On the Verge (26 page)

“No way,” says Tabitha, in disbelief. “Eve, it just isn’t fair, I don’t believe it.”

“Neither did I at first, but it’s true.”

“Wait, wait,” Roseanne says, struggling to make sense of it all, “the most important thing and, Eve, tell the truth, does he know how to use it?”

“Yes, that’s it, he does
and
it’s not just that. He isn’t afraid to get down and dirty and do what I love. He goes nuts. He’s un-stoppable.”

Roseanne holds up her glass. “A toast to Rob King, a prince among men.”

“Hey, Roseanne, that’s great. Wow!” Roseanne has no idea about her pun, but Tabitha laughs because nothing escapes her even when she’s drunk. I figure now is a good time as any to ask about Pete. I can tell it’s a painful subject, but what bugs me the most is that Tabitha already seems to know. Tabitha, who criticized everything about Roseanne right up to her earrings, is now
rubbing Roseanne’s back in a “Go ahead it’s okay, just let it out, honey” way. Don’t they realize that I am the one who brought them together, that there should be no fraternizing when I am not involved?

“He fell asleep while he was, you know, going down on me.”

“No fucking way.” I am horrified, and Tabitha nods like she’s heard it all before. Whatever.

“Yeah, I thought he was just getting some air, but it took a while. I tried to encourage him, but he just stopped, that was it. So what do you do? I mean I couldn’t let him sleep there. I mean it would’ve been kind of a traumatic wake-up don’t you think?” Of course her new best friend Tabitha chimes in.

“I said she should have left him there, maybe he would have gone back to business.”

“So, what did you do, Roseanne?”

“Well, I kind of scooted around as carefully as I could, and slept next to him. It wasn’t very comfortable, but I think I saved some embarrassment. In the morning, he was back to the old Pete, you know quiet, sort of surprised he actually wound up with a girl. Of course not a call since.” I want to ask her if he said anything about Todd, as in Todd and me. But I am in love with Rob and I shouldn’t care and this is Roseanne’s story, not mine.

“You know Pete. We’ve known him for what, five years, now?” That part is for Tabitha. “He’s just quiet like that. He’s probably so into you, but he can’t show it because he still doesn’t know how to talk to girls.”

“I’d like to think that, but I think I’d be lying to myself. I’d sooner just get drunk. Anyone need a refresher? I think we’re done with margaritas. Luckily I got some Absolut. I’ll pop in
Internal Affairs.
”

“Yeah, get me another drink, I’m never going to get to the laundry away. I don’t know what it is, but every time I do laundry it seems like I have less and less underwear. Maybe I should get some of yours, Tabitha.”

“What does that mean?” Tabitha is suddenly all touchy.

“Nothing, you just have a lot of underwear. I mean you’re always buying it. Everywhere we go you get underwear.”

“Yeah,” says Roseanne, coming back in with the drinks, “you do have a lot. What’s the deal?”

“Hey, I don’t really think we need to be talking about my underwear. It’s my business.”

“Well, excuse us, Tab, Roseanne just told us about swallowing
a shitload of cum, and now we can’t mention your penchant for underwear?”

“No, we certainly can’t and I don’t have a penchant for underwear, all right? So are we going to put the movie on or do I have to leave?”

I can’t believe her. Roseanne shakes her head as she puts in the movie. She mouths the word “Wow.” There is definite tension until I mention how much I like Andy Garcia in this and Tabitha tells me I like him because he’s hairy. I do not like hairy men, I merely wind up with hairy men, but since she is being so (dare I say?) pissy today I let it slide.

Eventually we’re done with all the movies and it’s eleven. Tabitha is passed out on the couch and I’m feeling pretty dizzy when I get up. Roseanne and I wash up in the bathroom together and whisper about what is up Tabitha’s butt.

“She is really touchy when it comes to her underwear. Actually underwear in general—one time she picked up a dirty pair of mine that was on the floor.”

“Eww.”

“That’s what I said, and she just said they were cute. They were plain cotton underwear, I think they were hot pink.”

“That’s totally bizarre. Do you think she’s got some kind of compulsive disorder?”

“No, I think you’re drunk and you’ve been reading too many of Prescott’s women’s magazines,” Roseanne concludes. I don’t say anything. I’m sick of her and Tabitha’s condescension.

“Hey, Eve, I was just kidding.”

“I know. I know.” I sit down on the toilet. “Roseanne, are you sick of living with me?”

“Eve, I like living with you, it’s one of the few things that I like about my life right now. Really.”

“But, I haven’t been around much.”

