Sputterpub's Blog

San Francisco is the metropolis of the west coast, but it’s only seven by seven miles. It’s also the business capital of its side of the country, but its financial district is only a few blocks on a side. So it shouldn’t come as any surprise to run into a friend on the streets there. But it always is.

Pam and Erica almost collided at the corner of Montgomery and Pine yesterday. Erica was returning from meeting a new client, and Pam was running pharmacy errands.

“Hello! What brings you out at 3 pm?” Pam shook whatever she’d been considering out of her head, straight blonde hair swinging past her ears. She smiled at Erica.

“I just met a great couple. Now I’m going back to the office to summarize the meeting, return some calls, and leave early for (yech) Back to School Night.”

“Ah! My Back to School Night is tomorrow.”

“I always hate the idea of these things,” Erica said as they started to walk together toward their offices, “but I usually enjoy the actual experience. Now that Sam’s in high school, the crowd is more diverse and the subjects are more interesting. But doing ten minutes in each class and five between the six of them, plus listening to the principal’s message and the exhortation from the president of the PTSA…I won’t get home till ten o’clock.”

“I’m dreading mine for different reasons. I just found out Barbara will be there, along with Larry.”

“Why does he have to have her with him? He knows how much you don’t want to see her now.”

“She’ll be there because she’s one of the room mothers for Andrea’s class.”

Erica stops walking, amazed. “How can that be? Larry’s girlfriend has no relation to your daughter or the school.”

“Tell me about it.” Pam gave a short sharp nod of her head and continued. “The bulletin that announced the names and numbers of all room mothers apparently went out last week, but our copy went with Andrea to Larry. (I have to talk to the school again – make sure they deliver duplicates.) Anyway, I finally saw it last night. That’s when I learned Barbara took the job. I’m sure my old friend Miriam had something to do with this. But I’m going to have to see Barbara tomorrow night.”

They got to Bush Street, where Erica would turn left, and they tried to extend their conversation on that busy corner. “Oh Pam,” Erica said, “I’m so sorry.” They moved aside for two guys with hand trucks.

“It makes me want to skip the whole thing. But I can’t. I’m interested, and I have to be there for Andrea. I kind of checked out of school matters for the last year, and I need to get back into it now.” They noticed they were blocking walkers again, and gave it up. Erica strode down Bush as Pam waited for the light.

Erica felt for Pam, but not that much. They were business acquaintances who lunched together once a month with their mutual buddy Anita, but they had no contact between lunches. Pam considered Erica one of her closest friends; Erica thought of Pam as something less. She knew Pam had a cold childhood and a busy career, with no time for or even understanding of close friendship. She’d often seen Pam consider clients who were friendly as if they were friends. In fact, Miriam was an ex-client of Pam’s. They had occasionally lunched together back when Pam prepared Miriam’s tax returns. They had daughters who were in the same class in school and that made for some compatibility. But Miriam had selected Larry when Pam’s marriage broke up, and had quickly formed a friendship with Barbara.

From then throughout the evening, the subject festered in Pam’s heart. She didn’t dwell on the story of Larry’s unhappiness in their marriage and his subsequent defection, first to a studio apartment, then to the spare room in his business partner Barbara’s heavily-mortgaged house, and finally into her bed. She didn’t rehash how often Pam had defended Barbara back when Larry complained about business. She didn’t reflect on Miriam, the friend she had called best, who hasn’t had time for her since Larry left. She tried to stay busy with her usual evening activities, and she succeeded for whole quarter hours, but she was frequently distracted by a stab of anxiety.

“I hate this,” she thought aloud at 9:45 pm, as she flushed with sweaty grief while trying to read in bed. She put the book face-down on her belly and shook her open-fingered hands to flick away the pain. “I wish I could put it to bed,” she thought as she closed the book, turned off the light, and waited for sleep.

She doesn’t feel any better when she rises today. She hasn’t slept well, and Back to School Night looms. She isn’t in her office thirty minutes, hasn’t even finished her bagel and latte, when Larry calls.

