“Private,” her mother said firmly. “Sometimes bad things happen. This is a fact of life. In terms of the boys home, your father did not talk about it because I suspect he knew dwelling on it would not change it. He was raised without a family, without parents he could count on, without the protection and love every child is entitled to. But he persevered. Often the best way to deal with the bad,” she said, feeling for her pencil, “is to turn it on end—use it as a strength, refuse to allow the bad thing to define you. Fight it.”
The way she said it—like a warrior—made Madeline worry. “Have bad things happened to you too, Mom?” she tried to ask. “Besides dad dying?” But the dish cleaning experiment was in full swing, and her question was lost in the cocoon of the mask and the ringing of the phone.
* * *
—
“Yes, Walter,” Elizabeth said a moment later.
“I hope I’m not disturbing anything—”
“Not at all,” she said, despite an unusual humming in the background. “How can I help?”
“Well, I was calling about two things. The first is the family tree assignment. I was just wondering—”
“Yes,” she confirmed. “We’re in trouble.”
“Us too,” he said miserably. “She seemed to know the names I put on the branches were complete fabrications. Is that what you did, too?”
“No,” Elizabeth said. “Mad made a math error.”
He paused, not understanding.
“I have to see Mudford tomorrow,” she continued. “By the way, I wasn’t sure if you’d heard, but both girls have been assigned to her classroom again in the fall. She’s teaching first grade, and when I say ‘teaching’ of course I’m being ironic. I’ve already registered a complaint.”
“Lord,” Walter sighed.
“What’s the second thing, Walter?”
“It’s Phil,” he said. “He’s, uh…he’s not…happy.”
“Nor am I,” Elizabeth said. “How did he ever become executive producer? He lacks vision, leadership, and manners. And the way he treats the women at the station is contemptible.”
“Well,” Walter said, thinking how, when discussing Elizabeth a few weeks back, Lebensmal had actually spat at him. “I agree that he can be a bit of a character.”
“That’s not character, Walter. That’s degradation. I’m going to register a complaint with the board.”
Walter shook his head. Again with the complaints. “Elizabeth, Phil’s on the board.”
“Well, someone needs to be made aware of his behavior.”
“Surely,” Walter said with a sigh, “surely you know by now that the world is filled with Phils. Our best bet is to try and get along. Make the best of a bad situation. Why can’t you just do that?”
She tried to think of a good reason to make the best of Phil Lebensmal. No—she couldn’t come up with a single thing.
“Look, I have an idea,” he continued. “Phil’s been courting a new potential sponsor— a soup manufacturer. He wants you to use the soup on your show, like in a casserole. Do that—attract a big sponsor—and I think he’ll cut us some slack.”
“A soup manufacturer? I only work with fresh ingredients.”
“Can you at least try to meet me halfway?” he begged. “It’s one can of soup. Think of the others—all the people who work on your show. We all have families to feed, Elizabeth; we all need to keep our jobs.”
From her end of the phone came silence, as if she were weighing his words. “I’d like to meet with Phil face-to-face,” she said. “Clear the air.”
“No,” Walter emphasized. “Not that. Never that.”
She exhaled sharply. “Fine. Today is Monday. Bring the can in on Thursday. I’ll see what I can do.”
* * *
—
But the week steadily got worse. The next day—Tuesday—Mudford’s tree assignment revelations were the talk of the school: Madeline had been born out of wedlock; Amanda didn’t have a mother; Tommy Dixon’s father was an alcoholic. Not that any of the children themselves cared about these facts, but Mudford, her mean eyes wet with excitement, ate up the data like a hungry virus, then fed it to the other mothers, who spread it around school like frosting.
On Wednesday, someone surreptitiously shoved a sheet of paper listing the compensation of every KCTV employee under Elizabeth’s door. Elizabeth stared at the figures. She made a third of what the sports guy did? A guy who was on the air less than three minutes a day and whose only skill involved reading scores? Worse, apparently there was something called “profit-sharing” at KCTV. But only the male employees had been invited to take part.