Authors: Margo Candela

Underneath It All (25 page)

BOOK: Underneath It All

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Vivian

I
get into my car and check my cell phone. Three messages, all from Vivian, and it’s not even 8 o’clock in the morning. She’s going insane. I speed dial her and lean my head on the steering wheel. I have a feeling I’ll be here for a while, which is totally OK with me since I’m not too thrilled with the one humongous item on my to-do list.

“Hello?” Vivian sounds a tad on edge.

“Girl, put down that double latte. Are you OK?” I try to muster some energy and concern in my voice. It’s not that I don’t feel it, but right now I’m running dangerously low. “If you’re calling about the Cortez situation, it wasn’t me who blabbed, but I have my suspicions.”

Mrs. Mayor has been walking around attempting to look innocent, a dead giveaway.

“Don’t worry about it. Kit has agreed to the open forum interview on KQED. Just out of curiosity ...”

“Do you really need to hear it?”

Mrs. Mayor comes off looking sympathetic while the rest of us have to deal with the consequences of her selective truths. Cortez, I can’t blame him. Who could resist a gift straight from the horse’s mouth? I’m not sure I wouldn’t do the same thing if I was in her position, though, so I can’t feel too betrayed by her attempts to influence her own PR.

“No, you’re right. I don’t need to know. Hey, I called the mansion looking for you and Lei told me that Anita told her that Mrs. Mayor said you were in the hospital. What’s going on?”

“Hospital! I called Mrs. Mayor and lied to her about having a UTI. What a drama queen. Just for that I’m taking the rest of the day off to recover from my near-death experience.”

“God, that woman. I don’t know how he puts up with her. I was wondering if you had some time and a shoulder to spare tonight ... He just served me,” she says in a small voice.

“I’m sorry.” There is no need to ask who the “he” is (Curtis) and what he served her (divorce papers).

“The one good thing is that only the incontinent security guard witnessed my shame.” There are tears in her voice.

“Well, there’s always a bright side.” I’m beginning to realize she may have let him off easy by just slashing his tires.

“Yeah,” she sniffled on the phone. I decide to wait her out. “Anyway, I’m ordering a large pizza and a case of three-ply tissues. Ice cream and movies will be in abundance, of course. Are you interested in joining me?” Her voice is small and needy.

“I may be bringing a guest. Is that OK?” Bina has always had an obsession with pizza and I hope it will offer her some comfort after Sanjay drops the gay bomb on her.

“The more, the merrier. See you tonight.” Vivian clicks off and I keep the phone to my ear.

Maybe someone else will call. Behind me a woman double-parks and waits for my parking spot. Bitch. Can’t she see I’m in the middle of a crisis?

I pull out carefully and head toward Sanjay’s office. No phone call, no time to prepare an alibi, I figure I should catch him with his pants down. Again.

Sanjay

I
sit with my knees pressed tightly together and clutch a Styrofoam cup of tepid coffee. Sanjay’s assistant, a very good-looking and obviously very gay guy, gives me a smile as he pretends to type, his fingers dancing over the keys. He’s actually bidding on something from eBay. I can see his screen reflected in the window behind him.

“Um ...” I say. He looks up. His name is Liam or something. “How long have you worked for Sanjay?”

“For about two months. His last assistant quit to get married. Or was it to move to Minnesota? ... Maybe it was both. Sanjay is great, a great boss.”

I nod. Yes, I bet he is. I’m about to say so when I see Sanjay striding down the hall toward us. I have to admit, he’s a gorgeous-looking man, dressed impeccably, flawless skin, perfect hair. It’s so obvious he’s gay. Why didn’t I see it before? I always knew there was something off about him, but I thought it had to do with his moral character, not his sexuality. How can Bina possibly not know?

“Jacquelyn, this is a surprise.” He gives me a stiff hug and I press my cheek to his.

“Thanks for seeing me, Sanjay. I know you’re busy.” I try not to betray anything with my voice. Not yet, he can still throw me out. Once inside his office, corner office, I take a seat and he closes the door behind him and sits on the edge of his desk near me.

