“No, not like that. I mean, yes like that. But I stayed at the office late, working with Gus and then … I just couldn’t stop thinking.”
“About Gus?”
Marjorie shook her head. “Maybe he triggered it because he’s an adult, something I haven’t figured out how to be.” She fell quiet. “Do you ever feel stuck in the past?”
Fred thought for second, plunking her plate down on the coffee table and pulling her knees to her chest. “I’m more of a forget-the-past-at-all-costs kinda gal, but that has its problems too. You’re just sentimental.”
Marjorie let her head fall onto the couch’s tufted back. “I just can’t believe I wasted so much time. I spent ten years chasing this phantom feeling that’s left over from being a teenager, a child. It’s pathetic. I look at Belinda…”
“Who’s Belinda?”
“Oh. No one. A preteen girl I know. A family friend. Anyway, I see how young she is and I think, how can I be stuck on something from so long ago? I still ache to feel that excited again. I guess you don’t get to peak twice.”
Fred rested her chin on her knees. “I don’t think it works that way. Life isn’t fair, for better or worse. You can peak a thousand times or never. So you liked being a kid ’cause you got great feedback for just being you. That doesn’t mean the rest of your life will be disappointing. You just have to figure out what you’re missing and replace it!”
“Maybe it was the thrill of all the firsts: first kiss, first beer, first love. Maybe it was feeling successful?” Marjorie thought hard, struggling to identify the sensation as it whizzed past. “I got validation from kids at school, my mom; I never figured out how to earn it. And now I lie next to this amazing guy at night, who has always had the power to make me feel compelling and compelled, and I still feel empty. Obviously, I’m the problem.”
“Hey, easy does it. A month ago, you were still tunneling backward. This is progress!” A bleat rang out from Fred’s bag, which sat slumped on the counter. “Oh, shoot. One sec!” She jumped up, pulled her phone out, grimaced, and pressed Ignore.
“Who was that?”
“No one. James. You were saying?”
“He’s still calling all the time?”
“Not all the time.
“Fred! You have to date him or let him go! I’m about to make ‘Free James’ T-shirts.”
“He is free!” She collapsed back onto the couch. “Let’s finish talking about you.”
“I’m sick of myself. Let’s talk about you.”
“No.”
“Fred.”
“Morningfield.”
They sat in standoff. Finally, Fred picked up the remote and offered a truce: “Bad TV?” Marjorie nodded.
29
Marjorie had agreed to stop by the office on Saturday to tie up loose ends. She arrived with an adjusted attitude: Gus lived in LA; he was a nonissue. Even if G & G hired her full-time, she’d report to Michael. Who cared if she and Gus got along?
Before she even got to her desk, the man himself stuck his head out his office door and called, “Oh, good. You’re here! I need to talk to you.”
“The doctor will see you now.” Lydia giggled.
“Seems you got over your discord,” Kate said with a wink. “You guys all alone in the office for two days and now, voilà! He needs to talk to you.”
“You guys are ridiculous.”
“If you say so, friend. If you say so.”
Marjorie dropped her tote in Michael’s office, then entered Gus’s. It made sense now: the unadorned space, unmounted pictures. He only used his office sporadically. “So, here’s a funny thing,” she said, dropping into the seat across from him. “I thought you lived in New York.”
Gus looked up from the papers on his desk. “No. LA.”
Feeling awkward under his gaze, she crossed her legs, adjusting her high-waisted sailor shorts, smoothing her sleeveless buttercup-colored button-down. “Across the country!” she offered enthusiastically. “Three thousand miles away!”
“Yup. That’s where California is.” He shook his head. “You know we have an LA office. Who did you think ran it?”
“I don’t know.”
Gus focused back on his paperwork. “That’s kind of stupid.”
“Hey! A good manager would have explained the company’s infrastructure!”
He grunted. Maybe. “That’s sort of what I need to talk to you about.”
“All ears. Well, not all ears.” She shimmied her shoulders, trying to crack his steely, businesslike tone, then felt like an idiot.
Gus looked at her blankly. He seemed to have misplaced his sense of humor.
