by Lynda Curnyn
My mother was quiet after that remark, and I could tell she was tabulating the amount of psychological damage my father’s most recent episode had caused. “Well, maybe he’ll get some help this time.”
“Oh, he’s already checked into rehab. Deirdre drove him over this morning.” Not that it mattered, I thought to myself.
“That poor woman,” my mother said, “I don’t know how she takes it.” Then: “So are you coming in next Saturday to see him?” She knew the drill, too, after all.
“Yeah,” I admitted, knowing that a visit with my mother would be unavoidable if I set foot on Long Island this weekend. “Deirdre’s picking me up at noon. I’ll have her drop me off at your house afterward.”
“Good, sweetie. I’ll make us a nice dinner and we can take some time to talk. You really shouldn’t keep your emotions so bottled up.”
“Don’t worry, Mom. I was planning on having a few stiff drinks and a good cry later.”
“Emma!”
“Just kidding. Look, I have to go. See you Saturday afternoon, around four?”
“We’ll talk about this then,” she warned, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to sneak back to the city that night without having my emotions picked apart by my mother.
If, between Max and my father—not to mention residual Derrick Damage—there was anything left for the picking.
Confession: It seems that I am destined to spend Saturday night alone. Probably until the end of time.
Once I had finalized my depressing plans for next Saturday, this Saturday night loomed before me, cold and empty. Since Alyssa was spending a romantic evening at home with Richard and I knew Jade had plans to go out with Enrico, I knew I was fated to spend it alone. No longer did I wait for a call from Max. I didn’t even torment myself with thoughts of Derrick. Instead thoughts of my father’s illness infested my mind, making me question every hope I’d ever had for my own future. Every dream I’d been unable to achieve.
I shuddered, forcing back tears. Then I did the only thing I could to keep myself sane. I cleaned.
I started with the living area, pulling all the books off the shelves and dusting each one individually. Then I moved on to the desk, filing papers, polishing the surface. Next the floor was mopped, then the kitchen scrubbed. The bathroom was sprayed down and wiped until it sparkled.
I showered, then fell onto the bed exhausted. My gaze fell on the clock—4:00 p.m. Too early for bed. I did another stare down with the phone, which remained silent and menacing. I imagined Max Van Gelder walking up the stairs to his apartment, just about to insert the key in the door when he is attacked by a band of thieves who beat him and leave him battered and bruised in the hallway, before they proceed to ransack his entire apartment, stealing everything except the Billie Holiday CD. When he comes to consciousness again, the only thing he hears is the soulful sound of “What a Little Moonlight Can Do,” and the only person he thinks of is me.
I sighed and glanced at the phone once more. It remained silent.
I could go to the gym. But that would mean rounding up Alyssa before she settled in with Richard for the night, as I could gain access to the gym only by the grace of her seemingly unlimited supply of guest passes. And since I couldn’t deal with her helpful words of wisdom right now, I could just forget about going to the gym. What I really needed was to get a membership of my own….
As I lay there contemplating my nonoptions, a quietness finally fell over me, and I drifted off into a brief and somewhat blissful sleep, during which I dreamed I was in Max’s bed. Except when I rolled over to wake him, I discovered Derrick instead. “Hey,” he said, blinking sleep out of his eyes. “I hoped you would drop by.” And then he pulled me into his arms and made love to me, really made love to me, simultaneous orgasm and all.
I woke up to darkness, achingly aware that I was completely alone.
I slid out of bed, then went to the bathroom to splash water on my face and run a brush through my rumpled hair, which had kinked and curled from falling asleep on it while wet. After slipping on my slides and, as an afterthought, dabbing on lipstick, I headed down the stairs in search of dinner fare.
Once I hit the cool night air, I knew what I had to do. I headed for the bodega on the corner. And Smiling Man. To hell with good eating habits.
But by the time I got there and responded to his cheerful, “Hello!” my resolve broke. I couldn’t bring myself to destroy everything I had worked for up until now, no matter how bad I felt. I slinked past the Hostess snack cakes, past the freezer full of Ben & Jerry’s and grabbed a container of skim milk, a can of tuna and a granola bar, just to save face.
