Finding Lucas
by Samantha Stroh Bailey
L
eah? Katie? Rach?” I call after
opening the front door that my
trusting family never locks.
Wait until their precious
crystals and enema
paraphernalia get swiped.
“Jamie? Is that you?” Leah trills
from upstairs.
“Yeah, I’m home.”
Leah glides downstairs with the
same grace and elegance she’s always
had. My mom is ethereal. There’s no
other word more precise. Tall and
willowy, her once blond hair is now
silver and tied in a long braid that
falls to the middle of her back. She’s
wearing her favorite pale blue gauzy
skirt (the one with the tiny mirrors all
over it, of course), a hemp tank top,
and naturally, no bra. I’ve gotten used
to seeing a lot of nipples around this
house.
She pulls me close and kisses my hair,
which I shrug off. Not giving up, she
puts her hands on my shoulders and
says, “Let me look at the gorgeous
you. Hmmm, have you been taking your
vitamins?”
“Yup. I guess they just don’t work
for me.”
I never take vitamins, but it’s a
losing battle to tell her that because
she’ll inundate me with pamphlets
about how flax seed oil will improve
my mood. Trust me, it won’t.
“Oh, wait! I’ll get you some new
powder I’ve been trying. It’ll regulate
your hormones. You just put it in hot
water, let it thicken and drink it down.
It works like a dream. Hey, where’s
Derek?” she asks, peering over my
shoulder to see if he’s crouching
behind me.
I lower my eyes and inspect the navy
blue front hall carpet decorated,
naturally, with moons and stars. “Um,
he had to work. We just got back.”
I can feel her silently examining me
from head to foot. “Did he ask you to
marry him?” she asks warily, and when
I look up, I see the worry in her eyes.
Obviously, Leah’s not Derek’s
biggest fan at the moment. “No, of
course not. Is that what you thought
he was going to do?” I ask, surprised,
because Derek and I never talk about
marriage.
“I never know what Derek is going to
do, Jamie,” Leah replies cryptically
and shakes her head from side to side,
making the turquoise and silver
earrings Katie made for her tinkle
musically.
Now, any other mother would expand
on that, but Leah speaks more with
her eyes and her tone, without
judgment, wi thout doing the normal
mother nagging or clucking. But the
result is the same. Anxiety.
“We had a good time!” I throw up my
hands in exasperation because I want
to prove to her that everything is
okay. I don’t want Leah to think I’m
not happy. Her whole existence is
about being happy.
But Leah just smiles serenely.
“Okay.”
Can’t she tell me that she hates him?
Can’t she tell me I’m making a mistake
by staying with him? Why does she
need to be so easy and relaxed when
she knows it makes me so tense?
I sigh. “Where’s Rachel?”
“On the phone. Where else? I’m glad
you had a good time.” She locks eyes
with me, says nothing, and I want to
scream.
“We did.”
“Hmmm.” And that one word says
everything. “Do you want something
to drink? I just brewed a pot of
dandelion tea,” she asks, walking
towards the kitchen at the back of
the house.
I follow her lavender-scented trail
and say, “No thanks. I just want to
grab Rachel’s essay and go. I have
some work to do before tomorrow.”
She turns on the stove and puts the
silver tea kettle on the range. “Oh,
what are you working on now?”
“People who look like their pets.”
She giggles. “I’ll have to make sure
to tape that one.”
Leah loves my show. Of course she
does. She supports everything I do. If I
told her I was running off to become a
fire-eater at the circus, she’d buy
tickets for every city and show up to
watch me. She’d probably even light
the stick.
I know that sounds fantastic, having
a mother who supports and
understands everything you do
without placing her own expectations
on you. But, sometimes, I’d really just
like a mother.
I leave her to brew her tea and run
up the spiral staircase, past the oil
lamps and incense burners to Rachel’s
room at the top of the house. Rachel
and I are total opposites. Where I’m
reserved and aloof, she’s warm,
outgoing, and bubbling with infectious
energy. I rap my knuckles on her
door.”Rach?”
