This again. I’m growing a little weary of hearing that I’m either a genius for not tying myself down to a man or that I need to get serious and find myself a lasting relationship. (It’s so often the latter.)
“Look,” I start, but Jackie continues.
“You can do whatever the fuck you want, ya know?” she says. “Things used to be like that with Andrew.” She looks up at the twinkling stars and sighs dramatically. “I don’t know.” Her voice has absolutely no resolve in it whatsoever. “We used to go out and have fun all the time. Sometimes I think Andrew cares more about his dumb job than me.”
“Oh, you know that’s not true.” It so isn’t. Andrew would do anything for Jackie. Honestly, I wouldn’t put it past him. Back when they first met, he paid her boss at the bar she was working at so he’d give her the time off for a first date. Sophie and Lara said it sounded dangerously close to prostitution, but I agreed with Jackie when I heard about it. He saw what he liked, Jackie said she was looking for a relationship, and the rest is history, as they say.
“Andrew loves you, Jackie.” I flick some ashes into the expensive-looking cerulean glass ashtray. “He also has a demanding career. You knew that when you met him.”
“Whatever,” she says, shaking her head. “It’s obviously a mood thing right now with me.” Her voice is turning upbeat, however slowly. “Marriage isn’t so bad, right? I’m happy…sometimes. Look around me.” She casts about. “I’m rich. I’ve got a handsome husband. I don’t need to work. I’ve got it all, I suppose.”
I rub out my cigarette, saying, “It’s all about adaptation, Jackie. Working through situations. And, true, it’s not like you’re living in squalor with a husband who beats you and hates you. You don’t have it bad, babe.”
“You’re right,” she says, pulling herself up from the lounge chair. “I’m totally being a drag and ragging on a perfectly fine marriage, aren’t I? I mean, look who I’m talking to.”
I follow her into the living room. “I’m going on about how blah it can be to be married sometimes and I’m talking to miss anti-commitment,” she rages on. “Miss ‘I will never get married.’ You’re on to something, girl.” She flips on the television and flies herself onto the lush couch. Her Teacup Yorkie, Bella, dances from one end of the couch where she’s been snuggled into a blanket, and hops into Jackie’s lap.
“I’ve never said I will never get married,” I say, a tad nettled.
“Well,” Jackie brushes the disputed subject away, “you’re the smart one, girly.” She winks and makes a clicking sound with her tongue. “We should all be so lucky to be unattached. A drama-free life!”
I hunker down next to her and link my arm in hers. Resting my head on her bony shoulder, I close my eyes. “I ‘spose,” I whisper.
“Ooo!” she shrieks, turning up the television volume. “It’s Celebrity Rehab!”
“You? Drama-free life?” I can’t help but chuckle. “Never in a hundred years, babe.”
***
I detach my camera lens and swap it for the fish-eyed one, just to give a little somethin’ extra to the shoot. The Seattle Center is packed, as it usually is in the high summer season, and trying to get a shot of the jugglers and musicians without so much background noise is a challenge.
“I want to capture the essence of the atmosphere, obviously,” I tell them. “If you guys can squeeze in tighter together.” I nod at the bassist to the left. “Not unnaturally close for a gig, but just a smidge more so I can get a better shot.”
The magazine’s sent me to do a quick and light piece on a juggling and musical act who often perform for the throngs of tourists who flock to Seattle Center to ride the Space Needle. It’s supposed to be a fun and colorful piece, really showcasing the entertainment aspect under the Seattle sun, while at the same time expressing the nonchalant vibe you can experience out here.
It’s a great precursor for what’s to come in just a week, too, and something that the magazine is keen on featuring every year. Each summer the Seattle Center is taken over by the city’s biggest arts and cultural event, Bumbershoot. Hundreds of artists, musicians, authors, poets, and theater troupes come in and perform for Labor Day weekend. This act will be the ideal magazine feature to preview the event and create some hype.
I adjust a few dials and take a practice shot with the new lens to gauge the light. The busyness of the park and the energy that’s coming off of everything and everyone is intoxicating. The oily and sweet scent of the funnel cakes being sold not twenty yards away is making it challenging to concentrate, as is the gaggle of people flocking to a bluegrass band across the way.
