Fate and Ms. Fortune (14 page)

Con: (1) He needs Rookie’s distemper shots. (2) Not his type/only stunning girls need apply.

Pro: What if it’s fate we met now?

Fate? Really?

I erased Rachel’s phone message and decided to mention nothing to Ken about Mira Darryl’s call. It was the least I could do to honor the memory of his beloved friends Mo and Larry.

T
URNS OUT
I couldn’t live with myself unless I confessed my crimes.

“I slept in your bed, I ate your food, I erased a phone message, and I pretended to be your girlfriend.”

“Yesterday you were my wife.” Ken took the clothes I’d brought him.” Do you ever just pose as yourself?”

“Only on payday…Did you hear what I just said?”

“Yeah. It’s fine. Whatever. I need help getting dressed.”

“Me?”

“Yes. You try balancing on one foot. Besides, the nurses all think you’re my wife.”

“Right…but they do plan on giving you crutches?”

“No, roller skates. Yes I’m getting crutches.” He looked at the time. “We’re late. I thought you’d be here sooner.”

“Oh my God. I have a job, remember? And maybe you didn’t hear, but it’s Pope week at the networks. I’m lucky my boss gave me any time off.”

“Sorry. You’re right…Let’s get moving. First stop is the john.”

“Oh no. No, no, no…I’ll get a nurse.”

“Why? So we can take a vote? I just have to pee. And it’s not like you haven’t seen my—”

“Why are you being so mean?”

“I’m not. This is my normal, pleasant self…Here. Grab my waist and I’ll hop.”

“Where’s Eddie Fisher?” We slowly maneuvered to the bathroom.

“In surgery. A hip replacement I think. Nice guy, but too much of a talker…you shouldn’t have encouraged him.”

“I swear I’m going to drop you right on your head.”

“No don’t.” He laughed. “I’ll be nice.”

“Is that possible?” I flipped on the bathroom light. “Oooh. Gross. Don’t they ever clean these? This is a job for Mira Darryl.”

“What?” Ken stopped so we were wedged in the doorway face to face.

“Nothing,” I gulped. “Why don’t you hold on to that rail and I’ll turn around and…”

He didn’t budge. “What did you mean by what you just said?”

“Okay. See. That’s what I was trying to tell you before. I was too tired to go home last night so I stayed at your place.”
You are very cute.
“And your friend Mira called.”
It’s very hard standing this close
…“I kind of let her think I was your girlfriend…and she was your cleaning lady.”
Are you feeling the electricity?

“YOU WHAT?”

Apparently not.
I turned my head. “Just…you know. Do your thing and I’ll tell you the whole story.”

“Oh my God. You’re a menace.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d be this mad.”

“Mad? Who’s mad? You slept in my bed, you ate my food, you listened to my phone messages…You’re like a stunt double for Goldilocks!”

My, what a big penis you have.
Although technically, Goldilocks didn’t have to confess details of her bad-girl behavior while trying to help Papa Bear into a Brooks Brothers suit.

Trust me, it was a delicate operation—dressing a naked stranger who was pissed at you. But at least I didn’t have to wait long to solve the new-guy mystery. Boxers or briefs? Briefs!

And to my surprise, the more he lectured me, the more turned on I got. Yes, yes, I should have respected his privacy, I said as I pulled the curtain around us, wondering if it was against hospital policy to use their beds for nonmedical procedures. Yes, it was wrong of me to misrepresent myself, I said as I buttoned his shirt and helped him wriggle into his pants, wondering if maybe we had time for a quickie before the funeral.

Unfortunately he wasn’t thinking about sex. At least with me.

“Was she in New York or California?” He tightened his belt.

“California. Definitely.”

“Did she seem upset?” He held up the shirt and tie and looked stumped.

“You could say that…What’s wrong?”

“This is one bizarre combination. I never would have picked it out.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know your taste.”

“But I like it.” He checked out his reflection in the window. “It’s sharp-looking.”

“Thank you.” I blushed. “I have a good eye for color…”

“Yeah. Too bad you’re not as good at minding your own business…”

“I really am sorry. I guess it freaked me out that my good friend Rachel Waldman would go behind my back to try to
hook up with you. Incidentally, hers is the message I erased. And then you get this call from Mira, and it’s really late, and she doesn’t seem to care that she might have woken you, plus you could tell she was just jerkin’ your chain…”

“You know me for one day but you already have keen insight into my relationships?”

