The Bitch spreads her hands out, palms up. “And why wouldn’t they? It’s going to be the party of the year, Howard.”
“What happened to your face?” my grand-boss asks, frowning at me.
“Ladder. Walked into it. Don’t worry. It’s been removed.” I smile, knowing just how true that statement really is.
Annoyed that I’m getting so much attention, she stands in front of me, slides her arm through his and says, “Such a klutz. Let me walk you out, Howard.”
“Walk with us?” He calls to me. She says nothing. I follow them. What can she say? He’s always been really nice to me, but I secretly believe it’s because he knows it drives her crazy. Walking a few steps behind, I hear him congratulate her on the idea I gave her three months ago. “Good thinking to have it tonight rather than Thursday.”
“People will be exhausted on Thursday! The last day of Fashion Week? Please!”
“Truly inspired. And you’re bringing that boy from HR?”
“Of course! He wasn’t sure he could make it… death in the family, you know. So sad. But just before the show, he said he’d love to come. The dead don’t notice when you’re not at their funeral, am I right?”
They both laugh. My smile vanishes. First, they are disgusting. Second, what just happened?
Grand-boss announces, “James has his priorities in the right place. Maybe he’ll be taking your job, someday.”
The Bitch’s smile falters for a millisecond. She recovers, but I saw it. They say their goodbyes and he strolls off in his Louis Vuitton shoes and greater-than-thou attitude. I am silent.
“I hate that man. You’re coming to the party tonight,” she tells me under her breath. Further off, he turns around. She waves and we both smile at him. He just nods and continues on.
My mouth is dry. “I don’t know if…”
“It wasn’t a question.” She leaves without ceremony.
And there went my serenity.
Seven Minutes Later
Time to head home to change, I guess. I walk very slowly up 40th Street to the subway entrance. This day has beaten me up. Literally and figuratively. Have I ever been this tired? When I’m almost to the staircase, my phone rings. It’s James. I stop walking and stare at it. It rings and rings. I watch it, numb, as it goes through to voicemail. When I see his name disappear, I text Amber.
Me: Don’t ever have a work fling.
Amber: I told you.
This is why I don’t tell Amber when she’s right. She gloats. How come some people know how to do this whole life thing, and others get punched by Misty? I shove the phone deeply into my bag. Down the stairs and through the tunnels I go, walking to the platform to catch the B, D, F, or M to 14th Street, so I can transfer to the L and go home. I remember, when it’s too late – there’s no signal down here – that I’ve yet to email Mark. Why haven’t I written him back? Is something stopping me? Every time I’ve gone to reply, something distracts me. It seems like more than just the long distance thing. It’s like I’m not supposed to go on the date.
While I wait for the train, I let the melody of a violin performer soothe my mind. I can’t think anymore about my boss, Brittany, Fashion, or being punched in the face for the first time in my life (hopefully the last). Most of all, I can’t think about James. When a woman is done, she is done. I read that in a poem once.
The train arrives and I walk on, with all the enthusiasm of a fed zombie. I take a seat opposite some young guys who look like dancers. I wish I could watch So You Think You Can Dance tonight. That would pick up my mood. A little wine. A little Fik Shun doing what he does. Sounds perfect. Fik Shun…he’s so great. And Amy…love her. She can do every dance they throw at her, and I wasn’t even paying attention to her, at first. All the dancers are so incredible. How is it possible that they can all do the splits?
A familiar voice breaks through my delirious inner-ramblings. “Mind if I sit here?” I look up to see Chris standing above me with his usual warm smile.
“Oh! Not at all.” I scoot over to make room for him.
He sits beside me and we ride along, not talking for a whole stop. I stare forward, exhausted. It doesn’t feel weird to not talk to him, though. It’s a tangible feeling I have, that he doesn’t need anything from me. After that first stop and the car starts moving again, I look at him and he looks at me.
“Chris?”
“Yeah?”
“Nothing.” I shrug and look at my lap. His leg is so much bigger than mine.
“What happened to your face?” He reaches over and gently touches where there must be a gross bruise, its dull ache forgotten.
“I got punched.” I say simply.
“Did you deserve it?” he asks with a small laugh.
I nod and look back at my lap. “Maybe I did.”
“Did you punch him back?” he asks, nudging my arm with his.
“It was a girl who punched me.”
“Yeah, I figured. It’s only a small bruise.”
“It hurt when she did it!” I cry out, wanting sympathy.
“I’m sure it did!” His eyes are dancing and he’s trying very, very hard not to laugh again. This breaks my mood and I lose it. We ride along, laughing, and it reminds me of when he made me laugh in yoga class, when I was doing Happy Baby pose.
“It was one of the models who punched me!” I confess, knowing it’s nuts.
“A model? I didn’t know they had that kind of passion in them. Huh. Makes them attractive all of a sudden,” he adds thoughtfully. Our legs touch each other and rest there.
I play-hit him, and he laughs. “You don’t find models attractive?”
He shrugs, picks a piece of lint off my sleeve and answers, “Nah.”
“Oh, come ON.”
“They’re beautiful to look at, yeah, but I don’t seek out that kind of beauty,” he says simply, as if it’s the most logical thing in the world.
