Dumping Billy (5 page)

She finished her glass of champagne and was immediately brought another. Bina was still talking about Bunny.

“. . . so the guy drops her like a rock. You saw him. I mean, Bunny should have known he wasn’t for her, but she took it hard. And now she’s on the rebound. She’s already going out with another guy—Arnie or Barney or something—and she’s telling Barbie they’re getting serious.”

Big news flash. Bunny picked one inappropriate man after another, always insisting they were “serious” and always being disappointed. Classic repetition compulsion, Kate thought, but what she said was, “Denial ain’t just a river in Egypt.”

“What?” Bina paused for a moment. “Oh! I get it!” She paused again, then made her voice falsely casual. “How are things going with this Michael?”

“All right,” Kate said noncommittally, and shrugged. She liked to keep a low profile on her dating life with Bina and the others, or else the Horowitz family would be sending out engraved announcements. “He’s very smart and seems promising. We’re going over to Elliot and Brice’s tonight for dinner.”

“Who’s Brice?” Bina asked.

Kate sighed. When it came to Brooklyn, Bina remembered what day of the month each of her friends had their periods, but outside Brooklyn . . .

“Elliot’s partner.”

“Elliot who?”

“You remember, Elliot Winston. My friend from Brown. The guy I teach with.”

“Oh, yeah. So if he’s a teacher, how does he have a partner?”

“His
life
partner, Bina,” Kate said, exasperated.

Bina paused, then dropped her voice. “Are those guys gay?”

Yeah, and so is your unmarried uncle Kenny, Kate thought, but all she did was smile tolerantly. So what if Bina’s gender politics were way behind the times. She decided to change the subject. “So what color are you going to go with? Remember, every shade goes with a diamond!”

“I don’t know. What have
you
picked?”

Of course the question was completely irrelevant, but Bina was like that. Before she selected anything from a menu, she had to know what you were having.

“Same old Bina,” Kate said, smiling at her irrepressible friend.

“Same old Katie,” Bina said, slurring her words a bit. The champagne was clearly starting to get to her, and looking at her friend, ready to take such a big yet inevitable step, Kate shivered. Jack had never been her cup of tea—and he certainly was no glass of champagne—but he seemed loving to Bina, her family liked him, and . . . well, looking across at Bina, Kate had to admit that Jack was probably a good match. She was torn between bursting into tears and laughing out loud. Bina smiled at her, slightly cross-eyed. “I love you, Katie,” she said.

“I love you, too, Bina,” Kate assured her, and it was true. “But no more drinks for you. You’ve got a big night ahead of you.”

Bina took a last sip of champagne. Then she leaned over, close to her friend. “Kate,” she whispered. “There’s something I’m dying to ask you.”

Kate steeled herself. “Yes?”

“What’s a toe waxing?” Bina inquired.

Bina’s tone made it sound obscene. Kate laughed. “You know how sometimes there is a little bit of hair on the knuckle of your big toe?” she asked.

Bina pulled her foot out of the Jacuzzi and studied it. “Wow,” she said. “Look at it. Eeuuyew.” One of the Asian women turned to look at the other, and both started to giggle. Bina’s face turned a bright pink. “It’s kind of icky,” she admitted. “Like Bigfoot. God, Katie, you’re making me feel like a freak. But I never noticed it before.”

“Well,” Kate continued, “after it’s waxed off, Jack won’t, either. You can let him kiss all your little piggies with pride. So, what color have you picked?”

Bina turned her attention to the gift bottles from Kate and the others arranged beautifully along the wall shelf at her elbow. “They don’t have most of these colors in Brooklyn,” she admitted.

“Just one more reason why I live in Manhattan,” Kate declared. “Step up to the plate. What’s it going to be?”

Bina looked down at the Asian girl already working on her left hand. “Do you do French manicures?” she asked.

Chapter Five

K
ate’s Manhattan apartment was undeniably small. Still, she had been lucky to find it. It was in a brownstone on West 19th Street, on a tree-lined block close to the seminary, a very desirable location. The apartment was on the first floor, above street level, and consisted of a large room that had once been a parlor, a small bathroom and smaller kitchen behind it, and then a cozy bedroom.

The main room faced the back garden, which unfortunately belonged to the apartment below. But at least she had quiet, a green view in summer, and a chance to watch the snow in winter. She hadn’t had much money to spend on furniture, but Elliot, always alert for bargains, had helped her find and carry home the sofa—a small one with blue-and-white awning stripe. She had found an old wicker rocker in a thrift store, and after it was sprayed blue, it made a comfortable, if slightly rickety, seat.