“Am I wrong?”

“Dead wrong.”

“Really? Did you know that Kyle proposed to her?”

“What?”

“Yes. And she wants your advice on what to tell him since lately she’s been worried about you and she wanted to know what you made of that…Excuse me, but what an asshole.”

“Did she leave a number?” His breathing was uneven.

“No…I assumed you knew it. Are you really going to call her back?”

He grabbed my arm. “Did she say…do you think…where do I stand?”

“Well, I’m no expert. But if she didn’t still care about you, why bother calling? She’d just go get married, and you’d see the photo spread of the wedding in
People
like the rest of us.”

“Good point…Let’s stop at my place so I can get her number off the caller ID.”

“You don’t have it?”

“Not after she dumped me. I deleted it from my cell and blocked her on line.”

“Gee. That does sound like someone you should stay in touch with.”

“You don’t understand. If there’s any chance of us getting back together, I’m going for it. Thanks Robyn.” He hugged me. “You’ve been great.”

Thanks Robyn. I like you but I’m not inspired to offer you monogamy.

I am sure Sharon Horowitz was a loving wife and mother. A devoted daughter. A cherished friend and colleague. A whip-smart attorney. But not for one second could I focus on the rabbi’s eulogy, for my mind was racing like a lawyer’s, trying to grapple with the facts of this case.

Fact: I couldn’t sit this close to Ken, inhale his cologne, and still be able to focus on her life story. I was too engaged in a lusty daydream that was most inappropriate for a funeral.

Fact: Ken had no reason to fall for me when he was being lured by a beautiful actress.

Fact: He was self-centered, insensitive, and behaved as if he was taking emotional anaesthetics.

On the other hand: If he really was such an ogre, how come when we got to the funeral, he was swarmed by coworkers who were begging him to come back? “We miss you so much,” I heard over and over. And didn’t he ask this older lady about her husband’s heart condition? And what about the young girl he promised to take to the ballet because he hadn’t forgotten their bet?

I glanced at his chiseled jaw and rum-colored eyes for a sign that I wasn’t crazy to want to hook up with him, and then felt this unexplainable rush. Ken was not only the guy I’d loved from afar in college, he was the one in my hot-hot-hot dream last night. And though the cautious fairy said, “He’s nothing but trouble,” the little princess in me said, “Don’t care. No one’s perfect…and have you noticed how cute he is?”

“Let’s go,” he whispered.

“What? Why? The funeral just started.”

“I’m tired and in pain. Plus everyone saw me, I signed the guest book…we can go.”

Bullshit, everything hurt. While I’d been thinking of nothing but him, he’d been thinking of nothing but
her.
He just wanted to leave so he could get Mira’s number and make plans to see her. No wonder we’d sat in a back aisle. Damn! This getaway was premeditated.

How quickly the silent treatment becomes the third wheel in a relationship. Frankly, on the cab ride back to his place, what was there to say? His only thoughts were of the case he’d make to convince Judge Mira that he was the man for her, while I dwelled on the fact that this little twenty-four hour rendezvous had been a nice diversion, but the commercial break was over, and it was time to resume to our regularly scheduled broadcast,
The Shit Hits the Fan.

“Want to grab some lunch?” Ken asked.

“Now? I thought you were tired and in pain.”

“I am. I must have an exposed nerve where my teeth fell out, but I’m also starving.”

“Oh. Sorry to hear that, but I should get back to work.”

“Are you sure? It’s the least I could do.”

“Positive, thanks.”

“I hate eating alone.”

“Take Rookie. He loves ribs.”

“Are you pissed at me?”

“Yes. You didn’t have any makeup remover in your bathroom. I believe that’s a violation of the 1994 Estée Lauder Agreement.”

“This is about Mira, right?”

“Yes. Ding, ding, ding. Tell him what he’s won, Johnny!”

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

“I’ll let you in on a little secret I learned from working around the rich and famous. There are two kinds of people in this world. Assholes and those who are blown away by them.”

“And which one are you?”

“Depends on the day. Same as you.”

“I really think she loves me. She just needed time…”

“She’s an actor. A very good one. But see, I don’t believe for a minute that Kyle proposed. In fact I bet he started shopping around and she was just trying to make him jealous.”

“You think I’m that much of a schmuck?”

I shrugged.

“Fine. But what does that have to do with lunch?”

