How To Judge A Book By Its Lover

by Jessica Jiji

  “Children need to learn to read—after all, how else will they be able to tell the ingredients in their packaged foods or understand the care labels on their garments? Without reading, we risk a world of badly nourished people in shrunken clothes!” The fourteen-thousand-dollar, sapphire-studded suede pantsuit she sports was never in danger of shrinking. After all, between shooting her remake of It Came from Uranus and hawking her wildly successful line of sushi-flavored edible panties (she swears by the spicy eel), Ruxandra’s too busy to do her own laundry, but her concern shows just how much she’s able to relate to the average person.

  “Woo-hoo!” Weldon whooped. “And there’s plenty more —she actually got the ice queen to cry about her big dis at this year’s Golden Globes. You,” he turned to me, “really know how to mix up the celebrity dish, and we’re gonna sell it like hotcakes.”

  They showed me my bright, airy office overlooking Radio City Music Hall, gave me all manner of applications for press ID, assigned me computer passwords, and introduced me to Salli’s—or rather, my—personal secretary. My first assignment would be to attend the Oscar nominations and write about Hollywood’s Hottest Hairdos.

  I floated out of there like one of those giant balloons in the Thanksgiving Day Parade. I felt larger than life, and even the strangers I met on the street seemed to sense my excitement and regard me with wonder.

  “Irwin, honey, they loved it—I got the job,” I bubbled into my cell phone while I sat next to the gushing modern fountain in front of the Time-Life building.

  “God, that’s incredible!” he said. “I’m so happy for you, my love—hey!” he suddenly broke off. “You trying to kill someone?”

  “What? Where are you?” I asked, sensing he was probably still in his car.

  “Traffic’s a bitch; I haven’t even made it across the bridge. Hey, fuck it!” he said, struck by a new idea. “This is the biggest day of your life, and I’m headed back to work? I don’t think so. I’m canceling the rest of my appointments and coming back to sweep you off your feet.”

  He was so spontaneous, and I was struck by an idea, too. “Meet me at Twelfth Street and Avenue A. There’s a place I really want to show you.”

  I got there before Irwin, and, as expected, Mrs. Lilianthaller was home. In the second miracle of the day, apartment 4-F was still available, and she arranged for us to meet the super in half an hour.

  While waiting outside for my love, I called my parents and relayed the news.

  “Cookie, I am so proud of you!” squealed my mother. “This sounds right up your alley.”

  My father had picked up another extension. “So can you get me a date with Ruxandra?”

  We all laughed. “Listen, Laurel,” my mother said when our giggles had subsided. “I want to throw a party for you.”

  Not again, I thought, picturing the nightmare at Leonard’s.

  “But this time, you tell me how you want to celebrate.”

  I would have said thanks but no thanks, but since my mother was actually willing to listen to me for a change, I took her up on the offer.

  “How about a nice, quiet family dinner at your place; invite Jenna, Rob, and the kids, and I’ll bring Irwin. It’s about time you had a chance to get to know my boyfriend.”

  “Sounds like you two are getting serious,” Mom observed, and I realized she was right. “So, tonight then?”

  “Tonight’s perfect,” I confirmed.

  Even though I had just kissed him goodbye that morning, when I saw Irwin again my heart leapt. Those dark eyes sparkled with so much happiness for me I could think of nothing more wonderful than us spending a lifetime together supporting each other in our dreams and making them come true.

  He took me in his arms on that crumbling little stoop and kissed me deeply. “I love you,” he breathed. “I knew you could do it. I always believed in you.”

  I was nearly moved to tears when I realized how true that was. His wasn’t an egotistic, consuming kind of support that sought reward but rather a true partnership where we made each other strong.

  “So why did you bring me here?” he asked with cheerful curiosity, looking up and down the battered block.

  “Come with me.” I took his hand and led him inside.

  Apartment 4-F was bigger than Mrs. Lilianthaller’s and faced the front, so the excitement from the street below could be felt inside its walls, with radios providing a backbeat to the sounds of children playing and cars rushing by. It was nicer than my old place—no exposed pipes, and the toilet flushed completely in one shot.

