by Diane Barnes
Mark nods. “You know how small that place is, and we were sitting by the door.”
My heart rate returns to normal. “That could have been disastrous. What were you going to do if you saw him?”
Rachel picks up one of the blue throw pillows and hugs it to her chest. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead. I just don’t want him to get away with what he did to you. You don’t date someone for six years and then dump them less than a month after proposing. We need to get back at him.”
Dump! I hate that word! “There’s nothing I can do,” I say as I take the pastries to the kitchen and put them on a plate.
“Those are for you,” Mark says when I return. “We already had ours.” I take a chocolate-filled one. Rachel has the traditional ricotta filled. The room is silent as we bite into them. Debra Winger’s face is frozen on the television screen at the point where I paused the movie.
“Since you’re not interested in online dating, I asked David to fix you up with someone at the tennis club,” Rachel says when she finishes chewing. “He told me about a dermatologist who sounds promising.”
The piece of cannoli tastes sweet in my mouth, but my mind fills with bitter thoughts: I don’t want to start dating again. I can’t believe Nico is putting me through this. I hate Branigan and am glad I called the ball out.
“That’s the last thing I want right now.”
Rachel reaches for the dish of pastry and helps herself to another half. “Jillian, if you want to have kids, you have no time to lose.” Mark shifts uncomfortably beside her on the couch. “You’re going to be thirty-five soon.”
“I have plenty of time.”
“At the very least get your eggs tested.” Rachel wipes her mouth with a napkin. “Or freeze some.”
Mark jumps up and excuses himself to go to the bathroom.
“Maybe I should just pick out a sperm donor,” I say. Rachel and I stare at each other. The only sound in the apartment is the sound of Mark’s footsteps climbing the stairs.
“Jillian, you wasted six years of your life with Nico. You should have cut bait a long time ago. You can’t diddle around now.”
Wasted six years. Is that what I did? What about the good times Nico and I had together? Don’t those count for something? I gather up the plates and head to the kitchen.
When I return to the living room, Rachel and Mark are standing. Rachel buttons her coat. “Sorry if we upset you,” Mark says.
“You didn’t,” I say, because he didn’t. Rachel did.
“Call me,” Rachel says before going through the front door. “We’ll go to a movie or out for drinks.”
I watch them walk down to their car. When Rachel reaches the driveway, she yells up at me. “Love you, Jillian.”
I know that she does, and I know that’s why she tried to find Nico tonight and said the things she did. So no matter how misguided her effort is, I really can’t be all that mad at her.
“Love you too,” I call out.
Chapter 15
On Monday morning, my alarm goes off to BS Morning Sports Talk. Branigan’s voice fills my room, sending chills down my back. He’s talking about the Celtics, but I have an overwhelming feeling that something is terribly wrong. Whether my nerves are frayed because I fear Branigan is going to extract revenge on me, because I’m afraid Nico will announce on air that it was love at first sight with Bonnie the Namaste Nitwit, or because I’m worried about seeing Ben again after my crazy thoughts on Friday night, I’m not sure. All I know is, I’m so nervous that my left eye won’t stop twitching.
I remain in bed under the covers, listening to the radio, and fall asleep again. When I wake up, Smyth is still talking about basketball. Branigan interrupts. “The intern screwed up my coffee again. Zachary, two sugars, two creams. How hard is that?”
Feedback from a microphone and then Nico’s voice. “Maybe it would be easier if you got your own coffee. Zac’s busy with me in the control room.”
Through the wall, I hear Mr. O’Brien break into a coughing fit. He’s probably choking on his breakfast, hearing Nico talk back to Branigan.
Branigan chuckles. “If Zac’s too busy, you can get it.”
I look across the room at the alarm clock but can’t make out the numbers without my contacts.
Branigan and Smyth resume talking about the Celtics. A few minutes later, Branigan says, “Thanks, Nico.”