“What’s this about? I know I’m driving Bina crazy but I want to make sure our big day is perfect. Flawless. Both of them.”

“Yeah. I understand. Completely.” The more he talks the harder it’s getting to come out and say what I came here to say.

“So? Is that why you’re here?” he asks, arching a perfectly groomed brow.

Another obvious clue! No straight man, unless he’s
really
open-minded or in show business, gets his brows waxed. Mrs. Mayor has to chase Mr. Mayor around the Mansion with her tweezers just to yank some hairs from between his brows. And he agrees to do it only before a photo shoot or TV appearance.

“Sort of. About the wedding, yeah, that’s why I’m here.” I take a deep breath and pray for an interruption. Maybe Liam can knock on the door and wiggle his fanny in here with a super-important fax. Nope. Nothing. See what praying gets you?

“I ... I was at Jardinière last night. For dinner.” I stop and swallow. Sanjay’s pupils dilate. “I saw you. I saw you there with whomever it was you were there with.”

I sit back and watch Sanjay turn from a light mocha brown to a ghastly shade of pale. I want to cry and it looks like he does, too.

“What do you want? Money?” Sanjay manages to rasp out.

“Money! No! I just wanted to know if Bina knows. I can tell from your face no.” That much is pretty obvious. Also that Sanjay is an asshole. I can’t believe he offered me money. I’d never take it, of course, but I wonder how much he’d be willing to pay.

Sanjay shakes his head and goes to sit behind his desk. He puts his head in his hands and moans.

“Are you OK?” I can’t help but ask. He’s taking this a lot harder than I thought.

“Are you going to tell her?” he asks in a watery voice.

“No! I’m not. You should. You have to.” I feel bad for him but there is no way in hell I’m letting him off the hook.

“The wedding is set. Everything is paid for. Tickets to India. Family notified.”

“Well, I’m really sorry it’s inconvenient, but you can’t honestly expect to marry Bina without telling her you’re ...”

“What? Gay?”

“I was holding out hope that you were at least bi.” Bi I could understand. I have plenty of bi friends and even dated a bi guy in college. No problem there, except he wasn’t monogamous.

“No, Jacquelyn, I’m 100 percent gay. All the way. Have been for years.” Sanjay gives a bitter little laugh.

“So what the fuck are you doing proposing to my best friend?” I feel my face get red and hot like it does when I’m really pissed off.

“Jacquelyn, don’t be naive. You know as well as I do—you come from a traditional family—the last thing you can be is who you really are.”

“Why drag Bina into this? She deserves to know the truth. From you,” I say. I understand what he’s saying, but him tongue kissing another man while engaged to a woman who I know and love pretty much nulls any sympathy I have for him and the traditions that tie, bind and otherwise strangle.

“Bina deserves many things and I can provide her with a good lifestyle, children, even,” Sanjay says, leaning back.

I can see the wheels spinning in his head. Somehow he thinks he can make this work. He’s crazy.

“But you’re gay, Sanjay.” Enough said.

We sit there staring at each other. I can go on like this for hours. I was raised with brothers and sisters who regularly challenged me to staring contests. It’s actually kind of relaxing, like meditating.

“Fine.”

Sanjay sounds way too annoyed for a person in his position. He’s wrong! I’m in the right here. For once.

“Huh?” I snap back to reality.

“I’ll take care of it.”

He stands up. I have no choice but to do the same. I half-wonder if he’s going to offer to shake my hand. He doesn’t.

“Well. Good-bye, Sanjay,” I say. He nods and goes to stand by the window. “I’ll see myself out.”

I open the door, walk calmly past Liam and manage not to break into a run for the elevators.

I
get to the theater in time for the first movie of the day. I don’t care what it is and I don’t care if it’s barely 10:30 in the morning and I’m having supernachos, a large root beer and gummy worms.

