Young Jane Young(52)

“I know. I go to a lot of luncheons. The bread is always stale, but the salad is sometimes edible. The meal is usually pretty bad, except for dessert. A good dessert is meant to trick you into forgetting about the bad meal that came before.”

“Is that something your mom taught you?”

Ruby shrugged.

“I wish I didn’t have to go,” Embeth said.

“What would you do if you could skip it?” Ruby asked.

“I’d go to the movies,” Embeth said. “I’d buy a huge tub of popcorn, and I’d call my friend, Allegra, and after the trailers, I’d fall asleep. I love sleeping at the movies, and I haven’t slept much for months. But that is not going to happen. Okay, say you come to the lunch. What if someone asks who you are?”

“I’ll say I’m shadowing you for the Future Girls’ Leadership Initiative.”

“That was a most deft improvisation, Ruby,” said Embeth. “Have you considered a career in politics?”

“No,” said Ruby. “I don’t think I’d be good at it. People don’t tend to like me. People my own age, I mean.”

“People don’t tend to like me either,” said Embeth. “I like you, though. I am finding you very likable, and we’ve only just met, and trust me, I have many reasons not to like you, which must mean you are remarkably likable. Okay, you’re coming with me, but we need to call someone first. Your family will want to know you aren’t dead. Do you have your grandmother’s number? She lives pretty near here, I think.”

Ruby said she didn’t know her grandmother.

“You don’t know Rachel Grossman?”

Ruby shook her head. “I don’t know any of the Grossmans. Grossmen. You’re not going to call my mom, are you?”

“Are you kidding me? Your mom is about the last person in the world I would ever want to call,” Embeth said.

Embeth left a note on Tasha’s desk, asking her to please track down a number for Rachel Grossman.



In the parking lot of the Allen Library, Embeth hastily drew on eyebrows with a pencil.

“One of them’s a little high,” said Ruby.

“Shut up, El Meté,” said Embeth.

“Sorry,” said Ruby. “Just trying to help.”

“Oh jeez,” said Embeth. “Not you. I thought you were someone else.”

“Someone called El Meté,” Ruby said. “I like that name. Is it Spanish? I’m interested in languages. I have a pen pal from Indonesia.”

Embeth rubbed out and redrew her left eyebrow. “Is this better?”

Ruby looked at her. “It is.” Ruby looked at her some more. “It looks like you are raising one eyebrow, as if you are slightly disapproving of something.”

“Sounds about right,” said Embeth. “Let’s go in.”

“Is your friend a boy? ‘El’ means masculine, usually.”

“I’m not sure,” Embeth said.

“My teacher at school is like that,” said Ruby.

“Like what?” Embeth said.

“Transgendered,” said Ruby.

“No, it’s not like that,” said Embeth. “My friend is a parrot.”

“Oh, wow, you have a pet parrot! Can I meet him?”

At that point, they had reached the entrance, and Jeanne from Embeth’s alumni association approached them. “Mrs. Levin, greetings! Thank you so much for agreeing to do this!” Alumna Jeanne called.

Jeanne, in her shapeless black cardigan and shapeless black dress, the shapelessness providing a kind of bulwark. Jeanne, her hair long and unkempt and undyed and washed in coconut oil. Jeanne, in sensible Swedish clogs. Jeanne, who smelled like expensive soap but never used perfume. Jeanne, who splurged on quality glasses and overpriced trips with her alumni association. Jeanne, who had two whippets or perhaps two cats or perhaps raised turtles. Jeanne, who only bought fair trade chocolate. Jeanne, who belonged to a book club where no one ever finished the book. Jeanne, whose primary workout was swimming. Jeanne, who didn’t wear jeans, just loose organic cotton pants. Jeanne, who admired the congressman but would never quite forgive him for what he had done with that intern. Embeth had met many Jeannes. How she envied the Jeannes.

“Jeanne, wonderful to see you again!” It was always better to assume you had met someone before, though, in fact, Embeth had no specific recollection of having met this particular Jeanne. For whatever reason, it gave less offense to be remembered falsely than to be forgotten.

“What a wonderful day that was,” Jeanne said.

“Wonderful, wonderful,” Embeth agreed.

“The weather!” Jeanne said.

“The weather!” Embeth said, with a laugh.

“The weather!” Ruby repeated, and then she threw her hand over her mouth. “Sorry,” Ruby said. “The way you guys were describing that day, I almost felt as if I had been there, too.”

Alumna Jeanne looked over at Ruby. “And who are you?”

“She’s my mentee in…” Embeth tried to remember it.

“Future Girls’ Leadership Initiative,” Ruby filled in.

“The FUGLI,” Embeth added.

“Does that spell fugly?” Alumna Jeanne asked. “That seems unfortunate.”