3 Willows: The Sisterhood Grows (23 page)

He nodded. “Polly, I think I could really help you out.”

“Really?” she said.

“Yes. Do you know what I do?”

“Aren’t you a—”

“I’m a cosmetic orthodontist. One of the best in the business. I’ve fixed a lot of very famous teeth, a lot of faces you would recognize, but confidentiality prevents me from naming them. Not everybody starts with perfect teeth, right? But there are things we can do. Even in the most difficult cases.”

Polly watched his mouth. He had very large, square teeth, and he was saying such unexpected things, she couldn’t make sense of them. He worked on people’s teeth? He was some kind of an agent who worked on people’s teeth? Did that make any sense?

“Are—are you some kind of agent?” she asked.

He laughed. “No, but I do have contacts. Polly, the kind of work I do can make all the difference in getting an agent. That’s why I -wanted to meet with you.” He clicked his pen and began -writing. “Polly, I see here you live in—”

“So you aren’t an agent at all.”

“No.”

“You’re a dentist.”

“An orthodontist.”

“Oh.”

“One of the best. I’m very -well known in my field, as you’ll discover if—”

“And you -wanted to meet -with me because—”

“Because I think I could really help you through ortho-dontia.”

“Because of my overbite?” she asked. Her voice had gotten very quiet.

“Yes. I can see it’s a difficult case. It’s clear you have an overbite and a lateral misalignment. That won’t work in front of a camera, of course. You’ll need to take care of that if you want a career.”

“And you can take care of it?” she said numbly.

“Yes. I can. It sounds drastic, Polly, but we’ll need to break and reset your jaw. You see, that way we can address the most serious issues. We can really change the shape of your face.”

Polly sat blinking. She heard with her ears and she thought with her mind, but she couldn’t get the two to go together.

“Polly, we could have you back here competing next year to win,” he said with a confident nod. He considered for a moment. “Well, realistically, probably more like two years.”

Polly stared at him in bewilderment. “You would break my jaw?”

“I know it sounds—”

Polly stood up. “Thank you,” she said.

“Let me give you my card,” he said.

“No, thank you,” she said.

•••

Luckily the meetings were done for the day in Meeting Room 8. Polly closed the door behind her and sat down in the corner. She put her knees up and rested her head on them. At first she sat quietly and after that she cried. She thought she cried for a long time, but she wasn’t sure. There were no clocks or windows in Meeting Room 8.

When she pulled herself together, she navigated the halls back to the lobby and up to the hotel room. Once again, there was no sign of Dia, -which -was probably just as well.

Polly flopped facedown onto the bed. Her cheek pressed into the thick polyester cover. It reminded her of the texture and pattern of her ice-skating dress. She thought of her mother and Genevieve. She thought of lurching down the runway on her four-inch heels. She felt her tears sinking directly into the bedspread, leaving no evidence they had ever been cried.

Polly let a snuffle out of her nose, but to her surprise it sounded more like a laugh than a cry. She felt her rib cage shaking, and it took her a second to realize it wasn’t sobs. She thought of Rod Meyers s teeth. They were funny.

Am I laughing? she wondered. I think I am. She laughed until her tears stopped. She reached for a tissue on the bedside table and blew her nose.

She lay down, this time on her back. She looked at the cottage-cheese ceiling and the dead bug in the light fixture. “What was I thinking?” she shouted straight upward.

She took a deep breath and sat up. She felt the sense of rising from a dream.

She went into the bathroom and gratefully shed the alien clothes. She quickly showered off the sooty makeup and the hair spray. She watched it all loop down the drain, feeling like she was changing out of a costume she’d worn in a very long play. She put on her soft, plain clothes.

Her vision cleared as she went down in the elevator and walked through the lobby. She had more than an hour before she was supposed to meet Dia and take the train home.

She felt grateful for her flat, comfortable shoes. She wanted to walk. She walked along Forty-fifth Street and turned onto Fifth Avenue. She kept careful track of her turns so she could find her -way back.

She saw everything together and nothing in particular. She took in the colorful rush, the multitude of faces, the shiny surfaces of buildings and cars. The sounds wove together into a giant hum in her ears. The world seemed to get bigger and wider as it washed around her. She looked up at the tops of buildings poking at the clouds.

