I was sitting on a red velvet couch in the dimly lit hotel bar with Bethany, her friend Anne and two guys, one tall and fat with black hair and one short and fat with blonde hair, like Fred Flintstone and Barney Rubble. I couldn't tell if any of them were dating. When the boys got up to order another round of drinks, I took it as my opportunity to ask over the blasting house music.
Bethany and Anne exchanged a glance before laughing. “No way. We've all been friends since college though,” said Bethany.
I figured as much since Bethany and Anne were way better looking than Fred and Barney. But not everyone cared about looks. “Where did you go?” I figured it was NYU or maybe some fashion or artsy school.
“SUNY Buffalo,” Bethany said.
Anne nodded. “We were in the same sorority.”
“That's so funny!” I said.
Bethany and Anne exchanged another look. “Why is it funny?” Anne asked.
Suddenly feeling stupid, I shook my head while wishing I could take a sip of a drink to bide time. “Not funny really. It's just that….” I looked at the girls who looked back at me expectantly. Directing my answer at Bethany, I said, “I don't know. I just don't picture you as a sorority girl, I guess. You seem more, well, independent. It's a compliment.”
Bethany smiled. “I'll take it as one. Can't judge a book by its cover.”
I smiled back, happy that I hadn't offended her. “Totally.”
When the boys returned with our drinks, I did my shot like a pro, barely flinching, and pulled out my wallet to give them money.
Fred — I didn't catch his real name — pushed my hand away. “I've got this one. You can pay for the next round. So long as I get to go up to the bar to order them.”
When I put my wallet back in my bag, I noticed that my phone was flashing. I didn't want to be rude, so I ignored it. “Why do you insist on going to get the drinks? Not that I'm complaining!”
They all laughed, confusing me even more until Bethany said, “Have you seen the bartenders here?”
It was my first time there and I hadn't been up to the bar yet. I sort of hoped I wouldn't have to since it was packed and if all the bartenders were female, they'd probably ignore me anyway. I shook my head. “No.”
Bethany motioned her hands over her chest area. “Holy tits behind the bar.”
“Oh,” I said, looking down at my own bosom. I was a small C.
Catching me check myself out, Anne said, “You have a nice rack, Jane, but the bartenders here are super endowed, most of them artificially enhanced, if you know what I mean. Why do you think we're here?” Gesturing toward Bethany, she said, “Let's just say it was not our idea.”
The same guy who refused my money sat down next to me and said, “Yes. We're here for the boobage behind the bar, but you girls make the time between rounds very pleasant.”
Giggling, I said, “Gee thanks! What was your name again?”
When everyone laughed, I said, “No really. I don't think I got your name.”
Bethany said, “Charming guy over here is Andy.” Pointing to Barney, she said, “And this guy who is less charming and more of an ass man than a breast man is Arthur. We call them ‘the A team.’” Glancing at the phone still in my hand, she said, “Anyone interesting?”
I listened to the voicemails. Both from Andrew, one asking if I was joining them at Press Box and the other telling me they were all going home. “Nothing interesting. Just Andrew!”
Bethany bit her lip. “Crap. Weren't you supposed to text him that you were coming with me instead of meeting them? But we distracted you with shots.”
Anne snorted. “And boobies!”
Laughing, I said, “Andrew's my officemate, not my keeper! I think he'll get over it.”
“I think his friend Brandon had the hots for you!” Bethany said, winking.
I nodded. “I think so too. So did his friend Don! Ha ha. Whatev. Hoes over bros!”
Anne stood up, her hands on her thin hips and said, “You calling us hoes, girly-girl?”
Andy (or was it Arthur) muttered, “She said it, not me!” Extending his hand to me, he said, “Time for more tits. I mean drinks! Hand me some cash, little girl.”
More entertained by these virtual strangers than I usually was by my besties and ready for a fourth shot, I gave him a wad of cash. “Make mine a double!”
