Everyone Worth Knowing (10 page)

leather pants and a classic faded CBGB T-shirt. She handed me a

rum and Coke and I sat on her bed and watched her apply another

six or so coats of mascara while we waited for the others. Janie

and Jill were the first to arrive. They were fraternal twins in their

early thirties; Jill was still in school, getting some sort of advanced

degree in architecture, and Janie worked for an advertising agency.

They'd fallen in love with Harlequins as little girls, when they

would sneak-read their mom's copies under the covers at night.

Following closely behind them was Courtney, my original link to

the group and an associate editor at
Teen People
who not only read

every romance novel ever written but who just so happened to

enjoy
writing
them as well; and finally, Vika, a half-Swedish, half-

French import with an adorable accent and a coveted job as a

kindergarten teacher at an Upper East Side private school. We were

clearly a motley crew.

"Anyone have any news before we dive in?" Jill asked as the

rest of us slurped down our drinks as swiftly as the syrupy-sweet

liquid would allow. She always took charge and tried to keep us

on track, an utterly useless gesture considering our meetings more

closely resembled group therapy than any sort of literary exploration.

"I quit my job," I announced merrily, holding up my red plastic

Solo cup.

"Cheers!" they all called while clinking cups.

"It's about time you left that nightmare," Janie said.

Vika agreed. "Yes, yes, your boss will not be missed, of this I

am sure?" she asked in her sweet but odd accent.

"No, that's for sure, I won't be missing Aaron."

Courtney poured her second drink in ten minutes and said,

"Yeah, but what are we going to do for a quote of the day now?

Can someone forward them to you?"

At the second meeting I'd attended, I'd begun sharing the joy

and wisdom of Aaron's inspirational quotes with the entire group.

After introductory remarks, I'd read the best one from the previous

few weeks and we'd all crack up. Lately, the girls had begun coming

prepared with their own anti-quotes, nasty or sarcastic or

mean-spirited little epigrams that I might take back to the office

and share with Aaron, if I were so inclined.

"Which reminds me," I announced grandly, pulling a printout

from my bag, "I received this one a mere three days before I left,

and it's one of my all-time favorites. It says, 'Teamwork: Simply

stated, it is less me and more we.' That, my friends, is insightful."

"Wow." Janie sighed. "Thanks for sharing. I'm definitely going

to try to figure out how to have less me and more we in my life."

"Me, too," said Alex. "That goes nicely with a little quote I recently

stumbled upon. It's from our friend Gore Vidal. 'Whenever a

friend succeeds, a little something in me dies.'"

We all laughed until Janie interrupted with a rather shocking

announcement. "Speaking of bosses . . . I, uh, I had an incident

with mine."

"An incident?" Jill asked. "You didn't tell me anything!"

"Well, it just happened last night. You were asleep when I got

home, and I'm only seeing you for the first time now."

"I'd like you to explain the 'incident,' please," Vika said with

raised eyebrows.

"We, uh, sort of hooked up," she said with a coy smile.

"What?" Jill was shrieking at this point, staring at her sister with

a combination of horror and delight. "What happened?"

"Well, he asked if I wanted to grab dinner after we pitched a

new potential client. We went for sushi and then drinks. . . ."

"And then?" I prompted.

"And then more drinks, and then the next thing I know, I'm

naked on his couch."

"Oh, my God." Jill began to rock back and forth.

Janie looked at her. "Why are you so upset? It's not such a big

deal."

"Well, I just don't think it's going to do great things for your career,"

she replied.

"Well then, you obviously don't know how talented I can be in

some areas, do you?" Janie smiled wickedly.

"Did you sleep with him?" Alex asked. "Please say yes. That

would really make my whole night. Investment banker Bette up

and quits her job with no backup plan and you screw your boss?

I'd feel like I was finally starting to have some influence around

here."

"Well, I don't know if I'd say we actually had sex," Janie said.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Alex asked. "You either

did or you didn't."

"Well, if he weren't my boss, I probably wouldn't have even

counted it. Just in and out a few times—nothing major."

"That's more than I've done in two years," I said.

"Interesting.
What I'm wondering is just how many other guys

fall into the not-major-enough-to-count category. Janie? Wanna fill

us in?" Courtney asked. Alex returned from her fridge-and-hot-plate

kitchen with a tray of shot glasses, each filled to the brim.

"Why even bother to talk about
The Very Bad Boy
when we

have our own very bad girl right here?" she said and passed the

glasses around the room.

We were off and running.

5

Another three weeks slipped by in much the same manner as

my first month of unemployment, made only slightly less pleasurable

by the daily phone calls from Will and my parents, who

claimed to just be "checking in." Here's how it usually went:

Mom: Hi, honey. Any new leads today?

