Any Way Out - 6. Sarah Screws Up

Sixteen Years Earlier

Crystal Strickland leaned on her deck railing, shivering in the darkness outside her double wide trailer. The cigarette in her shaking fingers had nearly burned down to the filter. She desperately wanted more, but she knew a second smoke would make her sick before she finished it. She was broke enough already, and she certainly wasn’t going to waste cigarettes. She’d thought about switching down to Pall Malls or Parliaments to save a bit, but she’d been raised on Camel Lights; everything else tasted like burning grass clippings.

Gloomily, Crystal ground out the butt between her fingers and watched the fallen embers wink out in the gravel pad. She descended a step and, bending to reach, shoved the waste through one of the gaps in the aluminum flashing, into the oblivion beneath the trailer. She pulled the door open with a hollow metallic pop and a creak of hinges, and stepped into her family’s little home.

They would be here any minute. Crystal knew she would reek of smoke when they showed up, even if she did hide away her coat. This she did anyway, stowing it in her bedroom on the right where her little son was sleeping, revealing her uniform polo from the gas station. She was losing five hours of income to this meeting, but the school had said it was important.

Her daughter was doing homework while she waited for the people were coming to see her. Crystal wanted Sarah to be at least as presentable as she had made the trailer, and had ordered her to put on something nice. Clean, but shabby mismatched furniture ringed the living room. The registers rattled with hot air struggling to maintain the extravagant seventy degrees that had been prepared for the visitors. In the eat-in kitchen, the sink was finally cleared of dishes, and the stove and fridge were reasonably white. Three chairs matched the kitchen table, but she’d dragged a fourth out from storage, something from a church yard sale. Crystal and the kids normally only needed the three.

Her daughter was supposed to have cleaned the kitchen surfaces. Crystal ran a fingernail across the table, as she had seen a dozen managers do in her waitressing days. She came up with a thin film of black grime. At ten years old, this was probably the best she could expect from them. Sighing, she reached for a scrubbing pad and cleaner, putting both hands and all her weight into the effort. This is where the action would happen, and she didn’t need these people’s papers and clothes sticking to the table.

Crystal had just tossed out the last paper towel when she heard the grinding of gravel and tires. This was it. Using the reflection in the dark kitchen window she put away the strands of her long blond hair and checked her makeup. She sat and waited in one of the four kitchen chairs, wondering too late how filthy they were.

The trailer rang with three firm but polite knocks at the door. Crystal shouted “They’re here!” toward the back rooms, and instantly regretted it. What kind of people shout across the house? They must be thinking. Quivering, she pushed up from the table and walked the dozen steps to the door. Pausing with her hand on the knob she found her long-practiced retail smile, the one she used when there wasn’t much to be happy about.

A dignified looking older lady and a handsome blond woman waited on the deck.

“Hi, Ms. Strickland,” began the senior visitor. “I’m Jean from Summit City Scholars, and this is Rachel. Can we come in?”

Crystal took their coats and laid them respectfully on the couch, then showed them to the kitchen table. They talked idly about the weather while they unpacked papers and pamphlets. Where is that girl? Crystal excused herself and walked up the short hall to the kids’ bedroom door and tapped.

“Sarah? Are you ready?”

There was a shuffling sound, and Crystal pushed the door open. An open math book was on the bed, and her daughter was standing by it. Her golden curls were combed, the big glasses were clean and she was in her best jeans and cleanest shoes. The stretched-out Little Mermaid shirt still hung on her, though. The strap of the bra Crystal couldn’t believe she needed stuck out the neck.

“Sarah, you were supposed to change your shirt,” Crystal whispered in exasperation.

“Mom, I like this shirt. I want them to see it!”

“Come on, then.”

Crystal led Sarah back to the smiling women at the table. Sarah politely sat. Jean and Rachel had taken two adjacent seats, and Crystal and Sarah took the other two.

“Hi, Sarah,” said Rachel. “I’m Rachel Goode. You can call me Miss Rachel. This is Jean Dahl; she’s Miss Jean. It’s so nice to meet you. Your teachers and your mom told us all about you!”

The women were experts. With a few precisely worded questions, Sarah was telling them more about herself than Crystal had heard in a month. She loved her teachers, she loved the Little Mermaid, school was easy, science was cool, she sometimes got bullied because she was poor and her dad was dead, but she proudly told them how Mom had kicked out her stepdad when he’d hit her. Crystal reddened at that, but Sarah gleefully recounted mom courageously barricading them in the bedroom. “She made sure not to hit him back, because she wanted him to go straight to jail when the police came, and he did! That’s my brother’s dad.” Crystal could still feel the contused cheekbone, taste the blood and hear the drunken shouting through the door. “Mom’s really smart like that. Oh, that’s why we have different last names.”