“Is that it?” he taunted as I placed the items reluctantly on the counter.
“Yes,” I replied, practically hissing the word at him. He didn’t seem to notice my ire as he perkily poked at his register, then held out his hand to receive my money.
“Have a good night!” he insisted cheerfully as I took my bag and walked dejectedly out the door.
I couldn’t go home like this, I realized as I turned toward my building once more. I needed something to lift my spirits.
As if on autopilot, I headed for Heavenly Dee-lites, and was filled with dismay when I saw the Closed sign hanging in the door. Then alarm bells went off in my head when I saw him standing just inside, turning the key in the lock. I tried to back away, but it was too late—he saw me. The Skinny Scoop man of my recent seduction fantasies. Except that he looked even more irresistible, in a clean T-shirt and a pair of faded jeans.
Spotting me, he opened the door. “Hi,” he said. “I was just locking up, but if you need anything—”
Suddenly I remembered my rumpled hair, my makeup-free face. Thank God I had at least opted for lipstick.
“Uh…no, I’m—”
“Hey,” he said suddenly, his beautiful face filled with recognition, that sexy mouth turning up into a smile. “Double Mocha Chip, right?”
I was mortified. He remembered me. He remembered my flavor. Which probably meant that he remembered I had purchased a whole gallon of the stuff mere weeks ago. “Uh, yeah.” I replied, numbly. There was no way to get out of this gracefully now. Smiling weakly, I admitted, “You guessed it.”
“I have a feeling you’re in need of a refill,” he said, opening the door invitingly. “Come on in. It’ll only take a minute.”
I nodded and stepped over the threshold, my senses on full alert. After all, by inviting me in at closing time, the Skinny Scoop man was coming dangerously close to fulfilling my recent seduction fantasy. I felt heat rising to my face as a sudden image of us going at it against the freezer case filled my mind. “Just a pint,” I said weakly once he faced me again from a safe distance behind the counter.
“You got it,” he said, reaching into the glass freezer between us.
Nice forearms, I thought as I watched him dig through the containers in search of the Double Mocha. I thought of Jade and her love of this particular part of the male anatomy. That’s right—he’s more Jade’s type anyway. Whom was I kidding? Clearly I would have nothing in common with this guy anyway. After all, he was a…a…stock boy. Or something. Not that Jade would have anything in common with him, either, but that didn’t matter to her.
The beautifully tanned hand attached to the beefy forearm finally found the Double Mocha Chip, plucked it out of the case and plopped it in a bag. “There you go,” he said, handing it over. “That will be two-seventy-five.”
I dug around in my pocket, pulled out a five and handed it to him, my fingers grazing his. That’s when I felt it. That tiny electric zing that I had read about but never actually encountered in real life.
Maybe I didn’t need to have anything in common with the Skinny Scoop man. Maybe I just needed—
I banished the thought as he handed me back my change, and I noticed the nonchalance with which he performed the function. No way would a guy like this even be interested in me. He was pure sex, while I…
I didn’t know wha
t I was anymore. “Thanks,” I replied, pocketing the change and giving him a meager smile.
“Hey, no problem,” he replied, flashing me one of those amazing smiles once again.
God, I wanted to have sex with him. But, instead, I turned myself around and marched out the door. What had I become, some kind of sex-crazed maniac? Suddenly Jade’s whole M.O. was thrown into relief. Maybe this was what happened to you when the love of your life brutally dumped you, destroying all your belief in soulmates and true love. Maybe you just roamed the city streets, in search of drink and debauchery….
“See you soon,” he called out as I made my way through the door.
I swallowed. Hard. Maybe I would see him soon. And not just for Skinny Scoop.
