See Jane Date (23 page)

“You look nice,” Ina said, surveying me. Thank God I'd remembered to wear the outfit: black capris and a black-and-white horizontal-striped boat-neck shirt with a stupid little white scarf around the neck. I'd forgot I had a little chiffon scarf. Amanda had given it to me with a pair of earrings for my birthday two years ago. “Your skin looks good. All dewy. Are you using something new?”

Yeah. It was called Finally Being Away From Natasha. That subway ride had been slightly too intense, slightly too surprising. I took a deep breath and tried to clear my mind of Natasha. It was bad enough I'd have to spend a couple of hours at her parents' apartment when it was clear there was tension in the family. And I'd have to take the subway back with her. It would be her, her, her, when I wanted to think about me, me, me…and Timothy. Perhaps he was the reason for my dewy complexion. The anticipation of tonight. Of those dark eyes smoldering at me. That dark hair brushing against my neck. That—

“There you are!” Grammy said, coming toward me. She handed me a cookie. “Don't let anyone see. We're not supposed to eat anything till Dana gets here.” I popped the cookie into my mouth and smiled at Grammy. “So how's Mr. Rommely?” she asked. “Still dating?” Grammy wore the striped top and the little scarf, but she had on a white skirt instead of capris.

“Ma, of course they're still dating,” Aunt Ina said. “It's serious. When it's serious, you don't break up every five minutes.”

If only.

“Okay, okay,” Grammy said. She pulled a compact and lipstick from her purse and applied a fresh coat of
coral. “I can't ask? Ethan Miles is still available, you know.” Yeah, no doubt. “He is such a nice young man. Do you know what he did just yesterday when your aunt and uncle were over? Your uncle Charlie was spraying air freshener in the hallway to get rid of the disgusting smoke smell from the Norwells next door, and who was coming home from work but Ethan. So your uncle Charlie asked if he'd mind playing a game of chess, and what did Ethan say? He said, ‘Sure, love to.' And they played two games, leaving your aunt and me to have a nice visit and talk. Isn't that something? A busy young man like that entertaining your uncle Charlie.”

Grammy was clearly missing the point: Ethan Miles apparently had nothing better to do.

“So when are you seeing Timothy again?” Aunt Ina asked. “Tonight? In my dating days, Saturday night was date night.”

I nodded. “It still is date night. He's making me dinner.” I regretted it the minute it left my lips. What was I, an idiot? You didn't tell your aunt or grandmother that a guy was taking you to his apartment for a date. It didn't matter if you'd been seeing the guy for months or years. Good thing they had no clue that this would be only my third date with Timothy.

“That had better be one of your smart remarks, Jane Gregg,” Aunt Ina said, hands on hips again.

“It is,” I confirmed. “Just kidding. Sorry. Um, we're going to a concert in the park and then he's taking me to dinner in a really nice restaurant.”

“The Rainbow Room?” Grammy asked. “That's a nice restaurant. In my day, that's where all the young people went.”

I'd never been in the Rainbow Room. It was a legendary restaurant, but it seemed to be on par with the
Empire State Building or a Broadway show: for tourists, not New Yorkers. Or, for tourists and
wealthy
New Yorkers.

“What does Timothy do for a living?” Aunt Ina asked. “Did you tell us? I can't remember.”

I was now about to be elevated in the eyes of my aunt and grandmother with one word. “No, I don't think I mentioned it. He's a doctor.”

Aunt Ina and Grammy stared at each other and broke out into huge smiles. “A doctor!” Grammy exclaimed. “Isn't that something. Surgeon?”

So, a regular old doctor wasn't enough, huh? I had my grandmother's number. “He's a resident, so he's not sure yet what his specialty will be. But he's leaning toward internal medicine.”

“You're next,” Aunt Ina declared, shaking her head, but now with a mixture of tearful pride and joy in her light blue eyes. “I just know it. Dana's already promised to aim the bouquet right at you, so be sure and catch it. You have a lot of competition. They'll all be clawing for that bouquet.”

