“But—”
“Jane, after I’d been on television the first time, someone asked me for my autograph. I’d practiced my signature a thousand times for that very moment. The guy handed me a piece of paper, and I wrote ‘Natasha Nutley’ so proudly. The guy looked at it, looked at me, then looked at me closer and said, ‘Hey, you’re not Nicole Kidman!’ Then he crumpled up the piece of paper and threw it on the ground.”
The sympathy returned.
The Gnat’s bracelets jangled as she brushed back a ringlet. “I picked up that autograph and smoothed it over and put it in my purse. I’ve kept it all this time, to remind me that I am someone. No matter what, I’m someone.”
“Of course, you’re someone,” I said. “You are famous. You’ve been on TV and had your picture in so many maga—”
“No, I don’t mean that,” Natasha interrupted. “I mean, no matter what. Aside from The Actor, and the talk shows and the magazine articles and the memoir, I’m someone. Just me. Whenever that gets tested, I pull out that tattered autograph, and I look at it. And I’m reminded that I have to believe in myself. So what’s the big deal if I make someone happy by signing Nicole Kidman’s name? It doesn’t cost me anything, and it makes someone’s day, gives them a story they can tell for the next week.”
But it did cost her something. It had to.
She began flipping through the book. She clearly wanted to change the subject. Fine with me. But to what? She hadn’t asked me if I’d read her draft of Chapter Three. Maybe she was waiting for me to let her know what I thought of it. But I was tired of talking about her. Tired of her sex life and her beauty and her unexpected problems.
“So guess who got engaged?” I blurted out. “Pierce Brosnan.”
“Really?” Natasha asked. “To that Vogue exec?” At my nod, Natasha let out a whistle. “Wow. The last of the most eligible bachelors in New York is off the list. I’ll have to remember to pick up a congratulations card for Jeremy while I’m shopping today.”
“Wanna know a secret?” I asked her. She looked at me and nodded. “I used to have the biggest crush on Jeremy. A long time ago, I mean. When I first started at Posh. Isn’t that funny?”
Oh, God. What was I doing? Now I really had diarrhea of the mouth. When Natasha and I had been reintroduced after ten years in the Blue Water Grill, I’d spouted nonstop lies. Now I was confiding the truth in her? Well, the half-truth. My crush on Jeremy had lasted until I’d fallen for Timothy all of a week ago. Why? Why? Why? I’d given it a lot of thought last night, but I still couldn’t figure it out. How could I go from dreaming of Jeremy every night, hoping he’d notice me, hoping he’d ask me out, to being absolutely fine that he’d gotten engaged? I’d lost something here, hadn’t I?
“You never went for him?” Natasha asked as the train rumbled to a stop in the first station in Queens.
I laughed. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah, I’m serious. Why not?”
“Right,” I said. “Uh-huh. Tell me another one.”
“Jane! You’re a beautiful, smart woman. Why wouldn’t he go for you?”
Who was she, Aunt Ina? “That’s sweet, Natasha, really, but I’m not an idiot. I’m not exactly in his league. You’re the type he’d go for. Not me.”
Had I just told Gnatasha that I most certainly was not a super-fabulous senior editor making one hundred thousand smackers a year? Yes, I had. Not in his league. What the hell was wrong with me? Maybe I could amend that so she’d think—
Natasha looked at me. “He’s engaged to an executive vice president of the most respected women’s fashion magazine in the world. I doubt he’d be interested in a whore who’s a recovered alcoholic to boot.”
My mouth dropped open. “Natasha!” I was allowed to think of her that way, but she wasn’t. Come to think of it, even I didn’t go that far. Did she really have so little self-esteem? How was that possible? She was exquisite. She was mistaken for Nicole Kidman, for goodness’ sake! She’d had everyone wrapped around her ringlets from the minute she was born. She’d smiled her way through junior high and high school without a pimple and graduated with the Homecoming Queen crown. She had two parents, living and breathing in the home she’d grown up in. She had a getaway on 64th between Park and Madison and a marriage-proposing, houseboat-dwelling boyfriend in California. She had a book contract that would keep her wealthy for life (if Remke was right about its anticipated success). She had a publisher salivating to sign her to a sequel. And now she was pregnant. She had everything.Fine, she’d had a few disappointments along the way, but who hadn’t?