Why doesn’t it surprise me that he actually fetched his boss’s coffee? He’d do anything Branigan told him to. I head to the bathroom for my shower but make sure the radio’s volume is loud enough to hear over the water. I need to know what happened on Nico’s date, if he even went on it. By the time I leave for work, they still haven’t mentioned it, convincing me that he didn’t go.
They actually talk about sports on my drive to the office, but as I pull into the parking lot at eight thirty, Branigan teases that they will have the can’t-miss details about Nico’s date in the next hour.
“Good morning,” Ben calls out as I pass his cube. He’s sitting with his legs up on his desk next to his computer, sipping a coffee and reading Boston.com. His radio plays softly behind him.
After I deposit my bags and coat in my cube, I go to his. He’s wearing a crisp green oxford shirt and tan khakis with a perfect crease ironed into them. I always wanted Nico to dress like Ben. Instead, Nico has a bureau filled with T-shirts branding Boston teams’ championship seasons and a closet filled with jeans. While most men match a tie to their shirt, Nico coordinates his baseball cap.
“Sit,” Ben says. “I got you breakfast.” He hands me a coffee and a pastry from a bakery he passes on his way to the office. At least once a week, Renee and I plead with him to stop there, but usually he saves his visits for someone’s birthday or when one of us returns from a week-long vacation. I wonder what the special occasion is today as the jingle for BS Morning Sports Talk plays in the background. It occurs to me then that he stopped at the bakery for me, as a way to make me feel better when Nico recounts his date on air.
“Thanks,” I say, biting into my pastry.
He nods. “So Friday night was fun.”
“Yeah, I saw you chatting up the bartender.”
He grins. “We went out Saturday night.”
I’m surprised by the sinking feeling in my heart. “Good for you.”
“Oh, it was good for her too.” He laughs.
Renee’s been in the kitchen making her oatmeal. Now she joins us, sitting on Ben’s desk and stirring the lumpy white mush in her bowl. “I need to give the caterer a head count for the party. Jill, are you coming? Ben, are you bringing a date?” She looks at us expectedly.
I shake my head. “Sorry, no.”
Ben nudges my foot with his. “Come on.”
“Why don’t you take the bartender?” The suggestion leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.
“Maybe I will.”
“Who’s the bartender?” Renee asks.
“The one from Friday night,” I say.
* * *
One of the sales assistants is using the copier at the end of our aisle. The constant groaning of the machine drowns out my radio playing softly in the background. I turn up the volume so that I can hear Branigan and Smyth. It’s just before nine. They’re interviewing a football reporter about possible moves the Patriots will make in the off-season and still haven’t talked about Nico and his date.
Minutes later, Branigan thanks the guest for appearing on the show. “After the commercial break, Nico’s going to tell us about his date,” he says. “Believe me, you don’t want to miss this.”
Tyler, Ryan, and Ellie have congregated at the copier to talk to their assistant. They laugh at something she says. I turn up my radio even louder.
The commercial ends. Branigan speaks again: “We’ve been getting texts all morning from listeners wanting to know how you made out with Bonnie. So, let’s not keep them waiting any longer. Nico, tell us what happened.”
Feedback from a microphone and
then Nico speaks. “So I got lost on the way there.” His voice is much softer than usual, and I wonder if he’s nervous. I lean toward the radio. “My GPS took me to the total wrong place.”
When did he get a GPS? He has a stack of old dirty maps in the pocket of the driver’s door because he doesn’t trust technology.
Ben’s head appears over the top of the wall. “Are you sure you want to listen to this?” he asks.
Renee enters my cube and makes herself comfortable in the guest chair. In the hallway at the end of our aisle, the sales team breaks into laughter again.
“So I finally find the place,” Nico continues. “She lives in one of those fancy brownstones. An amazing place. Brick wa—”
Branigan cuts him off. “We don’t want to hear about her house. Tell us about her. How did she look?” He pauses. “I assume she looked like the original picture we posted and not the one of Miss Piggy that somehow appeared over the weekend.”
“Nothing like Miss Piggy.” Nico whistles. “She’s wearing this itsy-bitsy black dress. Killer body. I mean supermodel material.”