“All right,” I finally say. “Let’s roll.” I focus on the center subjects as they toss their juggling balls in the air and begin their routine.
Click-click. I sneak a quick peek, making sure my lighting’s on. Click-click.
“Nice!” I say. “Bandmates, exaggerate your movements a tad.” Click. “Emphasize them for the camera.” They begin to strum and drum with heavier arms, their heads moving to their quirky and rapturous tunes. “Niiice!” I try my hardest not to bob to their catchy beat.
Click. Switching lenses was a great choice. The guys look great, the noise in the background is at the perfect level, and the action and emotion are right there—right where I want them.
Click-click. Click. “All right!” I quickly scan the images, shielding the camera screen from the blazing sun.
“Looks great. That’s a wrap!” I say in a singsong voice. “Sweet work, guys. And nice act, too.” I begin to pack up, and the band lets the music fade, the deep pluck of the bass sealing off the performance.
I pull out my cell phone from a side pocket of my camera bag and notice that I have a text message from Lara and three missed calls from Jackie.
“Thanks for doing this,” one of the jugglers says.
“My pleasure.” The bag’s zipper whines loudly as I close it. “It’ll be in the next issue, under ‘Entertainment,’ maybe ‘Lifestyle.’”
The guys mutter “awesome” and “thanks” and “rad” as I heave the bag up and onto my back. I call out “Later!” and begin working on adjusting the bag’s straps and cinching the main belt. As I make my way over the grassy hill, I feel the vibration of my phone. Ten to one it’s Jackie, and sure enough I’m right. My screen now indicates not three, not four, but five missed calls from the girl, and the lone text message from Lara.
Claire and Conner should have recently gotten back from their honeymoon cruise—no doubt that’s what Lara’s phoning about. Claire’s definitely going to want to get together to talk about how amazing her trip was, so a girls’ night is probably in order.
“Jackie,” I mumble to myself as I click off from the missed calls screen, the cursor not even finished scanning over all of her failed attempts at reaching me.
I’m about to open Lara’s text message but decide to call my voicemail and hear what Jackie’s latest dramatic episode is. It could be serious, and I’d hate to waste another second when she could be in trou—
“Girl!” her recorded voice instantly cries into my ear. “Claire is back and we must get together! We need to plan a girls’ night. Like, yesterday. So get your ass in gear and callll meeee. Love ya. Mean it. Ciao.”
I laugh through a sigh and click over to read Lara’s text message. I park a seat on the bus stop bench.
Em, the text reads, Claire back. Girls nite my place tomorrow @ 7? Need ride? Can pick you up after work. XO
I consider calling Lara to let her know that a ride would be nice, but before I can even click off from the text message my phone vibrates once again.
It’s Jackie. Who else? I love this girl. She is my bestest friend ever, but damn can it be exhausting keeping up with her sometimes—or chasing after her.
“Girlfriend,” I moan into the phone, “you know I do have a job, however freelance and random?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Jackie brushes off.
“Not everyone’s as privil
eged as you, my dear Jackie,” I tease.
“Whatever. It’s your choice to work, Em. Not like you have to.”
“Anyway,” I say. “What’s up, chica? You coming to Lara’s tomorrow to welcome Claire home?”
“Good, you got the memo!”
The five-eleven bus comes to a slow, screeching halt at the curb, and I pull myself up out of the warm seat.
“But that’s not what I’m calling about this time,” she says. “There’s a sale on these Balenciage shoes at this boutique downtown. Andrew’s bimbo secretary Nikki just phoned about them.”
“Oh, Jack.” I sit down in the middle section of the bus along a long line of open seats. “You know I don’t care about ridiculous name-brand stuff like that.”
“Yeah, I know. You consider Birkenstocks a designer label.” She puffs out a breath of air. “You don’t have to come to buy something, necessarily, silly. You could just keep me company…”
“Jack—”
“Puhlease!”
“Why don’t you go with Andrew’s secretary if she’s so keen on them?” I pull out my pot of Carmex.
“Ew! Ugh!” Jackie sounds like she’s just been forced to eat a water bug. “Never. Nikki’s one of those posers.”