Once Sarah was started, it was hard to stop her, but again, the two women said a few magical words, and she wound down, allowing them to switch gears to their own presentation.

“Sarah, we were wondering if you would like to come join us at Summit City Scholars this summer. It’s a place where gifted children like you from all over Virginia can come together and learn and have fun for six weeks at our camp in the mountains.”

There would be swimming, hiking, horseback riding, projects, classes in math and art and science, dorms like in college, and lots of food. There would be a fall sleepover, a winter sleepover, and a spring sleepover with all the friends she met there. Crystal’s heart beat faster and chilly sweat started seeping from her pores as Sarah became more and more excited.

Crystal asked, “What does it cost me? The school counselor said it was free, but what do I need to budget for this?”

Jean answered, “Nothing. You just have to get her to the camp with clothes, and we’ll take care of the rest.

Rachel added, “If you have any trouble, we’ll do whatever it takes to make it happen.”

“Mom, can I please?” begged Sarah.

“Why did you pick Sarah? How many children are there in the program?” wondered Crystal.

“We’ve visited elementary schools across the Commonwealth,“ answered Jean. “There are about fifty Scholars at a time in Summit City, from fourth to eighth grade. Every year we find ten to twelve fourth graders who, based on teacher recommendations, are exceptionally bright, but who might never get a chance to do something like this. Scholars spend five weeks with us, and they come back to Summit City every summer for five years. We keep tabs on them the whole time. At-risk students” -- That means poor, thought Crystal -- “are likely to fall too far behind in middle school to take advantage of opportunities and scholarships in high school. We catch them in fourth grade and help mentor them through those years.”

“So, five summer camps? All free to me?”

“That’s just the beginning," said Rachel. "Scholars are matched to colleges and scholarships when they are juniors in high school. When the time comes, we’ll be here to help Sarah achieve any dream she has.”

“You and grandma didn’t go to college, did you, mom?”

Rachel handed Crystal a pack of tissues as the tears started coming. All this for Sarah? She could be anything she wanted.

***

Present Day

“Fuck a motherfucker!”

Sarah dropped her purse at her cubicle. No one looked up, having grown accustomed to Sarah’s morning vent. God, I leave early one Friday, and look at this shit! Stacks of papers dotted with “Sign Here”, “URGENT”, and “File” sticky flags nearly hid her desk from view. She had already glanced through her inbox on the phone in dismay while riding the train. How am I supposed to get through this?

“Good morning to you, too, Sarah.” Uyen’s voice peeped out from behind her cube. “You wanna go through what’s important?”

“Is there time for coffee?”

“I’m afraid not. Big contract on the way, and there’s a ton of paperwork for us. Maybe later. Let me come over there.”

Uyen's little head popped up from behind her divider. The raven scalp bobbed just above the cubicle walls as she circled around to Sarah’s side.

“We really need to get these side-by-side, Sarah. Maybe we could get some of the Accoun… “ Uyen ended mid-syllable and mid-step, mouth frozen open in the shape of her last utterance.

“Sarah! What are you wearing?”

Uyen closed on Sarah, arms crossed, face full of disapproval. Sarah stood her ground, resisting the impulse to rock backwards under Uyen's censure. Sarah had a good ten inches on Uyen in heels, but Uyen undaunted stamped up to point blank range.

Not today Uyen, thought Sarah. Uyen seemed to hit a wall about a foot in front of Sarah. She scooted back as Sarah willed her personal bubble to expand and stiffen. Uyen now wore the aspect of a malevolent lioness eying the huntress, but held at bay by a blazing torch.

Sarah parried with her own question: “What do you mean, Uyen?"

"That blouse! You know you have to cover your shoulders in here. Do you want to get written up?”

“Oh, do you like it? Gorgeous, isn’t it? My shoulders are covered. Look." Sarah reached over to the left edge of her neckline. Her index finger traced where the cut of the wine-red velvet garment nicely straddled the acromioclavicular joint. “See, no shoulders.” She gripped her concealed humeral head region. “This is my shoulder.”

Uyen steamed under the collar of her white blouse, which was fastened with a pearl brooch. “You’re going to have to get a jacket.”

“Not for a purse of gold!”

The phrase had suddenly seeped up from Sarah’s bookworm days, and Uyen was disarmed. “A what?”

Sarah advanced on Uyen and struck a pose, modeling the blouse and forcing Uyen to crane her neck up. “No way am I hiding this. Now, are we here to work or be fashion critics?”

Uyen looked away, shaking her head in mock disgust, and gave Sarah a light shove in her tummy. She just needed to let me know that she knows, concluded Sarah. No one can tell a woman how to dress. They both stooped over Sarah’s desk and started sorting the memoranda.