Polly had the strange sensation that she had been living in a tunnel, watching it get dimmer and narrower day by day. And now, suddenly, it was blown open and the world was all around her, just as big as it had always been, and she was part of it again. She had to ask herself, God, what was I doing in there so long? She had to ask herself, How lonely have I been?

She tried out a thought: she was never going to be a model. Never, never. Even if she did look like her grandmother. She was never going to be tall enough or flat enough. She was never going to be the kind of person -who didn’t stick out in all directions. To want it was the same as hating herself. That was the truth.

She breathed those words. She could have repeated them a hundred times and they wouldn’t have hurt any -worse. Reality was stubborn for sure, but it was large and it had possibilities. It was a sweet relief when you let it come.

In the days since Polly and Dia had returned from New York, Dia hadn’t gone to her studio. It was strange for Polly to leave for her first babysitting job of the day with her mother sleeping and come home to have her mother still there, sometimes still sleeping, sometimes watching television, and sometimes just sitting on the screened porch doing nothing.

It was kind of a fantasy at first. Polly had always wished her mother -would stay home. She’d dreamed of a mother -who made her lunch and wanted to be called Mom. But by the third day of Dias being home, Polly felt a little spooked by it. Dia wasn’t making her lunch or renting movies for them to watch together. She was just lying around.

“Jo called,” Dia told her when she got home on the second day. Dia looked uncommonly pleased. It hadn’t been lost on her that Jo didn’t call much anymore. Dia paid more attention to some things than Polly realized. “She said she’s home from the beach. She wants you to call.”

Polly wasn’t sure. Did Jo really want her to call? And if Polly did call back, -which Jo would she get? The Jo who had kicked her to the curb or the Jo who was sorry? Getting discarded by Jo felt bad, but getting the benefit of Jo’s guilt didn’t feel much better.

On the third day, Polly came home from the Rollinses’ in the middle of the day and Dia was lying on the couch. “Ama came by,” Dia reported.

“She did? She’s home?”

“She just got home. She wants to see you. She looked great.”

“Really?” Polly pictured Ama and she felt a pang.

“Yes, go call her.”

Polly didn’t make a move toward the phone. She was happy to think of Ama, but she didn’t want to be disappointed by her.

“Are you okay?” Polly asked Dia.

Dia shrugged. “Just feeling tired,” she said.

Polly wanted to ask -why she wasn’t going to her studio as she’d done roughly every single day for the last fourteen years, but she was afraid to. “I have another babysitting job this afternoon,” Polly said. “I have to go in a couple of minutes.” Did Dia wish she would stay? Was she lonely? Polly didn’t know how to ask.

“Okay” Dia said. She lay on the couch -while Polly changed out of the shirt that Nicky had spilled yogurt on and drank a glass of water.

“Call your friends!” Dia shouted after Polly as Polly walked out the door.

It was late by the time Polly returned from the Thomases’ house. She was tired from her long day of babysitting, but she’d stopped by Dias favorite café on the way home and picked up two chocolate éclairs. It was a nice feeling, coming home to someone.

It was dark out, but as she approached the house, she saw that Dias bedroom light was still on. Maybe they could watch TV together for a -while. Maybe they could hunker down under Dias special chenille blanket and make snide comments about the amateur singers and dancers on the reality shows. Dia had always enjoyed that. “You need to learn how to be more judgmental,” Dia had said to Polly the last time they’d -watched.

Usually Dia -was too tired at night to -watch TV -with Polly. Usually she came home from the studio and practically passed out on the couch or in bed. But for the past few days it seemed like she’d done almost nothing but sleep. She must have caught up by now.

“Dia?” Polly said as she let herself in the door.

The house was quiet. Polly put her bag down in the front hall. The house looked messy and dusty, more so than usual, even in the dark.

“Hey, Dia?” She wasn’t asleep already, was she?

Polly ran upstairs, carrying the bag of éclairs along -with her. Her mom loved eating in bed.

“Dia?”

Polly’s heart started beating faster before she’d even turned the corner into her mother’s room. Why -wasn’t she answering?

The TV was on, loud. Two candles spluttered on the dresser. The light was on and Dia was sprawled in her chair. There was a glass next to her on the table, a bottle of wine and an empty bottle of vodka tipped over on the carpet.

“Dia?” Polly went over to her mother and prodded her. “Hey. Are you asleep? I brought you chocolate éclairs.”

