“I want to talk about going back to school,” Phil said quietly. “Remember the plan, Christian? I put you through law school and then you were supposed to put me through.”
He sighed and sank down in his chair. “Yeah, I remember. But look, babe.” His tone became softer. “I’ve been giving that some thought. I mean, why should you have to go back to school now that I can support us?”
Phil couldn’t believe her ears. “Excuse me? Why should I have to go back to school? Did it ever occur to you that I want to go back?”
Christian sighed. “Yeah, but do you really think it’s necessary? I mean, I know you want to quit your crappy job and that’s fine with me. Just let me get another raise or two under my belt and you can leave BB&D and never look back. But law school is expensive. And why should you go back when it would be so much easier for you to stay home and start a family? I mean, we both want kids and it would be nice for me to come home every day to a home cooked meal. You could kick back and relax—just take it easy—take care of the house, maybe take those tennis lessons you always wanted…” He trailed off. “Babe?”
Phil took a deep breath. “So this is your answer, Christian? Instead of holding up your end of the bargain, you want me to give up everything I’ve been waiting for ever since we met? I’ve put my dreams on hold for the last four years for you and this is what I get?”
“Hey, hey, hey…” He put up both hands. “Come on now, let’s get real here, babe. You always talk about wanting to be a civil rights attorney but let’s lay the facts on the table. I know you, Phil, and you wouldn’t be any good in a court room situation. You’d let the other side bully you and you couldn’t stand up to the judge. Hell—you’d lose just about every case you tried. Why should I waste money on getting you a degree in something you wouldn’t be any damn good at? It’s a bad idea all the way around.”
Phil felt like he’d taken her heart in his hand and twisted it. “Is…is that really what you think of me?” she asked, hoping her voice wouldn’t break. “Is that really how you see me, Christian?”
Her fiancé looked taken aback. “Hell, I’m just stating the facts, Phil. I don’t want to hurt your feelings but you’d make a lousy lawyer and you and I both know it.”
“I don’t know any such thing. How could I know unless I try? This is my dream, Christian. My heart that you’re trampling on. Can’t you see that?”
“Shit! Phil, could you stop it with the melodrama?” Christian rolled his eyes. “I don’t understand you sometimes. Here I am, offering you the chance to kick back and take it easy for the rest of your life while I take care of everything and you’re acting like I stomped your pet puppy dog.”
Suddenly her pain turned to anger—a red rage so blinding that Phil wanted to hurt him the way he had hurt her. “May I remind you,” she asked, through gritted teeth. “That I turned down an acceptance from Stanford to put you through school? May I further remind you that you went to State because you couldn’t get into any place else?”
Her fiancé’s face darkened. “That was a low blow, Phil.”
“Oh, and telling me my dream is a ridiculous fantasy because I’d be no good at it isn’t?” she shouted. She was trembling with rage and yet she felt cold inside. The wish had her completely in its grip and she couldn’t stop talking. But the words were true, every last one of them.
“And you know what, Christian?” she continued. “That isn’t even what bothers me the most. It’s what a selfish bastard you’ve become. We had a deal. But you’re living your dream. So why should you care if I ever get mine, right?”
He shook his head in disgust. “I can’t talk to you about this right now. If you’re not willing to face facts I can’t help you.” He got up from the table and tossed his half-empty mug in the sink. Coffee splattered up over the wall behind the sink and there was a sharp cracking sound as the mug shattered.
“I don’t know why I should be surprised,” Phil yelled. “It’s not like this is the only part of our life you’re selfish in. I haven’t had an orgasm with you in the past three years!” Then she clapped a hand over her mouth. The fact that their sex life wasn’t that great was something she hadn’t even allowed herself to think about. Was her subconscious getting into the act now, too?
Christian took a deep breath and turned back to face her. For a moment she thought he was going to hit her. He had never struck her the entire time they had been together but a part of her almost welcomed it. Come on, do it! Show your true colors, you bastard. Cass was right about you all along. All of them were right! I’m just sorry I wasted so much time defending you. She opened her mouth to say it, but Christian stopped her by taking both her shoulders in his hands.
