Authors: Margo Candela
Underneath It All (28 page)
My whole life is built on illusions. My illusions of a long-lasting connection with my ex-husband, that my mother would be happy if she just completely changed her life, that my brother Noel could be a great person if he just got off his ass, that Mrs. Mayor is a nice person who really likes me and when she gives me her castoffs she’s not doing it out of charity but because every woman should have some Gucci in her life, that my married boyfriend is really a boyfriend, that my best friend isn’t so blinded by love that she refuses to see that her fiancé is so gay and that’s why he left her and, mostly, that my therapist thinks I am the single-most normal and together person she knows and only continues to see me (and take my money) because she likes my company.
I watch Bina and Vivian polish off the second bottle between them, not bothering with ice.
“I should go shower and change.” Vivian gets up. “I’ll catch a cab. I really shouldn’t drive in my condition, but I sure as shit ain’t showing up at work sober. Maybe they’ll give me a random sobriety test and fire me on the spot. It’ll save me the embarrassment of having to resign.”
“If you wait for a few minutes I can drop you off and come right back,” I say, looking at Bina to make sure it’s OK.
“No, you stay here with Bina. I’ve caused you enough trouble.” She reaches down and gives Bina a hug. Bina hugs her back. Vivian gestures toward the crystal flutes. “And by the way, you can keep my gift. I’m glad they came in handy, but not this way.”
“Thank you, Vivian. Good luck.” Bina walks her to the door and I follow and hug her. We stand there and watch her hail a cab and climb in. She’s a bit unsteady on her feet but I’m sure a shower will sober her up enough to face the Ivy League barracudas that Mr. Mayor calls his staff and friends.
“What are you going to do with the rest of the booze?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” she says as we go back up the stairs. “I wonder if I can write it off on my taxes?”
“You can always donate it to a homeless shelter, I guess.” I’m a bit drunk so this doesn’t seem like such a stupid suggestion.
We sit back down on the couch, huddled together and enjoying our buzz.
“There is another thing that always worried me about Sanjay,” Bina muses as we stare out the window a little glassy-eyed.
“What’s that?” I ask, my heart skipping a beat.
“His politics. You think he was a closet Republican?” she asks, holding out her glass for refill.
“Sanjay?” I pour for us both, filling her glass to the rim. Fuck being sober. “Nope, Bina. I can assure you Sanjay was liberal, very liberal when it came to his politics.”
85
Emilio
“
W
hy don’tyou ever return my calls?”
W
hy don’tyou ever return my calls?”
Cortez corners me next to a huge plate glass window as people mill around during intermission at the ballet. The Mayors have decided not to mingle, but have the chosen few come to their private box for an audience. I’ve been sent away to make room for the important people.
“I don’t return anyone’s calls. Hasn’t my mother told you?” I accept a quick sip from his drink. It’s a very intimate gesture and I want to show him I am not at all flustered by it. “Is that your girlfriend over there? The one shooting knives with her eyes?”
Emilio takes his time turning around. “Her? We work together. We’re just friends. I bet you know all about getting friendly with people you work with?
Qué dices,
Jacquelyn?”
Qué dices,
Jacquelyn?”
“
Yo digo nada
. I think that’s something a man in your position should be able to appreciate, a woman keeping quiet.” I raise a brow archly and his blink confirms what’s been lurking in the back of my mind about him and Vivian in Santa Barbara.
Yo digo nada
. I think that’s something a man in your position should be able to appreciate, a woman keeping quiet.” I raise a brow archly and his blink confirms what’s been lurking in the back of my mind about him and Vivian in Santa Barbara.
“How is the lovely Vivian?” He takes back his drink.
“How do you think she is? She’s out of work and hiding out in my flat. Her husband is threatening to accuse her of adultery if she doesn’t null their prenup. She couldn’t be better.”
“Should I call her? ... I mean, as a friend?” Cortez looks pained, genuinely troubled by what he’s done. “Is she mad at me?”
“For writing a column based on information from a decidedly biased source about her relationship with her now ex-boss? Or for sleeping with her when she was confused, vulnerable and probably drunk?” Emilio flinches, making me smile. So the man does have a conscience. Interesting. “Leave her alone. She has enough troubles.”
He leans in, embraces me, his lips against my ear. “I’m sorry.”
“What for?” I lean back and before he can answer, I lightly cover his mouth with my hand. The stubble feels so good against my palm, I tingle all over. “Don’t answer that.”