“Posers?” I give a chortle in the middle of my lip balm application. “How is she a poser? She, what, poses to like Binceega?”
“Balenciage,” she corrects in a dramatic voice. “Get with it, Emily.”
“Whatever.”
“No, she poses to be one of those nicey-nice girls. But deep down she’s a bitch. She hates me.”
“Jack, how can that be true? She told you about the sale after all, didn’t she? She doesn’t sound like a bitch.”
“She just is.” Her tone is flighty, but her words are filled with conviction. “She’s led me astray with some shopping mall BOGOs before. She even screws up with delivering some of my messages to Andrew. Ugh! She’s such a bimbo. I just hate her. Hate her!”
I slip the Carmex back into my bag. “It sounds like she’s trying to be nice right now, Jackie. Maybe she wants to make amends or something? Sharing a sale on some ridiculous, overpriced shoes has to be a peace offering for you, right?” I can’t help but laugh.
Jackie chuckles along with my insult to her designer ware. “Well, whatever. Doesn’t change the fact that she’s a bitch. If you met her, Em, you would so see it.”
“Then don’t go with her,” I say simply. “It was nice of her to tell you about the sale, though.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Jackie’s voice sounds squished; she’s obviously lit up a cigarette.
“Jackie, try to be nice to her. Civil, at least.”
“Okay, you’re right.” She pauses. “Aside from the fact that she’s a bitch who I know wishes she was married to my husband, and aside from the fact that she’s a total poser who fakes liking me… You know, it’s just because she works for Andrew. That’s why she fakes liking me, Em. Because she’s paid to.”
“Listen,” I say as the bus pulls up to my stop. “I’ve got to make a transfer here, and I’m headed to work at the café for the rest of the day, so…you good with your solo shopping plans?”
Jackie makes a resigned sigh and says, “I guess. I’ll see you at Lara’s tomorrow then?”
“Most definitely.” I give a friendly wave to the bus driver and mouth a ‘thank you’ as I hop down the bus steps. “We are definitely overdue for a girls’ night with all the girls.”
Chapter Six
Girls’ nights are one of the most awesome things in the world. I mean, obviously getting to see the vast Kremlin over the Moskva River for the first time or the remains of the Mount Vesuvius victims of Pompeii and Herculaneum are pretty awesome experiences. But getting together with my girlfriends, whether out on the town or comfy and cozy at home, is one of my most favorite things ever!
Claire’s bound to have some fantastic stories to share after her romantic honeymoon, and I’m sure Jackie will have some dramatic episode to recount (no doubt something to do with a pair of nonsense, designer shoes). Who knows what else?
That’s another reason for me to stick around Seattle for a while. If I were gone, I’d really miss my girls and the nights we plan together. I was volunteering in Ghana when I totally missed out on the will-go-down-in-history girls’ hangout. It was when Robin shared the news that she was expecting baby Rose. Hey, at least I was there for baby number two news! Speaking of which, I really wonder if Robin’s tried out that ring test anymore and has new results for the gender…
“Welcome back!” Jackie, Robin, and I shout as Lara opens her front apartment door to let Claire in.
“Omigod!” Claire screeches. She energetically jumps up and down, her tight blonde curls bouncing about. “It’s so good to be back!” She’s squeezing Lara into a very tight embrace, pulling her forward on her nylon-stockinged feet.
“Whoa, Claire,” Lara says, straightening herself up. “It’s great to have you back, too.”
Claire, a smile spread across her sun-kissed face, rubs Lara’s arm. “Oh, it’s just so great to be back!” She looks to the rest of us in the open living room. “Oh, and girls! You all made it. This is awesome!”
“We’re all almost here,” Robin says with Rose sitting comfortably on her hip. “Sophie’ll swing by when she can close up shop.”
“Oh, she told me,” Claire shrugs off in her “Sophie and I are like sisters” way. “This is just so wonderful. Oh, we’ve got so much to catch up on!”
Claire tosses her oversized straw-thatched bag onto the foyer floor and gives out a round of hugs, saving Rose for last. “And how is the awesomest baby on the planet?” She rubs Rose’s head before giving it a kiss.