They could have it. “I'll try,” I promised, my fingers crossed behind my back. There was no way I was lining up for that embarrassing display of singlehood. One of the Julies could catch it. I'd have to remember to time my trip to the bathroom moments before Dana got ready to throw.

Aunt Ina reached over to me and began flipping up the ends of my hair. “Why do you make your hair so straight, Jane? A little wave is nice.”

“Everyone! Everyone!” announced Karen. “It's almost eleven. No talking from this minute on!” The lights were turned off. I could smell four different overpowering perfumes fighting for dominance over the hazelnut coffee.

“Everyone, shush!” hissed Karen.

The bell rang. “Who is it?” called Karen.

“It's me, Dana.”

“Come in, it's open,” Karen said as nonchalantly as possible.

Dana opened the door. The lights flipped on. “Surprise!” everyone shrieked.

“Omigod. Omigod!” Dana shouted. “I can't
believe
you! Omigod! The bridesmaids all look so adorable! Omigod!”

As Dana omigoded around the room, kissing and hugging fifty of her closest female friends and a few relatives, I peered out the window onto the Forest Hills streets from the tenth-floor view. People looked like ants from up here. I wondered if I could see the Gnat without realizing it. I was curious to know where she was, what old haunts were calling her name.

I knew what it was like to want to retrace your steps. To visit the sites you'd spent your best and worst times in. After Max had broken up with me I'd been drawn to a local playground that had been one of my childhood haunts. I'd swung on the too-small swings for an hour, smoking furiously, and by the time I'd left I'd felt comforted just enough to make it home. That playground had been the stage of happy times for so many years when I was a kid. My father had been alive while I'd swung there, when I'd climbed onto the jungle gym. Natasha hadn't yet moved to Forest Hills to introduce me to insecurity and steal the heart of the boy I adored. And Dana Dreer was just a pipsqueak, no cuter than I was until puberty turned her into a princess and me into a closet loudmouth too shy for a personality.

Three or four years ago, that playground had been torn down so that a new apartment building could be built.
When I'd stopped by one Sunday after a guilt-visit to Grammy and saw the construction site, I'd cried. There hadn't been anywhere to go for comfort after that. There was only Eloise and St. Monica's on the first Sunday of every month after services.

Edith Piaf began singing, and Karen announced it was time to dig in to the buffet. A line immediately formed as though no one had ever eaten before. I made myself a lox-on-vegetable-cream-cheese-slathered-bagel-sandwich and tried to make myself invisible by sitting on an ottoman in the far corner. Twenty minutes later, Karen announced it was time for Dana to open her gifts. Claps and shrieks. I tried to stay where I was, but Aunt Ina glared at me and pointed to the chair next to hers. I dutifully lugged myself over and plopped down.

Dana sat in a high-backed chair facing the crowd, a mountain of wrapped presents next to her. Oops. Maybe I should have gotten her a gift instead of slipping a hundred-dollar bill into a card. Nah. Eloise and Amanda were right. Who wanted another vase or coffeemaker? People wanted money to do what they wanted with. Grammy handed Dana a gift, and bridesmaid Amy picked up her little notepad and pencil to document who gave what for thank-you cards.

“So what did you get Dana?” Aunt Ina whispered to me as Dana carefully unwrapped. We were going to be here a long, long time at this rate.

“A hundred.”

“Jane!” Aunt Ina scowled.

“What?” I whispered. “My friends told me to give money. They said that was what couples really want.”

“From strangers!” Aunt Ina hissed. “You don't give your
cousin
money. You buy her a present, something personal.” She shook her head.

“I'm sorry,” I said. “I thought she'd appreciate the money.”

“Jane, she's marrying a millionaire. She doesn't need your money.”

“Why, because I live in a rattrap and make twenty-six thousand a year? Because I'm so pathetic next to her?”