86
Jesus
“
J
esus Christ!” I’m standing in Natasha’s kitchen clutching a sticky plastic watering can, my heart in my throat. “You fucking scared me!”
J
esus Christ!” I’m standing in Natasha’s kitchen clutching a sticky plastic watering can, my heart in my throat. “You fucking scared me!”
“I’m sorry. I need to talk to Natasha.” Jesus isn’t looking so hot. He has circles under his eyes, he needs a haircut and a shave. He doesn’t look so much dangerous as just merely desperate. “Please. Please, Jacquelyn.”
“Does Natasha know you’re here?” I commence with the watering of the plants.
“No, the landlord let me in. He knows we are together.” He begins to cry.
“Is that what you call it?” I can’t hold back the sneer in my voice. He really hurt Natasha, drove her away from her home and me. For that I can’t forgive him, even though I know Natasha will.
“I love her! I do, you have to believe me.” His slim shoulders heave under his wrinkled button-down.
“I don’t know what you want me to do, Jesus. I can’t work miracles,” I snicker.
“Just please, call her for me. Tell her to call me. That’s all I want. I promise, I’ve changed. I love her.” More crying.
“Fine. Shut up. I’ll tell her I ran into you and the rest is up to her.” I shrug off his hugs.
“Thank you! Thank you!”
“You thank me now,” I say as I pat him on the back, “but just wait. I don’t have the best track record when it comes to relationships.”
87
Vivian
“
A
re you sure you want to do this?” I ask her as I pull my car up to the airport curb.
A
re you sure you want to do this?” I ask her as I pull my car up to the airport curb.
Vivian looks tired but as if a huge weight has been lifted off her shoulders. She smiles at me. “Like you said to me once, sometimes family are the only people you can turn to when you’ve made a mess of your life.”
“I said that?”
“OK, you were drunk from celebrating your first official month as a divorcee, but still you said it.”
“By family, I meant you guys.” That’s unfair. My family was really supportive, mostly by never bringing it up.
“I just need to get out of here, to clear my head.” She pulls her hair into a messy ponytail.
“And then what?” I’m afraid to ask. I’ve already lost Natasha, she’s not coming back. I don’t blame her; it was time for a change. Maybe Jesus will find temptation a lot less tempting in New York. Doubt it.
“I don’t know. I liked LA. Maybe I’ll peddle my talents there?” She starts to cry a little.
“I know a great guy there. He’ll show you a good time, no pressure.” Wouldn’t it make Mrs. Mayor happy for me to pimp out her producer friend to the woman who slept with her husband? I laugh despite how awful the whole thing is.
“Love, love, love you, Jacqs,” she says giving me a kiss full on the lips.
“I love you, Vivian.”
We hugged a long time until some cop taps on my window and tells us to move along. For once, I don’t mention who I work for.
88
Anita and Lei
I
’ve never seen Anita and Lei work harder. If they didn’t exchange more than two words before, now they communicate solely through telepathy. They are avoiding me like the plague and I think this is really unfair. I didn’t do anything. Much.
’ve never seen Anita and Lei work harder. If they didn’t exchange more than two words before, now they communicate solely through telepathy. They are avoiding me like the plague and I think this is really unfair. I didn’t do anything. Much.
They’re just covering their asses. The Mayors haven’t broken out the lie detector to find out who leaked to Cortez, but the Mayor has been making noises about having us sign a confidentiality agreement.
I wonder if he’ll make his wife sign one as well as the help.
They leave shortly after I do, climb on the bus together but sit in different seats. We never talk about what we see and hear. Not that we did before, but now I feel even more isolated than I did before.
I can’t blame them, much. They’ve been here a lot longer than I have and I guess they want to keep it that way.
89
Danny
“
W
hatcha doing, Jacqs?” Danny drawls as he leans up the balustrade in the foyer.
W
hatcha doing, Jacqs?” Danny drawls as he leans up the balustrade in the foyer.
“What does it look like I’m doing?” He’s caught me bending over, trying to retrieve all the slippery mail that’s pooled at my feet.
“You’ve been quiet as a mouse lately. Wonder why?”
Danny is as slimy as ever. I find it kind of comforting to see that some things stay the same.
“Shut up, Danny.” I look around and lean toward him to whisper, “Mrs. Mayor had me order some of those tiny listening devices off the Internet. I don’t know where she put them.”