Max, who lived upstairs, had recently helped her put up bookshelves that now filled in the recesses on either side of the fireplace. Max was a friend of Bina’s brother and he worked on Wall Street with Jack, his cousin. He’d introduced Bina to Jack, so when Kate had heard that he was searching for an apartment, she’d let him know about the one about to become available in her building. Max, who would be forever grateful, had also been interested in her, but Kate couldn’t get up any enthusiasm. He was nice and good-looking, but they had nothing to talk about, although Max didn’t seem to mind that. And though her father had given her precious little advice about life, he had expressed his philosophy to “never crap where you eat.” She had managed to handle Max diplomatically, though, and they were friends as well as good neighbors. Though Max would never need to stop by to borrow a cup of sugar, he might well ask for a cup of coffee, a shot of vodka, or, less frequently, a fix-up with some girl Kate knew.

Kate opened the curtains. It looked like rain. She threw her purse on the sofa and hurried across to her bedroom. The beauty treatment with Bina had taken more time than she’d expected, and she had only a half hour before Michael came over. Although she had been cavalier about it with Elliot earlier in the day, Kate was actually a little nervous about bringing Michael over. Introducing a boyfriend to Elliot was like taking him home to meet her family, and she wanted everything to go smoothly.

Kate’s bedroom was really just a part of the larger room that had been partitioned off. Its biggest disadvantage was the smallness of its closet.

But she lived with it, as most New Yorkers did. Kate decided she didn’t have the time to shower, so she selected the Madonna blue sleeveless dress she’d just bought and ran into the bathroom. She had enough time to wash her face, take her hair down, brush the cascades of wavy red that fell below her shoulders, and pull out her makeup bag for a quick fix.

She never wore much makeup. Her skin was pale, and she’d finally outgrown the tiny freckles, no bigger than pinpoints, that used to dance across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose—a sort of Irish trail. Now her face was simply creamy, and most of the time she only bothered with lipstick so that her hair didn’t overpower the rest of her face.

She had only ten minutes before Michael was supposed to arrive, though he was often a little late. That, she’d come to understand, wasn’t because he was disrespectful—Kate hated lateness as a pattern and thought it a narcissistic trait—but because he was often so wrapped up in his work and thoughts of his research that he occasionally forgot to get off the subway or he overshot the bus stop.

She smiled at the thought of him. He had a good mind, good hands, and a strong jaw. She liked his silver-rimmed glasses, his earnest eyes peering through them, and his dedication to his work.

She had only recently begun sleeping with him: She wasn’t usually so prim, but her affair with Steven had left her more cautious than she had been before. They had met at her friend Tina’s; Tina and Michael worked at the same university. Tina hadn’t “fixed them up” because she hadn’t thought that Michael was Kate’s type, but since Steven, Kate wasn’t sure what her “type” ought to be. Michael’s courtship had been slow but steady. When they had finally taken the plunge, Kate had been delighted to find he was caring and generous in bed. And it seemed as if he were just as taken with her. But this was the point of the relationship where things could go on for a long time without actually moving forward. Kate had spent nearly two years with Steven, a writer, and had been hurt when she realized that he would never want to marry her or possibly anyone else. She didn’t want to spend another year only to have that happen again.

She sat on her bed and looked down at her painted toes. For a moment she could even imagine being envious of Bina, who had her life settled. But she reminded herself that Bina had put in her six years with Jack. She knew she wanted children but wouldn’t marry just for that. The work she did with Brian and the others at Andrew Country Day would hold her until she was ready to have a normal family of her own.

And Michael seemed like a possibility. They had not yet discussed exclusivity, but, as he called her almost every night and since they saw each other regularly, Kate thought the talk would be only a formality. She wasn’t in a rush and wouldn’t make ultimatums. Still, deep down, she wanted to know her goals were shared.

Kate slipped into the silk dress and scrambled under the bed for her high-heeled sandals. Black and strappy, they would show off her newly painted toenails. They were killers to walk in, but she didn’t have to walk far to Elliot’s.

When there was a knock at the door a few moments later, Kate was ready. She clicked across the floor and opened the door. But it wasn’t Michael. Max was there, holding a bouquet of snapdragons and statice. “Hey,” he said. “You look great.”