“So? I mean you’re not supposed to hang out with me and help me feel sorry for myself. I just gotta get my shit together.”

“Well, you’re making scads of money. I don’t know what more you need to get together.”

“I just want to go to work and not believe that if I keep going this will be my life, you know.”

“Yeah, I had that feeling the other day at the interview that I could be doing the same, old
nothing
for the rest of my life.”

“At least you have ideas—you know, the magazine.”

“What are you talking about? I told you about that, too?”

“Whenever you get really drunk, starting back in college, you talk about it. You get so passionate about it, sometimes you even get teary-eyed.”

“Please tell me I don’t sit around bars weeping about a magazine I can barely remember when I’m sober.”

“It isn’t that bad. I mean it sounds good—a magazine for people our age in our predicament. A magazine about getting the most out of your lot. I’d read it. I can’t believe you never realized.”

“God, I can’t believe I’m such a lush. Do I do anything else when I’m drunk that I should know about?”

“No, actually it kind of makes me wish that I had something I dreamed about. I go to work, I exercise, I watch just about every sitcom, and I’m so typical. Here I am in New York with you two, who like, know about everything.”

“But we totally don’t. I mean there’s so much shit we want to do that we can’t, that we don’t even know about.”

“Yeah, but what about me?” Roseanne asks.

“When we do it, you’ll do it.”

“Do I want to do it?”

“I don’t even know what ‘it’ is.” I laugh.

“Right.” Roseanne nods. I feel bad about not being around and even worse about being jealous that she’s been hanging out with Tabitha.

“Ro, I’m sorry if I’ve been a bad friend.”

“Eve, you are a great friend.” She kisses my forehead. “You took me in when I got here, you kept my spirits up, and you always tuck me in when I’m drunk. Don’t ever feel like you’re a bad friend.” It’s a touching bathroom moment, which is a testament to our blood alcohol level. We both realize this and go to bed.

In the morning, Tabitha has a huge hangover. Neither one of us can seem to get moving with enough time to walk to work, so we take the subway.

“Tabitha, do we always talk about starting a magazine when we’re drunk?”

“Of course.”

“How come we never talk about it when we’re sober?”

“Because alcohol gives us balls. I don’t know.”

“Maybe we should start writing it down.”

“Eve, oh, God, I have such a headache. I’m not going to start scribbling away in the middle of a night out. I hate those pretentious people.”

“It wouldn’t be like that, Tabitha. Maybe we’ve got some good ideas.”

“They’re definitely good, Eve. So good you can’t remember them.”

“Well, Roseanne says they’re good.”

“Eve, no offense, because I am really starting to like her, but Roseanne thinks Lifetime, that is, Television for Women, is good.”

So I guess we’re done with that conversation. Still, I’m intrigued at this other, less inhibited, me who goes around shooting my mouth off about a dream that I can’t remember or won’t let myself think about in my normal life. I feel the train approaching by the wind in the tunnel. I rarely take the train, but whenever I do, whenever I first feel the wind in my hair and start to hear the train, I can’t help but feel like it’s the beginning of a movie about my life, like somehow my fate is going to change. I manage to hold on to this feeling all the way into work until I have to go to the shitty meeting and listen to the asshole Gary complain about there not being any light cream cheese.

As usual Rob is getting out of work a lot later than I am. It’s too soon to ask for a key, so I decide to get my hair cut. I have the best hairdresser (stylist) ever. His name is Ed and he is what I think should be the standard for hairdressers—gay and Asian. I don’t know too much about Ed, because he never talks to me. He’s only concerned with my hair and making me look good. I try to make conversation with him and he answers me with a series of nods and monosyllables. Tabitha turned me on to Ed and I’m working on convincing Roseanne to go there. It’s about time she stopped looking a little too much like a country singer.

When Ed is done with his masterpiece, he hands me a mirror and turns me around in the chair so I can see his work from all angles. He gives me a few tips on how to do it, as if, standing in my bathroom, I have one-tenth of the artistry he does over my head. I let him delude himself, and nod.

“Nice hair,” says Rob as he opens the door. I’m want to tell him all about my wizard, Ed, but I don’t get a chance because he slams the door and the next thing I know we are on the floor, reacquainting. “I missed you,” he keeps saying over and over, and I almost (but don’t) tell him that I love him, because it’s barely been a month and I vowed it needs to be at least two. When we’re done, I toss on his shirt and he orders some Italian from the place
around the corner. I watch him on the phone, naked. That’s my man.

