She's still waiting. It's Wednesday evening now. The year round school kids trooped by beneath her window, swinging their backpacks and their cheerful lunch boxes. The sun is setting again. And Marlowe's inbox is still empty. She doesn't want to worry, but anxiety is creeping over her skin like a cold chill.
This is the kind of day that she tries to avoid by working all the time, usually all summer for one worthy cause or another. Marlowe was raised in a close knit family from which she defected for reasons that still hurt however rational they are. She doesn't like sitting around in this too big, too expensive apartment that Roderick insisted was a good investment. She doesn't like waiting for things to happen. And she doesn't like feeling that she has made quite possibly the biggest mistake of her life just by virtue of being Marlowe Ross.
A shrill ringing interrupts her thoughts. Marlowe slides halfway across the hardwood floor in her socks before she stops and silently curses herself. She turns from her desk and her silent laptop and detours to the kitchen. She snatches the phone from its mount on the wall. "Hello?" she mumbles.
"Mo! What's wrong?" Roderick's voice is thin on the line as though he's speaking to her through a sheet of fabric. But his frantic bark is clear enough.
His tone alarms Marlowe. "I don't know - what? What's going on?"
"Mo, what happened to you? I got your voice mail."
Marlowe frowns. "Nothing happened. Why are you so upset?"
Roderick sits down on the edge of his unmade hotel bed. He heaves a deep breath. "Not to be funny, but you left three messages and you called Tam. That's more than you call in a year. You had me scared, girl. Dang!" He's amused now but only slightly so. "What do you want then, huh?"
"Were you worried about me, baby brother?" Marlowe croons.
"Whatchu want girl?" Roderick hisses.
"I need Lucas' phone number."
"You called long distance for that? What do you need it for?"
"He left something with me. I need to return it."
"What?"
"His PDA." Marlowe taps her foot impatiently on her green kitchen floor tile. She'd hoped not to be interrogated to this degree.
Roderick snorts. "You lying."
"No," Marlowe protests instantly. "I picked it up from the chair he was sitting in. What's his number?"
Frowning, Roderick asks, "You picked up a PDA? For real?"
"Yes!" Marlowe insists, folding her arms over her chest. Why is he hassling me, she thinks darkly.
Roderick pinches his nose and then begins to chuckle, long and loudly. "Ooo, Mo. You stole somebody's Palm Pilot. You going to jail."
"Huh?"
"Lucas don't have a PDA. You picked up somebody else's. Why didn't you open it, dummy?"
"Who's that - Mo?" Tamara asks in the background.
"Yeah, she stole a Palm Pilot. Is it the T3?" Roderick asks Marlowe. "I want that one. What does it look like?"
Marlowe's mouth falls open. She is at a total loss for words.
"Mo?"
Marlowe clears her throat. "Put Tamara on," she mumbles feebly.
"Hey girl," Tamara says, huffing as she falls down on her back on the mattress. "What's this about stealing? What have you . . . Roderick! Get away from me. I just took my bath."
"Ouch!" Roderick's voice bellows in the background.
Tamara sighs disinterestedly. "Anyway. You stole something?"
Marlowe leans against the kitchen door frame and crosses her bare legs. "No. I told Roderick that I found a . . ." She stops, frowning. "I was trying to get Lucas' number and I made up a story, okay? Help me."
"Oh, girl! That sounds nasty. I had that last year. Hang on a minute," Tamara chirps. She puts her hand over the phone and turns to her husband. "Baby, go take your shower. This is girl talk."
Roderick is already lumbering toward the bathroom. He lost interest in the conversation shortly after the words 'girl' and 'nasty'. "Work it out, Dr. Ross," he quips as he pads to the shower.
"Huh. Yeah. Really?" Tamara mumbles as the bathroom door lock snicks. She continues making up replies until she hears the shower running. "Ooo woo!" Tamara exclaims as quietly as she can. "Tell me everything that happened! But you only have fifteen minutes."
"Nothing happened, Tam."
"You lying hoochie! Something happened or you wouldn't be on the phone asking for his number. Don't play dumb with me. I saw it all yesterday. Monday," Tamara corrects. "Sorry; I'm still confused about the time."
Marlowe goes into high alert. "What, Tam? What did you see?"
"The way ya'll was trying not to look at each other when you came back from the airport. You mostly."
Damn it, Marlowe curses silently. Caris did say that she is as transparent as glass. "So what?"
Tamara huffs. "You been caught, Mo. Give it up. You wasting valuable time, girl."
"Okay," Marlowe replies, sighing. "Nothing is going on yet. We talked some, and we kissed. That's it."
Tamara squeals and kicks her heels up in the air. "When? Where?"
"Yesterday at the airport."
"Where, Mo? Like where on your body."
"Tamara! On the mouth, hoochie."
"It was the first time, right? That's okay. Keep going!"
"That's it," Marlowe repeats. "I didn't get his number. I wrote him an email but I haven't heard back. Really, I didn't expect ya'll to call back so soon."
"Child, please. Roderick was . . . Oh." Tamara sits up in bed; her brows draw together. "Oh! Wait a minute. He called us."
"Lucas?" Marlowe shrieks.
"Stop screaming, dang! It's too early," Tamara gripes, shuffling around the bed in her bare feet. "He got the number to the hotel so he could call and make sure we made it. That's how much some people care," Tamara says pointedly. She stops at the bathroom door and pries it open. "Hang on, Mo." Tamara presses the mute button and the line goes flat with silence.
Outdone by Lucas again, Marlowe muses. "Damn it."
"Mo?"
"Yes."
"Put on your good panties, girl! Lucas is in D.C. Here's the number: 757 . . ."
"Wait." Marlowe spins around and grabs the dry erase pen from her message board. "Go ahead."
"757-428-9677. Call right now. He's only there for today; Roderick doesn't know how long he's going to be there."
"What did you tell Roderick?" Marlowe asks anxiously.
Tamara flicks her wrist dismissively. "I told him Lucas called you because he was in town and you were supposed to meet him but you lost the number and you didn't want to admit it because it made you look stupid." Tamara sucks in a breath after that mouthful.
"I was supposed to meet him? Tamara!" Marlowe flings her pen on the counter. She shuts her eyes and shakes her head. "What did Roderick say? He was yelling?"
Tamara frowns. "Why would he do that?"
"Because . . ." Marlowe trails off but she need not continue. Tamara fills in the missing information.
"Mo, are you sick or something? Roderick and Lucas are best friends," Tamara says emphatically. "I can't believe you're color struck, Miss we are the world."
For the second time, Marlowe is at a loss for words.
"Hello? Get over it, Mo. I didn't think that was the problem, but now I see how you really are. You better let that go! That is a good man. Don't be stupid."
Second and third thoughts crash together in Marlowe's brain: history, Southern tradition, Nate and Sara. Marlowe clears her throat and pushes the thoughts back, for the moment. "What did you think was the problem?"
"You, stupid! It's always you. I love you, Mo, but you are a dumb heifer sometimes, I swear to God. Book smart and no sense, just like they say." Tamara rolls her eyes. "Hang up and call him. Not later; right now. And you better call me back tonight. Your tomorrow, or something like that."
"Okay, Tam. What's your number at the hotel?"
"Nuh uh. Get it from Lucas. That's gonna be the proof that you talked to him. Remember what I said, Mo - Life's too short."
Marlowe heaves a deep breath. "Right. Bye Tam. Thanks."
"Bye."
