THE NIGHT BEFORE Jasper’s arrival in Cincinnati, while watching television in the den with Jane, Kitty, and Mrs. Bennet, Liz said during a commercial, “Kitty, will you give me a pedicure?”
Kitty looked at her with confusion. “Why?”
“Because you’re good at it and I need one.” Liz extended her legs and wiggled her toes.
“Fine, but I’m not touching your calluses,” Kitty said.
“It’s a deal,” Liz said.
“The calluses are because you run too much,” Mrs. Bennet said without glancing up from her catalog. “All that jostling is bad for your ovaries, too.”
In Kitty’s bathroom, which was where she and Liz adjourned to, Kitty was thoroughly professional in demeanor as she applied the layers of polish, focused and serious in a way Liz had never seen. Perhaps most impressive of all, Kitty owned pale pink disposable foam toe separators, which she inserted and told Liz to wear for the next forty-five minutes while the polish dried. “I’ve never waited that long in my entire life,” Liz said, and Kitty said, “I put four coats on. Trust me.”
With the separators in, Liz walked on her heels down the hall to Mary’s room and knocked on the door. After a minute, Mary opened it just a few inches, as if concerned about intruders.
“How’s it going?” Liz said.
“What do you want?” Mary asked.
“I’m just coming to say hi.” It was shortly after eleven P.M., and during her pedicure, Liz had heard Mary climb the stairs, apparently returning from wherever she’d been. “Did you have a good night?” Liz asked.
“You’re acting weird,” Mary said.
Trying to maintain a casual tone, Liz said, “Where do you go on Tuesdays, anyway?” Really, the omertà surrounding Mary’s night life made no sense.
“Nowhere,” Mary said.
Warmly, Liz said, “Well, obviously, you go somewhere.”
“I’m not gay, if that’s what you’re asking.”
The inquiry was going less well than Liz had hoped. “I wasn’t,” she said, which may not have been entirely true. “In fact, I was wondering if it had ever occurred to you to find out what happened to Allen Bausch.”
Mary squinted. “My prom date? That guy was such a loser.”
Switching tacks, Liz said, “Of all the degrees you have, which one do you think you’re most interested in pursuing for a career?”
“I won’t finish this one until December.”
“It’s a master’s in psychology, right?” Liz said, and Mary nodded. “Would you like to be a therapist?” Liz asked. The notion seemed at best ill-advised and at worst harmful to others. To her relief, Mary shook her head.
“I’m studying applied psychology, not clinical.”
“Remind me what people do with applied psychology degrees?”
Mary shrugged. “Employee training. Product testing.”
“You should work for Procter & Gamble!” Liz exclaimed. Seeing that her zeal seemed to repel Mary, Liz added more calmly, “I’m sure Charlotte would be happy to talk with you.” Presumably, Liz thought, her own awkward last encounter with Charlotte wouldn’t make an entreaty from Mary unwelcome. Liz then wondered how Charlotte’s visit to see Cousin Willie had gone.
“Are you asking me this stuff for an article you’re writing?” Mary said, and Liz said, “Can’t I just be interested in your life?”
“Yeah, right.” Mary nodded with her chin toward the floor, where Liz’s toes were five different candy colors on each foot. She said, “That looks ridiculous.”