“Son. Do you hear the words coming out of my mouth?”

“Okay, but don’t say I didn’t try to repay you for your kindness. Especially after you accused me of needing distemper shots.”

“What?” I shivered.

“At least I think it was you who left that very insightful note by my bed…the pros and cons of Ken? Unless, of course, Rookie’s penmanship miraculously improved.”

“Oh my God. I am so lame. Wait. How did
you
find it? You haven’t even been home yet.”

“I didn’t. Madeline did. She ran over to take care of Rookie, and I guess decided to straighten up the place.”

“Oh. Look, I’m really sorry.”

“No need to apologize. Always good to learn where you stand two hours after you meet someone.”

“I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Sure you did. Every woman I know does the same thing. One little date that doesn’t go badly and here comes the phone blitz. ‘I met someone,’” he mimicked a high-pitched voice. “‘And he’s soooooo cute.’”

“Excuse me, but I wouldn’t say our little date was a rousing success.”

“So then why the list?”

“Because…”

“Exactly. Which is why you should have lunch with me…I can tell you how cute
you
are.”

“You think I’m cute?”

“I think you’re beautiful.”

“Really?”

“And funny. And very good at lists. Which incidentally, for the record, I am up to date on my shots.”

“Do you like sushi?” I laughed.

“Namo Gachi on Fifty-ninth?”

“L14. Triple maki combo.”

Stop, stop, stop. That last part never happened. What do you think? This is a Danielle Steel novel? Ken did not tell me I was beautiful and funny. I had no idea if he ate sushi. I did know that although he needed a lunch buddy, it was a temporary fix until he could reach a woman who was capable of destroying whatever hope he had of finding love again.

Which is why I helped him up to his apartment, wished him good luck, and kissed Rookie good-bye. I was many things, but not a one-meal deal.

Luckily, it was only a short walk to the studio. But en route, I stopped to stare at a woman standing in the second-floor window of her apartment, as if I was studying a breed of orangutan. Rude as this was, I was gripped by the image, for it catapulted me back to my childhood.

Like my mother, she had smoke billowing from her nose as she stood in a mindless gaze in a pink seersucker housedress that I bet smelled of Tide and tobacco. But that’s not what threw me. It was that she stood with her hand burrowed in a pocket, probably clutching a mint or a lighter.

My mother’s hands were forever in pockets. Bathrobes, blazers, slacks, even bathing suit cover-ups. Where else to hide her secret stash of cigarettes, lighters, Coffee Nips, diet pills, to do lists, and occasionally a comic from the paper?

Now I knew why. She was a pathological hider. A person who claimed to be an open book, except for a few missing chapters she was loath to reveal. A previous engagement. A lifelong yearning for her first fiancé…Breast cancer.

Of all the shocking events of the past few days, the one that I could not reconcile was the possibility that my mother was not only dying, but in denial. Didn’t she want to live to see me become a famous comedian with a hit TV series? Maybe even
married with kids, a nanny, homes on both coasts, and a frequent guest of Jon Stewart. (“I tell you, I can’t get enough of Robyn Fortune. Sorry, honey. She just does it for me.”)

Before I reached the studio, I stopped at a card store. Not to look for some sort of sentimental mush to tell her what she meant to me, but to splurge on a coffee mug in the window that said, “Avenge Yourself. Live Long Enough to Be a Burden to Your Children.”

“Thanks for coming back.” Gretchen pulled me into her dressing room.

“You said I could take a few hours off to—”

“Jesus Frank Christ. Can’t you tell when I’m being sincere? I know you’re tired too…I just wanted to be the one to tell you. I’m going to Rome. You’re not.”

“Oh no.”
YES!!!
“How come?”

“It’s a budget thing. You know Simon, the cheap bastard. He said it’s more efficient to use the Rome bureau’s staff…like he gives a crap how I look on the air.”

“No, I mean why are you going to Rome now? The funeral will be over.”

“Exactly. Every other network will be packed and gone and
Daybreak
will still be covering the story. The search for the next pope, how parishioners are managing…”

“Good thinking…of course I’m disappointed,” I pouted. “But I understand.”

“Now see? I said to Kevin, Robyn will probably freak out and do her usual crying bit.”

The only reason I cry is ’cause you treat me like a servant.
“No, it’s fine. Simon is right. It’s an added expense to bring me. I’ll just pack a bag of your favorite things. I’m sure they’ll do a great job.”