“Phil,” he said softly, holding her gaze with his. “I’m sorry if what I told you hurt you but I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t care.” He was breathing hard but the anger was gone from his eyes. They were calm and blue and utterly serious. “And deep down in your heart, you know I’m right. Phil…” He shook her gently for emphasis. “Wedding, yes. Kids and a family—absolutely. But law school…” He furrowed his brow. “I’m sorry, Philly-babe, but you have to trust me on this. I’ve been there and done that and I know better. I care about you—I care enough to tell you that you just don’t have what it takes. Do you understand?”
“No.” Phil felt numb and all the hot rage inside her suddenly turned to ice. “No, I don’t understand, Christian. I don’t think I understand anything anymore.”
“That’s why you have to trust me,” he said. “To take care of you. To look out for your best interests. I’m only telling you this because I want to spare you the pain of finding it out on your own the hard way.” He gave her a swift kiss on the cheek. “Look, I know you want to talk about this but I really have to go or I’m going to miss this early meeting. Okay?”
“Okay,” Phil said numbly. She literally had nothing else to say.
“Good.” Christian smiled at her. “I’m glad we understand each other. See ya later, babe.” He headed for the shower, leaving Phil to sink down at the table, clutching her throbbing temples with both hands.
Chapter Eleven
She would have been happy to call in sick, but Phil had a performance review with Dickson Junior that afternoon and ditching it would have meant automatic termination.
Christian had run out of the house after the fastest shower in history, leaving her to get dressed in dismal silence. Phil dragged through her morning routine, knowing she was running late and unable to make herself care. She had never had a fight like that with her fiancé before. Had never let him know what she really thought and felt, as pathetic as it sounded. But worse than hearing her own feelings voiced out loud had been hearing his. Did he really think so little of her? Did he really expect her just to roll over and forget her dreams because he said so? Phil supposed he probably did. After all, she’d been pretty much going along with everything Christian said for years. It must have been an ugly shock for him to find out she had a mind of her own.
The worst thing though, was the little voice in the back of her head that told her he might be right. Christian had voiced every doubt she had ever had about herself and somehow made it a reality. What if I would make a lousy lawyer? What if everything I’ve ever wanted is just a stupid pipedream?
A part of her knew she could succeed at whatever she turned her hand to as long as she tried hard enough. But the other part… I’m just trying to spare you pain, he’d said. But the most painful thing was knowing what he thought if her.
Phil was cold all over. She felt like she ought to be crying, but she hadn’t shed a tear. It was as though she had cut herself deeply with a knife and was stuck in that split second between the initial slice and the instant the wound starts to bleed.
She was also beginning to rethink her wish. Maybe it would be wise to call the fairy godmother and ask her to reverse what she had done. Good luck on that one, Phil snorted to herself. She remembered the FG’s nasty tone when sh
e’d said, “Have fun speaking your mind, my dear. And don’t come crying to me if you don’t like it.” Still, as pissed off as her fairy godmother had been, she supposed she could always beg…
But something in Phil revolted against the idea. It was true her latest birthday wish had had some unexpected consequences. She had said and done some things she certainly wouldn’t have dreamed of doing and saying before. But if she hadn’t made the wish, she never would have found out what Christian really thought of her. What she was still trying to figure out was how she really felt about him. How she’d been feeling for the past year if she was honest with herself.
When she pulled into the BB&D parking area, Alison’s bright red Mercedes was parked in her space, as usual. Phil looked at it grimly for a moment, revving her engine and wishing that she had a big-ass SUV instead of her grimy little bug so she could knock her coworker’s expensive car into next week. What was she turning into? She had to get control of herself. She took a deep breath and drove past her spot.