“Huh. You know, when I first saw you, I gave you a nickname,” I smile.
He turns his body slightly towards me. “You did? What was it?”
“’Mr. Natural.’ Where are you from?”
“The Bay Area. California. I moved here for work. I like building skyscrapers.”
“Which doesn’t gel with your nickname,” I point out. It’s so easy to talk to him.
“Yes, it does, if you think about it. Skyscrapers don’t take up land. We build up, making room for the population without damaging the earth. There’s lots of room in the sky,” he explains.
“I never thought of it that way. Huh.” I look forward again, and adjust my skirt so that it’s not riding up too much. I feel modest around Chris, which is a new feeling. “What’s your nationality?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Your skin is so golden and beautiful.” I admit, and meet his eyes frankly.
My compliment takes him off guard. Is he blushing? “My father was Brazilian and my mother was American – a mix of English and French. They met when she went there on vacation. They had a passionate affair – he was already married, but they were separated, he and his first wife – and when my mother was supposed to go home…she didn’t. I was raised in Brazil for the first five years of my life.”
“What a romantic story! Are they still together?” I ask, standing up. This is my stop to change trains. Is it time to say goodbye, I wonder?
I’m relieved when he stands, too. “They are, but they fight a lot.”
“Oh, that’s sad. I’m sorry.” I touch his arm to console him.
“It’s okay. I think people have a hard time communicating, from that generation.”
When the doors open, we get off the train and walk together. My feet were killing me earlier, but I don’t notice it now.
“You think we have an easier time, with our generation?” I laugh, as we stroll through the tunnels. We pass a young kid playing guitar, and stop for Chris to reach into his pocket and pull out a five. He leans down and places it in the open guitar case, as the ki
d nods to thank to him. We walk on.
“I think we’ve got a larger vocabulary for it now. We talk more about the spiritual aspects of humanity. And therapy has become sociably acceptable, so more people are learning to remove the blocks they have.” He steps back, to let me ahead of him on the next set of stairs.
“Oh right… I met you at yoga.” I say, almost to myself.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you’re speaking about things a lot of guys don’t talk about,” I explain.
“That’s not true. I know a lot of men who are talking like this, now.”
Waiting for the eastbound L Train, we stand next to one another. He might be an inch taller than I originally thought. Maybe 6’1”?
“Not the men I’ve dated,” I tell him.
“Like James?” We meet eyes and I’m as much surprised by his remembering James’ name, as I am by him calling out that he knows we had something more than friendship between us.
“Yes, like James. But James and I aren’t dating, now. But my ex, too,” I add, rolling my eyes, “I didn’t know about his feelings until he voiced them into another woman’s vagina.”
Chris laughs really hard at that, which makes me smile. He gathers himself to apologize, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry that happened to you… but man, you are funny.”
“Yeah?” I ask, happy for the compliment. “It’s okay. I’m over the David thing. I was a mess for a while, but something happened and I let it go. I’m a survivor. I’ll be fine.”
“I have no doubt.”
The train arrives and we both step on it, with him behind me, lightly touching my lower back as he guides me through the disembarking crowd of people. We find two seats next to each other and relax into them.
“Do you speak Portuguese?” I ask, adjusting my bag on my lap.
“I did when I was little, but I’ve lost it since then.”
“That’s so sad!” I say, meaning it. “I would love to know another language. It’s why I love accents so much.”
“I feel the same way. If my grandma was still alive, I’d go down to Brazil, stay with her, and learn it again. I’m sure I could pick it back up in no time.” He leans back in his seat.
I lean forward so I can see him better. “I bet you could. No other family there, then?”
“Not there, no. My dad’s brother came to the states soon after we did. I think it’s what killed my grandma. I think her heart broke.” He shakes his head, sad at the memory.
I touch my own heart, instinctually. “You’re killing me!”
He looks over and smiles. “Sorry.”
“Seriously though, I think it’s hard to have children! They grow up and leave. Your job is to show them how to live, yes, but I’m pretty sure you hope they’ll do that living, by you.” I stand up. Oh no. So soon? The next stop is mine. He stands up too, though, and we wait for the door, together. I smile at him and look away to the door. I don’t feel tired anymore.
“Yeah, you’d hope they’d live in the same country at least,” he agrees. I realize he’s not holding onto the pole.
“You don’t hold on, either?”
“Never. Not a lot of people wash their hands. I got really sick one time. Turns out, that was probably why, so I ride hands-free now.” He shakes his head, in disbelief.
I grin. The doors swoosh open and we both walk out together, me with my bag over my shoulder, him with his army-green computer case. I notice it. “Oh! How did the meeting go?”
He smiles and says, almost to himself, “Great. Better than I’d hoped.”
“Yeah? Good!”
He steps back to let me walk up the stairs first. As we near the final steps to street level, my phone finds the satellite signal again and blows up with texts and email alerts.
“Busy girl.”
“Yeah. Unfortunately, I have to check it real fast in case it’s work, if that’s okay.”
“It’s totally okay.” We walk out of the way of the foot traffic. He leans against the wall of a building, looking comfortable as he waits.
