Farewell, Dorothy Parker (17 page)

What?
she thought. You’d really like to what? Kiss me? Fuck me? Beat me with a stick? Sell me life insurance?

“Go out with you sometime. On a…
date.
” He smiled when he said the word, as if it was in quotes. Like it was a word that was so charmingly old-fashioned it deserved special reverence. “I know you were medicated the other night,” he continued, “so I don’t want to just assume you like me, too, though I hope you do. But if not, just say so and I’ll drop it. No weirdness, no hard feelings.”

“Of course I like you,” she blurted, and then grabbed a chair for balance. Had she really just said that?

Michael grinned, and looked like he was about to say something, but got distracted by the sound of students in the reception area.

“I wasn’t even supposed to teach the next class,” he said, apologetically, “but one of my instructors didn’t show up.”

“It’s okay,” she said, though she didn’t quite mean it. She wanted to hold this moment as long as she could. The feeling of standing there, facing him, and knowing how he felt was just too sublime.

“You sure?” he said.

She took a breath and let it out, releasing him. “I’m sure. Go teach.”

“How about Mariana’s show—Friday, right?” he asked. “Can I pick you up?”

She grinned at the thought of making that group outing an official date. Sure, they were meeting the whole class at the theater, but if he was picking her up and dropping her off, they would get a chance to be alone together. And at the end of the evening he would walk her to the door, kiss her good night with that lovely mouth.

He stared at her, waiting for a response. This is no time to freeze, she told herself. He’s waiting. Just say it. Just say yes.

The fear was sneaking in from all sides, trying to get her to doubt herself, to worry that he wasn’t being genuine, to convince her he was interested only in the woman she could never be. She imagined the fear as a noxious gas seeping in under the door, depriving her of oxygen and threatening to consume her.

But it wasn’t a gas, damn it. It was a habit—an insecurity she had control over. And she
could
control it. Then, just as she had done on the exercise floor, Violet harnessed all her strength. Only this time, she forced herself to look Michael straight in the eye and utter one powerful syllable.

“Yes.”

Chapter 18

Even as Violet said it, she realized there was a complication. Friday was her day in the office, and she had planned to go straight from work to Mariana’s show. If she wanted Michael to pick her up at home, she would need to rush through work and leave early enough to catch the train home and then change for her date, only to go
back
into the city.

“This is not the way a grown woman behaves,” she said to Dorothy Parker, as she went through her closet trying to find the right clothes for Friday night. They were in her bedroom, and her guest was sitting in the side chair. Violet was in her underwear, and had already rejected three different outfits.

“Alas, this is
exactly
the way a grown woman behaves,” Mrs. Parker said, as she absently petted Cliché. “Let me see that blue thing you passed.”

“This?” Violet said, pulling out a sleeveless silk charmeuse dress in cornflower blue. “Too fancy.”

“Nonsense.”

“This is Off-Off-Broadway,” Violet explained. “People will be wearing jeans. Or black.”

“Then it’s perfect. Try it on.”

Violet made a face.

“Humor me,” Mrs. Parker said.

Violet stepped into it. “Okay,” she said, “but I’m not wearing it. I’ll look ridiculous.” She zipped it up and stood back from the mirror.

“Good heavens,” Mrs. Parker said. “That’s a dress that will get you laid.”

“Then I’m definitely not wearing it.”

“Don’t you
want
to get laid?”

“Not on a first date.”

“Of course not,” Mrs. Parker said. “But if you want him to court you, to want you, to burn for you, wear that damned dress.”

“I just don’t think it’s appropriate,” Violet said. The way it hugged her slender contours made her feel like she was wearing her sexuality on the outside, and that frightened her. What would people think if they knew how desirable she felt in this slinky satin sheath?

“Attractiveness is nothing to be ashamed of,” Mrs. Parker said. “Besides, it’s not even that revealing. You should have seen some of the numbers we wore in the twenties.”

Violet knew all about the skimpy flapper dresses of Dorothy Parker’s youth. At the time, they were positively scandalous. Mrs. Parker came of age in an era of sexual liberation more revolutionary than the 1960s. When the roaring twenties hit, many people in the younger generation rejected their parents’ Victorianism by embracing sex and alcohol with wild abandon. They were the original party animals. Was it any wonder, then, that Dorothy Parker was responsible for popularizing the phrase “one-night stand”?

Still, much of her wit targeted promiscuity, like the time she said, “If all the girls at the Yale Prom were laid end to end, I wouldn’t be at all surprised.” Or when she was looking for a new apartment and told the real estate agent, “All I need is room enough to lay a hat and a few friends.”

Violet stared at herself in the mirror. She did look hot in the dress.
She remembered the first time she’d tried it on. Ivy was with her, and they were shopping for a cocktail dress Violet could wear to an Oscar-night party for journalists.

“I’m not letting you walk out of this store without that dress,” Ivy had said.

“I feel like I’m in a costume,” Violet protested.

“What’s wrong with that? Everyone feels like they’re in a costume when they get dressed up.”

There was something almost magically beautiful about the garment. It was sexy but not slutty, with a neckline that reached her collarbone in front but plunged into a deep V in the back. And the fabric was exquisite.

But it was so flattering to her lanky figure it made Violet nervous; there was only so much attention she could handle.

“What will people
say
?” she had asked her sister.

