her bandaged wrists, and the reporters usually went on to comment about the crime rate in Washington, and perhaps to flash the exterior of Bento. Marshall had refused to allow cameras inside the restaurant.
I was sitting on the floor, my back against the bed, watching the news. Sports footage was playing, so I ran my gaze around the au pair’s room. Lisa had seemed to react normally when I’d seen her that morning. She’d been horrified about what had almost happened to Kendall, and full of hugs for the kids. I’d thought we should ask Lisa’s permission to enter her room to tape the program, but Kendall said that if it had been okay at noon, it would be okay now.
It was such a teen girl’s room, I thought; there was a poster of Britney Spears on the wall, a pink-and-purple Indian-print bedspread on the old spool bed, a bed that looked as if it had come out of my grandmother’s house. Kendall had been given some nice furniture. There was a marble-topped Victorian vanity crowded with toiletries—moisturizer and lip gloss and perfumes and K-Y jelly—
K-Y jelly? I looked at it again. I shouldn’t snoop, I told myself. The girl was nineteen, which was above the legal age of consent. She had to have a local boyfriend, that was it. I took another survey of her room. There, on the bedside table, was a cluster of family photos. Lisa smiling and holding flowers, standing in her high school graduation robe, flanked by her parents and siblings. Another one, Lisa with her friends in a rural area that, from the landscape, I guessed was South Africa. And finally, a solo shot of a serious-looking young man wearing a tuxedo, and herself in a long dress with a corsage on her wrist. The South African equivalent of a prom, I guessed. But if her boyfriend was in South Africa, why did she have K-Y jelly on her dresser?
Suddenly, the word “Bento” blared into my consciousness, and I rushed to hit the red button on the VCR. Kendall’s kidnapping story was on. When the newscast finished, I rewound the tapeand took it to Kendall, who was washing out the wineglass I’d barely used during dinner.
“Did I make it on NBC?” Kendall asked. “I was on our ABC affiliate but not WETA.”
“Yes, you made it. I have the tape here.”
Kendall smiled. “You probably think I’m a goof, getting so excited about being on television. But it’s kind of exciting! I’m so used to putting the spotlight on other people, not having it on myself.”
She was still in shock, I thought to myself. When she came out of it, she would drop the brittle facade and cry. To change the topic, I asked where Win was. I hadn’t seen him at all during the day, and I half-wondered if he was staying away from me because of the awkwardness the night before.
“He got up around three and then had to go out to show some houses. Now he has another meeting. Let’s hope it turns into a deal.”
“Wow, he really works late.”
“Twenty-four seven.” Kendall smiled wanly. “I’m so glad you could be in the house tonight.”
“Surely he’ll be back by midnight,” I said, glancing at the clock.
“Oh, he might be later. He says that the only way he can get things done is by working in the office when nobody’s there.”
“I see. And Lisa’s out tonight with her boyfriend, then?”
“Oh, God, does she have a boyfriend? Did she tell you something like that?” Kendall groaned.
“No. I said very little to Lisa this morning, but I just thought she was probably seeing someone, given her age.”
“One of the things I thought was great about her was that she had a fiancé back in Johannesburg. I thought that would mean less dating, you know, more availability for baby-sitting in the evenings. But it hasn’t really worked out that way. She’s got tons of girlfriends and they go out almost every night to Georgetown or anywhere they hear has boys. But who can blame her? Remember us at that age?”
I remembered Kendall: always so pretty, popular, and
I was sitting on the floor, my back against the bed, watching the news. Sports footage was playing, so I ran my gaze around the au pair’s room. Lisa had seemed to react normally when I’d seen her that morning. She’d been horrified about what had almost happened to Kendall, and full of hugs for the kids. I’d thought we should ask Lisa’s permission to enter her room to tape the program, but Kendall said that if it had been okay at noon, it would be okay now.
It was such a teen girl’s room, I thought; there was a poster of Britney Spears on the wall, a pink-and-purple Indian-print bedspread on the old spool bed, a bed that looked as if it had come out of my grandmother’s house. Kendall had been given some nice furniture. There was a marble-topped Victorian vanity crowded with toiletries—moisturizer and lip gloss and perfumes and K-Y jelly—
K-Y jelly? I looked at it again. I shouldn’t snoop, I told myself. The girl was nineteen, which was above the legal age of consent. She had to have a local boyfriend, that was it. I took another survey of her room. There, on the bedside table, was a cluster of family photos. Lisa smiling and holding flowers, standing in her high school graduation robe, flanked by her parents and siblings. Another one, Lisa with her friends in a rural area that, from the landscape, I guessed was South Africa. And finally, a solo shot of a serious-looking young man wearing a tuxedo, and herself in a long dress with a corsage on her wrist. The South African equivalent of a prom, I guessed. But if her boyfriend was in South Africa, why did she have K-Y jelly on her dresser?
Suddenly, the word “Bento” blared into my consciousness, and I rushed to hit the red button on the VCR. Kendall’s kidnapping story was on. When the newscast finished, I rewound the tapeand took it to Kendall, who was washing out the wineglass I’d barely used during dinner.
“Did I make it on NBC?” Kendall asked. “I was on our ABC affiliate but not WETA.”
“Yes, you made it. I have the tape here.”
Kendall smiled. “You probably think I’m a goof, getting so excited about being on television. But it’s kind of exciting! I’m so used to putting the spotlight on other people, not having it on myself.”
She was still in shock, I thought to myself. When she came out of it, she would drop the brittle facade and cry. To change the topic, I asked where Win was. I hadn’t seen him at all during the day, and I half-wondered if he was staying away from me because of the awkwardness the night before.
“He got up around three and then had to go out to show some houses. Now he has another meeting. Let’s hope it turns into a deal.”
“Wow, he really works late.”
“Twenty-four seven.” Kendall smiled wanly. “I’m so glad you could be in the house tonight.”
“Surely he’ll be back by midnight,” I said, glancing at the clock.
“Oh, he might be later. He says that the only way he can get things done is by working in the office when nobody’s there.”
“I see. And Lisa’s out tonight with her boyfriend, then?”
“Oh, God, does she have a boyfriend? Did she tell you something like that?” Kendall groaned.
“No. I said very little to Lisa this morning, but I just thought she was probably seeing someone, given her age.”
“One of the things I thought was great about her was that she had a fiancé back in Johannesburg. I thought that would mean less dating, you know, more availability for baby-sitting in the evenings. But it hasn’t really worked out that way. She’s got tons of girlfriends and they go out almost every night to Georgetown or anywhere they hear has boys. But who can blame her? Remember us at that age?”
I remembered Kendall: always so pretty, popular, and
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