I check my phone to find some work stuff that I don’t have to get back to, plus texts from both Amber and Nicole. They’re at a bar nearby, hoping that since they’re close to where I live, I would join them when I got done with work. They don’t know I have the party tonight. Damn. I wish I could go see them. I wish I could bring Chris, too, because I’m really enjoying talking with him.
Hey… wait.
I look to Chris, curiously, and he raises his eyebrows in response. “Do you live in the East Village, too?”
He smiles and shakes his head, pauses for a second and says, “No.”
“Where do you live? I’m confused!”
“I live in the West Village.
I’m lost. “What are you doing here then?”
He shrugs. “I’m here because you’re here.”
We look at each other. I don’t want to say goodbye to him. It’s as simple as that.
“Would you like to come with me? My girlfriends invited me out for a drink.”
“Sounds fun.” He pushes himself off the wall and walks two steps to me, closing the distance.
“I’m supposed to go to a work party, but I don’t want to.” We look at each other like we’ve known each other forever.
He gives a little nod, a foot away from me. “I know you want the job. Will you get fired if you don’t go?”
Hearing it voiced aloud – will I get fired – I realize that I have been thinking I would be fired every day for four years. Yet still I have my job. Maybe, just maybe, The Bitch likes me. Maybe being a nasty, crazy weirdo is her doing the best she can with what she has. She said to be there tonight, but I know in my heart she won’t miss me. She’ll be too happy playing “Mommy” to her much younger lover again. Thinking of James’ face, I wonder if he wasn’t trying to tell me he wanted to go to the party with her? Maybe he dashed off to save her feelings, so she didn’t have to wonder why she kept seeing us together.
I smile to myself. “You know what? I don’t think I will. I think I’m in the clear.”
He takes my hand and says, “Then don’t go.”
We walk in the direction of the bar, holding hands, not speaking. I feel calm and safe for the first time since before David broke the news to me. I don’t know why I feel safe, nor do I try to understand it. I just know that I’m in the right place, beside this man. It feels right. I can’t wait for the girls to meet him.
Chris pulls a small green leaf from a hanging tree as we pass wordlessly by, and hands it to me. I turn it around in my fingers a few times, appreciating the simplicity of it. It took no effort to grow into what it is. It was meant to be, and so it was.
Oh! I remember I have one last thing I must take care of. “Chris?”
“Yes?”
“I have to answer an email. I’m sorry. I know that’s rude, but I have to.”
He doesn’t mind and let’s go of my hand to let me step away for privacy, without my having to ask for it. I open up my email and find Mark’s name. I click on it, hit reply and type, “Mark, It was really amazing meeting you. You don’t know it, but you helped me through a difficult time. I hope I wasn’t too much of a spaz. I’m sorry, but I can’t go out with you on Friday. I met someone. But thanks for being wonderful. Truly. – Jessica.”
I put my phone in my bag again and look up.
“You ready?” Chris asks.
I walk to him, take his hand and say, “I’m ready. Are you?”
The glow of his smile lights up his eyes, and my heart. “I am.”
Epilogue
Chris and I waited a whole three weeks to make love for the first time. It wasn’t me who wanted to wait, though I didn’t mind. It was only six months later that we moved in together in a place in the West Village. He said it feels more like a neighborhood over there, and I think he’s right. Sometimes I have a hard time not worrying, when he works late. The effects of David’s actions still give me the heebie-jeebies, bu
t I try to ride out the feelings and not action them. Working them out with my girls always helps. I try to bring the problems to them and the solutions to him. It doesn’t always work that way. But hey, I’m only human.
Working for The Bitch hasn’t gotten that much easier. She still scares the shit out of me, but now that I know what I want, I feel differently about going in to work. Like my Prada shades, I care about it, and I’m doing a better job.
James and she are back together, so my hunch was right. He and I don’t talk much, but sometimes he throws a look my way that makes me smile. No hard feelings. We had a really amazing little adventure, and I don’t regret it in the slightest.
I might not have been outside, eating my lunch at exactly that moment if Brittany hadn’t seen us and voiced her evil-twat intentions. And then the timing of the subway ride, too. A moment before, a moment after… and Chris and I would have been on different trains, and different paths.
I get choked up just thinking about it.
Chris wanted to add his side to this story, add the little bit that I didn’t know, until he shared it with me, after we moved in together. Turn the page if you’d like to hear…
From Chris
Jess calls me Mr. Natural, but I wasn’t into yoga until I met her. She assumed since I was one of the few men in the class, that I was probably vegan, burned incense, and went on retreats in Bali. No. I like a good steak, with the best of them, and I’m not a fan of incense. I do care about the earth, though. Who wouldn’t?
I started going to class because getting used to New York was taking some doing. It’s an intense place to live, and I also wanted to prove my worth at the firm, so stress was high. They’d liked my designs, and I’d successfully won over a few new clients since arriving, but the stress was starting to wear on me really bad. Someone at my office suggested I try yoga. I resisted it, initially. I’d done soccer and basketball in school, and still played basketball on the weekends for fun, but this was a whole new thing. I felt it might be a little too girly.
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