  “Check out this water pressure!” I said, turning on the sink with enthusiasm. Irwin looked puzzled. “You’re planning to live here?”

  “Us, we, together.” I kissed him.

  “We are?” he stammered.

  “Look,” I demonstrated. “We can put our bed against the wall, and we can each have part of the closet. And there’s even space for your mountain bike.”

  “Isn’t it kind of small?” he asked hesitantly.

  The super, a gray-haired man who had let us in and was arranging the deal, issued a warning. “You better make up your minds. I’ve got a dozen people in line for this place.”

  “How much do you want?” I asked.

  “They pay thirteen hundred, but they want fifteen hundred from you. And I get two thousand key money.”

  A sublet. Even better, I decided. No landlords to hassle with. “We’ll take it.”

  “You got the money now?” The super held out his hand.

  “Well, uh, I don’t have my checkbook with me,” I said. “Can you give us ‘til tomorrow?”

  “If you weren’t friends with Roselyn, I wouldn’t hold it a minute, but I’ve seen you walking her dogs. So okay, three p.m. tomorrow. But no later.”

  The minute we were back out on the street, Irwin looked at me like I’d lost my mind. “Is this your surprise for me? What makes you think I’d want to live in a dump like that?”

  “It’s romantic,” I said defensively.

  “Romantic? It’s dark as a dungeon, noisier than the LIE, you can’t even turn around without hitting something, and it smells like cabbage soup. Not to mention, from here it’s at least forty-five minutes to get to Penn Station before I even catch the train to Long Island. Imagine doing that every morning and night. Plus, I’d have to give up my swimming pool, my peace and quiet, and my tax deduction. No thanks.”

  I was devastated. Had I completely misread him? All the signs had seemed to indicate that Irwin wanted to live with me. “I thought you wanted to shack up,” I said shyly.

  Irwin pulled me close. “Are you kidding? I desperately want to live with you. Why do you think I keep clearing out drawers and closets for you? I want to wake up with Laurel, go to sleep with Laurel, breathe Laurel.”

  Thank God. I felt like I was floating on air again.

  “But not in a one-bedroom dive in the East Village,” he explained. “Come on, Laurel. I have a big, comfortable house. After the tax break, I pay less in mortgage for ten times the space than they want here. Sure, Massapequa’s not the most exciting place on earth, but as long as we’re together, we can make it fun.”

  I thought about it a moment, lacing my fingers in his strong hand. Irwin was right. Why push my luck? An incredible job, a devoted hunk, and a decent home. The suburbs would be a small price to pay for so much happiness.

  - 25 -

  Any doubts I might have entertained about my parents loving Irwin were put to rest the moment we arrived and he started marveling at my father’s weedless lawn. “You can’t tell me that’s not sod,” my boyfriend said. “It just looks too perfect.”

  “The real thing,” my father replied proudly. “It’s all in the timing of the watering. I’ve got a book—I’ll lend it to you.”

  “Would you do that?” Irwin asked.

  “Sure, it’s called Sprinkler Magic. Explains the whole science of it.”

  Mom was charmed completely when Irwin went wild over her pot roast
and mashed potatoes. “I hope you give Laurel your recipe,” he said.

  To me, the meat was totally tough and undercooked, and the potatoes were lumpy and bland. Why would I want that recipe?

  After dinner, we moved to the living room. Emily and Bobby Jr. were delighted to have Dr. Turnov in Grandma’s home and demanded that he play the same silly games that always entertained them at the dentist’s office. As he sent them into fits of giggles with funny voices and gentle wrestling, Mom leaned over and offered her assessment. “You’d better grab this one and not let go. He’ll make a great father.”

  I glowed inside, knowing it was true. Mom continued to sing Irwin’s praises. “And to think, he has his own business right in Massapequa—and he owns a nice split-level colonial not ten minutes from here. You’ll come over every week! You’ll join the country club; Dad and Irwin will play golf; and you, Jenna, and I can hit the mall—it’s every mother’s dream come true.”

