“They couldn’t. It’s the whole reason the concept of the bridesmaid came about. In tribal times, the bridesmaids, clad in white bridal dresses, served as decoys. If the wedding was raided by a neighboring tribe, the hope was that the invaders would be confused and would accidentally kidnap a bridesmaid instead of the bride.”
It’s an easy session. They clearly like each other but have begun to drift apart. We talk about some strategies they can implement to spend more time together and liven up their conversations. It’s not rocket science, just the usual fixes, which actually work pretty well. I nearly laugh when I catch myself suggesting that they should make it a goal to get away on one trip every quarter.
Occasionally, a couple will show up for counseling and I won’t be entirely sure why they’re here. Janice and Ethan are like that. I feel a little guilty for accepting their money, because they don’t need me at all. Still, I’m encouraged by their commitment to making it work. I find myself envying the natural ebb and flow of their marriage, existing in peace far from The Pact.
After Janice and Ethan leave, I place my phone in a sealed envelope and go over to Huang’s desk. “Why don’t you take a long lunch?” I suggest.
“How long?”
“Maybe go to that place you like in Dogpatch. My treat.” I hand him a couple of twenties and set the envelope on his desk. “And, while you’re at it, would you mind keeping this with you? Just put it in your pocket and forget about it.”
Huang stares at the envelope. “You mind telling me what’s in that?”
“Long story.”
“It’s not going to explode or anything, right?”
“Definitely not.”
He feels the envelope and frowns. “If I had to guess, I’d say you stuck your cellphone in here.”
“You’d be doing me a big favor,” I say. “Just hold on to it, and when you get back from lunch you can leave it on my desk. And if you don’t mind, don’t mention it to Ian and Evelyn.”
“Mention what?”
“Thanks. I owe you.”
I walk home, get my car, drive downtown, and park in a lot on Fourth Street. I walk over to the Caltrain station and buy a round-trip ticket to the Hillsdale station in San Mateo.
I haven’t told Alice that I set up this meeting with JoAnne. I thought about telling her this morning, but then I ended up leaving before she got back from her workout. Anyway, I didn’t want to bother her with it. She’s got the workouts with Ron every morning and has resumed seeing Dave once a week in the afternoon as part of her probation; and her job just keeps getting more demanding. Alice is overwhelmed, and I don’t want to add this business with JoAnne on top of everything else. And okay, if I’m honest, I have to admit maybe I don’t really want to tell her. I know she’d have all kinds of questions about JoAnne, and I don’t necessarily want to answer them. She wouldn’t like the idea of me meeting another woman for lunch, a woman who isn’t a colleague. Of course, lies of omission are against the rules of The Pact. But as I’m walking from my car to the station, I convince myself that this obfuscation is a noble act. If anyone were to discover my lie of omission, it would be on me, and I’d be saving Alice from committing yet another felony, one that The Pact claims to take very seriously: jealousy.
One way to look at it is this: I’m trading Alice’s future crime for my present one. Turn their attention away from Alice, JoAnne urged at Draeger’s that day.
I walk the entire length of the train but don’t see anything out of the ordinary. These days, the trains are packed at all hours with tech workers commuting between San Francisco and Silicon Valley. They’re mostly young, mostly thin, mostly entitled—white and Asian newcomers who, as a group, have driven rental prices through the roof and have shown little appreciation for what is unique and cool about San Francisco. They don’t seem to care about the great bookstores, the iconic record stores, the grand old theaters. Maybe it’s unfair to lump them all together, but they seem to care about only one thing: money. They have an air of dull inexperience, as if they’ve never traveled or read books for pleasure or gone to bed with some girl they met in a Laundromat. And right at this moment, they’re taking up the handicap seats, laptops spread across their knees.
At the Hillsdale station, I get off with about twenty other people—locals, mostly, because the techies don’t stop here, at least not yet. I linger in the station until everyone else has moved on. There’s one woman in a tailored black suit who keeps hanging around, looking out of place, and I’ve pretty much decided she’s spying on me, but then a Mercedes pulls up, a younger man inside. She tugs at her skirt in a way that suggests she’s wearing garters under the business suit, walks to his car, and climbs in. They drive away.
I walk across El Camino and up toward the mall, feeling slightly foolish, like a kid playing spy games. I tell myself none of this is necessary, but then I think about the bracelet, the collar, Alice’s harrowing trip to the desert, and I realize once again that it is necessary.
I stop into Trader Joe’s, killing time, watching for anyone suspicious, and end up walking out with only a bottle of water and three chocolate bars. Of course, now every time I eat sweets I instinctively think of the next weigh-in. Is this the ounce of fat that might put me over the limit? Is this the calorie that might land me in the desert? I hate The Pact for that.
I wander into Barnes & Noble and pick up the new issue of Q for Alice. Paul Heaton and Briana Corrigan are on the cover—she’ll be happy. I cross the street and enter the mall. I still have thirty minutes to kill, so I wander around the shops. I’ve been having an inexplicable longing for a comfortable plaid flannel shirt—Freud would probably say it comes from a nostalgia for youth—so I do a speedy walk-through of all of the usual mall places. I find something on the sale rack at Lucky Jeans and walk out with a bag, now looking like everyone else in the mall, only older.
Over at the food court, I’m still seven minutes early. I hang out at the far end, just watching the people come and go.