“I can’t believe what you and Barbara are doing to me,” she blurts before she learns why he’s calling. “This room mother thing has to be the worst slap yet.”

“Hey, I don’t want to get in the middle of this! Deal with Barbara. I just called about our tax return.” They agree to discuss the subject after he delivers some statements he’s been holding.

Twenty minutes later, Pam checks the voicemail messages that have accumulated while she returned other calls. There’s a short one from Barbara:

“Pam, this is Barbara. I know you don’t want to talk to me, and I respect that, but I’ve written you a letter I really want to deliver. If you’ll just call me back or shoot me an email, I’ll transmit it.”

Pam lets the message age. After lunch she concludes she has to do something. She punches Barbara’s number.

“I don’t want to read your letter,” she states. “If you have something to say to me, go ahead.”

“Look, I’m really sorry about this school thing. It’s just that Miriam asked. I don’t mind the work, and Larry and I thought it would be good for Andrea.”

Pam doesn’t respond.

“If you want,” Barbara offers, “I’ll resign the position. You can have it.”

“Fine. Why don’t you do that.”

“But the names have already gone out to the parents.”

“So? So we’ll stand up tonight and announce that there’s been a change. I’m sure the parents can handle that.”

“Wouldn’t you rather we share the job? That would make Andrea happy, and you know how busy you are during tax season.”

Pam grits her whole face. She thinks about this woman who’s sleeping with her husband and acting concerned about her work load. She says, “Or you can do what you offered. Resign and I’ll take the job.”

“I’ll resign. I’ll call Miriam and tell her.”

They terminate the call. Pam doesn’t admire Barbara, but she used to, and now she finds it easier to anticipate seeing her. She refills her water glass and is ten minutes into a difficult memo when her telephone rings. It’s Miriam.

“What’s this I hear about you and Barbara sharing the room mother job?”

“You’re hearing wrong, Miriam. Barbara is going to resign.”

“That’s not what Barbara told me.”

“Well it’s what she and I agreed to.”

“You can’t be a room mother.”

“Are you rejecting me for the position, Miriam?”

“But the announcement already went out to parents!”

“What is this? The parents of the students in this school are in general sophisticated; they can handle an assignment change.”

“But you always preferred to donate money instead of time; you know how busy you are.”

“Miriam, are you rejecting me as room mother?” Pam’s starting to wonder where she’ll have to take this: teacher? principal? Miriam is the head room mother for her daughter’s and Andrea’s class, and Pam is aiming to be one of three working under her organization. Pam and Larry and the kids used to socialize with Miriam and Mark and their kids; now Barbara goes in Pam’s place.

“I’m just not sure I can work with you,” Miriam says.

“Well that’s your problem. ‘Cause I can work with you.”

“Okay. We’ll announce the change tonight.”

Pam feels a little better. She still doesn’t want to see Miriam or Barbara, but now it won’t be as bleak and uncomfortable for her. She’s able to put in a productive afternoon. When she calls Erica with a business question, she fills her in.

“Good girl!” Erica praises, when she hears of Pam’s assertiveness. In fact, Pam can be obnoxiously assertive in restaurants and retail establishments. She complains so readily at their ladies’ lunches that Erica imagines kitchen staff spitting in their entrees. But in the past year or so, in the matter of Larry and their breakup, Pam has been seriously inactive, reactive, passive and pained. “I’m looking forward to hearing how it goes.” Erica turns the page of her calendar and sees nothing for the middle of the next day. “Do you want a quick lunch tomorrow?”

“I can do that. Meet at Montmarte at noon?”

“Sounds good.”

Pam works until 6:30 and then goes straight to the school. She has no appetite for dinner.

The campus is as lovely as one expects an exclusive private academy to be. Riding the hills overlooking the bay, endowed with the finest electronic, athletic and artistic facilities available, it’s a far cry from the New York public schools in Pam’s and Larry’s past. Friends have asked why they pay to send Andrea there, when the Piedmont and Berkeley public schools happen to be good, but this place is one thing Pam and Larry still agree on. There’s a downside, besides expense: only two other children in Andrea’s class have parents who are separated, and it would be a comfort if more shared her situation.