* * *
The last thing I remembered before my head hit the pillow was the time on the clock-radio: 3:11. I had exactly four hours and thirty-four minutes before the alarm would sound. I was surprised that I was capable of doing the math after all of those shots. I decided I wasn't really that drunk and while I would be tired the next day, the hangover would be minimal. I only had to get through one more day of work before the weekend.
* * *
I didn't understand why my brother-in-law kept kicking me on the side of my head and I shouted for Claire, begging for mercy. Claire smiled, her teeth so white I wondered if she'd been using Crest White Strips and whether they were good for the baby. I was flat on my back with my knees pulled to my chest to protect myself from further flogging by Kevin. When Claire bent over me I turned to my side, my head pounding and opened my mouth to whisper, “Help.” At the precise moment I straightened my legs, Claire flashed me an evil grin and kicked me forcefully in the stomach. As I heard a police siren in the background, I felt the bile rise to my throat and sat up.
My alarm clock was sounding. It was all a bad dream. Except I felt like my head was being squeezed by a pair of pliers and if I didn't get to the bathroom in the next ten seconds, I would puke all over my soft pink area rug.
As I leaned over the toilet bowl, the stains on the bottom turned my dry heave into a full-blown regurgitation of the vodka ingested the night before. Vomiting temporarily reduced the stirring in my stomach but the pain was instantly transferred to my head and I felt like someone was hammering a nail into my temples. I cursed Lainie. It was her turn to clean the bathroom and she had conveniently skipped the toilet.
A sick day was clearly in order and when I was convinced I had rid my system of the poison, I got back in bed, dragging my garbage can with me just in case. First, I removed the pink and green beaded decorative cover my now deceased grandmother had made back when I was a baby and threw it across the room to avoid accidentally puking on it. I curled myself into a ball and whispered a desperate plea to God to make the pounding stop. Then I realized I had to call in sick and I begrudgingly sat up and reached for my phone. As I dialed the paralegal manager's number, I remembered the mandatory legal assistant meeting for that morning, lay back in the bed, and sobbed.
I cried for about three minutes, eyes closed, feeling the pressure in my head slowly ease. Approximately twelve minutes later, I forced myself out of bed, cried again on the way to the bathroom and took two aspirin and a long, scalding hot shower. With a quick wave to Lainie thirty minutes later, I left my apartment with a wet head and no makeup. I hid my bare face with black wide rim sunglasses. I wrapped my head in a black scarf to protect my face from the cold and in my black wool sweater and matching slacks, I wondered if I looked like a woman who was trying to discreetly follow her husband to see if he was going to a business meeting, as promised, or to meet his mistress at a hotel. But I had no husband to stalk, just the nearest coffee cart. Preferably one that would also sell me a bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich.
I assumed Andrew would give me crap for being late and tease me about my hangover, but our office was empty when I arrived. Still in my scarf and sunglasses, I inhaled my sandwich before logging onto my computer, and had my head on my desk when I heard someone come in. I sat up and looked over at Andrew who was already leafing through a handful of documents.
Weakly, I said, “Hey.”
Without turning away from the papers in his hand, Andrew said, “Hey.”
“I feel awful!” It was the truth, but I wanted to share the details of my night with Andrew anyway. He'd be impressed I'd let my hair down and engage
d in some chicanery, especially with the resident “druggie” (who I'd learned last night had never even tried cocaine. Just mushrooms – once — back in college).
Taking a quick sideways glance at me, Andrew said, “That's too bad” before turning back toward his papers.
I pouted to emphasize my hurt over his blatant lack of interest. “It was a crazy night. I only had four hours of sleep. You'd have been proud!”
Andrew put down his papers and stared at his desk for a moment before turning to face me again. “Proud?”
I nodded. “You always tell me to loosen up. I loosened!”
Andrew shook his head and turned away.
“Is everything OK? You seem weird.”
Andrew exhaled loudly. “You must have misunderstood my intentions. Yes, I thought you should loosen up and not take things so seriously. But…” Andrew shook his head again.
