Dumping Billy (8 page)

Bina looked at him, at the brimming shot glass, and to Kate’s utter surprise she took it from him and knocked it back.

“Good girl!” Elliot said. “And here’s your chaser,” Brice added, and handed Bina the pastries. “You know what they say: Just a spoonful of sugar . . .”

Bina picked up the plate to dig in.

“Wait just a minute,” Brice said. “The doctor is in.” He took hold of the silver pitcher, raised it theatrically, and poured the bitter chocolate over the ice-cream pastry.

Kate looked at the three of them, entranced, not sure if she was experiencing pleasure or discomfort. Her two worlds had merged here on the Fortuny upholstered sofa, and all one could have said was that it seemed quiet on the western front. Then Brice filled the shot glass again and handed it to Bina, who, docile as a kosher lamb, drank it down. That broke Kate’s trance. “Guys, this is more serious than something a drink and an overdose of carbohydrates will cure,” she told them.

“Honey, there’s nothing that will cure this. But alcohol and sugar will temporarily dull the pain,” Brice replied. “Trust me. I know.”

Bina, fully involved with her dessert, looked up from it with a dazed expression on her face. Elliot wiped the chocolate from around her mouth with the lace napkin.

“Who are these guys, Katie?” Bina asked, looking at Elliot and Brice with some confusion. “Are they therapists, too? They’re very good.”

“No, dear. This is my friend Elliot, who works with me at school, and his partner, Brice,” Kate told her. Bina smiled, but it was obvious that Kate’s words were merely washing over her. She realized just how drunk Bina was.

“Why am I here?” Bina asked. “And why are they roomoots?”

She slurred her words, and only God knew how slurred her mind was. Again Kate wished that she hadn’t mixed Brooklyn with Manhattan. They were parallel universes and, like parallel lines, should never touch.

Despite her concern, however, Kate was slightly amused watching Bina’s expression—surprise mixed with curiosity and a soupçon of horror—as she looked from Elliot to Brice and back. At Bina’s next words, however, her amusement dissolved, and she cringed in anticipation.

“Oh, so
you’re
the—”

“Mathematical one,” Elliot finished for her.

“And I’m the emotional one,” Brice said with an exaggerated sigh. “Somebody’s got to do it.”

Kate had to get Bina home and onto her own couch before it became necessary to carry her. She knew once Bina was forced to stay here, Brice and Elliot would dig themselves in deeper. They were kind, but they couldn’t help Bina now, and Kate knew she had a big job to do.

“You’re coming to my apartment,” she said. “It isn’t far, and you could use the fresh air.”

“She’s welcome to stay here,” Elliot offered, and Kate knew his kindness was mixed with equal parts of curiosity.

“Show’s over,” she said. “Say good night, Gracie.” She pulled the dazed Bina up from the couch and began to walk her to the door.

“Good night, Gracie,” Elliot and Brice chorused.

Chapter Eight

L
ater, Kate could not remember much about the nightmare of getting Bina back to her apartment that night. It was called “selective memory” in her textbooks—some things were just too gruesome to keep in your consciousness. In the four long blocks from Elliot’s apartment to Kate’s, Bina alternately wept, sang, tripped, wailed, and sat down at one point on the sidewalk, refusing to move. Kate didn’t think Bina had tried to throw herself in front of a bus or wet herself, but she couldn’t be absolutely sure of either. It was lucky that Max had been home and heard her trying to get Bina up the stairs. Asking no questions, he took over. Kate didn’t remember if he carried Bina up the stairs in his arms or over his shoulder. She did remember holding Bina’s head as she vomited violently and washing her up. Max left her to that thankless task. Kate made an executive decision not to put Bina in her bedroom but instead to tuck her up on the sofa. Made in haste, it was a decision that Kate would not regret.

The next morning Kate was up early, brewing coffee, laying out the Tylenol, and waiting to call in sick to work. One look at the bedraggled, unconscious Bina gave Kate a pretty good idea of how she was going to spend her next twenty-four hours. She took down her favorite coffee mug. It was the only gift she could remember her father giving her. A ceramic one, the handle shaped like Cinderella. When she was little Kate used to imagine that Cinderella was bending over the top of the mug and looking into whatever liquid would be put there, as if it were a wishing well. She thought of calling Mrs. Horowitz or even trying Jack before he left, then thought better of it. Kate didn’t mind being involved, but she didn’t want to become the puppeteer pulling strings. Bina—despite many childlike qualities—would have to decide on her own what actions to take, and Kate would support her as best she could.