Pam is so impressed with the school’s atmosphere that she doesn’t mind running into Larry and Barbara at the entrance. Everyone is civil, well-mannered enough to sit together during the announcements. After that, on the way to Andrea’s classroom, Pam and Barbara agree that Barbara will help Pam fulfill her room mother duties; they won’t share the job, but Barbara will step in when Pam is too busy.

It’s less comfortable in the classroom. For one thing, they have to squeeze into those fourth-grade-sized desks. For another, Pam spots Miriam, who is standing with her narrow back to Pam, talking to teacher Jane. Pam can’t see Miriam’s face, and she knows better than to assess mood from the rigid position of Miriam’s scoliotic back, but she’s certain her old friend is speaking to Jane about her (undoubtedly complaining about last minute changes).

Jane walks to the front of the room and begins about her expectations for the year. She summarizes the teaching plan and answers the usual questions: How big is the class? How much does homework count? Does she really want the kids to have scientific calculators?

She tells the parents that the more they participate the better, and she describes the room parent system. She brings Miriam to her, who then introduces Pam and two other mothers, with no mention about any change.

As the event concludes and the parents unfold themselves from the desks, Miriam walks over to Pam.

“I’m sorry about our tension on the phone today.”

“That’s okay. We got through it.” Pam glances briefly at Miriam as she says this, and then looks down to her purse and notebook.

“Look, I’m not sure what went wrong with us, but…”

Pam interrupts. “I am. You never had time for me when I was in pain. Now you’ve obviously chosen to maintain a relationship with Larry and not with me.”

“But I called you! I left at least two messages.” Miriam speaks indignantly but looks confused.

“Good grief, Miriam: I was almost suicidal then. I don’t know who left messages.”

Miriam resembles one of their daughters in a dispute, hurt and about to declare unfairness. “Do you want to talk?” she asks.

She and Pam begin to move in the prevailing direction, toward the classroom door. “I really don’t see any point,” Pam answers. “No thanks.”

Home again, preparing for bed, Pam thinks she’ll sleep better tonight. Her assertiveness has exhausted her and she feels like she made some points. She considers what she’ll wear tomorrow, what she’ll do in the morning, what she’ll eat for lunch. If the weather is as nice as it was today, she and Erica can eat outside. Pam will probably have the chicken crepes. She’ll tell Erica about tonight.

Erica will be sympathetic about the room mother work ahead of Pam. Neither of them likes this aspect of parenthood. But Pam can almost hear Erica advising her to go ahead with it. “I know you don’t enjoy these calling and organizing and fund-raising activities. Neither do I. We’d both rather just send money. But you say you want to get more involved in Andrea’s life. So go ahead. Do this. It will be good for you.”

As Pam drifts off to sleep she can hear herself respond. “Oh I don’t know. I feel like I made my point. I’ll probably just let Barbara do most of it.”

Pam isn’t having a good morning. She’s been up an hour and still isn’t ready to leave the house. She carries her mug around as she rides herd on her nine year-old daughter and sees to her own scattered routine, and she keeps slopping cool coffee over the rim and onto the web between her thumb and forefinger. The only way to remove such a puddle is to drink it, and the third time she bends forward to sip the spill, her hand trembles and she spatters coffee on her white rayon blouse.

The tag says Dry Clean Only. She knows she can probably wash the thing, but she can’t fix the problem before work. She also knows she has no other clean white blouse. She’s going to have to change clothes.

“Andrea,” she calls up from the bottom of the stairs. “Are you ready to go?”

“Almost, Mom. I just have to fix my hair.”

Pam twitches with impatience. She sits on the bottom step and tries to calm herself. She rises and walks to the kitchen, where she dumps the cool liquid that’s left in her mug and refills it with hot. She pays attention as she climbs the stairs: spills none.

Stopping in the doorway to Andrea’s bathroom, she watches her daughter pull up the top and sides of her long hair. “Want me to help?”

“You can’t help” whines Andrea. “You can’t do any more with my hair than I can. It’s always snarly in the morning.”