Also as usual, Phil had to park far in the back. She was trudging up to the elevators when she saw a thin shape slip around one of the concrete pillars of the garage. It was the “blind” pencil boy and he was riding an expensive-looking bike. Phil kept her head down and pretended not to notice. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him dismount quickly and hide the bike behind a concrete pillar. Then he moved into position, pulling on his sunglasses and grabbing his pencil cup. Clearly he had seen her and just as clearly he thought she was too distracted to have noticed him setting up his act.
“Lady? Hey, lady?” It was the same as every other morning, with the boy jingling his cup in her face as she tried to get past him to the elevators. “Hey! Don’t you wanna buy a pencil?”
“No,” Phil said, and tried to move past him.
“C’mon, lady,” he whined, blocking her path. “You always buy a pencil. Don’t you want one today? Only a dollar.”
“I know how much they are,” Phil said stopping to look at him. “I’ve been buying a pencil a day from you for the last three years. But you know what? I’m not going to do it anymore.”
“Why not, lady? C’mon,” he wheedled. “If you don’t wanna pencil, just give me a dollar.”
“I will not.” Phil felt the magic well up in her again. “I’ve given you enough money to pay for a semester of college and I’ve got so many pencils I could open my own stationary store.” She looked him up and down. His clothes looked new and his sneakers had to have cost more than three pairs of her own shoes. Being a blind pencil boy was apparently big business. “Let me ask you something. What do you do with all the money you collect?”
The pencil boy got an uneasy look on his face. “Uh, I don’t know. Buy stuff,” he mumbled.
“What stuff?”
He frowned. “I don’t know—stuff I need. My parents don’t give me enough allowance.”
“Uh-huh.” Phil nodded. “And do you know what I’d like to buy with the money I’ve been giving you for pencils? Lunch. Do you know that for the last three years while I’ve been giving you my lunch money I’ve also been trying to put my ungrateful bastard of a fiancé through law school? And why? Because he promised he’d put me through when he was done. But today I found out that he has no intention of living up to his end of the bargain because he thinks I would make a crappy lawyer.” Phil took a deep breath and tried to get back on topic. “The point is, you’re not getting one more dime from me.”
The pencil boy stared at her for a moment before shaking his head. “Holy shit, lady—you’re crazy.”
“I may be crazy but I’m not stupid.” Phil snatched the dark sunglasses off his face and watched his eyes widen in disbelief. She folded them neatly and dropped them on the concrete, where she crunched them beneath the heel of her sensible black work pump. Then she folded her arms calmly and smiled at him. “Did you see that?” she asked the dumbfounded pencil boy.
“Uh…yeah.” His eyes wouldn’t leave the shattered fragments of black plastic beneath her heel.
“Exactly,” Phil said.
He looked up at her. “I can’t believe you, lady. Those were Oakleys!”
“Well then you’re just going to have to go sell pencils somewhere else to buy some new ones,” Phil said coolly. “Or you could try getting a real job. You’re what—fifteen?”
“Sixteen,” he answered sullenly.
“So go find a job at Burger King or Subway if you want extra money. Try being a sandwich artist instead of a con artist for a while. Now get out of here—I never want to see you on these premises again.”
The boy gave her one last wide-eyed look and then ran behind the pillar to grab his bike. He yelled something over his shoulder as he pedaled away that Phil didn’t quite catch. But somehow she didn’t think it was “have a nice day”.
Phil stepped from the elevator into the office with her head down. Godohgodohgod. She had told off the little blind pencil boy. Not only that, she had broken his glasses. What was next? She didn’t know if she should feel panicked or pleased. The strange mixture of emotions churning in her gut were making her feel slightly nauseous. She had to get through the workday without any major episodes. Her plan was to stay as far away from her coworkers as possible and try to keep her mouth shut.
“Good morning, Philomena.” A kindly voice in her ear startled Phil so much she almost jumped. She looked up to see Caroline Sanders, the head of the filing department smiling at her through her bright pink lipstick.
