Thursdays at Eight

Her mother and Victoria exchanged glances.

“Don’t worry,” Karen said in a stage whisper. “No one saw me get off the bus. Certainly no one who’d connect me with the two of you.”

“Shall we have the hostess seat us,” her mother said, ignoring the comment.

“Yes, let’s,” her sister piped in with phony enthusiasm. The two headed in the direction of the restaurant, leaving Karen to trail behind. The temptation to slip away was almost overwhelming, but the consequences wouldn’t be worth it. So, like an obedient child, she followed them.

The hostess directed them to a window table and handed them menus before she left. Karen sat across from her mother and sister and gazed out at the marina for several minutes. The water sparkled in the January sun, and boats of every size lined the long dock. Everything from the simplest sailboat to yachts with price tags that ran into the millions.

“What looks good to you?” Victoria asked Catherine. Karen observed, not for the first time, that Victoria rarely made a decision without consulting their mother.

“The crab and shrimp quesadillas, perhaps. With a small avocado salad.”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking,” Victoria said, closing her menu. “What about you?” she asked Karen.

“I’ll have the crab Louis.”

“Excellent idea,” Catherine said approvingly.

At least Karen had enough ordering savvy to please her mother.

Catherine set aside her menu and focused her attention on Victoria. “How’s Roger?”

Karen frowned. She’d hoped all conversation regarding the twit would be over by now. They’d probably spent the entire drive out to the club admiring Roger and then discussing Karen—her lack of direction, her fanciful dreams, her multiple shortcomings.

Victoria smiled benignly at her mother. “Busy, as always.”

Wishing now that she’d taken the time to change out of her jean overalls and into her new skirt, Karen leaned sideways, searching for the shopping bag. She’d purchased the skirt in a close-out sale, so the price was affordable. It would be the perfect thing to wear on the days she subbed for the school district; in fact, it was the most respectable thing she’d bought in years. She could hurry into the ladies’ room and make a quick change. That way, she’d definitely gain a few points with her mother. Easy points.

Pretending to be enthralled by the witless conversation taking place, Karen edged the shopping bag closer with her foot. She reached for it without success, so she had no option but to lean down, peek under the table and grab it.

All at once her mother turned and glared at her accusingly. “What exactly are you doing?” she demanded.

Caught in the act, Karen flashed a brilliant smile. “What do you mean?”

“You’re squirming around like a two-year-old in church.”

“Oh,” she said innocently. “I was getting my bag.”

“Your bag? Whatever for?”

“I thought I’d change into my new skirt.”

Her mother nearly leapt out of her seat, then regained control. Tight-lipped, she spoke in a slow, stiff voice. “This is neither the time nor the place for you to be changing your clothes.”

“I intended to put it on in the ladies’ room,” Karen told her.

“At the Yacht Club? Karen, do I need explain that the facilities here are not dressing rooms?”

“Mom, don’t get all worked up. I should’ve changed earlier. I meant to…” She hadn’t, but then how could she know that her mother and sister would arrive looking like they expected to have lunch with the Queen of England?

“Please.” Her mother was breathing hard. “Don’t embarrass me any further.”

“Embarrass you?” Karen asked in a puzzled voice. She’d had good intentions, and for her efforts she was rewarded with a hard, cutting look.

“Shall we order?” Victoria said, her voice slightly raised as the waitress approached the table.

Both her mother and sister ordered the shrimp and crab quesadillas, plus avocado salads as planned, and Karen asked for the crab Louis. As soon as the waitress left, the three went quiet.

Victoria was the first to speak, asking Catherine about her bridge club. It wasn’t long before the two of them were involved in a meandering conversation about people who were of little or no interest to Karen.

She tried to comment once, but was cut off when their lunch arrived. The discussion continued with Karen feeling more and more out of place. It was just as bad as she’d feared. Worse.

Suddenly her mother turned her attention entirely on Karen. “You haven’t contributed to the conversation once.”

There was a very good reason for that; she couldn’t get a word in edgewise. “What would you like to know?” she asked carefully.

Catherine raised her eyebrows. “You could tell me about school. I always knew you’d end up teaching. You’re so good with children.”

Karen felt gratified by the unexpected praise.

Victoria stared at her with more enthusiasm than necessary, obviously taking their mother’s cue. “Mom’s right,” she announced. “You’d make a wonderful teacher. You’re enjoying it, aren’t you?”

“Well, enjoying isn’t exactly the word I’d use. It’s, um, a challenge.”

“All children are a challenge,” her mother said pointedly.

“How many days a week are you working?” Victoria asked.

“No more than three. Two’s better, but that’s pushing it financially. Teaching is exhausting and the little darlings couldn’t care less, especially when they’ve got a substitute.”

“Personally, I think teachers are grossly underpaid,” Victoria said.

Her sympathy didn’t go unappreciated, and Karen found herself warming to her sister. “Me, too. What I’m really hoping for is a part in a commercial. I’m trying out for another spot next week. The director liked me the last time and wants to see me again.”

Her mother’s eyes narrowed and she put down her fork.

“Naturally, I’d love a role in a weekly series,” Karen added. “But according to my agent I need a few credits first. She thinks I should get my feet wet doing commercials. Plus, the pay isn’t bad, and there are residuals. Then she wants me to audition for a part in a situation comedy.”

With great deliberateness, her mother smeared a dollop of sour cream on the quesadilla, and Karen saw that her hand shook as she did so.

“Even if you got a part in a commercial, you’d go back to substitute teaching, wouldn’t you?” Catherine asked.

“Well, yes, I suppose, but teaching is only a means to an end for me. I—”

“I thought you were finally putting your college degree to good use. Your father and I paid a great deal of money for your education. You can’t imagine how much it distressed us to hear that you’re more interested in…in cleaning toilets than in making something worthwhile of your life.”

“It wasn’t exactly a housecleaning job,” Karen muttered. “Not that there’s—” She stopped abruptly, forcing herself to swallow the rest of her retort. “I deeply appreciate my education, Mom.” Which was true, but only because it allowed her to support herself while trying out for acting roles.