“Honey, I’m sorry I can’t do French braids and other fancy styles. I know Barbara can.”

Andrea doesn’t want to talk about Daddy’s longhaired girlfriend. Her mother is already upset enough. “Your friend Erica can do a French braid, and she doesn’t have long hair. She even offered to teach you how…”

“That’s enough, Andrea! I’m late for a meeting, I have to change my clothes, and I don’t need trouble from you. Get ready for school.”

Pam proceeds to her room, irked. She’s recalling the debacle of a house warming party, how harassed she was when she asked her friend Erica to do something with Andrea’s hair, how what should have been a nice result (the braid looked good) turned into yet another example of her maternal inadequacy. She carefully places her mug on the nightstand, pulls the stained blouse off and throws it on the chair, wrenches open her closet door. She finds a fancy white sweater she can wear without changing anything else, and she puts it on, certain that it will be too warm for the day. She has a fleeting idea that if she’d just slow down she might redeem this morning. She’s too agitated to host that notion for long.

She collects snarly Andrea and reminds her to gather all the school necessaries that the child has already organized, picks up her own purse, folio, and jacket, and leads her girl up the path to the again-dusty black Lexus. They’re leaving the house earlier than usual but Pam is still running later than she needs.

On a normal school day, Pam would cart Andrea to the bus stop at 7:45. She’d ride the van to her private school and wouldn’t have a street to cross between home and campus. But Pam has an early meeting today; she can’t wait. She drives the ten minutes to Andrea’s school and drops her off across the street at 7:40.

That street is a mean one. Though 25 mph signs are posted every few feet, commuters treat it like a highway. Average speed is around 45, and average drivers are more attentive to their coffee, phones, and makeup than they are to pedestrians. There’s a small crosswalk and a walk/wait signal at the drop-off point, but the crossing guard won’t be on duty for another five minutes.

Pam stops the car and runs through her usual “Goodbye, honey, have a good day, see you tonight.” She adds a “Careful crossing the street.” Andrea gets out and closes the car door too hard, so Pam has a twinge of additional annoyance as she watches her daughter prepare to cross the road. She’s almost sure she sees Andrea push the button for the pedestrian signal. But Andrea doesn’t wait for the walking-person light. She looks both ways and then dashes toward the red hand. The child isn’t in any danger as she jaywalks in front of her mother, but Pam is dismayed to witness what she considers dangerous behavior on Andrea’s part.

Pam’s ability to organize around small issues is prodigious, so she manages to retain her dismay throughout her early meeting and the rest of her hectic business day. When she gets home with Andrea at 6:30 that night, she begins the delayed lecture.

“I can’t believe the way I saw you cross the street this morning.”

“I thought we were going out for Chinese food tonight.” That’s Andrea’s favorite cuisine, and generally the only food she enjoys sharing with her mother.

“Well, that was our original plan, but then you showed me your immaturity. I don’t want to hassle in a restaurant. We need to talk about this. If the talk goes well, then we’ll go out for dinner.”

“Come on, Mom! I’m hungry and I have a lot of homework. I got across the street okay.” Andrea stops herself from saying her father and Barbara wouldn’t have changed the dinner plan.

“Dashing in front of traffic is not how you’ve been taught! What were you thinking?”

“It was no big deal. Usually when you drop me off, there’s the crossing guard.”

“Andrea, stop this! You know better than to run across a busy street. I can’t believe I saw you do what you did.”

“I looked both ways. I was safe.”

“At your age, you should know better. A five year-old knows better. You push the button and wait for the walk signal.”

“What walk signal?” Andrea’s eyes have filled; tears are about to spill down her flushed cheeks.

“What do you mean: what walk signal?! The walking man or person or whatever it’s supposed to be!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about! Nobody ever told me about any walk signal!” She’s jumped up from the couch now, crying freely, and she continues ranting as she flounces across the living room. “I know about traffic lights and crosswalks, but I’ve never heard of this walking man thing!”

Pam has a moment of disorientation before filling with fury. “Now wait a minute, young lady. This isn’t about traffic any more. Now it’s about your lying. You need to sit down right now so we can discuss why you’re lying all the time.”