“There’s been a hiccup.”
“Hiccup?”
Apparently, after too many bottles of Prosecco in celebration of their engagement, Michael and Celeste were walking back to their villa, when the bride-to-be turned her ankle on a loose cobblestone. (That did not detract from the evening’s romance, since she literally swooned and was caught by the man she loved.) But Celeste’s ankle, possibly in protest over leaving Italy, promptly swelled to the size of a grapefruit. The couple could make it home, explained Michael, but not without considerable discomfort. And, since Celeste’s parents—Michael’s future in-laws—were there to pressure the duo into staying an extra week, he felt it best to avoid engendering their displeasure. (As if they could be displeased by the introduction of an affable son-in-law, the kind of boy, to the irritation of certain ex-girlfriends who knew better, who parents loved.)
The extended vacation would have been fine but for the following week’s Silver Screen Film Festival in LA. Michael was scheduled to fly in and help Gus cover the event, as the organizers allowed select distributors to screen the movies in advance, but—for fear of pirating—only in the safety of screening rooms at the American Film Institute.
“I need you to come to LA,” said Gus.
“You need me to—”
“Stand in for Michael, help me screen the films, be my wingman—”
“Wingwoman. I’m a girl.”
“Whatever—at some mixers. Michael usually does most of the … mingling.”
“That’s so surprising considering your warm and fuzzy nature.”
“Do you want to come or not?” Gus scowled.
“With you?”
“Yes, with me. You might think that’s a hardship, but believe it or not, some people like to spend time with me.” He leaned back in his chair. “We’ll put you up in a hotel and compensate you, obviously.”
“Sure, sure, sure. I guess I’m in. When do we leave?”
“Tuesday.”
Marjorie was over the moon. This meant that Gus and Michael believed in her. Plus, she might make contacts at the festival. She would have to tolerate Gus’s surliness, but that was a small price to pay for a much-needed escape from home.
“You’re grinning.” Gus wore a look of distaste.
“Yeah? So?”
“It’s kind of creepy.”
Back behind the closed door of Michael’s office, Marjorie plopped down in the desk chair, which swiveled with contagious exuberance, and dialed her mother’s number. At that moment, Barbara Plum was clomping down the street like a drunk dockworker spoiling for a fight. She was en route to Fairway for Chipper’s favorite fresh apricots and cranberry muffins, but six decades as a New Yorker had trained her to bob, weave, and juke like a thuggish linebacker bent on a touchdown.
“Hello?” she half shouted.
“Hi, Mom. It’s me.”
“What?” Whoosh. Whoosh.
“It’s me!” There was a pause and another whoosh of air. “Mom. It’s Marjorie.”
“Oh, hi, sweetie. I can’t hear you so well. Must be the wind.” Whoosh.
In fact, there was no breeze on that blinding, midsummer day, though the weather was unseasonably lovely sans humidity. Whoosh was the sound of Barbara’s rushing.
“Where are you, Mom?”
“Broadway. It’s gorgeous out. Ju
st beautiful. Where are you?”
“In the office, actually.”
“Sinful! I hope you can get out for lunch. Speaking of which, are we on for Tuesday night dinner? Your father was just saying we haven’t seen you in ages.”
“Sorry. Brooklyn is so far from uptown. But Tuesday is what I wanted to talk about.”
“Oh, good, because I have something to talk to you about too.”
Marjorie felt her stomach drop. “What is it?”
“No, you go first.” Whoosh.
“No, now I’m nervous. You go first.”
“Well, excuse me! It’s called a walk sign!” Barbara scolded the driver of a passing car, who answered with a long “screw you” honk and a burst of bass-heavy Eminem.
“Mom! Mom, mom, mom.”
“What?”
“What’s your news?”
“I don’t know, sweetie. I can’t hear a word you’re saying. I think you have a bad connection.”
Marjorie mouthed, Oh, my God! to a googly-eyed strawberry picnicking with a banana on Michael’s fruit calendar. The strawberry did not respond.
“I’m on a landline. It’s—”
“This never happens to me.” Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh.