When the phone rang, Kate glanced at the caller ID, picked up the receiver, and without preamble said, “Yes, she’s still sleeping. No, I’m not going into school today, and no, you can’t come over.”

“Good morning to you, too,” Elliot’s voice said briskly. “Can I at least drop off a couple of bagels on my way up to Andrew?”

“Forget it. I don’t think Bina is going to want to eat anything, and if she does, I have plenty of saltines.” Kate poured the hot coffee into her Cinderella mug. She was careful, as always, to avoid the little blond head peeking over the rim.

“God, Brice and I feel so bad for her.”

“At least you’re not feeling as bad as her . . . I mean, she is. Bina doesn’t have the genetics to handle a hangover,” Kate told him. “You shouldn’t have let Brice pour that booze down her throat.”

“Well, he’s not apologizing for getting her drunk, and I think it was the best thing for her,” Elliot began.

“Well, it wasn’t the best thing for me,” Kate retorted, peeking at Bina. It wasn’t a pretty picture. “I’ve had quite a mess—literally and figuratively—to clean up.”

“Oh, the poor girl,” Elliot said, his sympathy real. “How can I help?”

“Short of teaching Michael to deal with human feelings and finding Jack and slapping some sense into him, I don’t think there’s much you can do,” Kate told him.

“Yeah, I told you Michael was a dud. What went on between you two in the hall? I’ll bet he got a pounding.”

Kate thought of Michael’s face before the elevator door closed and chose to change the subject. She spilled some coffee as she moved her mug to the counter beside the refrigerator. “I don’t think there’s much anyone can do, but I’m taking a sick day.”

“Maybe you should call it a mental health day,” Elliot said. “Except for once this one isn’t about you. Do you want me to take the day off, too? The kids have standardized testing most of the day. I can keep you company and help with Bina.”

“Forget it. I know you’re just afraid you’re going to get my cafeteria duty,” she joked. “Anyway, you had your first and last dose of the Bitches of Bushwick. It ought to be enough Brooklyn to last a lifetime.” Before he could protest, she added, “I have to go. She’s waking up.”

“I’ll call you later,” she heard him say as she put the phone down.

She quickly poured a glass of club soda—her favorite remedy for the dehydration of a hangover—and walked from her kitchenette into the living room with her mug in one hand and the drinking glass in the other. Bina groaned, put a hand to her forehead, and then opened her eyes, which she closed again quickly. “Oh, my God,” she said, and Kate wasn’t sure if it was a reaction to the light or a remembrance of things past. She groaned again.

“It’s okay, Bina, drink this.” Kate held the glass in front of her friend, and Bina squinted at it.

“What is it?” she croaked.

“Well, it’s not vodka,” Kate told her. “Come on, sit up and take your medicine.”

Bina did as she was told, took the glass, drank three or four big gulps, and then began to choke. She put the glass on Kate’s coffee table, and Kate moved it onto a coaster before she went to Bina’s side. “Omigod,” Bina repeated. And Kate knew that this time she had remembered Jack and the night before. Bina looked up at her. “Oh, Kate. What am I going to do?”

Kate sat in the wicker chair and reached for her friend’s hand. “Bina,” she said, “what happened last night?”

“You were right about the French manicure,” Bina said. She shook her head, and Kate could see the physical pain register on her face. She went back to the kitchen and brought her three Tylenols and a couple of vitamin Cs.

“Here,” she said, thrusting them into Bina’s hand. “Take these. You’ll feel better.” She left Bina again and went back into the kitchen, where she took out her emergency stash of saltines. Bina had just downed the last pill when Kate returned. She didn’t want them all to lie there on an empty stomach, so she handed Bina a saltine. “Eat it,” she said.

“Oh, please,” Bina responded in a world-weary voice.

“Eat it,” Kate commanded, “and now tell me what happened last night.” She watched as Bina made an entire meal of the saltine, taking many tiny bites and washing them down with the club soda. The moment she was finished, Kate handed her another saltine and refilled her glass. “Good girl,” she said. “So what happened?”

Bina lay back among the cushions and put a hand across her forehead. This time the tears were silent. Kate rose, went to her bedroom, and came back with a box of tissues. Wordlessly, she handed one to Bina, who mopped at her eyes and began to talk in an unsteady voice. “You know that I was meeting him at Nobu, and I was excited because it’s one of the kinds of places you go to.”

Kate almost smiled. Nobu was one of the most expensive, stylish Asian restaurants in the city, and she couldn’t afford to eat there even on her birthday.

