Isabel a sat and drank her vodka soda, while Lauren and Bert held each other in long hugs. “How’s the new job?” Lauren asked, with her face in Bert’s shoulder.
“Great,” Isabel a said. “Everything I hoped.”
Isabel a’s new boss was cal ed Snowy. She had a skunk stripe in her hair and was frighteningly skinny. Sometimes when she walked down the hal , Isabel a was sure her legs were going to pop right off, like a Barbie dol ’s. Snowy was only ten years older than Isabel a, and a star in the publishing world. When Isabel a started, Snowy told her that she wanted to be a mentor, not a boss. “I want to help you learn, to help you become a star here.”
Snowy had two assistants, and Isabel a was hired to be the second one. The first assistant was a twenty-two-year-old named Cate, with shiny brown hair and an amazing wardrobe. The day Isabel a started, Cate took her to lunch at a fancy French place and used Snowy’s credit card. “I used to be the second assistant, but the first girl left because she said Snowy was impossible to work for,” Cate told her.
“Is she?” Isabel a asked.
Cate shrugged. “I mean, yeah, she’s a nightmare. But don’t worry. Just do your job and try not to get upset when she yel s.”
“Okay,” Isabel a said. They went back upstairs and Cate showed Isabel a how to do Snowy’s expenses.
That night, when Mary asked Isabel a how work was, she said, “Today, I got career advice from a twenty-two-year-old.”
“It’l get better,” Mary said.
“God, I hope so.”
About three times a day, Snowy dropped a pile of little scrap papers and Post-its on Isabel a’s desk. They had handwritten notes on them, most of which made no sense. “Here,” Snowy would say as she gave them to her, “file these.” Isabel a, unsure of what to do with the notes, typed them up and kept the originals in a file folder, in case Snowy ever asked for them. One time, Isabel a found a Kleenex in the pile of papers. “What am I supposed to do with this?” she asked Cate.
Cate just wrinkled her nose and said, “Gross.”
One morning, Snowy dropped a manuscript on Isabel a’s desk. “Why don’t you read this and get back to me?” Isabel a held it with both hands on the subway home, afraid that she was going to lose it. She stayed up most of the night, reading it and writing out notes. Everything she wrote sounded stupid. The main character is too one-dimensional, she wrote. Then she crossed it out. The main character does not have enough depth, she wrote instead. “At one point in my life, I was smart,” she thought.
In the morning, Isabel a’s head and eyes hurt. When she went into Snowy’s office to drop off the manuscript, she thought she was going to wet herself. She felt homesick for the list company, just for a second, and then handed her notes to Snowy. When Snowy handed them back to her later, Isabel a could see that she’d crossed out almost every note Isabel a had written. No, she’d written in mean red pen. Not clear enough.
“You’l get the hang of it,” she told Isabel a. Isabel a went to the handicapped bathroom and cried for ten minutes. Then she got up, splashed her face with water, and went back to her desk. Cate smiled at her sadly.
Cave Publishing was closed the last week of August, and Isabel a decided to go home. Her mom had suggested it, and Isabel a almost wept with relief when she did. She was tired of getting Snowy coffee. She was tired of having Snowy tel her that she was doing her job wrong. She was tired of the name Snowy.
“That would be great, Mom,” Isabel a said. She was looking forward to having someone cook for her. She could stay in sweatpants al day if she wanted.
“Oh, that wil be fun!” her mom said. “Plus, you can help out with Connor. I’m sure he’l love to see you.”
Isabel a’s nephew Connor was spending most of the summer at her parents’ house. He had been asked to leave camp after he screamed at a counselor for changing the schedule. Apparently, the Guppies were supposed to have free swim after crafts, and the unassuming teenager had tried to mix it up and take them to archery instead. Connor flipped out and charged the counselor, head-butting him and screaming, “You idiot
asshole!” The head of the camp thought that Connor showed signs of “unusual aggression,” and that it would be better if he didn’t come back to camp. With no backup child-care plan for Connor, Joseph had asked his parents for help.
“I didn’t know you could get kicked out of camp,” Isabel a said to her mother.
“I didn’t know either,” her mom said. “But it would be great if you were here to spend some time with him. He’s a little difficult these days.”
Every morning at eight-thirty, Isabel a’s brother dropped Connor off. Joseph was balding at a rapid rate. He looked old and tired to Isabel a. He was probably upset, but he appeared formal and detached; that’s how he always was. “Good morning, Isabel a,” he would say. Then he would bend down to talk to Connor, who scowled and remained silent.
Connor had been tested for every behavioral abnormality under the sun and had been diagnosed with some frightening acronyms. Now they were working with a therapist to “overcome his chal enges.” He was odd. Isabel a couldn’t deny that. But she’d always had a fondness for Connor.
He was her oldest nephew and always told her she was his favorite aunt. He always chose to sit next to her. He was sensitive. (Plus, his mother had run off with a man she’d met on the Internet, leaving Connor and his sister with their dad. You had to cut the kid some slack.) Last Thanksgiving, Connor made up a game. He would draw a box, then draw three objects. “Okay,” he’d say. “You’re locked in a room with a gun, a bomb, and a phone. What do you do?” No one else but Isabel a would play the game.
“What would you do, Auntie Iz?” Connor asked.
“I would use the phone to cal outside,” Isabel a said. “I would warn them to get away, then I would blow a hole in the wal with the bomb and have the gun just in case anyone dangerous was out there.”
Connor looked pleased with her answer, and said quickly, “Okay, good one.” He nodded his head four times. Then he started drawing another room with three new objects.
Al week, Isabel a tried to keep Connor occupied. She took him swimming, she took him to play tennis. They went to see a movie, and went to check out books at the library. But on the last day Isabel a was there, they ran out of things to do. They sat in the playroom, staring at each other.
“Do you want to play a game, Auntie Iz?” Connor asked. Isabel a didn’t, but she said yes.
“Okay, so here’s the game. It’s cal ed Deaf or Blind. So first, you tel me if you would rather be deaf or blind.”
“Blind,” Isabel a said. Connor looked annoyed. He was holding earplugs he’d found in her dad’s room.
“You should choose deaf,” he said. “It’s better.”
“But I want to make sure I can stil hear music. I’m going to choose blind.”
Connor shook his head like he couldn’t believe she was making this choice. “Okay,” he said, “hold on.” He went over to the dress-up chest and rummaged around for a while, until he found a bandanna that had once been part of a cowboy costume.
“You know,” he said, “it’s a lot scarier to be blind.” Isabel a nodded. “Okay,” he said. “Okay. I’ve never picked blind before. It seems scary.”
“I think I’l be okay,” Isabel a said.
“Are you scared?” he asked.
“Just a little bit, but not too much.” Connor looked at her with admiration.
He stood behind her and wrapped the bandanna around her eyes and then tightened it. Isabel a saw the blackness, and then, as he pul ed it tighter, bursts of light started to explode. “You can’t see, right? Auntie Iz, you can’t see anything, right?” Isabel a shook her head no.