Lauren hiked up the creaking steps, pushed through the front door (the lock had been broken five times last year; the property manager, Mrs. Mauk, refused to fix it again), and headed for the tired steps that led to her apartment on the fourth floor.
As she crept past the managers door, she held her breath. She was almost to the stairs when she heard the door open, heard:
"Lauren? Is that you?"
Damn it.
She turned around, trying to smile. "Hello, Mrs. Mauk. "
Mrs. Mauk--Call me Dolores, honey--stepped into the shadowy hallway. Light from the open doorway made her look pale, almost sinister, but her toothy smile was bright. As always, she wore a navy blue kerchief over her graying hair and a floral housedress. There was a rumpled look to her, as if shed just been unfolded from an old suitcase. Her shoulders were hunched by a lifetime of disappointment. It was a common stance in this neighborhood. "I went to the salon today. "
"Uh-huh. "
"Your mom didnt show for work. "
"Shes sick. "
Mrs. Mauk clucked sympathetically. "New boyfriend again, huh?"
Lauren couldnt answer.
"Maybe this time itll be love. Anyhow, youre overdue on the rent. I need it by Friday. "
"Okay. " Lauren couldnt hold on to her smile.
Mrs. Mauk gave her The Look. "You cant be warm enough in that coat," she said, frowning. "You tell your mom--"
"I will. Bye. " She ran for the stairs and went up to the fourth floor.
Their door was ajar. Light spilled between the crack, slanted butterlike across the linoleum hallway.
Lauren wasnt worried. Her mom rarely remembered to shut the front door, and when she did remember to close it, she never locked it. Lost her keys too often; that was the excuse.
Lauren went inside.
The place was a mess. An open pizza box covered one end of the counter. A collection of beer bottles stood beside it. Potato chip bags were everywhere. The room smelled of cigarettes and sweat.
Mom lay on the sofa, arms and legs akimbo. A rumbling snore came up from the tangle of blankets that covered her face.
With a sigh, Lauren went into the kitchen and cleaned everything up, then she went to the couch and knelt down. "Come on, Mom, Ill help you to bed. "
"Wha? Huh?" Mom sat up, bleary-eyed. Her short, tousled hair, platinum this month, stuck out around her pale face. She reached shakily for the beer bottle on the end table. She took a long drink, then set it back down. Her aim was off, unsteady; the bottle thunked to the floor, spilling its contents.
She looked like a broken doll, with her face cocked to one side. She was porcelain pale; blue-black mascara smudged around her eyes. The faintest hint of her once-great beauty remained, like a glimmer of gold trim on a dirty china plate, peeking through. "He left me. "
"Who did, Mom?"
"Cal. And he swore he loved me. "
"Yeah. They always do. " Lauren bent down for the beer bottle, wondering if they had any paper towels to blot up the mess. Probably not. Moms paychecks were getting thinner lately. Supposedly it was the sagging economy. Mom swore that fewer women were coming to see her at the salon. Lauren figured that was half of the story; the other half was that the Hair Apparent Beauty Salon was four doors down from the Tides tavern.
Mom reached for her cigarettes and lit one up. "Youre giving me that look again. The fuck me, my moms a loser look. "
Lauren sat down on the coffee table. As much as she tried not to feel the sting of disappointment, it was there. She always seemed to want too much from her mother. When would she learn? These continual letdowns were eating through her. Sometimes she imagined she could even see them as a shadow above her heart. "The college fair was today. "
Mom took another drag, frowning as she exhaled. "Thats on Tuesday. "
"This is Tuesday, Mom. "