“Anyway, the place was beautiful, and when I walked past the bar I could see that all the women looked better than I did. I don’t know why, because their clothes weren’t as good as mine—at least they didn’t look as good, but somehow they looked better, if you know what I mean.” Kate just nodded. “Anyway, when I got to the dining room, the hostess wasn’t there. I looked around, kind of self-conscious, then I thought I saw her. She had her back to me and was talking to some guy at a table and she was holding his hand up and laughing. When he laughed back, I realized it was Jack. I nearly plotzed.”

Kate had a vision of Bina going into hysterics and throwing a scene in the middle of the Zen of Nobu. God, she thought, that would end a romantic evening quickly. Bina did tend to overreact. “So did you . . . ?”

“For a minute I didn’t do anything,” Bina said. “I couldn’t believe it. Then I walked over to the table and—”

The phone rang, and Kate looked at the caller ID. “It’s your mom,” she said.

“Don’t pick up!” Bina nearly screeched.

Kate let the phone ring until the answering machine kicked in. Mrs. Horowitz’s concerned voice came on, and Kate turned the volume down. “You will have to tell her what happened. After you tell me, of course,” Kate said. “And she must be concerned. Where does she think you are? Did she know about your plans last night?”

Bina covered her eyes again. “I can’t talk to her now,” she said. “And I didn’t tell her anything because she would have nudged me to death. But I’m sure she knew about the ring, and I’m sure she knows Jack is leaving.” She stopped for a moment and began to wail. It was a high-pitched keen of misery. “He’s leaving tonight. Omigod, he’s leaving tonight.”

Kate crouched at the edge of the sofa and took Bina in her arms. She felt her friend tremble against her, shaking with every sobbing breath. “Bina, you have to calm down and tell me what happened. We can probably fix this.”

Bina shook her head silently but lowered the volume of her crying. Just then the phone rang again. Reluctantly, Kate left Bina and went over to it. It was Michael. Kate looked over at Bina, who had turned on her side and was sobbing quietly into a bunch of tissues. She picked up the receiver.

“Kate, you’re home?” Michael asked.

“Yes.” She didn’t need to tell him anything more. He knew that she was usually in her office by this time, and as a postdoc he might have had the brains to figure out that based on what he had reluctantly witnessed the night before, she might not show up at school.

“Hey, Kate, I . . . I just wanted to apologize.”

Kate softened. She sighed but covered the mouthpiece to be sure that Michael didn’t hear it. She had learned that there were two kinds of men: those who apologized and continued their behavior and those who apologized and stopped it. She hadn’t known Michael long enough to know which type he was. The way she looked at things at this point in her life, most relationships were compromises, and all men had to be looked at as fixer-uppers. “Okay,” she said to Michael with a voice as neutral as she could manage.

“I’m sure I looked like an unfeeling jerk last night. You know, it’s just that . . . well, your friend was
very
dramatic.”

That pissed Kate off. “I suppose a little drama is warranted when your entire life is ruined.” She purposely kept her voice low and looked over at Bina to make sure she went unheard. What good was an apology, she thought, if it was followed by a further injury?

“I’ve done it again, haven’t I?” Michael asked. He might not be empathetic, but he wasn’t stupid, Kate reflected. “Look, let me take you out to dinner one night this week,” he said. “Let’s talk about it. I know I can do better.”

Fair enough, Kate thought. But it couldn’t be in a restaurant. There should be a lot of talking, a lot of negotiating, and maybe some conciliatory sex. “Why don’t you come over for dinner,” she proposed. “But not tonight.” She looked over at the sofa again. Bina was just raising her head. “Gotta go,” she said. “Let’s talk later.”

“I’ll call you this evening,” Michael promised, and Kate hung up. She returned to Bina’s side. Bina, her eyes red, but not as red as her nose, looked up at her.

“How can we fix it?” she asked.

Kate sat down and the wicker creaked. “Well, to know that, first I have to know exactly what happened.”

“Well, I went over to the table, and Jack was laughing, and the Chinese woman—who was smaller than a size two and taller than I am—looks at me like I’m the busboy. But Jack, he jumps and pulls his hand away. ‘Hey, Sy Lin was just teaching me how to say hello in Mandarin. Nee-how-ma!’ So I look at him and say, ‘Me-how-ma, right back atcha.’ Then I turn to Sy Lin and said, ‘How do you say good-bye?’ So she just gives me this smile, does one of those look-overs—you know, the way Barbie does when someone is dressed really badly—and then looks at Jack and says, ‘Enjoy your dinner.’ Oh, and just to make it a really bad omen, she was wearing the color nail polish you picked out. I should always listen to you.”