“Okay, so I’m monogamous now,” Natasha corrected. “So I licked the drinking problem. But once a mess, always a mess. It’s always there, just waiting to come out. Why do you think I’m so nervous about being a mother?”
“So you’re saying people can’t change?” I asked, the sympathy growing annoyingly stronger. She couldn’t be serious. Yes, she’d been a bed-hopper with a penchant for vodka tonics, but now she was a sober, one-man woman who wanted to be a good mother.
That thought stopped me cold. She’d been an alcoholic slut, and now she wasn’t. Beating both must have torturous. Beating even one addiction would have been hard enough. What the hell did I know about either world or what it must have taken to stand on her own two feet? She had changed. And she’d come through just fine. More than just fine. She’d come through her own personal hell a winner. So why didn’t she know it? Why did she still think of herself as a loser?
“Natasha, you’ve already proven that people can change. You’re walking proof. The outline for the memoir documents every word. You’ve overcome so much. How can you sit here and tell me that you haven’t changed?”
“Just wait until you meet my parents, Jane. You’ll see how.”
Did I have to? I didn’t know if I could take it. I didn’t want to feel sorry for Gnatasha Nutley. I didn’t want to like her. I didn’t want to have conversations with her that were more intimate than the ones I’d had in the past week with Eloise. I wanted the Gnat to go back to being all hair and bangles and perfection. Gnatasha Nutley was morphing into a human being right in front of my eyes. It wasn’t fair. I wanted her ridiculous life story to go back to being ridiculous.
“Yo, excuse me, Miss Kidman?” asked a teenaged boy with an awestruck expression and a backward baseball cap. “Could I get your autograph?”
I could smell the hazelnut coffee the minute the elevator doors pinged open to the tenth floor of Karen Frieman’s apartment building. Talking and laughing spilled out from underneath Karen’s door. Oops. I wasn’t late, was I? It was ten-forty. Which meant I was ten minutes late and twenty minutes early at the same time. The shower attendees were supposed to arrive at ten-thirty, and Dana was due at eleven for the big surprise. We’d been instructed to pipe down starting at ten-fifty and be prepared to shriek “Surprise!” at the top of our lungs when the doorbell rang at eleven.
Aunt Ina, in the fake French outfit we’d all been forced to wear, frowned at me the minute she saw me. “You’re late, young lady.” Her hands flew to her hips, which were encased in loose black capri pants. She wore her little white Keds. I had to admit that Aunt Ina looked pretty cute. She even had a beret atop her strawberry-blond curls. She grabbed my chin and kissed me on the cheek, then wiped off the lipstick stain she always left behind.
Karen’s apartment was filled to capacity with people. The seven bridesmaids and the maid of honor were in the French outfits; of course, Karen had to stand out as the big cheese of the bridal party, so she was the only one allowed to wear a beret. Darn! I wanted to wear one! (Just kidding.) I’d ordered fifty-five invitations to the shower, and there must be that many women dotted around the huge apartment. Some were friends of Aunt Ina’s from the neighborhood, but most were Dana’s friends from Forest Hills and college and the few jobs she’d held as an assistant buyer at Sak’s and Bloomingdale’s.
“You look nice,” Ina said, surveying me. Thank God I’d rememb
ered to wear the outfit: black capris and a black-and-white horizontal-striped boat-neck shirt with a stupid little white scarf around the neck. I’d forgot I had a little chiffon scarf. Amanda had given it to me with a pair of earrings for my birthday two years ago. “Your skin looks good. All dewy. Are you using something new?”
Yeah. It was called Finally Being Away From Natasha. That subway ride had been slightly too intense, slightly too surprising. I took a deep breath and tried to clear my mind of Natasha. It was bad enough I’d have to spend a couple of hours at her parents’ apartment when it was clear there was tension in the family. And I’d have to take the subway back with her. It would be her, her, her, when I wanted to think about me, me, me…and Timothy. Perhaps he was the reason for my dewy complexion. The anticipation of tonight. Of those dark eyes smoldering at me. That dark hair brushing against my neck. That—
“There you are!” Grammy said, coming toward me. She handed me a cookie. “Don’t let anyone see. We’re not supposed to eat anything till Dana gets here.” I popped the cookie into my mouth and smiled at Grammy. “So how’s Mr. Rommely?” she asked. “Still dating?” Grammy wore the striped top and the little scarf, but she had on a white skirt instead of capris.
