Up & Out (20 page)

There is a dearth of cooking shows for kids. How cool would it be to have a cooking show where kids get their hands dirty and make things? I could pitch it to lifestyle channels and to kids’ networks. This is awesome! It could be kid-hosted by a girl. Would that be implying that only girls could cook? Maybe she could have boys on as guest hosts. Would that be implying that she is a slut?

She has to have braces just like Esme’s friend, Kim. I start getting carried away and before I know it an hour and a half has passed and I have filled up three pages with scribbles and show concepts.

Lauryn calls. She wants info on Jordan, which I don’t have, and to tell me that she is coming down tomorrow afternoon. She plans on seeing Jordan Saturday morning.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“No, I think it’s best to go alone. It could get ugly.”

“Don’t let it.”

“I’ll try not to. But I would like you to make a good plan for Friday night. I wouldn’t mind a little rock shrimp tempura myself.” I love when I convert people.

“That sounds great. Maybe we can see if Kathy wants to come. I don’t think the delegation gets down until Saturday morning.”

“And Beth.”

“Right, Beth.” I’m not exactly sure how she feels about me. We haven’t talked since the hospital. I cowardly left Beth a message at her home number during the workday so as not to deal. None of this I feel like I can tell Lauryn.

“I would really like to see her. It’s been a while.”

“I know,” I say. Then I start to tell her about my ideas for the show just to get initial feedback. I don’t get very far before the door opens and I hear Tommy’s voice and an unrecognizable female voice. Okay, we’re friends, and friends don’t mind when you bring girls home, but we’re also exes and exes do. And I do. In the middle of the afternoon.

“Lauryn, I’ll call you back.”

I go out into our living room. There is a stranger here; a very young pretty stranger in a sweater set and pearls.

“Oh, hey, Rebecca, I didn’t know you were home.” I am unemployed, where else would I be?

“I am.” I look at the intruder. I will not be a typical ex. I will be kind. I extend my hand. “Rebecca.”

“Hi, I’m Nancy.” A nanny named Nancy. I can’t believe Tommy isn’t opposed to this for obvious reasons.

“Oh, sorry, I guess I should have done that,” Tommy says awkwardly. “We were just going to go to the movies. I came to change.”

“Oh, great.”

“You can come with us, if you want,” Nanny Nancy says. I think she really means it. She is remarkably unsweaty in the sweater set. I can’t believe I am in this position.

“Oh, actually, I’m doing some writing.” That’s right, I’m creative. So there.

“Oh, Tommy told me you were a writer.”

“Yes,” I say. “For television.”

That’s something Tommy watches and she doesn’t.

“I’m not a big fan of TV, of course, now that I have to watch with the twins. Tommy said he would give me a tape of your show. He said it was brilliant.” I can’t believe he said that. Okay, I can believe he said that—just not to her.

Tommy comes back in. His shirt is tucked in; this is serious. He smiles at Nancy.

“So you don’t want to go, Rebecca?” he asks, not looking my way.

“No, no thanks.”

“Is that your dad, Tommy?” Nancy points to a picture of Tommy and Robert De Niro who he met once. I can’t believe she doesn’t know that. That’s got to turn Tommy off, in spite of the skinny ass.

“No, it’s Bobby D. He’s an actor. So we’ll see you later, Rebecca,” Tommy says.

“See ya,” I say.

“It was nice meeting you,” Nancy says genuinely.

“You, too,” I say, smiling as brightly as I can.

When they’re gone, I stare up at Bobby D and Tommy. I took that picture of them. I can’t believe Tommy is all right dating someone who doesn’t even know who his favorite actor is. But what I really can’t believe was how Tommy barely looked at me the entire time he was in the room. He wasn’t intentionally ignoring me, but I guess in the past whenever we’ve been near each other, I have been certain that he was paying full attention to me. Now that he isn’t doing it anymore I realize that is what he did.

I wait up for Tommy. I’m working on my concepts. They are still very rough, but it’s starting to come together. Tommy comes in at a respectable eleven-thirty. I can tell that he is alone. I am going to quietly listen to see what he does and not approach him. I don’t want to appear to care too much. I hear him humming as he walks toward my room.

He knocks. I use my most carefree voice and say, “Come in.”

When he opens the door, I can see a change in him. He is glowing. I suck in my breath.

“Hey, are you all right?” he asks. He doesn’t lose his smile. I think he is in love.

“Fine,” I say, swallowing. “How was your date?”

“Great,” he says. I think I see him close his eyes for a second.

“Great,” I say.

“I think…” He looks away and decides not to say what he is going to say. “She has such a funny and cool way of looking at the world.”

“Mmm,” I say, nodding. I have to be happy for him. If this friendship is going to work like I want it to, I can’t be selfish for no reason. “She seems really nice.”