“But what? Are you pissed I didn't make it to Press Box? By the time I got your message, it was too late.”
Andrew's face turned a shade of red, clashing with his strawberry blonde hair. “I could care less whether you showed up to Press Box! Except maybe I could have introduced you to another friend of mine and you could have led him on, too.”
I swallowed hard. “What?”
“You told both Brandon and Don you'd go out with them. Nice way to pit my friends against each other.”
I grinned as I flashed back to telling Brandon and Don to get my phone number from Andrew.
Andrew looked at me in disgust and said, “I'm glad you find this so amusing, Jane.”
Laughing, I said, “Are you for real, Andrew? You're the one who told me to date like a guy! And besides, why should I put all my eggs in one bastard?” A paralegal in our D. C. office used that expression once and it made me laugh.
“I didn't mean it that way, Jane. Now they both think you're a lying tease, which wouldn't bother me except I told them you were a sweet girl and now I look like an ass.”
“Maybe next time you want to teach me a lesson in dating, you should be more clear.” I looked at the time on the lower right hand corner of my computer monitor, grabbed a legal pad and a pen and stood up. “The paralegal meeting starts in five minutes. Are you coming?”
CHAPTER 27
I assumed Andrew's cold shoulder would fade along with my hangover, but even a few days later, he remained distant, only speaking to me to ask or answer a work-related question. I figured he was waiting for an apology, but I had done nothing wrong.
“I replaced the paper in the printer,” I said, motioning to the printer we shared. “That thing eats paper like it's an all-you-can-eat buffet. We barely print anything and it's always empty!”
Andrew nodded. “Thanks.”
I watched him as he stared intently at the inside of an open manila folder. “Whatchya working on?”
Andrew looked up, answered, “Security Agreements” and turned back to the folder.
I muttered, “OK then,” as my phone rang. “Jane Frank.”
“Hi. You have a minute?”
“Of course, Marissa. I always have time to talk to my friends.” I glanced at Andrew and, raising my voice, said, “Even if I have to review Security Agreements! What's up?”
“I just got off the phone with Katherine.”
“OK. Is everything alright?” What is your know-it-all sister up to now?
“Everything's fine. Except…”
“Except what? Did something happen? Are your folks OK?” There was silence. “You're scaring me.”
“What's up with Todd, Jane?”
“What's up with Todd?” Confused, I said, “Huh?”
“He told Katherine you've been ignoring his calls. He said you told him you really liked him and then blew him off. He's upset, Jane.”
I rolled my eyes. “What? Is he five years old?”
“Is it true?” Marissa asked.
I hesitated. “Yes,” I admitted.
“Why?”
“I don't know!” Raising my voice, I said, “What's the big deal?” I could feel Andrew looking at me. Oh, now he's interested.
“It's not like you to be so insensitive Jane,” Marissa said.
I sighed. “For the love of God. It didn't work out. Life goes on! I've certainly been on the receiving end of less consideration than I afforded Todd!”
“Two wrongs don't make a right,” Marissa said.
I mimicked, “Two wrongs don't make a right.”
“I'm just saying!” Marissa said.
“What do you want me to do about it? Should I call Todd and apologize for my heartless behavior? How about I bake him cookies? Or does Katherine want me to clean her apartment in repentance for my bad deed?”
“Don't be ridiculous.”
“Well, this entire conversation is ridiculous. I think you, your sister, and good ol' boy Todd need to lighten up. I love you, Marissa, but c'mon.”
“Katherine said if she'd known how rude you were, she wouldn't have set you up in the first place.”
“Did you ask her why she didn't set him up with you instead? She's so involved in your life, you'd think it would extend to your love life.”
“Katherine specifically chose Todd for you because of the law thing.” I heard Marissa exhale deeply into the phone.
I thought about my conversations with Todd. Interestingly, none had involved law. “You're not smoking are you?”
“No!” Marissa said. “But I'm glad to hear you're concerned about my well-being. I'll talk to you later.”