  For some reason, I felt a growing sense of suffocation as she spoke. I wanted to talk to Irwin, but by then he was engaged in a deep conversation with my father about pool chemicals, so I excused myself politely, threw on my coat, and stepped out into the cool November air.

  My years in the city seemed like a mirage—the crackling excitement of close friends everywhere, the freedom of no need for cars, the twenty-four-hour everything right around the corner all fading into memory. And in its place, a predictable future, with its predictable rituals—one that looked startlingly like the life I’d tried so hard to escape.

  I heard a rustle behind me and turned to see Jenna, just the person who would be thrilled that I was joining her in the march to suburban sanity. Over the past few months, our mutual understanding had grown, but I knew that on the subject of my lifestyle, she would never budge.

  Until she spoke.

  “You are so lucky. This guy is definitely totally sweet and crazy about you. And I’ve got to admit, even I couldn’t have thought of a more perfect career for you than entertainment writer, much less secure the job the way you did. You’ve come a long way, Laurel.”

  From the tone of her voice, I knew there was a “but” hovering in the air.

  “But are you really prepared to settle down in Massapequa, ten minutes from me and Mom? What happened to the off-beat city girl I used to admire?”

  I felt my anger rise. What a hypocrite. “Admire?” I challenged. “You hated all that! You were the perfect suburban wife and mother I could never live up to with my messy, unconventional life that you were always trying to talk me out of.”

  “Perfect? What are you talking about? I’m the screwed-up sister, remember? The one with shrinks starting at the age of thirteen.”

  “Oh, sure, you had a troubled adolescence; wasn’t that fun and dramatic,” I said, feeling my Jenna headache approaching. “But then you got into the fitness business, married the perfect man, and became Mrs. Together.”

  “Come on, Laurel; you’re not serious. Me, together?” Jenna sounded sincere, not angry. “I’m just as compulsive as I ever was, only now I obsess about my perfect lifestyle instead of my perfect body. But believe me, it’s still a prison inside my head. I always thought you knew how nuts I am and that that’s why you acted so distant.”

  I stared at Jenna. Who was the crazy one here, her or me? She had never once admitted that anything was wrong, and now she was saying she was still as conflicted as she had been all those years ago—and that she admired me! “I acted distant because I thought you hated everything I was.”

  “Well, yeah, I wasn’t comfortable with the fact that you couldn’t succeed at a career and you were living in a dump, but I was always jealous of your ability to be comfortable with being different.”

  Jealous? I couldn’t believe my ears.

  “You always had a creative streak; that’s why I thought you were more interesting than me. You were always breaking the mold, and I was just filling it.” Suddenly, I felt a rush of affection for Jenna. “Really?” I asked.

  “Really,” she confirmed. “That’s why I’m so surprised to see you turn your back on all of that so easily. I mean, Irwin’s perfect, he’s great, but that was so much a part of you, I’m going to miss the old Laurel from Manhattan.”

  I am, too, I realized.

  After we’d said our goodnights, Irwin and I went back to his car. “Is that all you’re bringing?” he asked as we settled into the leather seats. “You might as well grab some more of your stuff so we can start moving you in.”

  Part of me was afraid to tell Irwin what I was thinking, but the part of me that was deathly allergic to suburbia knew I had to. “Look, Irwin, I love you. If there was anyone who could make me want to live on Long Island, it would be you. But I can’t do it. I’m a city girl.”

  “So what are you saying? You want to break up?”

  “No, no,” I pulled him close and kissed his neck. “I just told you I love you. You’re the only guy for me. But I can’t see myself in a future of making pot roast, mixing pool chemicals, and trading gossip at the country club.”

  “Pot roast? I was just trying to flatter your mother. I don’t care if you never cook.”

  “That isn’t the point,” I said. “A big part of my life is missing out here, and I feel like you just don’t acknowledge that.”

  “Laurel, it’s not like this is Siberia. You’re going to be working in Manhattan. And what about me? A big part of me is out here. Haven’t you ever heard of compromise?”