“She is. She thought you were great, too.” He is even talking differently, like his whole persona has turned upside down. He wasn’t supposed to find someone else first. He was supposed to wait patiently while I did.

“How’s the stuff coming?” He gestures to my notebooks.

“It’s going okay.”

“I don’t see any sketches.”

“I’m just doing concepts,” I say. I know he doesn’t want to be talking about this, but he is trying not to harp on her for my sake. “I don’t want to tie it down to animated or live action.”

“That’s a good idea.”

“Thanks. When are you going to see her again?” I know he thinks he needs permission to talk about her to me. I can see the relief on his face.

“Well, I’ll probably see her in the park tomorrow. I was actually thinking of making dinner for her tomorrow night. Do you mind?”

“No,” I say really fast. “You know, Lauryn is coming in and we are going to Nobu.”

“Oh, wow, you are going to love that.” Now I think he is trying to establish how close we are, how well he knows me. It’s my consolation prize.

“Yeah,” I say. I feel my eyes narrow. No, I have to be positive. I have to help him through this whole dating thing in the way he helps me with everything. “Do you want me to help you? You know, think of something to make.”

“Rebecca.” He smiles and shakes his head. “I was going to ask. I totally want you to. Will you?”

“Sure,” I reply, smiling. Tommy can cook some Portuguese specialties and that’s about it. “We want to impress the girl.”

“Thank you so much.”

“No problem.” I shrug. I glance back at my notebook just so I can make sure I won’t have any tears in my eyes.

“I feel so happy that I can talk to you about this.”

“You know you can,” I say, smiling again. “You always can.”

“Thanks. You know there is no one who knows me better than you.”

“I know,” I say, and look back at my notebook.

I
help Tommy prep all the food for his big dinner. We are making crab cakes and fresh tomato salad. I picked the tomatoes out myself this morning at the Union Square Market from the tomato guy.

A more immature woman would have baked a laxative brownie for her ex’s new interest. Not me. I steer Tommy away from having beer and suggest blood-orange bellinis for cocktails. I got the recipe from Babbo and I know it’s an impressive showstopper. You see how accepting and kind I can be?

Tommy is giddy about his dinner date. He gets up at like seven before going to man the children. He comes back during their soccer camp and that’s when we whip up the feast.

Then he is back out to get the kids. I plan on leaving way before he gets home. I don’t think I can stand to see him primping for someone else. And I certainly don’t want to be here when Nanny Nancy comes over.

I shower and put on one of my new shirts. My old black capris actually fit.
I love running.
My cell phone rings and it’s Janice. I glance at the clock—I don’t have long to talk, but it’s been a while.

“What’s up?”

“Rebecca…” She starts giggling. “Oh, my God, I’m going to hell.”

“What?”

“It’s awful, really.” I hear her trying to compose herself. “I mean, I shouldn’t be happy about this, but I can’t help it. And nobody’s dead.”

“Janice, what are you talking about? Are you drunk?”

“A little. We all went out for drinks. We’re in Jersey. I just came outside to call you.”

“Oh, I think Jen mentioned you guys had an off-site meeting.”

“Yeah, like the fifth one we’ve had to keep morale up. God, in my next life I want to come back and work in Human Resources.”

“Okay. So what happened?” So much for not being interested.

“Well, we were having all these trust exercises. And you know, how are we supposed to trust anyone when they just fired a bunch of people?”

“They did?”

“Yeah,” she says matter-of-factly. “Promos. Completely gone. Of course they don’t say fired, they say repurposed.”

“Is that the new buzzword?”

“Yeah, so we have this exercise where we get up on this ladder and sort of fall back. And everyone in the team, there’re like eight people per team, is supposed to catch the falling person. Oh, my God, this is awful, but at least no one is dead.”

“Okay, who isn’t dead?”

“Well, Rebecca, basically, no one caught Delores.” Then she cracks up again.

“Wait, so what happened?” Janice can’t seem to pull it together this time. She is cracking up and keeps taking little breaths and saying “hell.” “What happened?” I ask again.

“I guess everyone expected that someone else would catch her, so it wouldn’t be a big deal if they didn’t.”

“But no one did?”

“No.”

“Oh, my God. I think I’m going to hell, too.” We crack up for at least three minutes. Every time I start to compose myself, I imagine everyone just standing there with their arms at their sides and I can’t stop laughing.

I get a beep on my phone, but I ignore it.

“Someone said they heard the paramedics saying full body cast…” Janice explains.

“Oh, no,” I say. I stop laughing. “That is really too bad. I mean, that’s awful.”

“Yeah, but she’s not dead,” Janice reasons. “It could be a lot worse. She fell on grass. It could have been cement.”