I hung up and put my head on the desk, exhausted from the conversation. I heard Andrew get up and walk out of the office whistling.
CHAPTER 28
“I'm bored,” I said to Lainie, who had just walked out of her bedroom into the living room. “Let's go to Mad River and get a drink.”
Looking at me through the mirror over the mantle, Lainie smiled. “I love the spontaneity, Jane, but I have plans already.”
“Really? Now?” I looked at the time on our DVD player. It was almost 10:00. “It's kind of late on a school night.” Hoping to get in on the action, I said, “Can I come?”
Lainie checked herself out from all angles before turning to me with a sly smile. “You're cute Jane, but I'm not into the ménage a trois.”
Sitting up straighter, I said, “Oh, really. Those kinds of plans. Who's the guy?”
“Antoine.”
Scanning Lainie's virtual black book, my memory drew a blank. “Who?”
Lainie put her hands on her hips and looked at me like I was a clueless intern at work. “The record producer? The only guy I've been out with in over a month. Remember?”
So that was the guy I'd seen going in and out of Lainie's bedroom the past couple of weeks. I never imagined it was all the same guy. Giggling, I said, “Well-traveled tongue guy, right? I understand why you'd keep him around.”
Shaking her head at me, Lainie said, “That's not the only reason I keep him around.”
Still laughing, I said, “Well hung too?”
Lainie let a small smile escape. “Yes, that too. But, the truth is, I just like him.” Her face turning red, she said, “I think he's a keeper.”
I just stared at Lainie with my mouth open. In the two years I had lived with her I could count on one hand, with fingers to spare, the number of guys she hung out with more than twice. And she always referred to those guys as “fuck buddies.”
“Maybe you should study for the LSAT. Isn't the exam coming up?”
Waving my hand at her, I said, “First things first. A keeper? What happened to playing the field?”
Lainie shrugged. “Been there. Done that. Besides, I recall being told the only reason to play the field is to find the right guy.” Lainie turned away from me and removed her coat from the hall closet. After putting it on, she turned back to me and said, “Maybe Antoine is the right guy.”
Dragging my slippers along the wood floor as I walked back to my room, I mumbled, “Doubt it,” under my breath
. Loud enough for Lainie to hear me, I said, “Have fun! Tell Antoine I said hi.”
After Lainie left, I lay on my bed on top of my covers and thought about what she had said about Antoine being the right guy. The more I thought about it, the angrier I became. Lainie was such a hypocrite.
I recalled the many times I'd sat on the edge of her bed and told her about a great date with Jim or Cory and she'd accused me of “gushing.” Suddenly Antoine was a keeper?
I climbed out of bed and ran a brush through my hair, remembering her telling me I was wasting my most attractive years dreaming about a happily-ever-after with one guy when I should be exercising my sex muscles on the freeway of love which was New York City while I still could – before the wrinkles and gray hairs made their appearance. Now she wanted to be in a monogamous relationship?
As I puckered my lips and applied plumping lip gloss, I remembered one time, when she was standing particularly high up on her soapbox, she actually had the nerve to say I was taking up prime real estate in Manhattan when I'd be just as happy in small-town America, barefoot and pregnant! She probably already had a name picked out for her and Antoine's first-born child! I slipped off my pajama pants, pulled on a pair of blue jeans, and threw a deep V-neck royal blue sweater over my white lace camisole. Deciding against wearing a jacket, I walked briskly around the corner to Mad River.
It was crowded for a Sunday night, but bars were almost always packed in New York every night of the week. I saw one empty bar stool next to two twenty-something guys and, happy for the opening line, smiled and said, “Is this seat taken?” I stood up straighter hoping my chest would entice them to engage me in flirtatious banter.
The guys turned away from the television set above the bar and without so much as the “Manhattan once over,” the less attractive of the two said, “Don't think so” before turning back to the screen. Basketball. I was through pretending to like sports for a guy. Let the guy pretend to like chick flicks for me instead.
A State of Jane Page 12