“Ma, of course they’re still dating,” Aunt Ina said. “It’s serious. When it’s serious, you don’t break up every five minutes.”
If only.
“Okay, okay,” Grammy said. She pulled a compact and lipstick from her purse and applied a fresh coat of coral. “I can’t ask? Ethan Miles is still available, you know.” Yeah, no doubt. “He is such a nice young man. Do you know what he did just yesterday when your aunt and uncle were over? Your uncle Charlie was spraying air freshener in the hallway to get rid of the disgusting smoke smell from the Norwells next door, and who was coming home from work but Ethan. So your uncle Charlie asked if he’d mind playing a game of chess, and what did Ethan say? He said, ‘Sure, love to.’ And they played two games, leaving your aunt and me to have a nice visit and talk. Isn’t that something? A busy young man like that entertaining your uncle Charlie.”
Grammy was clearly missing the point: Ethan Miles apparently had nothing better to do.
“So when are you seeing Timothy again?” Aunt Ina asked. “Tonight? In my dating days, Saturday night was date night.”
I nodded. “It still is date night. He’s making me dinner.” I regretted it the minute it left my lips. What was I, an idiot? You didn’t tell your aunt or grandmother that a guy was taking you to his apartment for a date. It didn’t matter if you’d been seeing the guy for months or years. Good thing they had no clue that this would be only my third date with Timothy.
“That had better be one of your smart remarks, Jane Gregg,” Aunt Ina said, hands on hips again.
“It is,” I confirmed. “Just kidding. Sorry. Um, we’re going to a concert in the park and then he’s taking me to dinner in a really nice restaurant.”
“The Rainbow Room?” Grammy asked. “That’s a nice restaurant. In my day, that’s where all the young people went.”
I’d never been in the Rainbow Room. It was a legendary restaurant, but it seemed to be on par with the Empire State Building or a Broadway show: for tourists, not New Yorkers. Or, for tourists and wealthy New Yorkers.
“What does Timothy do for a living?” Aunt Ina asked. “Did you tell us? I can’t remember.”
I was now about to be elevated in the eyes of my aunt and grandmother with one word. “No, I don’t think I mentioned it. He’s a doctor.”
Aunt Ina and Grammy stared at each other and broke out into huge smiles. “A doctor!” Grammy exclaimed. “Isn’t that something. Surgeon?”
So, a regular old doctor wasn’t enough, huh? I had my grandmother’s number. “He’s a resident, so he’s not sure yet what his specialty will be. But he’s leaning toward internal medicine.”
“You’re next,” Aunt Ina declared, shaking her head, but now with a mixture of tearful pride and joy in her light blue eyes. “I just know it. Dana’s already promised to aim the bouquet right at you, so be sure and catch it. You have a lot of competition. They’ll all be clawing for that bouquet.”
They could have it. “I’ll try,” I promised, my fingers crossed behind my back. There was no way I was lining up for that embarrassing display of singlehood. One of the Julies could catch it. I’d have to remember to time my trip to the bathroom moments before Dana got ready to throw.
Aunt Ina reached over to me and began flipping up the ends of my hair. “Why do you make your hair so straight, Jane? A little wave is nice.”
“Everyone! Everyone!” announced Karen. “It’s almost eleven. No talking from this minute on!” The lights were turned off. I could smell four different overpowering perfumes fighting for dominance over the hazelnut coffee.
“Everyone, shush!” hissed Karen.
The bell rang. “Who is it?” called Karen.
“It’s me, Dana.”
“Come in, it’s open,” Karen said as nonchalantly as possible.
Dana opened the door. The lights flipped on. “Surprise!” everyone shrieked.
“Omigod. Omigod!” Dana shouted. “I can’t believe you! Omigod! The bridesmaids all look so adorable! Omigod!”
As Dana omigoded around the room, kissing and hugging fifty of her closest female friends and a few relatives, I peered out the window onto the Forest Hills streets from the tenth-floor view. People looked like ants from up here. I wondered if I could see the Gnat without realizing it. I was curious to know where she was, what old haunts were calling her name.
