He turned away and she let out a long exhale, as though he’d been holding her by the throat.
When he turned back toward her, he said, “Let’s talk about you.”
“I’m working at Edie’s. I’m an official retail hack.”
He put on his apron and began tying it, in the back. “But you love it,” he said, smiling, “so who cares?”
SHE DID LOVE WORKING AT EDIE’S. IT WAS TRUE. SHE loved being around the clothes. She loved her twenty-five-percent discount. She loved listening to Edie talk about fashion. On the subject of fabric alone, Edie could talk for hours. Pru loved how she referred to everything in the singular. The pant. The shoe.
Edie referred to the construction of a piece of clothing as if it were a model airplane or a skyscraper. She showed Pru how you could judge the quality of a garment by the way it was finished. She taught her about drape and slubbing and warp. How some fabrics provided a crisp hand, some a smooth hand. Absorbency, temperature sensitivity, wrinkle recovery. Pru learned to feel a fabric’s pile, judge its luster, listen to its rustle. She learned there were two types of rayon, viscose and cuprammonium, and the differences between those fabrics made from animal-hair fibers— camel, alpaca, llama, vicuña—and those made of cellulose or wood pulp. Twist, luster, open weave, tight weave, filling. The types of satin: slipper satin, crepe-back satin, faille satin, bridal satin, moleskin, and royal satin.
And the rules! How Pru loved rules! It wasn’t so much that she liked following rules, but knowing what they were gave her a sense of order, and peace. She felt safer knowing that if she broke one, there would be repercussions.
Happily, fashion was full of rules. There were rules governing fabric and color combinations. Rules for fit and body type. Leg openings no smaller than the hip. Deep V’s for short necks. Square toes on tall women, only. Then there were the mysterious, fluid rules of taste and style. Rules that broke the rules. It was a world she could figure out. Learn the rules, and you’re good. Or you’ll look good, anyway, and maybe that was half the battle.
She tried to give her customers a few minutes of browsing time before pouncing on them with the perfect dress. Or pant. She loved saying, This is a great pant for your body. They trusted her. They took what she offered, and emerged from the curtained dressing room shyly pleased. These were the same women who had clawed their way to the tops of their fields, and screamed abuse at their interns. But here at Edie’s they were heavy thighs, wide hips, crooked ears. Every woman had some part of her that she couldn’t forgive. Forgive, the clothes said to them. Forget it, and move on, love.
All in all, Pru felt, it didn’t seem like a grown-up life—living with her sister, trying to get over John, and working retail. It was like being in college again, except with a little more money. Grown-up life didn’t involve so much hanging around, being called “sweetie,” talking about what kind of chocolate to try, and whether the nail polish color “Cherries in the Snow” was a truer red than “Redcoat Red.” Grown-up life was the thing that would resume, once this phase of Pru’s life was over. This was just the intermission. Circling the airport. The little voice in the back of her mind, when it wasn’t taunting her about John Owen, liked to bark, This is your life? This is why you’ve had a job since you were sixteen years old, and got a graduate degree in nineteenth-century British literature, which took you ten years to pay off? So you could become a lowly . . . shopgirl?!
ONE DAY, EDIE WALKED INTO THE SHOP AND ANNOUNCED that they were going on a buying trip to New York. They would be given private tours of designers’ new lines, and make purchases for the store. She wanted Pru with her. Pru agreed to go along, mostly to make sure they’d bring back more double-digit sizes. The twos and fours looked great on the mannequins, but she was still seeing too many average-sized women leave the store, empty-handed and discouraged, because Edie failed to stock twelves or fourteens.
Also, it was a chance to see her friend Kate, who could always be counted on for solace after a good heartbreak. Kate was frequently going through heartbreak herself, in one form or another.But when she called, later that night, Kate said, “Listen, I’ve been meaning to tell you. I’m seeing a doctor.”
For years, Kate had been talking about her nonexistent throat cancer. Every cold, every cough, every catch in the throat was carefully scrutinized for possible malignant causes. It all started when she was twenty-nine, and realized she had been a smoker for more years of her life than she had not. At least it had gotten her to quit.