“So,” asked Uyen, eyes still on her work, "what's so special about this blouse that you’re going to risk your career to parade it around?”

“If you must know, someone gave it to me.” In fact, Sarah was about to split open if she didn’t tell. “I had a date Saturday. The guy bought it for me.”

Uyen stopped, turning her head to stare, which spilled her long black hair on the desk. “He did what? How did that happen?"

"I don't know, really.” Sarah's pace at the desk slackened, as she recalled the dreamlike day. “He picked me up at nine -- AM -- from my place and we got brunch. We just sat there and talked for almost two hours.”

"Hold on, let me get my chair before I kill my back,” Uyen said, disappearing behind her cubicle. Sarah sat in her own chair, leaning back in contemplation, organizing her tale while Uyen wheeled the furniture around. Sitting, Uyen distractedly stacked a set of papers, her attention clearly divided now. “What did you talk about?"

“It was weird. His name is Jeff. He's in the Army, over at Fort Myer, but he's like a legal assistant, not a bang bang soldier. Really smart, funny, kind of dry and reserved. He wasn't trying to impress me; we were just talking, like it didn’t matter that it was a date. He likes a lot of the nerdy stuff I used to be into a while ago, and it was fun to catch up on it.”

"You're nerdy?" Uyen said, consolidating the sticky flags.

Sarah paper clipped a small stack of documents. “Well, I did get into UVA, right? So then it was twelve. He said he needed to go to Goodwill and asked if I wanted to go with him. We walked around and joked about what we saw. He got some shirts, and I found this blouse. He said to throw it in his stuff and he bought everything.”

“That's slightly less creepy," said Uyen. Her work slowed almost to a crawl. “Well, go on."

“He asked if I'd ever been to Fort Myer. I said no, so he took me there. He showed me where he works, we looked in at their gym, and finally his barracks."

“Barracks are… ?

"Oh it's like a college dorm, only worse. My brother, Keith, is in the Army and he lives in barracks, too.”

“That’s a risky move,” said judgy Uyen.

Sarah smirked and shrugged. “I’ve always got a kick in the balls in my back pocket. Works every time.” At least twice so far.

"So you went up to his room I guess?" Uyen's face tensed, readying to register disapprobation. “And?"

“And nothing. We looked around, he showed me how he lives, and we left.”

Uyen's brow furrowed. “That's it?" She handed Sarah a sheaf of reports

Sarah leafed through, then stapled the bunch. “It didn't even seem to cross his mind. We had lunch, and we drove back to my building. Then you know what?”

“I can’t wait,” mocked Uyen as she trashed a mass of outdated estimates.

Sarah finalized her piles. “We saw my gym. We went to my apartment. I did a fucking show and tell and we geeked out about things. Then it got dark, he said thanks, he had to go, and it was over at seven. I did arms and abs, ate, jacked off three times, and I went to bed.”

“Didn’t need to know that.” Uyen slapped her knees. “I think you’re set. I might need an extra set of hands soon, so stay frosty.”

Sarah hadn’t finished with her. “What’s going on, though? Is he gay? Is there something wrong with me? He’s coming over tonight, too. He’s cute, funny and friendly. Should I make a run at a takedown?”

Uyen was already rolling her chair back. “I am officially on sabbatical from relationship advice. You figure it out.”

Sarah started working through her newly-ordered inbox. Fuck, how long is this going to take? she grumbled inside. After fifteen minutes, the executive suite opened, and Mr Hahn, the branch manager issued forth, along with Mrs. Blake, the administrative head. They were deep in conversation. The meaning of the words washed over Sarah, so ensconced was she in her own tasks, until Mr. Hahn’s voice cut through her consciousness.

“Miss Dawes?”

“Er, Y-yes sir?”

“Bare shoulders aren’t allowed in the office. Please cover up. Thank you.” He nodded at Mrs. Blake and strode out to the corridor.

The sudden sweltering silence was only broken by an unnecessarily loud throat clearing from Uyen’s cube. Sarah rolled her eyes and grinned at Mrs. Blake. That guy, right? she tried to project. Mrs. Blake only regarded Sarah with pained eyes. She sought and eventually found her thickly Texan-accented voice: “I think Beth wore a jacket in. She’s about your size. See if she can lend it to you.”

Sarah kept grinning. The punchline was coming, she was sure. Blake only turned on her heel and followed Hahn, leaving Sarah grinning into space. She turned to Uyen’s cube, half expecting to see her Kilroying, but the only sign of her existence was a muffled shuffling of papers and jaunty humming. I’ll get you next time, bitch!

***

Beth Morris was a new face in the office. She was Ashlee's and Josh's new assistant, hired after a short search. Sarah had resentfully wrangled temps while Legal had gotten a full-timer. However, Ashlee had been practically an overpaid paralegal as Associate Counsel, so corporate had decided they could do with an underpaid one and send Ashlee out into the world. She would soon be spending more time hitting the bricks with Deputy General Counsel Josh, negotiating, testifying, deposing, or whatever the hell they did out there.