Marjorie considered hanging up and blaming the connection. She took a deep breath. “Mom. Can you veer onto a side street and stop walking for a second?”
“All right, done. Veering now.” Marjorie waited as the sounds of pedestrian chatter faded. Barbara was out of the throng and jam. “Phew.”
“Okay, what did you have to tell me?”
“Right. I ran into Ramona Schulman.”
Uh-oh. Here it came. Her mother had learned about her rift with her two best childhood pals, that she’d been cast out of their precious world. Barbara had been thrilled when Marjorie befriended Pickles. Other mothers might have worried about the influence of this reckless girl, but Barbara Plum saw Pickles as “adventurous.” It didn’t hurt, Marjorie had suspected, that her new friend hailed from an “important” family.
“She mentioned something. I hope you won’t feel I’m prying.”
Marjorie braced herself. “I won’t, Mom. What did she say?”
“She said you were dating—is that the word you use these days?—that you were dating Mac O’Shea.”
“Ah.”
“I wouldn’t ask,” Barbara rushed on, “but I hate learning about my child from another mother. She was surprised I didn’t know. She said it was serious. Is that true? He called the house for your address, so that seems odd if it’s serious.”
Of course. Far from disappointed, Barbara was poised for bliss. The Schulman fortune was chump change compared with the O’Sheas’. Her mother was not shallow enough to be concerned with the cash itself, but she coveted their access and boundless opportunities on her daughter’s behalf. Suddenly, Marjorie was overcome by both guilt and rage, frequent partners.
“I’m sorry. I’m being nosy.”
Marjorie swallowed her irritation. “No, I just wasn’t expecting the question. I haven’t mentioned anything because it wasn’t official until recently.”
“So it’s true?” Barbara’s voice rose with excitement.
“Yes, Mom. Mac O’Shea is my boyfriend.” Only now, as the sentence rolled off Marjorie’s tongue, did she realize how odd it sounded. Mac O’Shea is my boyfriend. Pickles had described the relationship as “serious.” That conflicted with Vera’s take.
“You know, we’ve always liked him.” Marjorie doubted if her father could pick Mac out of a lineup. “Oh! Have him join us for dinner on Tuesday!”
“Oh, shoot. Mom, no, the thing is, I’m calling because I can’t make dinner.”
“Oh. That’s too bad. How is Thursday, then? I have an afternoon seminar, but I’ll be out by six thirty. I just have to check with your father.”
“Actually, I’m going out of town. On a business trip.” It sounded fantastic out loud.
“Really?”
“Yeah. They asked me to cover a film festival in LA. I think this could turn into a full-time job. He thinks I have potential.”
“That’s great news! Who is he?”
“Who is who?”
“He. You said ‘he.’”
“Oh, Gus. My boss. At first, I didn’t like him. He was a jerk—is a jerk. The girls here, the interns, think he’s a god. I didn’t see it, but, now, even though he’s sort of impossible”—she giggled—“I also think that he’s … well, I respect him. He’s smart and Dad would love him because he’s a total film nerd.”
“He sounds great,” said a suspicious Barbara.
“Sort of. He’s a pain. But he’s also—like, interested in things my friends aren’t: books, politics, and—not that he’s my friend. We don’t even like each other. So, yeah,” she paused midbabble. “That’s Gus. And that’s why I’m going to LA.”
“But you’re dating Mac?”
“Yes. What does that have to do with anything?”
“Nothing. Just don’t forget to behave professionally.”
“Seriously, Mom?”
“We can all use a reminder now and then, you know, not to wear shorts to the office, etc.”
Marjorie looked down at her bare thighs. “Right.”
“Anywa—” The phone burped a pause, interrupting Barbara. “I think I have call waiting. The stupid thing never works.”
“Go ahead, Mom. I’ll try to call before I leave. Sorry I’ve been neglectful.”
“Please do. Your father misses you. And let’s make plans to have Mac over when you get back. Bye, sweetie!” Whoosh. And off marched Barbara to rejoin the throngs.
30
At Gatherers on Sunday, Belinda eyed Marjorie with alarm. “What do you mean you’re leaving?”