By the time I got home and was safely under the covers, the pint of Skinny Scoop in my hands and my spoon poised as I contemplated the Saturday night pickings, the thought of a life of promiscuity and restlessness filled me with sorrow. I dug into the pint, spooned in my first mouthful and swallowed, the sweetness less than the anticipated balm to my wounded, threadbare soul. I stared numbly at the TV screen, settling on a channel that had some mindless sitcom on, as I realized that all the good TV was reserved for nights when people were expected to be home. Like any other night but Saturday. And just when I thought I had finally managed to achieve the numbness of couch potatodom, the sitcom I had tuned into broke for a commercial, and I watched, horrified, as the most beautiful blond woman I had ever seen stepped into an elevator with an incredibly handsome man, their mouths coming dangerously close as a tube of brightly packaged toothpaste flashed up on the screen.
Close-Up.
Oh God. It was even worse than I’d thought, I realized as I took in Carrie’s winning smile, her generous breasts and narrow waist.
Derrick had found someone else. And she was perfect.
Eleven
“Men: You can’t live with them and you can’t permanently institutionalize them.”
—Deirdre Carter, still married to Emma’s father (believe it or not).
Confession: I begin to question my own sanity.
By the time my phone did ring, it was Sunday morning and I was in a deep and mercifully dreamless sleep.
It was Jade. “You’re sleeping?”
“No, no, I’m up,” I lied, glad to hear a familiar voice after an evening filled with my own torturous thoughts.
“Meet me at Joe Jr.’s?” she said, naming our favorite diner, conveniently located down the street from me. “Half an hour?”
“Okay,” I said, then hung up and glanced at the clock: 10:00 a.m. There had to be something wrong. There was no way Jade could be up so early on a Sunday morning otherwise.
As was my habit, I arrived at Joe’s a few minutes before Jade, and was greeted by the cheerful staff. Joe Jr.’s was a family-owned diner, and if you went there often enough, you became a member of the family. Right now I was ready to trade in my own family for this one.
Jade arrived shortly afterward. Once we had slid into a booth and ordered coffee, I asked, “What’s going on?”
“It’s over,” she said, smiling gratefully at the young waiter as he filled our coffee cups.
“Over?”
“Enrico and me.”
My heart pinged oddly. “What happened?” I demanded.
“Fucking guy shows up at my apartment last night with this bulging knapsack,” she began as she tore open sugar packets and dumped them into her coffee. “At first, I’m not thinking anything. I mean, I told him he could stay over, so I figured he had a change of clothes in there. Well, I’m putting my lipstick on and getting ready to walk out the door, when he pulls out a…a…bathrobe!”
I was confused. “I don’t get it.”
“Neither does he, apparently. He tells me he figured he could keep his robe here, so he’d have it whenever he stays over. Then he proceeds to go hang it on the back of my bathroom door!”
Uh-oh. Enrico was getting territorial. “God, he might as well have peed all over the place. What did you do?”
“What else could I do? I told him to stuff that terry-cloth nightmare right back in his bag.”
“Ouch. Poor Enrico.”
“Poor Enrico nothing. Poor me! I mean, everything was going great, we were having amazing sex, good times. And then he has to go getting all boyfriendy on me.”
“So you broke up with him?”
“What else could I do?”
“I don’t know, Jade. Maybe you could have just told him to take his little bathrobe home and carry on as you were before.”
“Oh, I tried. Believe me. But he was so furious that I didn’t want his robe hanging around my place, he started accusing me of sleeping with other guys.”
“Uh-oh.”
“Yeah, the whole night was a mess. Not even his bathrobe survived.” She smiled somewhat guiltily. “After I yanked it off the hook and tried to hand it back to him, we got into a tug-of-war and…well, the sleeve kinda came off.” She cringed. “I feel a little bad about that. Maybe I’ll have my contact at Ralph Lauren send him a replacement.”
Now I was sure her tryst with Enrico truly was over, as it was Jade’s habit to load up her man with gifts just before she gave him the heave-ho. It was as if she felt a hidden guilt at ending things. Even Michael, asshole that he was, had gotten six new CDs. And Carl, who lasted no more than a month, got a weight-training belt. “So what now?”
“Nothing. Like I said, it’s over.”
At that moment, Alex, our usual waiter, came over. “Hello, ladies. What can I get for you today?”