“She did?” His eyes dart around frantically. “You’re lying.”
I scoop up the last of the mail and push past him to proceed upstairs before heading back down. I step in close to him and hold a finger to his lips.
“Yeah, Danny, I’m lying. Say whatever you want. Just be careful where and to whom you say it to.”
Danny flushes. I turn around and head up the stairs, taking my time.
I’m so mean, but a girl’s got to throw a boy a bone once in a while. It’s the polite thing to do, after all.
90
Nate
“
H
ello?” I squeeze my phone between my chin and shoulder.
H
ello?” I squeeze my phone between my chin and shoulder.
I’m killing time organizing Mrs. Mayor’s workouts and regular spa appointments for the next two months. I seem to have her booked for a full leg wax and facial at the same time. This just won’t do.
“Jacqs? It’s me.”
I drop my cell and scramble to pick it up. “Nate? Hi!”
“I just called to tell you the wedding went great!”
“It did?” I stand up and sit back down again. My hands start to shake. “Congratulations.” I guess.
“Thanks. Really. I was having major second thoughts and seeing you just confirmed that I was doing the right thing by marrying Bethany.”
“Gee, thanks, Nate. Really.” What an ass. The thing is he thinks he’s being an enlightened male by telling me this. “So are you calling me from India?”
“No, we cancelled India. We’re coming out to San Francisco for our honeymoon Isn’t that funny?”
“No.” I’m not surprised to hear India is out and San Francisco is in. Nate is too dense to realize he’s walking into a trap.
“But, hey, India will always be there.”
“Yes, it will, Nate.” But I won’t. “When are you coming?”
“In a couple of weeks. We had to turn our plans upside down. I was really touched when Bethany suggested San Francisco. She knows how much I loved living there. I would love for you to meet Bethany.”
“Would you, now.” Why do this to yourself, Nate? Why do this to me and Bethany? There is nothing worse than meeting your ex’s new partner. That is, unless you’re the new partner who has to deal with a reunion between two ex’s.
“We’ll go out to dinner. To that place where I had that great fish,” he says, as oblivious as ever. I can imagine him with his feet up on his desk tossing one of those ever-present stress balls he always used to clutch at. “Man, that was one good meal. Is it still open?”
Yes, and so is my mouth. I can think of so many things I want to say. All of which will only make me look bad, worse than I already do.
“Jacqs, you there?” Nate asks.
“Yeah. Sure. Call me when you guys get in. I’d love to meet your Bethany,” I lie.
“Cool. Cool. Talk to you soon, babe.” Nate clicks off and I toss my phone into the garbage can.
91
George
I
arrive at our usual dinner place right on time, and George is nowhere to be found. After hanging around outside for ten minutes, I go in and pretend to read the framed restaurant reviews, hoping the new hostess doesn’t come over and ask me if I’m waiting for someone. What would I say? I’m waiting for an older gentleman, nudge, nudge, wink, wink.
arrive at our usual dinner place right on time, and George is nowhere to be found. After hanging around outside for ten minutes, I go in and pretend to read the framed restaurant reviews, hoping the new hostess doesn’t come over and ask me if I’m waiting for someone. What would I say? I’m waiting for an older gentleman, nudge, nudge, wink, wink.
Another five excruciating minutes, the door swings open and I see George’s familiar figure in the doorway. I feel a surge of love. Not necessarily for him, but for the fact that he’s here and hasn’t stood me up.
“Sorry I’m late. I got held up with a board meeting.” George takes my elbow and follows the hostess, who shows us to our usual table.
“Board meeting? Can’t you just send some lackey in your place? Don’t they know you have a golf game to get to?” I tease. I’m not sure exactly what George does at the company he works for, only that he makes a lot of money,
a lot
of money, and doesn’t seem to do much real work. It’s mostly telling other people what to do, who tell other people what to do. And having those people write up reports, which then get rewritten by the second tier and then presented to George, who then has his assistant rewrite them so he can present them to his vice presidents and board members.
a lot
of money, and doesn’t seem to do much real work. It’s mostly telling other people what to do, who tell other people what to do. And having those people write up reports, which then get rewritten by the second tier and then presented to George, who then has his assistant rewrite them so he can present them to his vice presidents and board members.
It sounds horribly boring. Almost as boring as listening to Mrs. Mayor talk about her chakras.