She flings open the door and hurls
herself into my arms. “Jamie! I missed
you. I have so much to tell you. Steve
emailed me and wants me to go out
with him, but I know that Becky likes
him. But it’s not like they’ve hooked
up or anything...”
And she’s off for about fifteen
minutes about school, her teachers,
friends, new clothes. I can’t help but
smile. Rachel’s the only person I’ll let
paw me. I couldn’t stop her if I wanted
to. It’s been a long time since we’ve
lived in the same house so I no longer
have to witness massage trains and
hair braiding sessions with her equally
affectionate friends.
“How was your hot weekend?” she
finally asks, her blue eyes huge,
searching my face for any vestiges of
excitement.
“Not so hot, really. We fought a lot.”
Rachel takes a deep breath to fill her
lungs with enough air to respond to
this. In a second, I’ll be bombarded
with all of the questions she can get
out in one breath. “You fought?
Again? About what? How was the
hotel, though? And Montreal? Did you
learn any French?”
I can tell Rachel about the problems
with me and Derek, because at
eighteen, she doesn’t take them so
seriously, and she can jump from one
topic to the next faster than I can
think.
“We just fought about stupid stuff,
and no, I didn’t learn any French. But,
yeah, the hotel was really nice. You
would have loved it.” I sit on the edge
of her bed, avoiding the twenty or so
pairs of tiny thongs she’s scattered
everywhere. “And he took me
shopping.”
Her eyes light up and she plops down
next to me. “Shopping? Did you get a
lot of stuff? Did he buy stuff?”
“He got tons, and I got makeup. See
the rash on my face?” I say and smile.
Rachel’s soothing laughter makes me
feel better. She tosses her shiny hair
over her shoulder, grabs my hand and
pulls me towards her hot pink
computer. “Do you wanna see the
email Steve sent me? I can’t tell what
it means. I’m not sure if he likes me
likes me or just likes me.”
101
I’m sure that makes perfect sense in
the hormonally-charged brain of an
eighteen year old who can’t focus on
anything or any guy for too long.
I read the email, take Rachel’s essay,
and say my goodbyes. Katie’s with a
client (I can tell from the sound of
rain and wind coming from the stereo
system in the basement) so I don’t
have a chance to say hello. I don’t
leave empty-handed, however. Leah
presses two bottles of garlic and fish
oil pills into my palm before I leave.
How revolting. To be tossed in the
trash with all the other supplements
Leah’s given me over the years.
***
I
n the television studio, a cat is
trying to climb on top of a llama, so
I leave them to it and head towards
my desk. I stayed up late last night
putting together the interview
questions for Mitzy, the dumb as a
brick, gorgeous, straw-shaped host of
our show.
Mitzy can’t read very well so the
questions are always whispered in her
ear through a tiny earpiece speaker. I
still have trouble believing they
couldn’t find a talk show host who’s
both telegenic and brighter than a
burned out bulb.
I know that my boss, Sue, the
executive producer, wants to find
someone to replace her, but she’s too
terrified to do it. Most people have a
boss they’re intimidated of. Mine is so
fragile that if you speak above a
whisper, she faints in fear.
Sue is definitely not producer
material. She holds a PhD in Media
Communications, and with her stringy
brown hair (always, always in a bun),
wire-rimmed glasses perched on her
nose (or on her head which invariably
makes her look desperately for them),
and timid voice, she’s better suited to
being a researcher.
I have no idea how she ended up at a
cheesy talk show, but I know why she
can’t leave. Her mom is ill with some
disease that is so rare only two people
in the world have it (and why I can
never remember its name) so Sue
needs money to have at home care.
Poor Sue.
She tiptoes around everyone, hates
the spotlight, and uses words like
“pernicious” which not many people at
this show can even spell much less
understand. I can though because I do
have that Master’s degree, and I might
as well put it to good use
understanding Sue since I haven’t done
much else with it. Besides wave at it
whenever I go to Leah and Katie’s.
As her associate producer, one of my
responsibilities is finding and meeting
the psycho guests (like the girl whose