“Thanks.” Kate smiled briefly, trying to show she didn’t have the time to chat. Max held the flowers without moving. He had an adorable smile; one of his incisors showed because it had moved up onto the tooth next to it, and Kate found that appealing. But Max was a bit like his incisor: He often tried to push in where he didn’t belong. There was no harm in him, though, and no denying he was a likable guy.

“Are those for me?” she asked.

“You betcha,” Max said. “The green market was open when I walked by. The snapdragons reminded me of your hair. You can’t say no.”

Kate didn’t. But as she took the bouquet, she worried that Max might still have a crush on her. She didn’t want to encourage him, nor did she want to be rude. She tapped across the living room floor to the tiny excuse for a kitchen and fumbled for a vase. Max followed her and stood in the doorway. Kate filled the vase and couldn’t help but smile when she saw the red snaps with the orange centers. “I wish I could wear two of these as earrings,” she joked.

“You don’t need any earrings,” Max said. “You look perfect. And as cool as a cucumber.”

Kate took the flowers and set them on her small dining table. They did make a pretty spot of color. “Thanks, Max,” she said, and kissed him on the cheek, leaving a small imprint of lip gloss.

“Where you off to?” he asked.

“Oh, just dinner at Elliot’s.” Max, an accountant and actuarial, occasionally enjoyed talking higher math with Elliot. She hadn’t yet told Max about Michael.

“Well, that dress is wasted on him,” Max said, and to Kate’s dismay, he sat down. It wasn’t that she had any reason to feel guilty, but she didn’t want Michael to arrive and find another man in her apartment or to have to introduce them to each other. Michael didn’t seem overly possessive. On the contrary, he seemed a little nervous. But Kate wanted him to feel secure, so she also wanted Max to get up and go, although she didn’t want to have to ask him.

Max shifted position on the striped sofa and pulled some envelopes and a rolled-up magazine from his back pocket.

“Oh, here. I picked up your mail.”

Kate smiled and tried to hide a sigh. There were no separate mailboxes for the four tenants of their brownstone, and mail was left on a radiator in the vestibule. “Are you being so nice to me because you wanted to borrow a bottle of Absolut?”

“No, I try not to rustle booze until it’s Absolut necessary.”

Kate gave him another obligatory smile. He was a nice guy, but a little tiresome. “Well, hey, I’ve got to go.”

Max got up and ambled over to the door. “Whatever.” At last she saw his back and closed the door. She took the mail he had brought and walked over to the wastepaper basket beside her desk. She tried to smooth out
The New Yorker;
picked up a catalog from Saks, tore it in half, and threw it into the basket before it could tempt her; filed a bill from Con Ed next to her checkbook; and threw away all the junk mail. Then, at the bottom of the small pile, she found an almost square envelope addressed to her in gold calligraphy. Oh, my God, she thought, has Bina jumped the gun and sent out wedding invitations before the proposal?

She turned over the ominous communiqué and saw Mr. and Mrs. Tromboli’s address written across the back. Kate’s hands began to tremble. She slit open the envelope and accidentally tore off the corner of the enclosed pasteboard. She pulled out the inevitable: an invitation to the wedding of Patricia (Bunny) Marie Tromboli to Arnold S. Beckmen. For a moment, Kate felt dizzy. How could this have happened? What had Bina been saying earlier about that Brooklyn guy who had broken Bunny’s heart? Now Kate felt her own heart quiver. With Bina engaged and Bunny about to get married, she would be the last of her old friends to be single. When they started having children, she would really be alone. And Bev was already heavily pregnant; inevitably, young mothers got involved with playgrounds, preschools, play dates, and pregnancies—the four Ps. Four peas in a pod, the Bs would be busy reproducing, and Kate would be closed out of the circle completely.

She put down the invitation, feeling a little dizzy. Then the buzzer rang. She and Michael had no time for a drink now, and she had no desire for one, either. She hit the intercom as hard as the wedding invitation had hit her, and when he said hello, instead of inviting him upstairs she told him she’d be down in a minute. Stuffing the stiff card into her purse, she told herself she wouldn’t think about the Bunny situation; but on her way down the stairs, careful not to trip in the sandals, the idea of Bunny reproducing like a rabbit came to her. As much as she loved the children at school, and as dedicated as she was to them, Kate felt mournful. She knew she would always make do if she didn’t have a child of her own to raise and love.