I knew what it was like to want to retrace your steps. To visit the sites you’d spent your best and worst times in. After Max had broken up with me I’d been drawn to a local playground that had been one of my childhood haunts. I’d swung on the too-small swings for an hour, smoking furiously, and by the time I’d left I’d felt comforted just enough to make it home. That playground had been the stage of happy times for so many years when I was a kid. My father had been alive while I’d swung there, when I’d climbed onto the jungle gym. Natasha hadn’t yet moved to Forest Hills to introduce me to insecurity and steal the heart of the boy I adored. And Dana Dreer was just a pipsqueak, no cuter than I was until puberty turned her into a princess and me into a closet loudmouth too shy for a personality.
Three or four years ago, that playground had been torn down so that a new apartment building could be built. When I’d stopped by one Sunday after a guilt-visit to Grammy and saw the construction site, I’d cried. There hadn’t been anywhere to go for comfort after that. There was only Eloise and St. Monica’s on the first Sunday of every month after services.
Edith Piaf began singing, and Karen announced it was time to dig in to the buffet. A line immediately formed as though no one had ever eaten before. I made myself a lox-on-vegetable-cream-cheese-slathered-bagel-sandwich and tried to make myself invisible by sitting on an ottoman in the far corner. Twenty minutes later, Karen announced it was time for Dana to open her gifts. Claps and shrieks. I tried to stay where I was, but Aunt Ina glared at me and pointed to the chair next to hers. I dutifully lugged myself over and plopped down.
Dana sat in a high-backed chair facing the crowd, a mountain of wrapped presents next to her. Oops. Maybe I should have gotten her a gift instead of slipping a hundred-dollar bill into a card. Nah. Eloise and Amanda were right. Who wanted another vase or coffeemaker? People wanted money to do what they wanted with. Grammy handed Dana a gift, and bridesmaid Amy picked up her little notepad and pencil to document who gave what for thank-you cards.
“So what did you get Dana?” Aunt Ina whispered to me as Dana carefully unwrapped. We were going to be here a long, long time at this rate.
“A hundred.”
“Jane!” Aunt Ina scowled.
“What?” I whispered. “My friends told me to give money. They said that was what couples really want.”
“From strangers!” Aunt Ina hissed. “You don’t give your cousin money. You b
uy her a present, something personal.” She shook her head.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I thought she’d appreciate the money.”
“Jane, she’s marrying a millionaire. She doesn’t need your money.”
“Why, because I live in a rattrap and make twenty-six thousand a year? Because I’m so pathetic next to her?”
Aunt Ina shook her head, more slowly this time. “Jane, I’ve just about had it with you,” she whispered into my ear. “This isn’t about you. It’s about the difference between right and wrong. Family spends the time to buy a personal gift. You don’t give your cousin money. I don’t care how much or how little either of you has. Do you hear me?”
How could I not? She was hissing in my ear.
“Mommy, look what Karen gave me!” Dana exclaimed over Edith’s mournful wail. “It’s that gorgeous print I fell in love with at the museum!”
“How nice!” Aunt Ina said, big smile. She turned to me. “That’s what you give your cousin. Something you know she’ll cherish. That print probably cost all of twenty-four dollars and couldn’t be more perfect a gift.”
“Well, I guess I can’t do anything right, can I?” I snapped into her ear.
“Mommy, look what Julie knitted for me!”
The Ally McBeal shrinker zapped me again. I felt so small. As Aunt Ina jumped up to feel the wool sweater and ooh and aah, I took the opportunity to slip away to the other side of the room under the pretense of pouring myself another cup of coffee. Okay, I screwed up. I should have followed my instincts and gotten her a real present. I shouldn’t have waited until the last minute to go present shopping and then forgotten to buy anything. But I would have bought Dana a real present this morning if I’d thought it was such a big deal.
“Janey! Thank you so much!” Dana called, waving the money-stuffed card in the air.
I smiled big and mouthed a you’re welcome. Was she secretly hurt, or was Aunt Ina just being Aunt Ina? I wasn’t sure. I wasn’t sure about anything.
All I wanted was to be in Timothy Rommely’s apartment, eating chicken enchiladas and drinking homemade margaritas and licking salt off his lips. Instead, I had hours to go here, then a visit with the Nutleys—which sounded truly frightening—and then a subway ride back on the Nicole Kidman express.
See Jane Date Page 20