The ticket taker gives me a sympathetic look and I know I must seem pathetic, trying to balance all this food, carrying a really nice tote bag and wearing my favorite button-up coat that I bought with my first real paycheck out of college. If he only knew how pathetic I really am. And I’m not even talking about the impending trauma of my ex-husband’s wedding tomorrow.

Things are crappy, very crappy, so I think I’m entitled to a few hours in the dark, and then back home for a long bath and sleep. Who needs Zoloft?

I do, that’s who.

Vivian

A
t exactly 6:09
PM
my phone rings. I’ve been waiting for this call all day. My eyes tear up in expectation of Bina’s sad, if not hysterical, voice on the other end.

“Hello?” I say tentatively into the phone, expecting to hear great gobs of runny mucus being sucked up.

“Hey, Jacqs, it’s me.” Vivian, sounding very peppy.

“Hi.” Damn, I don’t know how much longer I can keep up this vigil. Maybe I should call Sanjay and remind him of our little talk this morning.

“Yeah, it’s me ...”

Vivian sounds distracted and giddy. I find this annoying. I should be the giddy one. I hardly have any problems. My fiancé isn’t gay. My husband isn’t suing me for divorce. Where’s my fun?

“What’s up, Vivian?” I have call waiting, but I still don’t want to tie up the line.

“Yeah. I have to cancel tonight.. Just wanted to let you know . . . Are you OK? Feeling better?”

“I’m great. I wasn’t sick, remember? I told you this morning when we talked,” I sigh into the phone.

Vivian usually isn’t this spacey. She must be getting slammed at work. How truly nice of her to call and let me know she won’t make it to her own pity party tonight. My heart fills with love. No man, no matter how evolved, would do that. He’d just call up after he was supposed to be where he said he’d be and obviously wasn’t and say he wasn’t able to make it. Men suck.

“OK. Good to hear. Don’t wait up. I’ll be really late. Work crap,” she says in a rush.

I completely forgot about the governor thing even though I spent most of yesterday taking care of last-minute details for Mrs. Mayor.

“OK. See you later, Vivian.”

I hang up the phone and stare at the wall opposite my bed. I love my bed. When Nate moved out I got rid of our old bed, which had been my bed before Nate came along and camped out on it. But after we shared it, it ceased to be mine and I wasn’t sorry at all to see it go. In fact I would have burned it if the City hadn’t told me it was illegal when I called to ask.

I went down to a mattress superstore, tried out dozens of models, drove the clerk batty with all my questions and comparisons and finally settled on a medium-soft number that set me back almost $1400. I’ve never regretted the expense even though to date I’ve been the only one to sleep on it.

I reach for the phone and almost dial Bina before I realize that I can’t call her until she calls me. I figure Sanjay will tell her sometime tonight. She gets off from the hospital at 7 and they usually spend Friday nights together.

I turn over onto my side and stare out the window into the neighbor’s empty kitchen. I bet they’re out having a great time. I once saw them having sex on the kitchen table. That was pretty interesting.

The only good thing about tonight is that I don’t have to worry about food. Mrs. Mayor, still acting like a weirdo, sent over a smirking Danny with a jug of cranberry juice, chicken soup, a carton of raspberry frozen yogurt and a flower arrangement, with a note telling me to feel better and she would see me when she gets back from LA.

I drag myself out of bed and into the kitchen to heat up the soup and pour myself a chilled glass of cranberry juice. This is as close as I’ve gotten to mothering since I left home and it’s by a woman without a maternal bone in her body. My life is so screwed up.

I settle on the couch and flip channels, go through a stack of magazines and eat at the same time; I’m a consummate multitasker.

Bethany

I
startle awake to a ringing phone. I check my watch as I grope for the cordless in the living room. Vivian has a nasty habit of never putting it back on the base.

It’s only a bit after 8. I feel like I’ve been sleeping for hours.

“Hello?” I say groggily into the phone. Now I won’t be able to fall asleep until well after midnight and my internal clock will force me awake before 7
AM
. I’ll look like shit tomorrow.

“Yes, uh, may I speak to Jacquelyn? Please.”

