An Ex to Grind (15 page)

"For now. Meanwhile, those of us who aren't running it are getting nudged aside. I'm lucky I have my paintings to fall back on. And yes, I do sell them—to private collectors through word of mouth. Galleries are for people who want trophy art."

In other words, he was talented but clueless about how to market himself. Another Dan, for God's sake. No wonder his wife got fed up and threw him out. Still, he was awfully attractive.

"Here's the super's number," he said, passing along a business card. "Give him a call, and I'll run down and get your key."

"I appreciate it." I called the super, arranged everything, hung up. "It's all set."

"Then off I go."

"You sure you don't mind?"

"Not at all." He smiled, little creases forming around his eyes. "Now that I've vented about how mighty women are, I think I'll relish the thought of rescuing a damsel in distress."

As he headed out the door, it occurred to me that no one had ever referred to me as a damsel in distress. I was Melanie Banks. I was accomplished. I was empowered. I had always fended for myself. I wasn't in the habit of being rescued. What I didn't expect, as I watched Evan go out the door, was that it felt kind of nice to be rescued for a change, to depend on someone else to do the heavy lifting.

I'll have Steffi send him one of those delicious fruit baskets to show my gratitude, I thought. Since he's a bumbo, he'll be thrilled with some free food. Of course, as soon as his ex starts sending the checks, he won't be the starving artist anymore. He'll probably move to the Bahamas and buy a place right on the water—with her money.

I sighed, sank onto his sofa, and resumed my obsessing about my ex's date with the ballerina/Web designer. It was nearly eleven now. Maybe they had already gone back to Dan's and were making out on my old living room sofa right that very minute. Maybe they were getting so carried away with each other that Rochelle would be powerless in the face of her lust, blow off Desiree's third-date rule, and decide to sleep with him after all.

I allowed myself a smile. If they did spend the night together, that would only leave eighty-nine nights to go.

Evan returned with the key and insisted on walking me back to my apartment. After all that gallantry, I figured that the least I could do was invite him in for a minute.

He'd been very decent, and while my focus was on Dan and whether he was or wasn't having a good time with Rochelle that night, I wasn't completely without manners.

"I'd love to, but I've got the painting to finish up," he said. "It's almost midnight," I said. "Do you always work so late?" I laughed when I heard myself. Like I didn't work late nearly every night of the week?

"I told you, painting's my passion," he said. "My wife would give you an earful on that subject. She's a successful real estate agent, and even she keeps more reasonable hours."

I bet she'd give me an earful, I thought, picturing a woman at the end of her rope after enduring her husband's layoff, his affair with his paintbrush, and his financial dependence on her. "Patty told me you're recently separated," I said.

"True," he said. "Kaitlin and I are hammering out the details of the divorce now, but I have a feeling it'll go smoothly."

Yeah, smoothly from your perspective. You'll get everything while Kaitlin, the one with the misfortune of having the bank account, will get zilch. "And then I guess you'll be moving out of the Heartbreak Hotel?"

"That's the plan. But then I don't see you staying here forever, Melanie." His eyes locked onto mine with such intensity that I had to look away. Yeah, he was cute, but so what? They were all cute and look what good it did anybody?

"Right you are," I said. "As a matter of fact, I'm hammering out a plan of my own. It should have me out of here in a little over three months."

"Maybe you'll tell me about it sometime."

"Maybe. Anyhow, thanks again for the help with the key."

He bowed at the waist. "Just being a good neighbor."

"I owe you one."

"I'll remember that. The next time I lock myself out of my place, I'll come knocking."

"And I'll try to be fully dressed for the occasion."

I looked down at myself and realized I was still wearing Evan's smock. I started to whip it over my head so I could give it back to him, but as I did, the T-shirt that was underneath it stuck to it—we're talking about major static cling—so that I nearly whipped them both off at the same time. What I'm saying is that I flashed the guy. In one extremely ungraceful move, I managed to expose both my tits
and
my ass. I'd never been so thoroughly embarrassed in my life. Normally, I was a buttoned-up type, cloaked in my armor of business suits, the last woman in the world to go around showing skin. Now Evan had seen my skin.

"Gotta go," I said, practically slamming the door in his face, then opening it a crack, passing him the smock, and slamming it again.

"I've seen breasts before, Melanie," he whispered out in the hall, "and they're nothing to be ashamed of."

"You haven't seen mine before!" I called back. "And I wouldn't count on ever seeing them again!"

There was a chuckle, then footsteps, then he was gone.

"They went to a Knicks game," said Desiree. It was the next day, about one-thirty in the afternoon, and she was only just getting back to me after I'd called her office three times.

"And?" I said.

"Rochelle raved about the seats. They were right down in front, where all the big shots sit."

"I know all about those seats," I said. "They're season tickets and guess who paid for them."