Caroline was a sweet old soul who had worked for BB&D for about a hundred years but she had peculiar ideas about makeup. She liked to wear bright colors and she liked to wear a lot of them. Consequently, her cheeks were always two hot pink spots and her mouth was a bright slash in her wrinkled little face. The strangest thing about her makeup though, was her eyebrows. At some time in the far distant past, she must have plucked them all out, so now she had to draw them in with an eyeliner pencil.
But Caroline wasn’t content to draw her brows in with brown or black or even auburn to match the color of her hair (which was obviously dyed). Instead, she chose colors that matched whatever she happened to be wearing that day. So if she was wearing blue, she drew herself blue eyebrows. If she wore a green dress, her eyebrows were sure to match. Today, Phil noticed, her coworker was wearing a deep purple wrap dress with tiny pink daisies printed all over it. And true to form, arching purple eyebrows had been drawn in above her faded blue eyes.
“Good morning, Caroline,” Phil said, her gaze drawn inevitably up to the purple arches. Why does she do that? she thought for the hundredth time. And then, to her horror, she found herself asking it. “Why do you do that?”
“Do what, Philomena, dear?” Caroline asked, a puzzled smile creasing her wrinkled cheeks.
“Why do you…why do you…” Phil fought the urge with all her might. There was an old woman who lived in a shoe, she recited silently, trying to take her mind off her coworkers bizarre makeup job. She had so many colored eyebrows, she didn’t know what to do. No—that’s not right! Phil bit her lip desperately. She liked Caroline and didn’t want to hurt her feelings. Damn this stupid wish!
“Dear? Are you quite all right?” Caroline put an arthritic hand on her arm, frowning worriedly. “You look a little ill.”
“I’m not ill. I just wanted to know why…why…” Phil bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood. Old Mother Eyebrow went to the cupboard to get her poor dog a bone. But when she got there, the eyebrow was bare, and so the poor eyebrow got none.
“What dear? You want to know why…?” Caroline raised her amazing purple eyebrows and leaned forward to catch the end of the question. Suddenly Phil realized there was no helping it—the words were going to come out of her mouth whether she wanted them to or not.
“I want to know why you match your eyebrows to the color of your dress every day,” she said, all in one quick, miserable rush. Then she put her head down and waited to see if Caroline was angry or hurt or
what. So she was surprised to hear an ancient, tinkling laugh, like a rusty music box. She looked up to see Caroline smiling.
“Is that all, dear?” She patted Phil on the arm. “Well I do it for the same reason some people like to make sure their shirt and socks go together—I like to match.” She gave Phil a naughty grin and leaned in to whisper, “I’ll tell you a little secret too—I like to match everywhere. I found the prettiest purple bra and panty set at Victoria’s Secret so I’m pretty in purple all over today.” She nudged the speechless Phil with one elbow, nodded, and sashayed off down the long, maroon carpeted hall humming to herself.
Phil was nearly weak with relief. Although finding out that her coworker’s underwear matched her eyebrows was a little too much information. Still, at least she hadn’t done any lasting harm with her stupid, wish-induced question.
“Oh. My. God. Philomena, were you just talking to Caroline?” The voice in her ear made Phil jump for the second time that day. She turned to see Kelli standing in front of her with her arms crossed over the pumpkin orange blouse she was wearing. Caroline wasn’t the only one who liked bright colors.
“Yes,” she said. “I was.”
“Did I hear you asking her about her weird eyebrows?” Kelli asked, raising her own eyebrows, which thankfully matched her hair.
“I don’t know, Kelli,” Phil snapped. “Did you hear me ask her?”
“Uh…I guess.” Kelli seemed taken aback by her snappish tone of voice but she recovered quickly. “Anyway, I think it’s about time somebody said something to her, you know? I mean, with all that makeup on, she looks like a clown. Have I ever told you how I feel about clowns?”
“No, you haven’t. And to be perfectly honest, I’m not especially interested to hear your views on them now.” She dropped her purse at her desk, turned and stalked away from the gaping Kelli before her coworker could say one more word. And more importantly, before she could start thinking about how much she disliked Kelli and begin speaking her mind again.