Oh, shit! Did I forget to cancel a hair appointment for myself? This means I’ll either have to go or forfeit $50 on my credit card.

“Yeah, this is she. Me.” I wait for her to give me the particulars. I reach for a pen and prepare to write over the smiling face of some model. “OK, shoot ...”

“Uh. I’m ... this is Bethany Michel ... Nate’s fiancée?”

“Oh, hello.” Holy mother of God. Holy sweet Jesus. All of a sudden I remember the gift I sent off to them. I guess she was going through her haul and came upon mine and then hunted me down and now is going to give me a reaming over the phone. That’s what I would do, after all.

“Do you know who I am?” she asks.

“You’re Nate’s fiancée.” Smooth. We both don’t seem to be at our sharpest. I know my excuse, but I don’t even want to guess what hers is.

“Uh ...” she says. And this woman is a lawyer? Puhleez!

“Is there something I can help you with?” I offer. Sister, if you only knew.

“Yes, I, uh, was wondering why you sent us a gift? Do I know you?”

“No, I just am one of those people who like to give random gifts. The Internet has made my hobby much easier.” I wait. She can’t possibly believe this.

“Oh ... Do you know Nate?” The lawyer in her is coming out.

“Nate? Hmmm.” I know it bends left, lady, that satisfy your question?

“I asked Nate’s mother and she said to ask Nate. Nate’s having his bachelor party and I can’t reach him. We’re getting married tomorrow,” she adds unnecessarily.

“Listen, I’m sorry I sent you the gift. Really. It was a stupid joke. You get some sleep, and go get married tomorrow. Best of luck to you, really.”

“Did you have a relationship with Nate?”

This bitch just won’t let up. I’m trying to let her off easy for her own good and she keeps coming at me like a pit bull. I begin to feel unjustifiably angry.

“If I did it was a long, long time ago and is so over, you have nothing to worry about. I have this thing where I send my ex’s presents on their special occasions. But I’m getting professional help so you don’t have to worry.” I’ve never felt so bad about something I’ve done in my whole life. And this includes the time I set my grandmother’s house on fire when I was fourteen.

“Please, tell me the truth. I think I deserve that much,” Bethany says, for the first time sounding like a woman. Not an unsure girl, not a detached lawyer but a woman who has the definite feeling she’s been or is going to be screwed over.

“The truth ... Are you sure? I ... can’t.” Why should Bethany pay for my vindictiveness and Nate’s stupidity and carelessness?

“Please, I’m begging you.” Her voice catches in her throat.

I feel my own eyes tear up, like we’re in this together.

“OK. But you have to promise me you won’t do anything stupid. To yourself, at least.” I wouldn’t mind if she brandished a pair of rusty scissors near Nate’s gonads. He deserves at least a scare.

“I promise. I won’t. I just need to know,” she sniffs, but sounds like she’s bucking up for my bombshell.

“Nate and I were married.” I hear her gasp and quickly add, “But we are beyond divorced.”

“When? Why?” Bethany, I can tell, is a detail person.

“God, we weren’t married that long. We lived together longer than we were married.” This piece of information elicits another gasp from poor Bethany.

“You lived together?”

“Only for a while. Really. I mean who doesn’t live together first these days? You can’t really know a person unless you see them when their defenses are down. I mean, you’ll never know if they keep the toilet seat up or if they take the time to completely shut their bureau drawers. Ha, I mean, I don’t know about you, but I hate it when a guy leaves stuff just oozing out of the ... drawers.”

Freudian slip! I swear. It’s not like I want to completely ruin Bethany Michel’s life by hinting to her that she is wearing a tainted engagement ring she found in Nate’s drawers. Or, maybe I do, I don’t know. This is a question for Dr. N. Of course I can’t tell her any of this. She would definitely think I’m a worse person than I have led her to believe, not counting my shoplifting and multiple-sex-partner lies of late.

“Drawers, Nate’s drawers ... The ring? My ring ...” she says. I can almost see her holding it up to her face.