“Good,” Pru said. “It’s about time you sought medical attention.”
“No, I mean, dating a doctor,” Kate said. “I met him at the gym.”
“Wow. Well, will he be able to administer your chemo?”
“I asked him to feel my throat!” she laughed.
“It seems so grown-up,” Pru said. “A doctor.”
“I know,” she said. “He’s a nice, stable, normal guy. Can you believe it?”
Pru felt a little twinge of jealousy. Kate was drawn, as if by a force beyond herself, to the unavailable ones. The married, the phobic, the plain lazy or narcissistic. Poets. Priests. That kind of guy. Pru was the one who was supposed to be dating some nice, stable, normal guy. That was the way it was always, always, always supposed to have been.
Eighteen
A few hours before she was supposed to leave for New York, she was still unpacked, and instant-messaging with Kate about where to meet that night, when Patsy burst through the front door, breathless.
The door’s bursting open upset Whoop, and he jumped up, which triggered the puppy Jenny to jump up, too, and go sprinting after him. If they owned anything like a Ming vase, Pru thought, it would be crashing to the ground right about now. Except, of course, they didn’t.
Patsy rolled Annali’s stroller over Pru’s foot, in her excitement. “Tell her, honey,” she said to Annali.
“We found a new ’partment!” Annali announced. Her cheeks were flushed, as were Patsy’s.
“I found us an apartment,” Patsy said, nodding. She was flushed and out of breath.
“Three bedrooms, a deck, and a dining room. Oh my God, hardwoods, and you won’t believe the price.”
Us? thought Pru, pushing the stroller off her foot.
“You’ll love it. I mean, we can’t keep living here!”
Pru realized she hadn’t given their situation as much thought as perhaps she ought. They were living together day to day, but she hadn’t really considered making it permanent. But Patsy was so happy and excited that she didn’t want to say anything that would ruin her mood.
“Even better, it’s just around the corner,” Patsy added, all in a rush. “Moving will be a snap!”
“Why does everyone say that?” said Pru, closing up her laptop and rolling up the cord. “You still have to pack up your stuff, put it on a truck, take it off a truck, and put it all away. The driving it a thousand miles across the country is the easy part.”
“It’s rent-controlled,” Patsy said, turning the stroller around, “so it’s not going to last. Noah tipped me off about it, at drop-off this morning. It’s practically right next door to them! The kids can play together all the time! So, come on, stop sitting there looking reluctant and get your coat. You have to come see it now. Right now.”
“I have to go to New York,” Pru said. “I can’t go look at an apartment now. I haven’t even packed.”
“Throw your stuff in a bag. Grab a cab and have it wait for you. We’ll go and sit on it, so no one else takes it.”
Pru started to laugh. “It’s not a parking space, Pats!”
“Please,” said Patsy. “This place reeks of despair. We have to get out of here.”
“It does not reek of despair,” said Pru. “We reek of despair.”
“Just come and see it. If you don’t love it, then what have you lost? A few minutes of your time. Come on.”
Twenty minutes later, she was standing outside the address Patsy had scribbled on a sticky note for her.
It was indeed only a few blocks away from her apartment on Columbia Road, but it had a very different feel. Where her street was clearly “city,” this was what she’d call “suburban-urban”: strollers and tricycles on front porches on a tree-lined street. The building itself was a white four-story brick structure separated by a courtyard from another building, its mirror image. The linoleum floor in the foyer was dirty and ripped up around the edges. All the names on the mailbox cards were written in different inks, by different hands, and most of them had been scratched out so many times there was no room to write the current occupants’ names. Pru looked at the dirty linoleum, the lack of a chandelier. Her first thought was, No. Absolutely not.
But when she stepped inside the apartment, she drew in a breath. There were big windows overlooking the courtyard and the building on the other side, just like in Jimmy Stewart’s apartment in Rear Window. The view was crisscrossed by the fire escape, which gave it a soundly urban look. There were hardwood floors, high ceilings, crown molding. Two huge rooms upon entering—the living room giving way via pocket doors to a formal dining room.
