Chapter 8

No, It's Spiderwoman

Dear Patty,

I apologize for the unkind things I said and implied on Monday. The only excuse I have to offer is that I honestly was not trying to hurt you. I think because I knew you first as my boss, I somehow expect you always to be as impervious to insult and injury as you seem to be in a conference room or during a deposition.

The fact remains that I was unnecessarily rude and insulting, and for that I am truly sorry. However, I was trying to express something that I continue to feel very strongly – namely, that I'm not interested in having a relationship in which I am anything less than an equal participant and partner. If you want to sweep someone off her feet, then I don't think I'm the girl for you.

We rushed into something this weekend without thinking it through. You and I have so much history, Patty. We can't possibly be casual. It looks like we can't be committed, either. Maybe we just aren't meant to be?

I wish you well, and I hope you can forgive me.

Ellen

Patty is sipping a glass of bourbon and reading the letter for about the one hundredth time. There are a couple of smudges where her tears fell, although she isn't crying now. She is frowning thoughtfully. It's Thursday night. It has been ten days since the fight, and Patty has run the gamut of emotions in the interval, but tonight she feels fairly placid.

Ellen's words on Monday stung, but Patty was kidding herself if she didn't expect something like this. After all, she has been here before. And Patty knows what she needs to do. She did it for years with Phil. She's done it with other men. She has to give Ellen some semblance of control over their relationship. Well. Patty can do that. She can let Ellen choose the movies and the restaurants and the vacation destinations. Ellen is worth it.

Patty unwraps a Cadbury chocolate almond bar and eats a square. The problem is, she's not sure Ellen will agree to see her right now. Ellen thinks they are finished. Patty is stuck for an opening gambit. The way to go about it, she thinks, is to ask the girl for help with something. But what?

She isn't getting anywhere, so she trains her mind on another pressing problem: Catherine's birthday. She is turning thirteen on Monday, and while Patty has purchased a few presents, she wants to do something a bit more momentous. Last year she took Catherine and several of her friends to the beach house for a night. But Catherine and her friends are getting older and their sleepovers are getting less innocent. At Michael's thirteenth birthday party, he and his friends lit up a joint.

What would Catherine really like? The little girl's habitual expression these days is a sullen scowl. Patty wants to see her smile.

And then Patty has it. The elegant solution to both her problems. She finishes her chocolate bar and licks her fingers.


Ellen has finally crawled into bed after a long, eventful day. She took a witness's statement in the morning, only to have him skip town at lunch time. Ellen spent the better part of the afternoon tracking him down and the better part of the evening convincing him all over again to testify.

She turns off her lamp and shuts her eyes. Her cell phone rings. Perfect. She groans, swings her legs over the side of the bed and clicks her lamp back on.

"Hello?"

"Ellen. I need your help. It's about Catherine."

"Patty?"

"No, it's Spiderwoman."

"Jesus. I don't want to fight, Patty. I was about to go to sleep," Ellen says. "What's up? Is Catherine okay?"

"Can we talk face to face?"

"Now?" Ellen checks her watch. It's one thirty in the morning.

"How about tomorrow evening? I'll meet you at your apartment."

"This is really about Catherine?"

"Yes."

Ellen sighs. "Okay. See you tomorrow. Come any time after six."


When Ellen opens her door at seven o'clock on Friday, she sees two big black eyes staring up at her. Patty is holding a puppy – a tiny brown ball of fuzz with a lolling tongue and the sweetest face Ellen has ever seen.

Ellen melts for about a second. Then her eyes widen in realization.

"Oh, no. No, way, Patty. Absolutely not."

"Don't be so dramatic," Patty says, pushing past Ellen into the apartment. "She's not for you."

"Oh." Illogically, Ellen is disappointed.

"She's for Catherine. Her birthday's on Monday."

Ellen smiles. "Catherine will love her."

"I need you to take care of her over the weekend," Patty says, holding the dog out to Ellen.

Ellen doesn't take her.

"Me? Are you kidding? What do I look like, a kennel?"

"I tried kennels. They won't take a puppy this young unless you call long in advance. And she –" Patty strokes the animal – "was an impulse purchase. Weren't you sweetheart?" Patty looks up from the dog and gives Ellen a winning smile.

"I have things to do this weekend, Patty. I can't take care of a puppy. It's not exactly a small favor."

"Come on, Ellen. You like dogs. And I want this to be a surprise."

On cue, the puppy gives Ellen sad eyes.

"This has to be, like, chapter one in the manipulator's handbook," Ellen says.

"You're insulting me again," Patty says mildly.

Ellen shakes her head. "Fine. Fine, fine, fine, I'll take the dog. But this is for Catherine, Patty."

"Good," Patty smiles. She hands the dog to Ellen.

Ellen takes her and lets the soft, warm little creature nuzzle against her face. It's a gorgeous feeling, and Ellen accidentally directs her radiant smile at Patty. She straightens her features and tries to look irritated.

"What am I supposed to feed her? I don't keep kibble around to nosh on."

"So let's go shopping," Patty says.

"You're incredible," Ellen gripes. But she is already looking for her purse.