“Well, she does work in a gym,” Smyth says. “Yoga instructor and all.”
“She hugs me hello.” Nico’s voice is louder with a trace of amusement now.
Branigan interrupts. “Was it a loose hug or a tight one, where she’s pressing every bit of her body against yours to let you know how much she wants it?”
Renee shakes her head and mutters, “What a pig.”
“She was rubbing up against me,” Nico says. “She kissed me hello.”
“Tongue?” Branigan asks.
“Affirmative. This girl was ready for a good time.”
Ben sinks back into his seat. Renee scratches her cheek.
“You lucky dog,” Smyth says.
Nico continues. “She takes me for a tour of her place. We go in every room but the bedroom.” He laughs. “She says, I’ll show you that after dinner. And now I’m really revved up, wondering if I should suggest ordering in.”
Who is this imposter pretending to be Nico? This is how Branigan talks, not my Nico.
“But I don’t. We leave for the restaurant. We end up going to another place in the North End, not Vincenzio’s. And this girl, she orders a tray of olives, telling me they’re an aphrodisiac.”
“Whoa, whoa,” Branigan says. “Why didn’t you go to Vincenzio’s?”
Oh no.
“We just didn’t.” Nico’s voice breaks as he says it.
“They’re one of our biggest sponsors. They deserve to know why you didn’t go to their place.”
It’s suddenly a hundred degrees in my cube. Sweat pools above my lips, and my cheeks feel like they’re on fire. I look at Renee, expecting to see her shedding layers of clothing and fanning herself, but she’s sitting there with her arms wrapped around herself like she’s chilly. Maybe I’m having my first hot flash?
“Well, we get to Vincenzio’s. We’re just about to go inside, and I see—” He stops.
My stomach turns. I may get sick in my cube. I pull the trash can closer. Renee gives me a sympathetic look.
“Don’t keep us hanging,” Smyth says. “What did you see?”
“My ex’s best friend and her husband.”
“No!” Branigan and Smyth both scream.
I’m going to kill Rachel.
“Jillian must have sent them there to spy,” Branigan suggests.
Please God, let me spontaneously combust right now.
Renee nudges my leg with her boot. “You didn’t?”
“Jesus, Jillian,” Ben mutters.
“I don’t know,” Nico says. “Maybe it was just coincidence, but I figured we sh—”
“There’s no such thing as coincidences,” Branigan says. “A woman scorned. Who knows what she’s capable of.”
Ben looks down into my cube again.
“I knew nothing about it,” I say.
I can tell by the skeptical expressions on Ben’s and Renee’s faces that they don’t believe me.
“I don’t think so,” Nico says.
“Oh, I saw Jillian at the tennis club Saturday night. Let me tell you, she’s definitely not taking this well. She looks like she’s gone crazy and is hitting the Ben and Jerry’s hard,” Branigan says. “A woman in her midthirties. She knows you were her last hope. She’s desperate.”
At some point the sales team must have moved away from the copier because the only sound in the room now is my blaring radio, letting the whole company know what’s going on in my personal life. I scramble to turn it down, knocking over a glass of water on my desk.
“Let’s keep Jill out of it. She—”
Branigan cuts off Nico. “She even made up a story that she’s dating someone else.”
Renee wipes up the spilled liquid with tissues.
“Maybe she is,” Nico says.
“I’m pretty good at detecting BS. She was lying,” Branigan says, his voice notably louder than it was before. “She’s a lying bi—” The name he calls me is bleeped out.
“Sweetie, did you tell him you were dating someone?” Renee asks while Ben stares down over the cube wall at me.
“Um, I might have.”
Renee and Ben exchange a look that I guess means she’s so pathetic. Imagine if Ben knew he’s the one I was pretending to date.
“She’s so mad at me about us helping you move on that she stole the tennis match from me,” Branigan says. “Called a ball out that was clearly in. The entire club saw it. Believe me, Jillian will get hers.”