Dia didn’t stir. Her jaw was slack and her head rolled back on the chair, but her eyes didn’t open. “Hey. Are you okay?”

Polly shook her mother’s arm, but nothing happened. “Hey. Dia. Wake up.”

Dia didn’t wake up. Her eyes didn’t even flutter. Polly’s heart began to beat harder. Was Dia breathing? Why -was her head like that?

“Dia? Dia! Wake up, would you? Hey it’s me! Are you asleep? Why -won’t you wake up?”

Polly now had both of Dias arms and she was shaking them hard. Polly’s heart was hammering. What was wrong -with Dia? Why -wasn’t she -waking up? “Dia, get up! Get up!” Polly heard the crying in her voice. “Please -wake up!”

She dropped the bag of éclairs. She put her hands on her mother’s face. Was she breathing? She -was, -wasn’t she?

Polly didn’t know -what to do. Should she call a doctor? Should she call 911? Jo’s dad -was a doctor. Should she call him? She bolted for the phone, stepping on the éclairs as she -went. With shaking fingers she pressed in Jo’s number, but nobody answered.

She clutched the phone, needing to do something -with it. She called Ama. Amas parents -weren’t doctors, but Ama -was Ama.

“Hello?”

Polly tried not to sob. “Ama?”

“Polly?”

“Yes,” Polly gasped.

“What’s -wrong? Are you okay?”

“My mom is—she -won’t -wake up. I don’t know -what to do.”

“Oh, my God. Did you call a doctor?”

“No. I tried calling Jo. Her dad—but—” Polly gulped for air. “Should I call nine-one- one?”

“Is she breathing?”

“I think so.”

“But she’s unconscious?”

“Yes.”

“Call nine-one-one,” Ama said.

“What if she gets mad?”

“How could she get mad? She’s unconscious.”

“You’re right.”

“I’m coming over, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Call nine-one-one.”

“Okay.”

“Polly, you have to hang up first, and then call.”

Polly hung up and called 911. She gave them the information and hung up. She sat at her mother’s feet and waited.

Polly and Ama and Jo sat in the hospital waiting room together. Amas dad had gone to get them something to drink. Jo’s dad was in the examining room -with the ER doctor. He was doing rounds at the hospital that night, so as soon as Jo called him he came down.

Dr. Napoli had come out once already, early on, and told Polly everything -was okay that Dia could probably go home later that night. He didn’t say exactly what the problem -was, but Polly had a pretty good idea of it.

An hour or two later, most of the urgency had leaked out of the night, even though the gigantic red emergency cross glowed through the window.

“You don’t have to stay” Polly said to Jo and Ama, but they didn’t want to go.

Mr. Botsio brought them Sprites and Fritos and went to move the car. Jo and Ama encouraged Polly to eat.

“You are so skinny, Polly” Jo said. “You look like you haven’t eaten all summer.” Jo’s face was not admiring but concerned.

Polly glanced down and tried to like how she looked, but it was harder -with them. In their presence, she didn’t feel proud of her -weight loss. She felt undersized. Both Jo and Ama had grown this summer. Jo was taller and Ama was stronger. Polly suddenly feared she had fallen out of step, gone the wrong -way as they surged ahead. Polly suddenly knew she didn’t want to stay behind. She wanted to go -with them.

While they waited, Jo played songs for Polly on her iPod and Ama drew lines and letters on Polly’s back, through her shirt, the way they used to do at sleepovers when they were younger, but she didn’t make Polly guess the letters or make words out of them.

Polly felt herself relaxing into the old ways, but at the same time she had the sense that she had come back to them after a long journey. She was the one who’d stayed home this summer, but she wasn’t the same girl she had been in June. She’d sensed they had all three changed.

“Hey, Ama, I’ve been meaning to ask you something.” Polly stretched her feet all the way to the chair in front of her.

“Yeah?”

“Why are you still wearing those gigantic boots?”

At last the ER doctor, a woman in her thirties with faded freckles and dark red hair, appeared, followed by Dr. Napoli. Dr. Napoli gave more reassurances and hugged Polly and went back upstairs to his rounds. The ER doctor introduced herself as Dr. Marks and sat down next to Polly in a plastic waiting-room chair. “Your mom is going to be okay.”