The legals' nest had moved into the big office across the hall after an expanding Marketing department had taken over part of the neighboring suite. Incidentally, the move had prompted a key inventory by the building manager, forcing about seven underlings, including Sarah, to relinquish their backdoor privileges.

It was down the hall toward this office that Sarah now fumed. You can't tell a woman how to fucking dress. What century do they think this is? Like he's never seen shoulders before. Who gives a good goddamn what I wear back in that corner, anyway? Just because Uyen looks like a nun every day…

She took the doorknob and wrenched the handle while she body-checked the door, punctuating the presumption of the patriarchy. The hall resounded with a rattling wumph as she was rebuffed and rebounded. Sarah throttled the door a few times, and prepared to pound, halting at Ashlee's voice drifting up from the back office: “Back here, Sarah."

The former accounting office, vacated by the two bookkeepers for the former legal office and its window, was now the file room. Beth was there, a tallish black woman about Sarah’s height, but heavier, a classy crown of natural hair bound in a green and orange headband. Ashlee, charcoal-suited with her usual red shirt, stooped over a table with her, gabbling in impenetrable legalese. Stacks of papers were arrayed in regimented ranks and files, marked from red to violet. Ashlee was in the midst of mentoring Beth to her probably-impossible standard of organization. She would eventually have to let go. Josh needed to give Ashlee more work first.

Sarah leaned in the open doorframe and rapped on the jamb. Both women looked up. Ashlee appeared annoyed at the break in her concentration, but Beth glowed at the sight of Sarah. She rose and approached Sarah with beaming admiration.

“Damn, Sarah! Is there a party up in here today? That top is amazing. Is it velvet? That is your color!.”

“Thanks, Beth. I saw it at Goodwill and I had to have it.” At last, some recognition.

Ashlee’s face hadn’t changed and she hadn’t straightened up. She was eyeing Sarah’s clavicle end to end. “I guess you need a jacket, though.”

“Can you believe it? Hahn said something, and Blake didn’t do anything about it. Out of nowhere! Can you see my shoulders?” Sarah pointed indignantly at her enrobed humeri.

“Most of them, yes. Beth, Can she borrow yours?”

Beth was decked in earthtones, graced by a brown and orange argyle cardigan. It looked slamming on Beth. She had beautiful deep brown skin, and she shone like a tiger’s eye gem. Paired with Sarah’s fabulous deep red velvet blouse, however, it would be as good as a sartorial pillory. Sarah tried to set her face like flint, but her eyes must have given away her turn of stomach. Beth betrayed embarrassment, and Ashlee actually rolled her eyes before returning her attention to the table.

“I’ve got a yellow one in the office. It’ll probably be loose on you,” Beth offered in sympathetic apology.

“Baggy Banana” or “Cat Lady Chic”. What a fucking choice. Sarah closed her eyes and took a breath. Beth’s was not the head to bite off. She put on a feeble grin and quavered, “Thanks Beth, this’ll be fine. Really. Thanks for your help.”

Beth shuffled off the sweater, and Sarah shouldered it as if swallowing a mouthful of limp broccoli. In one last play for feminine solidarity, Sarah tried, “Hahn’s being a dick these days, right?”

Ashlee spoke to the table as much as to Sarah. “Yeah, it’s tough for everyone, Sarah.” Beth just shrugged. And that was it.

Sarah was suckered in the gut. Ashlee blowing me off? Unbelievable! Her head spiraled as she stormed back up the hall, and it didn’t reach the bottom until she sat, fully clothed, in a restroom stall.

A conspiracy! People just love fucking me! They thought she was sucking at work, and they were working on firing her. Blake, Ashlee, Uyen, Beth, they were all in on it. Probably TIna at the reception desk, too. No, no, you’ve known these girls too long. Still, she couldn’t shake it; she was on thin fucking ice.

Sarah could barely afford to live in the Beltway as it was. If she got fired, she was going back to the trailer in Ashland. God knows where she would work. Here she was fucking it up again. She might make it if it weren't for the student loans, which she wouldn’t have if she hadn’t shat all over college and screwed her scholarship.

I’m not going back. Not again. Miss Jean had died a long time ago. Miss Rachel had moved on, but was engaged on the Summit City socials. Sarah had crowed like a cock to everyone she knew when she’d gotten the DC job. Failure was not an option. She was going to fight for this! How was uncertain, but it would be bloody, if blood was called for.

Outside the bathroom was a crossroads. Fuck it. I need some damn coffee. She struggled out of the cardigan, hung it on the coat rack, and sped out the front door.