Andrea gawks. It seems to her that no matter what she does, the situation just gets worse. She stops pacing and blurts through her tears, “I lie all the time so people will like me. So I’ll have friends in school. Nobody likes me at school. I don’t want to go there. I’m so unhappy.”

“That’s not true, Andrea.” Pam lives in Piedmont and her ex has a home in Berkeley. Both communities have decent public schools, but Pam insists that Andrea attend the most expensive private school in the area. “You’ve always gotten good marks in getting along with others. Your teachers have told me time and again how well you’re doing.”

Andrea goes out of control. She’s starting to breathe convulsively as she sobs, and she’s jumping up and down while flinging her hands. She pulls a pillow off the couch and hurls it at the grand piano. When she picks up a second pillow, Pam leans forward and slaps her on the outer thigh, one quick time, to get the child’s attention. Andrea stiffens in response, and then runs out of the room.

Pam remains seated for a few seconds, contemplating a ruined evening. She pulls at her stocking where it’s stretched over her crossed right knee, and her straight hair falls toward her mouth as she looks downward. She’s not about to go running after her hysterical child. She’s heard Andrea’s door slam, and she knows the girl won’t come to any harm in her bedroom. Even if she took after her half-brother (not), Aaron didn’t begin the cutting till he was fourteen.

It’s looking like Chinese food is out. Pam has no appetite. She rises slowly, wanders to the kitchen, pours a glass of Merlot. She walks with her glass to the breakfast room, and she drinks the wine as she checks the corner shelf ceramics for dust.

She starts to wonder if she’s been driven by her own upset heart. Sure there’s been a sound basis in everything she’s tried to say to Andrea, but she wouldn’t have been so picky and forceful if she weren’t furious at her ex. The asshole. The man she still finds more interesting than any other she knows. Who now lives with Barbara. Larry has always had a paranoid streak, when he tends to attribute bad motives to other people’s behavior. Time and again in their ten years Pam tried to reason him out of those type suspicions. And now he’s turned the attitude on her. He accuses her of blackmailing him, when all she wants is an exchange: she’ll give him the money he’s had her hold, while he gives her his notarized signature on an innocuous little legal paper. And she never meant to bring Andrea into it. All Pam did was tell Andrea that the reason Pam was so sad was that Daddy was mean to her. It was Larry who told the kid the whole story when Andrea called him.

Pam sighs and shakes her head. She refills her wine glass and carries it with her to her bedroom. She peels off the clothes in which she’s been too warm all day, and takes a shower. She and Andrea remain in their respective rooms for another hour before Pam knocks on Andrea’s door and they negotiate a meal of soup and toast. Each is subdued for the balance of the evening.

The following morning, Thursday, mother and daughter both wake early and tired. They have plenty of time and no mishaps. Andrea rides the bus to school. This time the ripple from Pam’s calendar will affect day’s end.

Andrea has been seeing a child psychologist weekly for over a year, since Pam and Larry split up. Every four or five weeks, Pam and Larry are to spend a session with Diane, instead of Andrea. Pam forgot that it’s one of those meeting days. Just yesterday she’d arranged to meet with a new client this afternoon, and it would be more than inconvenient to reschedule that.

She calls Larry as soon as she realizes she can’t make their appointment. She leaves a message. She finds out later that by the time he listened, he thought it was too late to cancel. He went to Diane’s office to tell her; since he had Andrea with him for the afternoon, and since Diane obviously had the opening, she and Andrea spent the fifty minutes together.

Maybe Andrea would have taken the next step even if she hadn’t met with Diane. Or maybe Pam should be glad that Diane gave Andrea such clarity. Maybe Larry is actually the one behind it. Pam wonders if any of them knows how much it hurts to return home from a hard day and retrieve this message from the answering machine:

“Mom? It’s Andrea. Listen, I know it’s, um, your week until Sunday, but I don’t want to be with you right now. Uh, I’m really upset about what happened the other night. And I don’t like it when you hit me. I want to stay with Daddy and Barbara right now. Daddy says you should call when you get this message. Bye.”