The kitchen was small, as with all city kitchens, but it had an additional, walk-in pantry with built-in shelves. Patsy had followed her into the kitchen, and gestured to the dark, ornate handles on the kitchen cupboards, saying, “As you see, the kitchen is decorated in ‘early conquistador.’”
Pru ventured farther down the long hallway: yes, three bedrooms, unbelievably, for only a hundred dollars a month more than she was paying now for her one. True, one of the bedrooms was little more than a closet. But it was perfect for a child. Annali, who loved small spaces, had already claimed the little room as hers, and was twirling around in it, her arms thrown open wide.
As soon as she stepped out on the deck, she knew it was hers. Rather, theirs. It wasn’t much to look at now, in the winter. The deck was only big enough for a table and a few chairs, but it was clear that the building’s residents did most of their living outside. The other balconies were decorated with potted plants and twinkly strands of lights. Pru imagined sitting on the deck on summer mornings, drinking her coffee. Having dinners with tea lights lit all around the railings. It was worth giving up her beloved bird’s-eye view of the city, her bay window seat, her immaculate parquet floors, for a little bit of outside space in the middle of the city. She thought of her hike in the woods with John, that quiet, that fresh air. After that, she’d intended to become more outdoorsy. “The indoorsy type,” that’s what John had said about her. She still smiled, thinking of it.
“And they’ll let us have the pets,” Patsy was saying, standing at her elbow. “As long as they’re small. They didn’t say anything about bad behavior.”
SHE GAVE A CHECK TO PATSY TO SECURE THE APARTMENT, then dashed to Union Station for her train. She was pushing through the cars of the crowded Metroliner, looking for a seat, when she ran into Elliott Barstow, mystery crime novelist (clink clunk). He moved over and she took the seat next to him. A major publisher was interested in the series and he was going to New York to talk about a contract. His suit was rumpled, and when he looked at her, it was through glasses that were smeary. Pru wanted to take them off his face and wipe them with the square of silk that she carried in her purse for her own glasses.
“I can’t believe it,” he said, clutching a dirty, torn envelope with a coffee ring on it. “I’ve been working on this for so long. You know, I haven’t had a meal out in six years.” He was trembling with excitement.
Pru dug in her briefcase and found a blue plastic sleeve she’d brought along for her travel receipts. She gave it to Elliott, who discarded the soiled envelope and slipped the pages of his manuscript inside.
“Thanks,” he said, twisting the string closed around the circular clasp. “Do you think it’ll help?”
“It can’t hurt,” she said. “You’re going to be great, you know.”
“You’re so nice, Pru. Will you have dinner with me, after we get back? My treat,” he added.
“I’d love to,” she said. A year ago, she would have seen a good fixer-upper in Elliott Barstow. Replace the glasses, get him to the gym, read his books and tell him how great they were—but after thinking about it for a moment she said, “Is it okay if it’s not a date?”
“Sure,” he said. “But don’t expect me to sleep with you.”
“Okay,” she said, laughing.
PRU WAS TELLING KATE ABOUT RUDY FISCH, AND KATE was laughing so hard that she couldn’t breathe. Kate had pale blond hair in a sort of Tuesday Weld up-do and a slight lisp, which Pru adored. She wore one of what she called her “party frocks,” a little yellow swirly number from the fifties. Whenever they were together they instantly became twelve years old again. Kate was easy to set off, and watching Kate laugh always made Pru laugh, too. In high school they annoyed their other friends when they got this way, giddy and boisterous and falling all over each other. Pru was now telling Kate how, in addition to his weekly Fresh Fields order, Rudy had recently gotten into the habit of asking Pru to stop at the health food store on Columbia Road for things like stevia and amino acid spray.
“What can I say to the poor guy?” Pru had said to Kate. “I mean, he stays home all day, grinding his own nut butter.” And for whatever reason, because she’d known Pru forever and because she was happy to see her, Kate almost fell off her chair laughing, drawing looks from the other diners.
“So,” Pru said, after they’d given the waiter their orders. “Tell me about your doctor.”
Kate brought her hands to her face, hiding behind them. “Shit,” she said.
“Uh-oh,” said Pru.