When the food is delivered, we eat and lounge around all lovey-dovey. I think I might be able to stay at Rob’s forever just having sex and eating. He is so easy to be around that I sometimes forget who he is.

“So, how’s your job going? Firing anyone yet?” I’m trying to be whimsical, but I should’ve probably kept my mouth closed.

“Eve, that’s not what my job is about. Look, we really shouldn’t be talking about this.” I’ve managed to annoy him.

“C’mon, you can trust me, I’m not a company spy.”

“Are you sure, you have vays of making me talk?” He pulls me close. He wants the subject to drop, so I let it. He pulls his shirt off me and suggests we “go to sleep.”

Later, when we are cuddling and talking quietly, I remember about the flowers. I tell him how much they made my day. I don’t mention the interview to him, because I don’t want him to know about it if I don’t get the job.

“Thanks, Rob, I loved them. They got there at the perfect time. How did you know?”

“Eve,” he says into my ear as he kisses me, “how do you think you got the interview?”

S
omehow, Adrian gets me to go to some show in the East Village. It’s starring some guy (Jason, I think) that Adrian used to see when he first got to the city. He and Anthony have been fighting for three days and Anthony hung up on him. Oh the drama!

When we get to the theater, there’s a huge line outside. Adrian tells me that he’s had reservations for weeks. I wait patiently while Adrian kisses just about every guy on the line. A ton of names go by me and I’m sure I’ll never see half of these people again, so I just smile and nod as I get introduced.

“Yeah, my boyfriend Anthony was being a drama queen, so Eve agreed to play fag hag tonight.” The guys love this. I’m a little concerned about how high Adrian’s voice is getting. He’s putting on some act, like he is Super Gay, a new superhero.

Finally, we push our way into the place. Surprisingly, it’s full of middle-aged women and quite a few young, trendy hetero couples. Adrian explains in a more normal voice that Jason works in the finance department of Sony, so he knows tons of people.

“But, does he really want to be a singer?”

“No, I mean I think it’s a little too late for that. He just does this a couple of times a year for his friends. Tons of people show up.”

We wait an inordinate amount of time for the show to start. At least we can drink, although everything is sort of watered down. Adrian keeps getting up to greet all these older guys I’ve never seen before. They are so openly checking him out. Now, I see why it’s better for him that I came. Anthony would flip out.

Finally the show starts and the crowd goes wild when Jason is introduced. I’m expecting this hot young guy, but Jason is older with gray hair and a little bit of a paunch. I look at Adrian, to see if maybe this is just the opening act, but he’s clapping fiendishly so I know it’s Jason. I try to imagine Adrian and this guy having sex. Yuck.

Jason opens up with the song “Too Darn Hot.” Show tunes?
There is no way I would have been down with this if I knew about the show tunes. Jason is getting really into it, though. What he lacks in vocal talent (which is a lot), he makes up for in dramatic presentation. This is pretty wretched. I keep glancing at Adrian, waiting for him to realize, but he, along with the rest of the crowd, loves it. I can’t believe Tabitha went out with her new Russian boy, Vlad, tonight. How do I get myself into these things?

What’s worse than Jason’s singing are the ridiculous monologues he goes into before each song. I mean it’s all about himself, but why? Why would anyone allude to their first love affair in front of people they work with? And he’s got all these cheesy effects happening, so when he sings “Stormy Weather” the lights flicker as he’s leaning against the wall of the stage and you hear thunder piped in. I can’t help but laugh. I’m so embarrassed, but I realize it looks like I’m crying, because that is what most of the audience is doing. Am I missing something?

When the show is over Adrian insists we have to stay to congratulate Jason. Jason emerges like a star and I watch all these people run up and hug him. I’m convinced they’re deaf and blind. Jason accepts all these well-wishers like a diva. He keeps eyeing Adrian. He tries to get over to us, but keeps getting stopped by his crowd of adoring fans. I can’t believe this.

Finally, Jason is in front of us and he grabs Adrian and kisses him on the lips. Adrian introduces me, and tells Jason what a great job he did. I try to be positive. I tell Jason that he had a great show, but he doesn’t take his eyes off Adrian. What a lech! I can’t believe Adrian would tolerate this pawing. Worse, Jason invites Adrian out for (horror of horrors!) a drink. I want to hug Adrian when he declines. He tells Jason to give him a call to talk about the show. Yuck, yuck, eww!

Then we’re out of there. I agree and we head over to this place we like on Greenwich Avenue. I study him for a while over our tea, waiting to gauge his reaction about the show.

“Well, that was pretty bad,” I say. I can’t take it anymore. He looks shocked.

“What do you mean?”