  “Me? What about you? You act like you’re more interested in your swimming pool than your girlfriend.”

  “Well, excuse me, but I like to swim every day,” he said.

  That hurt. He was supposed to say, “I love only you, darling,” but here he was sticking up for a tub of chlorine instead.

  “Well, I guess we’ll just have to have a commuting relationship then,” I snapped, laying it all on the line. “Apartments like the one we saw today don’t come around very often, and I’m going to take it.”

  “That piece of shit?” he asked angrily.

  “That piece of shit is going to be my new home. If you want to move in with me, you can come along at three o’clock tomorrow to cosign the sub-lease. Think about it.” I slammed the car door on the way back to my parents’ house, tears streaming down my face. I knew I was being stubborn, but as much as I wanted to join my life with Irwin’s, I didn’t want to lose my own self in the process.

  I tossed and turned all night. When Irwin didn’t call in the morning, I had to figure he’d chosen not to live with me. I knew he had his reasons, and it would be difficult, but there was no backing down. I went online, transferred money to my checking account, and hopped the train toward my new home.

  I watched my phone all day, but it stayed dark, and whenever I called Irwin, I just got his voicemail and hung up. While I dawdled outside my future building fifteen minutes before our appointment, I thought I saw him coming around the corner more than once, but it turned out to be total strangers. Irwin was nowhere to be seen.

  It should have been a triumphant moment, but when I met the super in 4-F and looked at the dark little space, I felt completely depressed. It was one thing to imagine moving in there with my honey, but to go it alone made me wonder if I was really making progress. Sure, this place probably had fewer mice than my last apartment, but that wasn’t saying much. Still, knowing it was a steal considering New York prices and that I’d earned it through inconspicuous good deeds, I handed over the check. It would make a good story, and maybe some future dog-walker would be encouraged to help out a pooch or two in need.

  The super handed me the keys and then showed me how to use them. “Turn this, and then give it a good push with your shoulder,” he said. He might have saved his breath; I’d been here before.

  When I walked out into the cold, gray afternoon, I was shocked as a pair of familiar hands wrapped me in a warm bear hug from behind. “Oh my God! You showed up! Let’s go back in and get your name on the lease!
” I was elated.

  “I told you I’m not living in that dump,” Irwin said.

  “Then why are you here?” I asked, confused.

  “To bring you home where you belong,” he announced, pulling me inside a cab he had waiting. He started kissing me passionately, and I felt my resolve melt. What the hell, I thought. I could just keep the apartment in the city as a pied-à-terre and move most of my stuff into his place.

  As we headed in the direction of Penn Station, my suspicions were confirmed. He was abducting me back to Massapequa, and with his sensuous scent filling my head, it seemed kind of cute.

  But when the taxi stopped six blocks short of the LIRR hub, I started to wonder. Irwin paid the driver, grabbed my hand, and led me through a hidden courtyard with a two-story waterfall cascading along one side. We entered a revolving door and were welcomed by the sweet scent of lilies.

  It was a lobby but nothing like the tiny vestibule on Twelfth Street. This was understated elegance—modern orange and red chairs surrounding a small, black table, and a concierge behind a large, brushed stainless steel counter who apparently knew Irwin. “So you brought the lady this time?” he asked before turning to me. “This guy doesn’t waste time.”

  I was tingling with excitement, and once in the elevator, I showered Irwin with questions. “What are you up to? Why are we here?”

  “I want to show you something,” he said. The doors opened on the third floor, and I was stunned to see an Olympic-sized swimming pool. “This is a little better than the one at my house, don’t you think?” he asked.

  “I don’t get it. Is this a health club, or—” Irwin put a finger over my lips. Back in the elevator, he said, “I told you I didn’t want to live in a dump. I never said I didn’t want to live in the city.” He had pressed 28. When the doors opened, we walked down a wide hallway toward a corner apartment. “It’s a five-minute walk to the train station, I get all the light and quiet I need, and someday, if I’m lucky, we can raise our kids in the city.”