“It’s less than a week. We can e-mail and then I’ll be back for our next meeting.”
“But I was going to ask you for a makeup lesson,” Belinda complained. Her lids were bordered by broken strokes of eyeliner, a first attempt.
“Be excited for me, Belly! I get to see palm trees.”
“My grandmother lives in Boca Raton. They have palm trees there. They’re nice, I guess.”
“Well, then you know. When I come back, we’ll do a makeup lesson—or you could just ask your mothers?”
“No way!” Belinda sank her chin between her hands. “Mom D.’s idea of makeup is ChapStick. And Mom H. is still MIA. She joined an a cappella group.”
“Wow, really? What do they sing?”
“Mostly Indigo Girls and Lady Gaga. I watched them practice. She’s really excited about it.” Belinda examined her hands.
“Something wrong, Belly?”
She hesitated. “Mom D. is kind of a mess, I think. She keeps asking me strange questions about Mom H. I didn’t tell her, but I’m worried that Mom H. might like this lady, Charity, who runs the singing group. Like as more than a friend.”
Marjorie censored her grimace. Didn’t they see their perceptive child watching? “There’s probably a good explanation, Bells. It’s really difficult to accept, but you can’t control your parents. They’re just people who make mistakes too. Sometimes they have to be stupid before they can be smart. We can’t all pop out as brilliant as you.”
Belinda blushed, then smiled. “You don’t even know what happened to me at camp!” Kids are so resilient.
“Do tell. Quick, ’cause we need to work. It’s almost the end of July!”
“Remember Snarls?”
“How could I forget? Last I heard he was trying to get between you and Mitch at movie night.”
“Oh, he was trying to get between us all right. If you know what I mean.”
“Um. I do not know. Please explain.”
“He came up to me a few hours before, you know? And he asked me to sit with him, as if he and I weren’t already sitting on the same blanket because Mitch asked me.”
“You’re kidding! The nerve.” Marjorie suppressed a grin.
“Can you believe it? He
said he likes me and he is never going to be happy until Mitch and I break up!”
“Break up? Were you together?”
“I knoooooow.” Belinda flipped her hair. “He’s crazy, crazy, crazy.”
“So what did you do?”
“Well, I couldn’t be mean. So I said we could all sit together, not with anyone, and sort it out later. But that meanwhile he should stop destroying my macaroni sculptures to get my attention!”
“You told him!”
“I did!”
“Well, I’m proud of you, Bell. You did the right thing.”
“It’s just the beginning of the saga, I fear.”
So dramatic, and not even twelve years old. Marjorie wished she could freeze Belinda as she was, before she was exposed to the corrupting influences of high school—the superficiality and cynicism.
“That He’s Just Not That Into You book may not have been totally right,” Belinda said. “Sometimes boys do act like jerks when they like you.”
“True!” Marjorie laughed. “Okay, back to work. It sounds like you have good fodder.”
“What’s fodder?”
“Material for the story.”
Belinda shrugged, handing over her outline; Marjorie scanned it.
I. Henry meets Chloe on taco day in the mess hall. (Chloe is the main character’s name because only cool, beautiful girls have that name.)
II. Henry is from England (Bath to be exact!). He’s at day camp outside of NYC because his overprotective parents have dragged him with them on a summer-long business trip. His dad works in advertising. (No idea what that means, but it sounds good?)
III. Henry and Chloe bond over guacamole, despite confusion over his British accent. He has this dog Snarls. (What’s his fake name again?)
IV. The dog HATES Chloe. Won’t let them near each other.
V. Finally, Henry and Chloe find themselves alone, away from the other campers and the dog (who Chloe has now won over with treats for his FAT BUTT). But, sadly, it’s the last day of camp and they must part.
VI. They have a tearful good-bye, but, at the last minute, he decides to leave Chloe a memento: the dog! She loses Henry, but she gains a new slobbering, drooling pet.
“Belly! I love this ending!”
“You do? I thought it could be funny. Like your flip book story—what seems bad ends up good, you know?”
Will You Won't You Want Me?: A Novel Page 19