“C’mon, show tunes! And when he sang that Michael Bolton song—what the hell was that? It was pretty campy.”

“Well, he is gay.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean his show has to be clichéd and bad.” Suddenly, there’s something weird with Adrian, and I feel like I’ve done something wrong.

“Eve, didn’t you see how into it everyone was?”

“Yeah, but they were all…”

“What? A bunch of queens?” What is he trying to say?

“No,
his friends.
This isn’t about sexuality.”

“I didn’t realize you were such a theater critic, Eve.”

“Adrian, why are you getting so harsh? I’m not a theater critic, but I know when something’s bad.”

“So, how do you explain those people crying?”

“Well, I was surprised, because you said that they all work for Sony, so you’d think they’d know better, but honestly, I think sometimes people look for sentimentality. I think those crying people wanted to be moved.”

“And it was nothing Jason did?”

“I mean he picked a couple of cheesy songs and people reacted, that’s all.”

“They came to see a friend, to support a friend. They felt his experiences, I mean whatever talent he has is inconsequential, as far as I’m concerned, because he got up there and he sang about things that mattered to him. It wasn’t glamorous, it wasn’t great, it was just a guy singing from his heart, doing his best. You talk about a lot of things, Eve, and you’re critical of a lot of people and things, but I never see you act on anything.

“Jason is never going to make a career out of being a singer, but he’s brave enough to stand before his peers and just be who he’s always dreamed of being. It takes courage, Eve, to put yourself out there to give it a go. It’s so easy to laugh when you sit in your life and don’t take a risk.”

Wow! Now there’s a tension between us. This is the wrong place to be having a fight. It’s too small; the other customers have stopped talking in their groups. Now they’re all busy listening to Adrian and his Oscar scene. I hate that.

“Well, I never realized you thought I was such a loser, Adrian, but, I have to admit, I was a little shocked to see you letting this guy paw you. Was that part of being courageous, too?” Sometimes I say something and hope that it doesn’t come out as bad as it sounds, but in this case it does. I know I’ve said something I can never take back, just by the way Adrian looks at me. I try to remember exactly what he said to deserve that; to give myself an excuse for being so angry.

Adrian stares into his tea and shakes his head. The rest of the people in the café are holding their breath, waiting for his reply. I wonder how long they will stay like that, hinged on our conver
sation. They probably think he’s my boyfriend and this is even more scandalous than it is. But it would be almost more excusable to talk to a boyfriend like that. It’s never cool to cut that deep on a friend. When Adrian speaks to me again, his voice is low and thick.

“I don’t know what you think of me, Eve. I guess it’s cool for you to have a gay friend. It’s chic, and you aren’t one to miss a trend. Jason and I saw each other when I first got to the city. Maybe he seems like, I don’t know, some campy buffoon to you—don’t roll your eyes, just listen. He is a smart and fun guy and my relationship with him wasn’t too different from your relationship with Rob King. The older man thing. And believe it or not, Jason broke my heart. I hate to say this, but I think you don’t like him because he is a bit too flamboyant for your taste. It’s cool to have a gay friend, but not too gay, right?” It’s really hard to be having this conversation with him here, because I know we’re on display and I really just want to scream at him. I try to be calm and think about what I am going to say.

“I don’t know where you get off basically saying I’m homophobic, like my friendship with you is built on superficial reasons other than true friendship. It offends me. I’m sorry, I just didn’t think the show was all that good. That doesn’t really reflect my cowardice or my homophobia. I think you’re upset about something else, maybe seeing Jason, or your fight with Anthony, I don’t know, but, I don’t think it’s fair for you to take it out on me.” Adrian shakes his head again and sips his tea. I can see people leaning over slightly to try to catch our conversation.

“You finished your tea, Eve. Do you want to get out of here?” I nod. We settle up the check and leave.

We don’t say a word to each other as we walk back. It’s so cold out, so we’re walking fast. When we get to 18th, Adrian’s street, he stops and turns to me.

“So, um, have a good night. Say hi to Roseanne.”

“I will, take care.” That’s it.

No New York Kiss. No nothing.

Roseanne is up watching David Letterman when I get in. She is sitting on the couch with a blanket around her. I can’t see her hands and I could swear she was, never mind, I don’t want to think about it, she hasn’t gotten any in a while. Maybe I’m a prude.

“How was the thing?”

“Shitty! Adrian thinks I’m a coward and a homophobe. Our friendship is most likely over. I guess it doesn’t matter because
apparently I was only using him to be a chic trendy woman. You know, because it’s cool to have gay friends.”

