The Life and Adventures of Gillian McKenna
“Not to laugh, not to lament, not to detest, but to understand.” -Spinoza
Part Four
31
On her break the following Saturday, Gillian saw that Erin had left a message, and she hurried to call her friend back. Erin was now a freshman at LSU in Baton Rouge, lived on campus, and only occasionally returned for the weekend in New Orleans. When she did, the two made sure to set time aside to see each other. Erin’s unique combination of warmth and pragmatism had always been a stabilizing influence for Gillian, and she couldn’t get enough of it. They arranged to meet at the restaurant as soon as Gillian’s shift was over and have dinner.
“I’d have thought you’d be tired of eating here,” said Erin as they slid into the most isolated booth available.
“I’m sick to death of eating here. But it’s free.”
“Gotcha.” She noticed that Gillian was beaming at her. “What is it?”
All through school, Erin had never been what one would call a girly-girl. Not unattractive, but her feminine appearance was the same as her personality: plain, straightforward, and understated. Now, she wore jeans and a white button up blouse, untucked but neat, and her dark hair was pulled back in a pony tail to fully reveal her open, intelligent face.
“I just gotta say, you’re looking very collegiate,” Gillian said. “And you wear it very well.”
“Thanks. And I gotta say, you’re the best friend those uniforms ever had.”
Gillian still had her pad with her, and when Erin decided what she wanted, Gillian coded both meals on the ticket. “Waitresses don’t wait on each other,” she explained. She walked over and placed the order on the spinner in the cook’s window.
When she retuned to their table, Erin said, “So tell me everything. Your own apartment, your own car… and a new boyfriend.” When Gillian looked surprised, Erin added, “Your mother gave me a full report when I called over there looking for you.”
“I should have known. Well, the apartment’s in Gretna. It’s tiny, one bedroom, not much more than an efficiency. The car is a heap. It gets me from point A to point B when it’s not in the shop.”
“Who could ask for more? And your boyfriend? What’s he like?”
“He works a lot of construction, houses mostly. He helped me buy the car. If I get into trouble, he’ll help me with rent.”
“Nice guy,” said Erin.
“So how’s school going?” Gillian asked.
Erin laughed. “Wait, that’s all you’re going to tell me? That he’ll help you with the rent?”
“He’s just a working guy, not much to tell. He’s cute, he’s…” she searched for words, found nothing, and looked at Erin helplessly.
After an extended silence, “He’s what?”
“He’s married.” Gillian rested her forehead in her hands for another long moment, then lifted her eyes to the ceiling and exclaimed, “I know, I know, I know!”
“Married…” Erin seemed to be pondering the meaning of the word.
“I didn’t know he was married when I started up with him,” Gillian went on. “As soon as I found out I broke it off. But then he went into this tailspin, not eating or sleeping, following me around everywhere, he lost a bunch of weight, he looks like a cadaver. I really felt sorry for him but you don’t have to tell me, I understand, it’s fucking stupid.”
“Gillian, I’d never rag you about it. You’re doing a good enough job of that already.”
Gillian folded her arms and sulked for a while.
“We do have a lot of fun together,” she at last said sheepishly.
They exchanged glances and laughed.
Gillian quickly waved her hand, as if brushing away gnats. “Anyway, that’s enough of that. How’s school?”
“School’s fine- look, this is what I wanted to talk to you about. Why don’t you come? You can enroll next semester.”
“Enroll at LSU?”
“Yes. We can room together.”
Gillian shook her head, saying nothing.
“No?” said Erin. “Just, ‘No’?”
“I never considered going to college. It never occurred to me to go.”
“It’s occurring to you now.”
“No one in my family ever went. We just don’t do that.”
“That’s not a reason.”
It seemed to Gillian that there must be a reason. “My mother’s a waitress. My father doesn’t even pay his child support. As far as Schulz, I wouldn’t ask him for help if my life depended on it. He’d expect “reimbursement,” if you know what I mean. I’ve never looked into scholarships or loans or any of that. If I mentioned college to my mother she’d look at me like I had canaries flying out of my ears.”
“Gillian, you can pay for two semesters- that’s tuition, room, and board- at LSU or any school in Louisiana except Tulane— with what you earn here in one summer. You could get a part time job on campus, too, if you wanted. Lots of people do. We could share a dorm room or get an apartment with some other girls. You’d have to move back home over the summer to save the money, but it’s just for the summer. This is so do-able it isn’t funny.”
Gillian’s head continued to shake.
“Your grades in every subject but math were as good as mine. In English, yours were better.”
“It’s not that I think I’m too dumb to go to college. Look, I just don’t want to go. I don’t like school.”
“What the hell kind of reason is that? Nobody likes school!”
For the first time, Erin appeared to be angry.
“Are you actually mad at me?”
“Mad? No, I’m not mad. You’re smart, you’re ridiculously beautiful, you’re even talented—I’ve heard you sing, and the ballet thing didn’t work out but that wasn’t your fault— but rather than use your head and get an education, you prefer to schlep patty melts for tips at a crappy diner and run around with some married loser! That’s what’s fucking stupid!”
