Knitting Under the Influence

Claire LaZebnik

Knitting Under the Influence

Copyright © 2006 by Claire LaZebnik

For my mother, Cynthia Scovell.

The oncologist, a soft-spoken Canadian prone to understatement, described the cancer as “not indolent.” An appropriate disease for her then, since my mother was the least indolent person I knew. She was always moving-straightening up the place, puttering around the kitchen, making and returning phone calls, ru

She wasn't a fan of sentiment and she never gushed. I miss her.

Acknowledgments

My thanks first and foremost to Emily Griffin for being one of those editors a writer dreams about, whose notes are always smart and whose enthusiasm never seems to waiver, and to Alexis Hurley and Kim Witherspoon for their support and topnotch agenting.

Two absurdly brilliant scientists were consulted in the course of writing this book, so anything scientifically accurate is thanks to Adam Summers and Alice Flaherty. Sadly, I twisted and manipulated their good science to make it work for my plot, so anything inaccurate is completely my responsibility.

I spent a fun evening mixing and sampling cocktails with Michael Broderick (former bartender and current actor) and Dana Commandatore (former New Yorker and current Angeleno) and couldn't have come up with all those drink recipes without their help.

If Aubry De

Although the autism clinic and staff in this book are completely fictional, their methods were inspired by the Pivotal Response Training approach researched and developed at the Koegel Autism Center at the University of California, Santa Barbara. If you're interested in learning more about their clinic, their Web site is http://www.education.ucsb.edu/autism/index.html.

1.Casting On

I

It was ten o'clock on Sunday morning and the regular time for the girls to meet for their knitting circle, but when Kathleen opened the door to greet the others, she was still wearing her pajama bottoms and a stained “The Best Girls Are from Los Angeles ” T-shirt. Her long brown hair was escaping in fly-away strands from her ponytail elastic, and around her eyes were traces of mascara and eyeshadow that clearly hadn't been completely washed off the night before.

Sari said, “You didn't have to dress up just for us.”

“Or clean up,” Lucy said. The huge foyer was strewn with glasses, bottles, crumpled napkins, and small plastic plates with food still on them.

“Give me a break,” Kathleen said. “The party went late and I only just got up. Come to the kitchen so I can make some coffee.”

They followed her toward the back of the house, their knitting bags slung over their shoulders. Sari caught a glimpse of the living room as they went by. It was easily four times the size of her entire apartment, but today it was as trashed as the rest of the house. She said, “I wouldn't want to be the one to have to get the stains out of the carpet.”

“Cleaning help comes tomorrow,” Kathleen said.

“You could at least pick up the trash,” Lucy said with a backward look of disgust at a Coke can that was lying on an antique side table in a sticky brown puddle.

“Cleaning help comes tomorrow,” Kathleen said again, irritably this time. They entered the kitchen. “You guys bring something to eat?”

“Bagels. Sorry, I know it's boring, but it was on the way.” Sari dropped the bag of fresh bagels onto the island, and then tossed her knitting bag and purse next to it. She hoisted herself onto one of the high leather-upholstered stools. When she sat, her feet dangled inches above the floor. “Why is the kitchen so much cleaner than the rest of the house?”

“Caterers. They cleaned up in here before they left. You both want coffee?”

“Of course we want coffee,” Sari said.

“You had caterers?” Lucy mounted the stool next to Sari. “Sounds fancy. What was the occasion?”

“The twins’ twenty-fifth birthday.”

“Wait a second,” Lucy said. “That doesn't make any sense. If it was their birthday, wouldn't it be your birthday, too?”

“You'd think,” Kathleen said. She was one of triplets. The other two were identical twins, which had made her, from birth, the odd man out.

“So what you're saying is, you had a birthday party and didn't invite us,” Sari said. “Should we be hurt?”

Kathleen was staring at the coffeemaker like she'd never seen it before. “God, my brains not functioning,” she said. “I think I’m still drunk from last night. I didn't even go to bed until after three. Don't be an idiot, Sari. You and I went out to celebrate my birthday two months ago. Don't you remember?”

“Oh, right,” Sari said. “We went to Bombay Café.”

“Why wasn't I invited?” Lucy said.

“You were. You were working late and couldn't come.” Sari turned back to Kathleen, who was filling up the coffee carafe with water at the sink. “But you turned twenty-seven.”

“I know.”

“So why were the twins celebrating their twenty-fifth birthday last night if they turned twenty-seven two months ago?”

“Good question,” Kathleen said. She carried the carafe back to the coffeemaker. She had overfilled it, and the water was trickling out, leaving a trail of drips on the wood floor behind her. “The party was a publicity event for their new movie. The twenty-five part is just a lie.” Kathleen's sisters had once had a successful sitcom on TV where they played identical twin sisters who confused a lot of people by exchanging places. It ran for six years. When it ended, they started making movies, in each of which they played identical twin sisters who confused a lot of people by exchanging places.

“They always seem younger than you,” Lucy said. “Are you sure you're the same age?”

“Yep,” Kathleen said. “We popped out all together. In fact, I was the last one out, which makes me the youngest. People just think I’m older because I’m so much taller. Plus I went to school while they were stuck on some set or another being quote unquote tutored so they have the intellect of ten-year-olds.”

“Was it a good party?” Sari asked, looking around. “It looks like it was a good party. The house is trashed.”

“I honestly don't remember much about it. There was a cute bartender who was extremely talented. He made the best pomegranate margarita…” Kathleen poured the water into the coffee-maker. “I talked to him, helped him out by tasting some new variations-” She stuck the carafe in its place and turned to look at them. “I have a bad feeling, though-”

“About what?”

“I don't know. Like I did something last night I shouldn't have.”

“Maybe you slept with the bartender,” Lucy said. She tore a bagel in half, then carefully dug out the insides with her long, slender fingers. She piled the discarded bread in a neat pyramid on the counter in front of her.