“Wow!” says Roseanne. She isn’t really listening to me, because Dave is in the middle of his monologue. We say our good-nights (she’d probably rather be alone). I try calling Tabitha, who isn’t answering. She was going out with Vlad, her February. I toy with the idea of calling Rob, but I don’t know if we have that kind of relationship yet. It’s too soon for him to see my weaknesses and have a glimpse of what my friends think of me.

So the worst possible fate: I get left alone with myself. I don’t think I’m homophobic and I don’t want to believe that Adrian does. Maybe I am too much of a critic (God, maybe I am a wretched person). I guess it’s pretty cool to pack a place with a bunch of your friends (there were like seventy people there) and just sing, no matter how bad or good you sound. Maybe Adrian’s right about taking a chance, maybe I should.

No, that’s ridiculous, I’m twenty-three, I’m too young. I’m not going to let Adrian affect me that much. I wouldn’t even know where to begin on my so-called dream. I just hope I haven’t lost him as a friend forever. That would suck.

I’m having a shitty day at work. There is a lot to be done for some reason. In reality, it’s nothing, but relative to this job, it’s probably two weeks’ work packed into one day. Lorraine is having me do some of her work, Herb has me plan about eight meetings, and there must be some supply demon stealing everyone’s supplies. Everyone keeps coming up to me wanting their special pens and multicolored Post-its and guess what underqualified writer is hassling me to help her do her crappy expense report. It’s all super boring.

Tabitha is also having a crisis about Vlad, which I can’t seem to stay on the phone long enough to understand. I am contemplating sending Adrian some stupid office humor. It might help reopen lines of communication. Calgon take me away. I haven’t seen Rob in three days so I decide to take a little visit to his floor. I deserve a break.

“Sherman, how’s it going?” I sneak up behind him.

“Great, great.” He has no idea who I am until he turns around, but, I’ve got to give him credit for having his “greats” practiced. “Oh, it’s you. Rob is in a meeting, can I schedule something else for you?”

“Well, when is this one getting out?” I pick up the printed out
page of SchedulePlus that’s in Sherman’s mailbox. I can tell Sherman doesn’t like the idea. “Relax, Sher, it’s only his schedule, not a company secret.”

Sherman is kind of a dork, I have to admit. I mean I want to like the guy, especially after the whole wrap incident. It’s just that I think he’s the kind of guy who gets really jazzed about being an assistant, who honestly believes he can work his way to the top. I catch myself being critical. Again.

“What’s this reorganization meeting he’s at?” Sherman shrugs and looks nervous. I like feeling like the cheerleader talking to the geek. For some reason Todd pops into my head, but then so does our bathroom interlude, so I suppress it. “Well, it gets out at two, which is in like one minute, and he has an hour window.”

“But those meetings always run late.”

“Well, I’ll just wait in his office until he gets back.”

“Ms. Vitali, I’d rather you didn’t.”

“C’mon, Sher, it’s only for like a second and you know you don’t want me hanging out at your desk listening to your personal calls.” Sherman is pretty horrified at the idea of that.

“I never make personal calls at work.” That’s what I’m talking about, too into his job.

So, I shut the door in Rob’s office. It’s a pretty good size and he scammed a great view of the river. I sit in his chair. If only I knew he wasn’t bringing anyone back to his office or Sherman wasn’t going to pop in any minute to check on me, I’d be a naughty Goldilocks, but I don’t do anything. Once again, I’m not taking any risks.

I decide that I will find the last file that Rob was working on in his computer and leave a giant erotic message at the top. That’s risky, right? I mean there’s always the chance that it’s a company wide memo that he isn’t going to check before distributing. It will give him a little thrill when he sits down to work on it.

I open up Rob’s last file and try to think of something juicy. It’s a memo to Prescott with only two other people cc’ed. It’s a lot of bullshit about branding ourselves as Prescott Nelson Inc. and giving all of our magazines a distinct image. Right in the middle, Rob starts talking about cost efficiency and how a lot of the magazines are overlapping some of their operations responsibilities. I’m starting to feel guilty about reading this. It’s not the usual garbage e-mail with lots of pro-Prescott rhetoric.

Rob suggests that certain divisions are merged. The superfluous staff will be transferred to other positions or terminated. Now, I
know
I’m not supposed to be reading the memo. It looks like
Anna,
the women’s magazine,
Angry Beavers,
the feminist magazine I once coveted, and
Banana,
the health magazine, are losing quite a few people. I know if I scroll down, I’ll see the
Bicycle Boy
list. I shouldn’t be doing this.