Read Online Lauren Takes Leave by Julie Gerstenblatt - Free Book Online
Authors: Julie Gerstenblatt
Ads: Link
District around the same
time, in our twenties, when Jell-O shots were a fun diversion from grading
homework after school. At some point, I stopped joining the fun, but Kat and
Jim still go out at least once a month.
“I’ve got to get home to the kids soon, relieve the
babysitter. One-eighth of grain alcohol a day is plenty for me, thanks.”
“Always so responsible, Lauren is,” Kat pipes in.
“Wise for someone so short, Kat is,” I reply.
“How’s that babysitter working out?” Jim asks. “The one
you found on Craigslist last summer?”
I shrug. “Oh, you know. Same. Horrible.”
“You haven’t fired her yet?” Kat laughs. “I thought you
were going to get rid of her at, like, Christmas. That was…” She counts on her
fingers. “Four months ago!”
“Yeah, but who can fire someone at Christmastime?”
“Scrooge!” they both call out together.
“Jinx!” Kat adds, clearly tipsy.
“So why don’t you fire her now?” Jim adds.
“Because I need her. I hate her, but I need her.
Otherwise, I can’t go to work.”
“So, don’t go to work!” Kat says, taking the last Jell-O
shot from Jim’s hand and inhaling it. Like it’s that simple, I think . “Hey, speaking of work, where is Jim Number Two?”
“You mean James, the other physical education teacher?”
Jim asks.
“Yup,” Kat hiccups. “And Bo, the sort of lady one?”
Jim leans in close, whispering conspiratorially in Kat’s
ear. His short-sleeved T-shirt stretches tight across the Hulk muscles in his
chest and arms. “I told them they couldn’t make it.”
Kat’s momentary confusion is replaced with a knowing
smile. “Ah! Very crafty!”
I wink, then wave in their general direction as I leave
Flannigan’s, though neither one is looking at me. It might be Kat calling out
“See ya tomorrow, Lauren!” over Def Leppard, but I don’t reply.
Chapter 5
On my way home, my cell phone rings. Moncrieff comes
up on the screen, so I answer and put it on speakerphone. “Jodi!”
“I can’t talk right now,” a husky whisper responds,
wrapping my car in her distinctive voice.
“Then why did you call me?”
“I mean, I want to talk to you—I need to talk to
you—only I’ve gotta go.”
“Why is everyone doing this to me today?” I ask no one in
particular, since Jodi’s already hung up.
Two minutes later, Jodi calls back as I’m pulling into my
driveway. I idle in the car to listen to her tirade.
Jodi, like Kat, is one of my good friends. I met them both
at Hadley Middle School, though Jodi stopped working right before her first
daughter was born. “Why would I want to be with someone’s else’s children when
I could just be with mine?” she’d said one day in the teachers’ lounge, rubbing
her diamond-encrusted left hand across her protruding belly. No one could come
up with a sufficient retort, so we all just shrugged in her general direction
and let her go.
Actually, no one ever can come up with a sufficient retort
to anything that Jodi says, ever . Not her husband, her mother, her best
friends, her kids, or any poor worker bee forced to deal with her wishes at any
hotel, restaurant, or store of any kind. It’s all in her delivery. That, plus
the fact that she’s disarmingly gorgeous. Suffice it to say that, in this
universe at least, Jodi’s always right, even when she’s completely wrong.
Some people find this behavior of hers shallow and
aggressive. I find her self-absorption wholly refreshing.
In small doses.
I tune back in to her drama of the moment. “What was that?
Is this about shoes ?” I ask.
“ Ugh! Yes! Aren’t you even listening ? I was
in Palazzo Shoes and I was just trying to return a pair of Manolos ,
but the woman was giving me such a hard time,” she moans.
Jodi has a way of elongating words so that they sound,
well, naughty.
“But that’s not why I’m calling. Let’s meet for lunch. I
have something important to discuss. Oh, PTA call coming through.”
We agree to
time, in our twenties, when Jell-O shots were a fun diversion from grading
homework after school. At some point, I stopped joining the fun, but Kat and
Jim still go out at least once a month.
“I’ve got to get home to the kids soon, relieve the
babysitter. One-eighth of grain alcohol a day is plenty for me, thanks.”
“Always so responsible, Lauren is,” Kat pipes in.
“Wise for someone so short, Kat is,” I reply.
“How’s that babysitter working out?” Jim asks. “The one
you found on Craigslist last summer?”
I shrug. “Oh, you know. Same. Horrible.”
“You haven’t fired her yet?” Kat laughs. “I thought you
were going to get rid of her at, like, Christmas. That was…” She counts on her
fingers. “Four months ago!”
“Yeah, but who can fire someone at Christmastime?”
“Scrooge!” they both call out together.
“Jinx!” Kat adds, clearly tipsy.
“So why don’t you fire her now?” Jim adds.
“Because I need her. I hate her, but I need her.
Otherwise, I can’t go to work.”
“So, don’t go to work!” Kat says, taking the last Jell-O
shot from Jim’s hand and inhaling it. Like it’s that simple, I think . “Hey, speaking of work, where is Jim Number Two?”
“You mean James, the other physical education teacher?”
Jim asks.
“Yup,” Kat hiccups. “And Bo, the sort of lady one?”
Jim leans in close, whispering conspiratorially in Kat’s
ear. His short-sleeved T-shirt stretches tight across the Hulk muscles in his
chest and arms. “I told them they couldn’t make it.”
Kat’s momentary confusion is replaced with a knowing
smile. “Ah! Very crafty!”
I wink, then wave in their general direction as I leave
Flannigan’s, though neither one is looking at me. It might be Kat calling out
“See ya tomorrow, Lauren!” over Def Leppard, but I don’t reply.
Chapter 5
On my way home, my cell phone rings. Moncrieff comes
up on the screen, so I answer and put it on speakerphone. “Jodi!”
“I can’t talk right now,” a husky whisper responds,
wrapping my car in her distinctive voice.
“Then why did you call me?”
“I mean, I want to talk to you—I need to talk to
you—only I’ve gotta go.”
“Why is everyone doing this to me today?” I ask no one in
particular, since Jodi’s already hung up.
Two minutes later, Jodi calls back as I’m pulling into my
driveway. I idle in the car to listen to her tirade.
Jodi, like Kat, is one of my good friends. I met them both
at Hadley Middle School, though Jodi stopped working right before her first
daughter was born. “Why would I want to be with someone’s else’s children when
I could just be with mine?” she’d said one day in the teachers’ lounge, rubbing
her diamond-encrusted left hand across her protruding belly. No one could come
up with a sufficient retort, so we all just shrugged in her general direction
and let her go.
Actually, no one ever can come up with a sufficient retort
to anything that Jodi says, ever . Not her husband, her mother, her best
friends, her kids, or any poor worker bee forced to deal with her wishes at any
hotel, restaurant, or store of any kind. It’s all in her delivery. That, plus
the fact that she’s disarmingly gorgeous. Suffice it to say that, in this
universe at least, Jodi’s always right, even when she’s completely wrong.
Some people find this behavior of hers shallow and
aggressive. I find her self-absorption wholly refreshing.
In small doses.
I tune back in to her drama of the moment. “What was that?
Is this about shoes ?” I ask.
“ Ugh! Yes! Aren’t you even listening ? I was
in Palazzo Shoes and I was just trying to return a pair of Manolos ,
but the woman was giving me such a hard time,” she moans.
Jodi has a way of elongating words so that they sound,
well, naughty.
“But that’s not why I’m calling. Let’s meet for lunch. I
have something important to discuss. Oh, PTA call coming through.”
We agree to
Similar Books