“Tell us all about the honeymoon,” Jackie says. She waves in one hand a bottle of Riesling and in the other two wine glasses. “How awesome the cruise was, how great married life is.” She hands Claire and me a glass. “Or do you, like, totally regret marrying Conner?”
I dart my eyes to Jackie, who’s now smiling and voraciously shaking her head. “I’m totally kidding. You two are made for each other.”
“Yeah,” Robin adds in a positive voice, taking a seat on the couch. “Claire and Conner, ever since they were together freshmen year in college, were M-A-D-E made for each other.”
Claire blushes, picks up the bottle of Riesling, and begins to pour. “Oh, girls,” she says. “Conner and I are great. Everything’s fabulous. Just like I dreamed it would be.”
Jackie passes out the rest of the glasses and says, “So, you’re married now. What’s next? Poppin’ out a kid anytime soon?” She makes an obvious, goofy wink-wink.
“Jackie,” Lara says. She makes a scissors motion with two fingers to indicate to Claire that her glass is filled sufficiently. “I’m sure Claire and Conner will be ready in their own time; they’ve only just got married.”
“Hey,” Robin says. “You never know. Sometimes a baby hits you when you least expect it.” She releases a squirming Rose, who totters to Lara’s cat nearby. Beebee almost immediately leaps from her curled position in the corner and dashes into one of the back rooms.
“Gosh, think how adorable it would be with both of us having babies at the same time!” Claire exclaims to Robin. Her expression looks like she’s suddenly alighted on a new idea, a new goal. Oh dear.
As the next half hour unfolds, we reach the bottom of the second bottle of wine, start up a Mickey Mouse cartoon for Rose that Lara bought “just for these kinds of occasions,” and Claire has regaled us of all of the splendor the Baja beaches and sands have to offer.
When Lara’s about to dish about the latest with her boyfriend, Nathan, Sophie arrives bearing the usual brown wicker basket of delectable leftover sweets from The Cup and the Cake.
“Perfect timing!” Claire exclaims as Sophie wiggles into a spot next to Lara on the loveseat. “Lara’s about to tell us that Nathan’s going to pop the question.”
“Oh, Claire,” Lara moans. She leans fo
rward to give her a good shove. “Not at all. Here.” She offers Sophie a freshly filled glass of wine. “Riesling. Your favorite.”
Sophie accepts gladly and swirls the pale liquid about. She brings the glass to her nose, inhales deeply, and does another swirl.
“Miss Priss,” Claire teases.
Sophie takes a small sip and swishes it about for only a second. “Mmm,” she says. “The vintage?”
“Come on!” Jackie urges. She snaps her fingers. “Lara. Let’s hear the news. You’ve been so quiet, and you’re always super duper busy with your job. Come on. Dish it.”
“Dish it,” I repeat in the same peppy tone.
Lara sighs through a smile. “All right, well…there isn’t anything really to report.”
“We don’t need a news report,” Claire says.
“Well…” Lara proceeds, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear and crossing her legs. “Nathan and I are still doing well. Great, actually.” She tucks another strand of hair behind her ear, almost nervously. “I stopped seeing my therapist.” She looks at Jackie. “Dr. Milbanke said if I felt comfortable I could stop my sessions.”
Jackie and Lara have the same therapist, upon Jackie’s recommendation when Lara was really troubled over the affair she had with that co-worker. I was wondering when Lara would conclude her sessions. She seems like she’s come a long way and has healed a lot.
“I’m happy to hear that, Lara,” I say. “That’s great news!”
“It was costing a small fortune,” she says. “Worth it, naturally, but I figured the griping and moping hasn’t been going on, the frustration or—”
“The self-loathing,” Jackie interrupts.
Lara looks puzzled for a moment, then says, “All right. I guess, yeah, self-loathing.” She pauses to take a sip of her wine. “I figured it was time, since the barrage of questions I’d usually plague myself with had finally stopped. Like why me and why this way and why…at all! Well…” We’re all nodding, silently paying attention. “When all I ended up talking to Dr. Milbanke about was how work was stressful, or how this new client was a great chance for me to grow, or how I was, well…” Her cheeks begin to redden. “…how I love Nathan.” She presses her lips together tightly and tries to avoid our direct gazes.
When Girlfriends Take Chances Page 5
