. She had just come back from India and just started law school. She was living in a fifth-floor walk-up only two blocks from the university and eating Chef Boyardee macaroni cold out of cans at least three times a week because she couldn’t afford to use her electricity for cooking. She rubbed the side of her face with her fingertips and thought that she ought to grow her nails long and paint them scarlet. If you were going to transform yourself from nothing into something, you ought to take care to make the transformation complete.
“If you could go back and do your life over again,” Tiffany had asked her once, “what would you do that was different?”
“I’ve got the sheets you need if you want to look at them,” Tiffany said now, coming in with a stack of papers. “Do you want to see these people as soon as they come in, or do you want me to make them wait?”
“I’ll see them as soon as they come in,” Julianne said.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Tiffany asked her. “You look pale.”
“I’m fine,” Julianne said.
Then she looked down and made herself concentrate on the lists of figures on health insurance premiums, which didn’t matter because, like most things in life, they could only get worse.
8.
A S SOON AS LIZA Verity came in from work she saw the red light blinking on her answering machine. There was something about the way it was blinking that made her not want to hear the message—although, God only knew, even Liza knew, answering machines didn’t have moods. Maybe it was just that she wasn’t in a very good mood herself. Sometimes Liza didn’t really mind the way things had turned out. Life seemed to
Tiffany picked up the photograph and studied it. “Is she the pretty one?” she asked.
“No,” Julianne said. “She’s the one in the turtleneck.”
“Oh. You never can tell, can you? Did the pretty one get famous?”
“No. No, she didn’t.”
“Well, there you are. It’s never the people you expect to get successful that get successful, is it? I’d have thought the pretty one would end up as a movie star, but I don’t recognize her and you’re a congresswoman and Karla Parrish is a famous photographer. She’s coming to Philadelphia, by the way. Karla Parrish, I mean.”
“I know you mean Karla Parrish. Why is she coming here?”
“To give some kind of talk at Penn. On photography, you know. That was what the story was about. It was in the Inquirer today. Anyway, I thought it would be a good opportunity.”
“A good opportunity for what?”
“For a photo op or whatever. You know. You and Karla Parrish. You’re old friends. You’re both concerned with refugees and relief efforts and that kind of thing. I thought it would get us some good press. If the two of you met up again, you know, in public.”
Tiffany had put the photograph down on the desk. Julianne picked it up herself and looked it over. There were six of them in this picture, but only four of them counted: Patsy MacLaren and Karla Parrish and Liza Verity and Julianne herself. Julianne couldn’t even remember the names of the other two. She put the picture back down on the desk and rubbed her forehead.
“Well,” she said. “A photo op. That’s fine, if Karla wants to go along with it.”
“I’ll contact her people. It’ll probably be a good career move for her too.”
“Maybe it will be.”
“I’ll get you the things you need for the health care people,” Tiffany said. “There isn’t much you need to know. There’s nothing you’re going to be able to do for them this year anyway.”
“Mmm,” Julianne said.
Tiffany hurried out of the office and shut the door behind her. Julianne picked up the photograph again. She could remember buying this frame, the urgency she had felt at the time to keep this remembrance pristine, to make sure it didn’t tear or fade. She had just come back from India and just started law school. She was living in a fifth-floor walk-up only two blocks from the university and eating Chef Boyardee macaroni cold out of cans at least three times a week because she couldn’t afford to use her electricity for cooking. She rubbed the side of her face with her fingertips and thought that she ought to grow her nails long and paint them scarlet. If you were going to transform yourself from nothing into something, you ought to take care to make the transformation complete.
“If you could go back and do your life over again,” Tiffany had asked her once, “what would you do that was different?”
“I’ve got the sheets you need if you want to look at them,” Tiffany said now, coming in with a stack of papers. “Do you want to see these people as soon as they come in, or do you want me to make them wait?”
“I’ll see them as soon as they come in,” Julianne said.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Tiffany asked her. “You look pale.”
“I’m fine,” Julianne said.
Then she looked down and made herself concentrate on the lists of figures on health insurance premiums, which didn’t matter because, like most things in life, they could only get worse.
8.
A S SOON AS LIZA Verity came in from work she saw the red light blinking on her answering machine. There was something about the way it was blinking that made her not want to hear the message—although, God only knew, even Liza knew, answering machines didn’t have moods. Maybe it was just that she wasn’t in a very good mood herself. Sometimes Liza didn’t really mind the way things had turned out. Life seemed to
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