At this point it would be cruel to let her writhe around, I may as well confess for Nate. “It was mine. Nate kept it after the divorce, but I had no idea he’d ever give it to another woman. If I even had the slightest idea he’d do that I would have flushed it down the toilet. I swear.” Not flushed it, but pawned it for sure.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it. I’ve taken care of everything, every fucking detail up until now. I have to go now.” Her voice sounds dead but determined.

If I still had any feelings for Nate I’d warn him to start running. Luckily, I don’t. If she does kill him I’ll feel partly responsible, but I doubt I’d get in any legal trouble. But this isn’t about Nate or prison time for me. This is about poor, tragic Bethany.

“Wait! Wait! Please. What’re you going to do?” I’ve ruined her wedding. A woman can never forgive (or forget) anyone who comes between her and her wedding.

“I have a house full of family,” she says in a shell-shocked voice. I can only guess it must be pretty overwhelming to be on the phone with your fiancé’s secret ex-wife on the eve of your fantasy wedding. “Everyone is here. Everyone.”

“I know I shouldn’t ask, but can you ever forgive me? It was beyond petty of me to send the gift. I just was so mad at Nate for springing it on me during dinner that he was getting married ...” I trail off lamely. Why should she forgive me? I wouldn’t. I have a list of people and what they did to derail my dream wedding. A list of names a mile long and whenever someone annoys me, it just reminds me about the wedding that never was—thereby keeping their name on the list just a little longer.

“You and Nate had dinner together? When? While I was in Chicago. That could be the only time. He said he was holed up at the office working. I was here running after the florist, making sure our cake is perfect, arranging every last fucking detail while he was out with his
ex-wife!
That goddamn motherfucker!” Her mind is like a steel trap. I’m glad the focus is on the truly guilty party: Nate, not me.

“We went to some fancy Mexican, sorry, Latin-fusion place. But nothing happened! I left him there.” Why did I have to mention it was fancy? Now she’ll hold that against me. I should have just said we met for coffee or something. Or ran into each other on a crowded street.

“He lied to me. His whole family has lied to me. He said he’s never lived with anyone before. He’s never felt as close to another woman. He asked me to marry him!” Her voice gets a bit shrill, something I know Nate doesn’t like.

He always made remarks about “shrill women.” Shrill women at the office, shrill women waiting in long lines at the supermarket. . . If there was a shrill woman within half a mile of him, Nate would find her.

“What are you going to do?” I can’t help it. I want to know. It’s pretty obvious she isn’t going to swallow a bottle of pills.

There is only silence on the other end of the phone. I can hear huffy breaths and her blowing her nose here and there, but otherwise nothing. I start to get nervous all over again. Maybe she’s thinking of how to make my life a living hell. She’ll have to stand in line.

“Uh, Bethany?”

“I’m going to take a pill. Just one. Get some sleep. Wake up. Get ready and go to the church,” she says calmly, too calmly.

“Uh-huh.” Not exactly what I would do, but it’s her life.

“Then I’m going to have my father walk me down the aisle where I will take my place beside Nate ...” she continues, her voice getting stronger.

I can visualize her standing up straighter, forming her left hand into a fist and raising it into the air.

“Uh-huh ...” This is getting good. If I ever need a dramatic lawyer, she’s my man.

“Where I will knee the motherfucker in the nuts and throw the ring in his face and say ‘I don’t do second-hand rings or men.’”

Triumph! There could be no better way to end it. No tears, no accusations. And for God’s sake, no shrillness! Just quick, decisive and lethal action—just like in a movie. Myles would be proud. Dr. N would be proud. Maybe I should give Bethany their numbers?

“Wow! If you’re ever in San Francisco—hello?” I stare at the phone. Oh, Nate is going to be in trouble! I have to call Bina.

Oh, wait, I can’t call Bina, because I’m waiting for my little talk with Sanjay to ruin her wedding-marriage-relationship-whatever.

Two ruined relationships in one day. This has to be some sort of a record even for me.

BOOK: Underneath It All

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