Kate peeked out between her fingers. “I’m in love, doll. I want to spend the rest of my life with this man. Like, shackled to his side.”
“You are? You do?” Pru leaned forward. “This is going to sound weird, but—how do you know?”
Kate tipped her head to the side, thinking. “You know how you’re at a party and you pick up the wrong beer, and you know after one sip that it’s not yours? But then, when you find the right one, you know it right away? Why? What is it? The temperature, or the taste of your own spit that you somehow recognize? Or the weight and moistness of the can? Or maybe everything, all together. But it’s all so subtle and complex you can’t explain it. If someone asked, How do you know that’s your beer? well, you wouldn’t know what to say. You just know.” And that was the great thing about Kate. There she was, in her delicate party dress and with her lisp, talking about how true love was like a beer. And she’d gotten it exactly right, too.
“That’s how I feel about my friend John,” Pru was surprised to hear herself saying. “He’s married, and something was going on with us, but now it’s not. I’m so ready, and he’s so what I want, but it’s not going to happen.” Her eyes filled with tears. “Oh, Katie, I was so hard on you, wasn’t I, when you were seeing your married guy. I’m so sorry. I was just stupid. I didn’t know anything about anything.”
“Stop it,” Kate said. She’d gotten tearful, too. “You totally know I was over it as soon as it happened. Anyway, you were right. He was a shitbag.”
“He wasn’t your beer. Oh, Kate, I’m nobody’s beer,” Pru said, laughing and wiping her eyes. “Some drunk kid is going to pick me up and drink me, and my real owner is never going to find me.”
“No, no,” Kate said. “He’s out there. He’s just still looking for you, that’s all.”
“Or he’s upstairs in the bathroom, throwing up. Let’s talk about your beer.”
Kate straightened up. “We can meet him after dinner, if you want. He wants to meet you.”
“He does?” Whoever this guy was, Pru liked him right away, for no other reason than because he wanted to meet her. Kate said he was waiting for them at the bar around the corner from her place. He was already there, sitting at a little table, when they came in. He had a copy of Spin magazine and a medical journal. He was quiet and rumpled, friendly and distracted. He drank his drink and let P
ru and Kate continue squawking at each other. When Kate mentioned her ex-lovers—she was still in touch seemingly with everyone she’d ever dated—he didn’t even bat an eye. Pru wondered exactly how many of them she’d told him about. He paid for their drinks and hailed a cab. He opened Pru’s door for her and gave her a big hug, and when he said “we” he meant himself and Kate. He looked at Kate with dreamy eyes. He was what Kate never in her life seemed interested in: a really nice guy with no visible hang-ups.
Pru was happy for her. When she got home, she would send Kate a card to tell her how happy she was for her. She gave the cab driver the address of her hotel and then asked him if he had any children. She found that cab drivers loved to discuss their children. She sat back in her seat and listened to the man talk about how his youngest daughter was doing better at school now that she was learning karate. It was giving her discipline, he said, and self-respect. She’d have to remember to tell that to Patsy. Annali would look adorable in a those little white pajamas and an obi. She wondered how they were doing back at home. She hoped Patsy had gotten the check to secure the apartment. God, she thought, thirty-six, single, and living with her sister, like a couple of spinsters out of a Victorian novel. It certainly had never been part of her five-year plan. But neither had been becoming a shopgirl, and she and Edie had had a blast, earlier in the day, looking at clothes. So maybe plans were overrated. They never worked out as you thought they would, anyway.
STILL, SHE FELT COMPELLED TO MAKE A FEW NOTES, with regard to the upcoming move. After all, she had less than a month to figure it all out.
It seemed an interminably long time to wait. It was becoming harder and harder to spend another day in the apartment on Columbia Road. The two rooms (three, counting the bathroom) felt claustrophobic and cramped. There was constantly someone underfoot, and although Pru did practically nothing but start cleaning the minute she got home from work, the place was always a wreck. Patsy’s and Annali’s clothes were spread out everywhere, there were toys in every corner of the place, and it seemed she could hardly cross the room without startling an animal.
Nice to Come Home To Page 24