Me: Hi, Mom. I'm pounding the pavement. There's a lot that

sounds promising, but I haven't picked the perfect thing yet.

How are you and Dad?

Mom: We're fine, dear, just worried about you. You remember

Mrs. Adelman, right? Her daughter is the head of fund-raising for

Earth Watch and she said you're welcome to call her, that they

could always use more dedicated, qualified people.

Me: Mmm, that's great. I'll look into that. [Channel flip to ABC as

Oprah
begins.] I better get moving. I have some more cover letters

to write.

Mom: Cover letters? Oh, of course. I don't want to keep you.

Good luck, honey. I know you'll find something soon.

Aside from those seven painful minutes every day when I insisted

I was fine, the job search was fine, and I was sure I'd find

something soon, everything actually was terrific. Bob Barker,

Millington, an apartment full of trashy paperbacks, and four bags

of Red Hots a day kept me company as I languidly surfed online

job sites, making the occasional printout and the even more occasional

application. I sure didn't feel depressed, but it was kind of

hard to judge, especially since I rarely left my building and thought

of little besides how to maintain my current lifestyle without ever

getting another job. You hear people all the time making statements

like "I was only out of work for a week and I went crazy! I

mean, I'm just the kind of person who needs to be productive,

needs to make a contribution, you know?" Nope, I didn't know.

My cash flow was in jeopardy, of course, but I figured something

would turn up eventually, or I'd throw myself at the mercy of Will

and Simon. It would be silly to waste time worrying when I could

be learning genuinely valuable life lessons from Dr. Phil.

Collecting the mail killed a solid ten minutes each day. Although

I knew that the mail came at two each afternoon, I usually

wasn't motivated to fetch it until late evening, when I would grab

the armful of bills and catalogs and bolt for the elevator. Thirteenth

floor. Unlucky thirteen. When I'd hesitated before seeing the apartment

for the first time, the broker had sneered, saying something

like, "What, do you believe in astrology, too? You can't seriously be

concerned about something so ridiculous . . . not when it's got

central air-conditioning at this price!" And since it seemed to be a

distinctly New York phenomenon to be abused by the people you

paid to perform a service, I'd immediately stammered out an apology

and signed on the dotted line.

Today, luckily, my mailbox contained the latest issue of
In

Touch,
which would occupy at least another hour. After retrieving

it, I unlocked the door, scanned the floor for potential water bugs,

and braced for the usual hysterics from Millington. She always

seemed convinced that this was the day I would abandon her forever

and met my homecoming with a frenzy of wheezing, snorting,

sniffing, jumping, sneezing, and submissive peeing so frantic

that I wondered if she might one day die from the excitement of

it all.

Remembering the half-dozen training manuals that the breeder

had thrown in "just in case," I made a big show of ignoring her, casually

setting down my bag and tossing my coat and calmly making

my way over to the couch, where she immediately leapt into

my lap and stretched herself upward to begin the ritual licking of

my face. Her little wet tongue worked its way from my forehead to

underneath my chin, incorporating an unsuccessful attempt at getting

inside my mouth, before the kissing stopped and the sneezing

began. The first one sprayed across my neck, but she managed to

collapse before the real groove got going and she sneezed a giant

wet spot onto the front of my skirt.

"Good girl," I muttered supportively, feeling slightly guilty that I

was holding her in midair at arm's length while her entire body

shook, but a
Newlyweds
rerun was starting and the sneezing could

last for ten minutes. I'd just recently reached the point where I could

look at Millington and not think of my ex-boyfriend Cameron, which

was definitive and welcome progress.

Penelope had introduced Cameron and me at some barbecue

Avery had thrown when we were both two years out of school. I'm

not sure if it was the shiny brown hair or the way his butt looked in

his Brooks Brothers khakis, but I was smitten enough not to notice

his tendency toward vicious name-dropping or the vile way he

picked his teeth after each meal. For a while, at least, I fell madly in

love with him. He spoke lovingly of bonds and trades, his prepschool

lacrosse days, and weekend jaunts to the Hamptons and Palm

Beach. He was like a sociological experiment—a not-so-rare but

alien creature—and I just couldn't get enough of him. Of course, it

was doomed from the start—his family was a permanent fixture in

the Social Register; my parents had once been on the FBI's dangerous

agitators list due to protest activities. But when paired with my

job in banking, his aggressive preppiness went far in showing my

parents that I wasn't dedicating my life to Greenpeace. We moved in

together a year after meeting, when both our rents went up at the

exact same time. We'd been living together for exactly six months

when we realized that we had absolutely nothing in common beyond