“They’ll say, ‘That Violet Epps is
smokin’
!’ ”

“You don’t know these people. They’ll say, ‘Violet Epps thinks she’s all that.’ ”

“But you
are
all that.”

“I wish it came with a jacket.”

Violet turned from the mirror to Dorothy Parker. “I have an idea,” she said, and pulled a black cardigan from her closet. She put it on over the dress and looked back to the mirror. Yes, it was just the thing to dress it down…and cover it up.

“What do you think?” she asked.

Mrs. Parker stared and thought. “There’s something to be said for the wrap,” she finally said. “He’ll spend the entire night wondering what’s underneath. Just be sure you take it off at the end of the evening, as he walks you to the door.”

“Great advice,” Violet said, though she had no intention of doing so.

The next day, Violet arrived at the office bright, happy, and counting the hours till her date with Michael.

She stopped at the door of Travis’s office and saw his head down on his desk.

“What’s the matter?” she asked.

“Toothache,” he said, without looking up. “Goddamned toothache.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

Say no, she thought. Please say no. Violet was trying to rush through her day so she could leave early enough to get home in time to shower and change before Michael came to pick her up.

“Waiting to hear back from the dentist,” Travis said. “If I can’t get an immediate appointment, please shoot me.”

“Did you take anything?”

Travis picked up his head. He looked awful. “With all due respect?” he began.

“Leave you the hell alone?” Violet offered.

His eyes were glazed in pain. “Yuh,” he said, and let his head drop again.

She went to her office and got to work, which was a breathless blur of returning phone calls, proofreading copy, meeting Buck about next week’s schedule, and writing up proposals for two feature articles—one on a former ingenue who was making an impressive comeback, and the other on two Brat Pack actors who had teamed up to start a production company. She was slowed down a bit by passing some of the work on to Andi, as it took longer to explain how to respond to a particular e-mail than it would to answer it herself. But she knew it was important to keep a flow of demands going.

Late in the morning, Andi came in to relay a message from Buck
about a special issue they would be publishing in the summer, and Violet told her to have a seat.

“I need to ask a little favor,” Violet said, handing Andi a slip of paper with Barry Beeman’s name and number on it.

“Who’s this?” she asked, looking at it.

“He’s the general manager of the Algonquin Hotel, and he wants to talk to me, but I need to stall him for a while. Could you—”

“Easy,” she said. “Anything else?”

“Easy?” Violet repeated, surprised. Wasn’t Andi even going to ask why?

“Sure,” the young woman said. “You’re out of town, but you’re eager to meet with him in person, so after exchanging several phone calls and e-mails we finally settle on a mutually convenient date three weeks from now. Unfortunately, you’ll have to cancel at the last minute due to a medical emergency.”

Violet’s mouth opened and nothing came out.

“I’m scaring you, aren’t I?” Andi said.

Violet nodded. “Just a bit.”

After Andi left her office, Violet got back to work, alternately rushing through tasks and checking the clock. She was making good time and was almost ready to leave when Travis appeared at her door.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

He stepped inside. “Like shit. But my dentist said he can squeeze me in. I’m leaving.”

“Thank goodness.”

“One problem,” he said. “I was supposed to see a screening of that new Matt Damon today. Can you cover for me?”

“I have tickets to a show tonight,” she said.

“When’s the curtain?”

“Eight, but—”

“Then it won’t be a problem,” he said. “The film will be over by six-thirty. That should leave you plenty of time.”

“I was supposed to go home first.”

“Do you
have to
go home first? This is the last screening.”

“Are you sure?” she said.

He frowned. “Sorry. I’ll make it up to you.”

“It’s not that, it’s…” She trailed off, knowing how frivolous it would sound if she said she wanted to shirk this responsibility for a date. Still, she couldn’t remember the last time she had looked forward to anything this much, and it seemed so unfair. Disappointment pressed so hard on her heart that she wanted to cry.

Be a grown-up, she coached herself. It’s just a date. Just one stupid date. Still, she felt herself sinking. She’d have to get rid of Travis quickly if she didn’t want him to see her start sniveling.

Andi appeared at her door behind Travis.

Oh, no, Violet thought. Not her, not now.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Andi said, in her most polite voice. “I just finished researching those filmographies. Want me to e-mail them to you?”

“Sure,” Violet said absently.

“Is there anything else?”

“No…wait, maybe.” Violet had an idea that lightened her heavy heart with a giddy rush. She looked at Travis, who raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t know,” he said.

“It’ll be okay,” Violet said. Then she addressed Andi. “How would you like your first review assignment?”

Chapter 19

Violet tried to keep her hand steady as she applied a thin sweep of black-brown eyeliner. “I just hope Buck isn’t angry that I gave the review to Andi.”

“Why would he be?” asked Mrs. Parker, who was sitting on the bed, watching Violet get ready for her date.

“Because it’s my job to cover for Travis. It’s a bit irresponsible of me to pass the assignment to an assistant just because I have a date. If Buck gets mad, I have no defense.” She finished with the eyeliner and opened her mascara.

“To hell with it,” Mrs. Parker said. “Bosses always get angry. It’s what they do. Think of it as a privilege of rank.”

Violet applied the makeup to her lashes. “So I’m doing him a favor by giving him something legitimate to sound off about?” she said.