Without hesitation, Jade rattled off a version of an omelet with extras that had enough fat and carbohydrates to make her blood stop moving in her veins. When the waiter turned to me, I nodded numbly. “I’ll have the same.”
Once he was gone, I asked Jade, “Do you think something is wrong with us?”
She narrowed her eyes at me. “What?”
“I mean, neither one of us seems to be able to maintain a relationship.”
“For your information, Emma, I am not looking for a relationship. And the demise of your relationship had nothing to do with you.”
I studied her for a minute, wondering how much truth there was behind her statement that she didn’t want a relationship. After the Ted episode, I was convinced it was only a matter of her meeting the right guy. But this was a subject I couldn’t broach with Jade without getting my head bit off. So instead I said, “Max never called me.”
“The writer guy?”
“Yeah.” I studied her face, waiting for her to show some sign that she thought there was something wrong with me, too.
“That’s New York men for you. The good ones aren’t really available. And the others are so needy, all they really want is someone to replace their mothers.”
“Maybe I’m the needy one. Maybe Max saw that. I didn’t tell you this, but I drank four drinks on our first date. In about as many hours.”
“And?” she replied, as if this statement meant nothing.
“That’s not normal. I mean, he even commented on it.”
“He did?”
“Yeah,” I said, embarrassed. “And then he seemed really disappointed when I acted more sedate and drank Merlot on date number two. Not that that stopped me from acting like some drunken girl and sleeping with him.”
“Maybe you just wanted to get laid.”
“Maybe I’m just a mess,” I replied. Then, with a resigned sigh, I blurted out, “My father’s in a rehab.”
“Oh, Emma. Not again,” she said, her face full of sympathy.
“I’m beginning to wonder if maybe my whole family is fucked up—including me. I mean, I did drink a lot that first date, and Max—”
“Uh-uh. Don’t go there, Emma.” Jade shook her head. “If I know you, you were nervous as hell when you went out with Max. I mean, he looked pretty intimidating to me, the way he looked down his nose at everyone and everything. A lot of people drink too much when they�
��re nervous. Besides, it doesn’t sound to me like you drank all that much on the second date. Sounds more like Max was just being your typical guy looking to get laid and hoping to grease your wheels by plying you with drinks.”
“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t worry so much if my father didn’t have such a…a problem with it. These things are hereditary, you know.”
Jade sighed, then leaned back in her seat. “You’re determined to find some reason why no man in the world will want you. I’m telling you, Emma, there’s nothing wrong with you. You’re intelligent and beautiful, and the only reason Derrick left was because he got a job offer. There’s no explanation for the Max thing. There never is. Look at Ted. We had a great time together, and he’s disappeared off the face of the earth.”
As our order arrived and as Jade and I dug into the fatty concoction of eggs, cheese and ham, I wondered if she was kidding herself about men being the real problem and not us. After all, she had just thrown a man out of her life for bringing a bathrobe over, for chrissakes. Could it be we were just the innocent victims of the New York City dating scene? Or were we part of the problem?
Confession: It is now public knowledge: I am a complete and utter failure.
By Monday morning I was a mess, especially since Sunday night—the very night Max had called me last week—passed without a word from him. The phone remained silent, except for one poor fool who had haplessly dialed my number in error and had his head bitten off by me for not being anyone I desperately needed to hear from. Like Max. Or Derrick, for that matter. Not that I expected to hear from him again. And that thought hurt even more than Max’s indifference ever could.
Now I plodded numbly along the subway platform, hating the crowds that surged and swarmed around me and suddenly understanding why Sartre had said, “Hell is other people.” After boarding the train, I stood among the sweaty throngs, gazing blindly up at a hemorrhoid ad while I analyzed my date with Max for the sixteenth time.
Somehow this gloomy Monday morning, all the minute details that led to this moment of desolation seemed glaringly apparent. The way he’d maneuvered me up to his neighborhood, probably with the sole aim of getting me into his apartment at some appropriate moment. That damn Bart Freely movie, after which he’d waxed poetic on the virtues of solitude. The way he plied me with drinks I didn’t want, probably in the hope that I would be drunk enough for him to work his seductive magic.