“You would think so, but sometimes you have to pay the piper, my dear,” George says, pulling out my seat for me.
As soon as he sits, the wine is poured, as always. I take a sip of mine and enjoy the taste of it. It took me a while to get used to drinking wine, especially wine that was $75 a bottle, but it’s grown on me. Lots of things have grown on me.
George watches me drink, and I start to think about what it would be like to sleep with him. I mean, sure, it would be kind of gross, but not as repulsive as it used to seem to me. And now that I know George is interested, why not? He’s not happy in his marriage and I have my flat all to myself. I think I have all the bases covered to take this relationship to the next level.
“The reason I asked you here, Jacquelyn, is because I have something to tell you.”
George reaches across and takes my free hand. I immediately know this isn’t good. I put down my glass and lean forward. I’m Catholic and one thing I know is true is that the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away, and it’s never truer for a bad Catholic like me.
“OK.” I half-hope he stops there. “Really.”
“I think we should stop seeing each other,” he says firmly but kindly, looking straight into my eyes.
“For a while or for good?” I ask stupidly, already knowing the answer.
“My wife and I’ve reconnected. I think I should give my marriage another shot. I’m sorry. I hope you understand.”
He squeezes my hand. It feels warm and soft and I see his cuticles are immaculate, as if he’s recently had a manicure.
“Of course,” I say numbly, not wanting to remember the thoughts I was entertaining a few seconds ago. “Of course. It’s totally understandable.”
George sits back, looking relieved. I blink rapidly. Seeing my face, he leans forward, frowning. “Are you OK, Jacquelyn?”
“Yes. Just a little taken by surprise. But it’s a good surprise. For you. And your wife.”
I feel so stupid. So young and immature, but not used. George never promised me anything, and I came into this thing with eyes wide-open. It still hurts, though, to be set aside, even if it is in the nicest of ways.
“I’m an old man, Jacquelyn. You are a young and vibrant woman. It would be selfish of me to keep you from finding a young man who can do you justice. Who could make you happy and be there for you all the time,” he says kindly. As if he’s offering me a new lease on life by removing the burden of himself.
“Yes. Thanks.” I push back my chair. I can’t stay here one more second. I stand up, walk over to him and press a kiss on his cheek. “Good-bye, George.”
I walk quickly out of the restaurant, and am halfway down the block when I hear the hostess’s spike heels clicking after me in an awkward jog.
“Wait! Miss? Wait!” She calls, sounding winded. She must not eat to stay that skinny because she’s obviously not an exerciser. I turn around. “Thanks. I can’t run in these shoes but my boss likes me to wear them.”
“I know the feeling.” I feel crushed inside.
“Here. He asked me to give you this.”
She hands me a carefully wrapped box from Tiffany’s. It’s heavy, too deep and big for jewelry, but I doubt George would give me flatware or china. I automatically scan through my mental inventory of Tiffany stuff, but can’t call up what might be inside.
“Thanks,” I say, and take it without even considering what it means to be accepting it. I just want to get back to my car and cry in privacy. And open the box when I’m done.
“Who would have thought, huh?” she asks.
For the first time, I see her in natural light and see she has smoker’s skin and wears too much foundation. For months, I’ve been slightly intimidated by her, but now I see she’s not as imposing when she’s not standing behind her ornate podium.
“Thought what?” I ask, ready to start walking again.
“That a guy that old could move so quick. Just last night he asked out Kim, she’s the hostess who usually works days. You know, the cute Asian girl? He asked her out for a date,” she says, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it quickly. “Men are pigs, even the ones who smell good and look like your grandpa. Sorry.”
“Yes.” A new girlfriend. A new exotic girlfriend. Of course there is a new girlfriend. Why wouldn’t there be? “Well, thanks for this, and don’t take it personally if I never eat at your restaurant again.”
“Honey, I don’t blame you. But at least you got some good gifts out of it.” She looks at my bracelet and inhales deeply on her cigarette. “Kim told me.”
“Yes, at least I can take comfort in that. And that I didn’t sleep with him,” I add quickly. I desperately want the Globe hostess to know I have some self-respect.
“Sure. I’ve got to get back to work. You take care.” She clicks back, smoking, and then flicks her cigarette into the street before disappearing inside.
When I get to my car, I open the box. Inside is a velvet case with a sterling silver pen. Beneath that, wrapped in tissue paper, are five banded stacks of crisp $100s.
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