“Order up!” the cook called. Gillian collected their plates at the window and set them on the table.
“And I’m not leaving you a tip!” said Erin.
When she saw the ad for the Sonny and Cher concert in Biloxi, she made up her mind that J.J. was going to take her. She had to get out and go somewhere. They never did anything but have sex in her apartment and see a matinee once in a blue moon. On top of that, as soon as she had moved in, J.J. locked her in a vice grip. He knew how long it took her to drive home from work and began calling the moment she set foot in the door. He called her at work to make sure she was there, as well. If her schedule deviated even a few minutes, to pick up something at the store on the way home, for instance, he had a thousand questions and demanded to know whom she was with and what she’d been doing. He was belligerent whether he accepted her explanation or not. Whenever Gillian had enough and complained about this he responded in one of two ways. He usually became furious and threatening until Gillian dropped it. Less often he would whine that it was because he loved her so much that he had to keep tabs on her. He worried about her safety, he said, and because he had family obligations he needed to know where she was at all times so that he could go to her the moment an opportunity arose.
Gillian knew he would use his wife and kids as an excuse not to take her to the concert, so she gave him plenty of advance notice. “Figure something out,” she told him.
“Sonny and Cher? In Biloxi? I don’t know if I can get away for that long. And that concert will be sold out. I’m not taking a big risk just to sit in the rafters.”
Gillian held up two tickets. “I called the ticket company and told them I was legally blind,” she said. “We’re in the front row.”
One week before the concert she changed clothes at work and headed to the mall to meet her mother. She told J.J. where she was going and not to expect her to be at home right away.
“I can pick you up and take you,” he said.
“No, I have the car. I’ll be fine.” She realized her assertion was untenable. Her Dodge Charger was a broken down lemon that spent most of its time in the shop. As often as not, she relied on taxis, J.J., or rides bummed from other waitresses to get to and from work.
True to form, the Dodge waited until she had made it onto the West Bank Expressway before the engine stopped with a loud clatter. She looked into the rearview mirror in time to see a fist-sized metallic structure bounce twice on the road then split into two, one half disappearing over the rail. She put the car in neutral, pulled as far as she could onto the narrow shoulder and coasted to a stop.
She drummed her fingers on the wheel, considering what to do. She was nowhere near an exit, and the expressway at that point passed over a residential section. Even if she wanted to knock on doors to use a phone, it would take her a good while to walk to point where she could climb down from the elevated roadway.
The minutes passed. Her mother would be worried. Traffic was heavy, and cars whizzed by dangerously a few feet from her door every couple of seconds.
Just as she made the decision to start walking, she watched as one of the cars slowed, pulled over and stopped, then backed slowly towards her until its rear end was right up against her front bumper. An elderly man emerged and, seemingly oblivious to the speeding traffic that missed him by inches, walked back to his trunk, opened it, and pulled out a rope with thick metal hooks attached to either end. Gillian opened her door as much as she dared and shouted.
“Hello, Sir? Sir? Hello? I was on my way to the mall and…Sir? Hello?”
He didn’t look at her or in any way acknowledge that he heard her. Gillian watched him slowly sink below the level of her hood as he bent down and got to his knees. She heard metallic clanging, then a period of silence long enough for her to wonder if he had gone to sleep down there. Eventually he reemerged between the vehicles.
“Sir? Sir!”
Still without so much as a glance in her direction, he got back into his car and started the engine. He crept forward until Gillian felt one jerk as the rope lost its slack, then another. He quickly picked up speed and in a moment they were merging with the traffic.
Gillian pulled her door shut wishing she had remembered to take the car out of neutral. But it was too late, they were traveling the speed limit down the expressway. Her brain raced to the only logical conclusion: she was being kidnapped. She rolled down the window and shrieked for help, waving her arms at everyone that passed. Her shouts and gesticulations grew more uninhibited as they passed one exit, then another, but no one took notice. She was completely in his control. He could drive her to a secluded spot and do whatever he wanted. Her terror increased, as she more fully realized the gravity of her situation, until she felt a change in direction. She looked up to see that he was getting off the expressway. It was the mall exit.
She calmed herself enough to be able to apply the brakes when they came to traffic lights and stop signs. He pulled her into a parking space as close to the mall’s main entrance as possible. He unhooked the rope and returned it to his trunk as methodically as before while Gillian stood by and watched, still trembling somewhat.
“Thank you,” she managed weakly as he pulled his door shut and drove off.
Her mother was of course agitated. “He could have been an axe murderer!” Their outing had to be postponed in order to make arrangements to have the car towed to the shop. She didn’t know how she was going to pay for repairs this time, or how she would get to work in the morning. Schulz came and picked them up, and when he finally dropped Gillian at home, the phone was ringing off the hook, undoubtedly an irate J.J. on the line.
“Yessiree,” Gillian thought. “This is what freedom feels like.”