"Well, she was impressed."

"Was she impressed with Dan too?" Oh, please God.

"She said he was a lot of fun. Easygoing, quick with the jokes, knowledgeable about the game. Oh, and he made sure to introduce her whenever somebody came over to talk to him."

"What a guy. How did it go after the game? Did they stop somewhere for a nightcap? Or did they just head back to her place?"

"She wishes. He put her in a cab, gave the driver a twenty, and sent her home by herself."

"No!" I was crushed. We were 0 for 2.

"He told her he had a headache."

"That's what Advil's for. Why didn't she drag him over to a drugstore and buy him some?"

"He said it was a migraine."

"Dan doesn't get migraines, Desiree. He was ditching
your
client." Weezie and Nards had promised that Desiree Klein was a matchmaking genius. So far, I wasn't seeing evidence of that.

"You're blaming me?" she said, her voice getting all screechy.

"Well, you're the one who's supposed to come up with women he'll be attracted to, not repelled by."

"I thought he'd be attracted to Rochelle."

"She was too skinny for him. He likes them not to look like they'll blow away in a light breeze." I sighed, deflated. "I get the feeling you're holding out on me, Desiree. You're not giving me the cream of the crop here. Where are the ones with the looks and the personality and the careers? Why aren't we fixing Dan up with one of them?"

"Because I pair my A-list women with my A-list men, and Dan isn't even a C-lister."

"Then how come both Jelly and Rochelle were disappointed that he wasn't interested? Obviously, there are women out there who want to spend time with him. Can't we at least try him out on one of your best ones?"

"I don't know."

"Come on, Desiree," I pleaded. "I really need this to happen."

"Fine. Pay me an extra thousand and I'll give him Leah."

"An extra thousand? What makes her worth that?" I sounded like a John bargaining with a madam, didn't I?

"She's a prize, that's what. She's only been a client for a month, and I don't expect her to be on the singles market long."

"How old is she?"

"Thirty-one."

"Pretty?"

"She has the face of an angel and the body of a stripper. A knockout in anyone's book, but she doesn't flaunt it. Not even the silky brown hair, the kind you see in those shampoo commercials. Trust me, she's as bee-uteeful on the inside as she is on the outside."

"What does this paragon do for a living?"

"She's a veterinarian with her own practice, so your dog will love her."

"Buster doesn't have to love her. Dan does."

"How could he not? She's independent but also nurturing, carefree but also sensible, sexy but also—"

"As pure as the driven snow. I get the point. But if she's so perfect, how come she needs you to find her a man?"

"Because she's picky, like all my A-listers. So if you want me to set her up with Dan, it's gonna cost you."

What could I say? Leah sounded so great I was ready to move in with her myself.

That night Weezie came into the city and met me for dinner at the Hungarian place next to the Heartbreak Hotel. It was sweet of her to drive all the way down to Hell's Kitchen, and she could certainly have afforded to eat at a fancier place, but she insisted that she found my neighborhood "exciting and eclectic." I promised that I'd meet her closer to her neighborhood the next time.

I was surprised that Nards wasn't with her—they were one of those couples who are so compatible that they do everything together—but she explained that he was home nursing a bad back and wailing about it.

"You know doctors," she said. "They're the worst patients."

"Otherwise, life is good?" I said as we sipped martinis. I never drank martinis except when I was with Weezie, next to whom I always felt like such a wimp. She could handle anything, even a drink that tasted like kerosene.

"Better than good," she said. "The kids are doing well in school. My parents are healthy—they're off on a cruise, in fact. I'm chairing the historical society fund-raiser this spring. And Nards has so much business that he's decided to bring another doctor into the practice."

" 'Better than good' is right and I couldn't be more envious, but do you ever feel—I don't know—ambivalent about not having a career anymore?"

"I have a career," she said with a hearty laugh. "It's called being a wife and mother."

"Of course," I said. "I didn't mean to imply that you weren't working as hard as you did at Pierce, Shelley."

"Harder.
You
try juggling everything I juggle. And no, I don't feel ambivalent about it at all. Why the question?"

"I guess I've been thinking about men lately."

She smiled. "That's a positive sign. Anybody in particular?"

"God, no. Nothing like that. It's just that I had this conversation with a new neighbor—his name is Evan—and it stirred me up."

"He stirred you up?" she said with a twinkle in her eye.

"The conversation did," I said with emphasis. "He was talking about how men are being nudged aside in our culture, while women are zooming ahead. Sort of the same thing Nards was talking about on Christmas Eve. It was interesting hearing it from someone else's point of view."

"Did he lose his job?"

I nodded. "He said it was reverse sexism."

"Sour grapes."

"Maybe. But I can sort of see how it must drive men crazy when they're told they're not the 'right demographic'"

"Come on. Women of past generations had to listen to that for years."