A chill runs up my back as I imagine Branigan bludgeoning me with his tennis racquet.
“Did you purposely make a bad call against him?” Ben asks.
“I couldn’t tell if the ball landed on the line.” I close my eyes and see the green felt on the white chalk.
Branigan is still blathering.
“Calm down, Sean,” Smyth says.
The show breaks for commercial. Renee jabs at the radio’s power switch. Ben sinks back to his chair. They both disappear into their cubes, leaving me with my anger. I want to kill Rachel. Murder Nico. End Branigan’s life. Triple homicide. Details at eleven.
* * *
After the humiliation I suffered on BS Morning Sports Talk, Ben and Renee insist on taking me out to lunch, so the three of us pile into Renee’s SUV and head to an Italian restaurant not too far from the office.
While we wait for our meals, Renee entertains us with stories about her son, Joel, whom she’s teaching how to drive. “I need to take a Valium before getting in the car with him,” she says.
I break off a piece of my roll and dip it in the oil, wondering if I should ask to borrow some of her pills to get over the jittery feeling I’ve had since Branigan promised revenge. The waitress arrives and hurriedly passes out our meals. Ben ordered sausage on his pizza, but the one she throws down in front of him has pepperoni. “Excuse me,” he says, but she’s already gone, on her way back to the kitchen on the other side of the restaurant. He watches her, shaking his head. The table goes quiet as Renee and I wonder if we should start eating. “Go ahead,” Ben says, but we don’t. After several minutes, he decides to eat the food in front of him.
Every now and then, I catch him watching me. When I meet his eye, he looks down. “What’s up?” I ask after this happens three times.
“Why would your friend go to the restaurant where Nico was taking his date?” he asks.
I just picked up my chicken panini, but I return it to my plate to answer his question. “I didn’t ask her to do it, if that’s what you’re getting at.”
He holds my stare and raises one eyebrow.
“I didn’t!” I pick up my sandwich again. Before I take a bite, I add, “She wants to help me get him back.”
Renee reaches for the salad dressing and pours more on her plate. The lettuce is already drowning. “Why would you want him back?”
Ben and Renee both stare at me, waiting for an answer. I swallow before clarifying. “Get
back at him for what he did. Revenge.”
“Ah, good!” Renee stabs a carrot onto her fork. She makes a loud crunching sound as she chews it.
“Just let it go,” Ben advises.
“No,” Renee says. “I like the idea of getting him back.”
The waitress reappears at the table next to ours, delivering their food. Ben’s on his third slice and doesn’t try to catch her eye, which is probably a good thing because she uses the same dump-it-and-run delivery style she used with us. “I wanted pepperoni,” I hear the man at the table saying as she walks away. He whistles to get her attention. She continues walking in the opposite direction.
Ben leans toward him. “Did she give you sausage?”
“Yeah,” the guy says.
“Want to trade three slices of yours for mine?” Ben points to his pizza. “It’s pepperoni.”
“No, I don’t.” The guy scoots his chair away from Ben and closer to his table. Renee and I laugh. Ben shrugs.
While we finish our meal, Renee directs the conversation back to me. “The best way to get back at Nico is to start dating someone else immediately,” she suggests. “Which is probably why you told Branigan you were dating someone.”
“I’m not sure why I said that.”
“Well, you should start dating again,” she says.
The thought of having to date again leaves a nasty aftertaste in my mouth. I gulp down my remaining water. Flirting. Hoping he’ll ask me out. And then when I get a date, trying to figure out what to wear, right down to my underwear and bra. Thinking up clever conversation. The whole wondering if he’ll call, waiting for the first kiss, shaving my legs before every date, and worrying about the first awkward time we sleep together. No, thanks. I’m not up for any of it. “I’m pretty sure I’m done with dating,” I say.
“Nonsense,” Renee says. “You need to get right back to it. You don’t have any time to waste.”
It’s like she’s conspiring against me with Rachel.
“Think how pissed Nico would be if you started dating me.” Ben winks.