Aunt Ina shook her head, more slowly this time. “Jane, I've just about had it with you,” she whispered into my ear. “This isn't about
you.
It's about the difference between right and wrong. Family spends the time to buy a personal gift. You don't give your cousin money. I don't care how much or how little either of you has. Do you hear me?”

How could I not? She was hissing in my ear.

“Mommy, look what Karen gave me!” Dana exclaimed over Edith's mournful wail. “It's that gorgeous print I fell in love with at the museum!”

“How nice!” Aunt Ina said, big smile. She turned to me. “
That's
what you give your cousin. Something you know she'll cherish. That print probably cost all of twenty-four dollars and couldn't be more perfect a gift.”

“Well, I guess I can't do anything right, can I?” I snapped into her ear.

“Mommy, look what Julie knitted for me!”

The Ally McBeal shrinker zapped me again. I felt so small. As Aunt Ina jumped up to feel the wool sweater and ooh and aah, I took the opportunity to slip away to the other side of the room under the pretense of pouring myself another cup of coffee. Okay, I screwed up. I should have followed my instincts and gotten her a real present. I shouldn't have waited until the last minute to go present shopping and then forgotten to buy anything. But I would have bought Dana a real present this morning if I'd thought it was such a big deal.

“Janey! Thank you so much!” Dana called, waving the money-stuffed card in the air.

I smiled big and mouthed a you're welcome. Was she secretly hurt, or was Aunt Ina just being Aunt Ina? I wasn't sure. I wasn't sure about anything.

All I wanted was to be in Timothy Rommely's apartment, eating chicken enchiladas and drinking homemade margaritas and licking salt off his lips. Instead, I had hours to go here, then a visit with the Nutleys—which sounded truly frightening—and then a subway ride back on the Nicole Kidman express.

God, I wanted a cigarette.

 

Starbucks was packed. I found Natasha sitting at the long counter along the window, wearing her sunglasses and reading
The Village Voice.
She saw me and waved, then jumped off her stool. I had the weird and unexpected sensation of being comforted by seeing her. Probably because I knew
she
wouldn't yell at me. What a relief it was to spend some time in the presence of someone who thought you could do no wrong. Whether it was fake or not. Maybe that was why the Gnat didn't mind signing someone else's name to autographs. For that four seconds, she was someone else.

“So how was the shower?” she asked, slipping the newspaper into her straw bag.

“Don't ask,” I said. “The usual family nightmare.”

“Can't possibly be worse than my family,” she insisted as she led the way out.

How bad could the Nutleys really be? I was sure they were the same old annoying but lovable types as Ina and Grammy and Uncle Charlie. They weren't the same generation as Natasha and I, they didn't understand a word you said and they had no qualms telling you off. That
was family. My parents had been a little different because they'd been so young and sort of hip. The Nutleys were square, which had to make things harder. Plus, when you were used to the whole world falling all over you, it was probably a little tough to deal with parents who knocked you down to size.

“So what did you do today?” I asked Natasha as we turned down the side street her parents' building was on.

“I mostly walked around, past P.S. 101, Sage, and the high school,” she said, brushing a ringlet out of her face. “It was pretty nostaglic. Whenever Jimmy and I got into a fight or broke up or my parents yelled at me for something, I used to go to the little playground behind Russell Sage and sit under my favorite tree and cry. I sat under that nice old tree so much that I came to think of it as mine. I even tried to carve my name into the trunk, but I only managed to carve part of the
N.
I looked for it today, but the weather and the years must have obliterated it.”

So she had her “place” too. Maybe I should have picked a tree. It would still be there today, unlike my playground.

“Here we are,” she said, leading me down the steps into the courtyard of a building off Austin Street. “Do I look okay?”

I suddenly realized why Natasha looked like an astronaut's wife. Because she was visiting her parents and obviously wanted to come across in a conservative, good-girl way. The sympathy churned in my stomach. She sure was trying hard.