“You’re right. No one’s dead.” We laugh again. “We are awful.”

“Well, don’t feel too bad for her. John thinks there is probably some way she could sue. Most likely there was supposed to be a height requirement that they overlooked.”

“Oh, my God, because she’s only four-four.” We laugh for a while more. I know this is really an awful thing, but I also believe strongly in karma and fate and I feel like for the first time in a while the universe is on my side.

Janice and I promise to hang out soon. She jokes that we can go to visiting hours. I tell her how well I have been running and I will definitely do the Labor Day 10-K.

I want to be out of the house as soon as possible. I don’t want to see the beginning of the date. I get a pedicure. Since it’s a summer Friday, and most everyone has already gone to their summer places, there isn’t much of a wait. I arrive at Nobu early. I tell the lovely hostess that I will be a party of four, but no one else is here, so I wait at the bar.

I get a message on my cell from Lauryn. She must have left it while I was on the phone with Janice, but it just comes up now. She missed the ferry she wanted to catch and now the one she is on will get her in a lot later than she anticipated. She says she’s going to have to skip Nobu Next Door and she’ll catch up with me tonight. I tell the hostess I’ll only be three.

My phone beeps and I get another message from Kathy. For some lucky-for-her reason my phone didn’t ring. What the hell is wrong with my phone? She is really sorry, but she can’t make it and she hopes I’ll understand. I guess I’m grateful that she doesn’t offer a lame excuse and I’m sure she’s psyched that she didn’t have to talk to me. We are all getting so good at avoiding the obvious. I let the hostess know we’ll only be two. It’s my second change in eight minutes. She smiles politely at me and tells me to let her know when I’m ready to sit down.

So that leaves Beth. I decide to give her forty-five minutes. Of course Nobu Next Door isn’t going to give me a table until my whole party is here. I order a Pellegrino at the bar. Any minute the hostess is going to come over and tell me I’m a friendless loser and I should just go home.

But I can’t go home, because stupid Tommy is having a stupid date with Nanny Nancy. Forty-five minutes pass and another Pellegrino and a glass of expensive chardonnay because I’m worth it.

Beth isn’t going to show.

I could just eat some rock shrimp tempura by myself. I’ve already spent what it would cost for the plate on drinks. I’m sure I won’t enjoy it. I have been spending too much time alone lately to eat my favorite meal by myself.

Why do food and friendship have to be so complicated these days?

I settle my bill and leave. The hostess smiles warmly at me. Her life is simple, I’m sure. She eats tempura anytime she wants.

It’s still light out. I decide to walk home. I’ll walk slowly since these sandals are still killing my feet. Maybe by then, they will be in his room. Ugh! I don’t think I can handle hearing it. I can’t go home. I’ll go to Rudy’s or something. They’ve got cheap beers and free hot dogs. I’ll drink and eat and it will all be great. But I’ll probably have to dodge vomit and drunk boys. And what if Tommy wants to take the mommy substitute to one of his favorite bars and then they see me and it’s “Oh, look, here’s my ex-girlfriend who is going to be listening for squeaks in the bed—what is she doing out alone?”

I can’t go anywhere in my neighborhood.

I see a sign for cheap beer, like some kind of scarecrow in the road. Ah, yes, I will shoot my film about solitude in black and white and color and it will be groundbreaking. But I hadn’t expected cheap two-dollar pints in this part of town. I’m sure it’s shit beer, but Tommy and Nancy will never come down here. It’s safe.

I go inside. It’s a pub that looks brand new. The metal of the stools glistens. The wooden bar and tables aren’t scratched. It feels like winter in here, not hot and sticky like it is outside, but warm.

I sit at the bar. The cute bartender asks me what I want. I can’t believe I can get a pint of Magic Hat #9 for two bucks, but I can. I do.

“Why is it so cheap?”

“We just opened.”

“It’s cool. What’s the name of it?”

“We don’t know yet, still deciding. It’s a sore spot. What’s your name?”

“Rebecca.”

“Yeah, it could be anything.” I could go for a little innocent—or not so innocent?—flirting. Bartenders always seem to work for Lauryn. This bartender is cute, but he is distracted by the guys at the other side of the bar.

There is a group of girls in a corner table, drinking bottles of beer. I’m guessing they’re a couple of years younger than I am. They’re at the stage when friends are still everything to them. I check to see if Beth’s called. She hasn’t.

“Something wrong?” I look up at a guy in a chef’s jacket and plaid pants. He’s come from the kitchen.

“No,” I say, and try to smile. “I just…no.”

“Wanna another beer?” I still have a couple more gulps left in my glass, but I shrug. He goes to the keg. “Magic Hat, right?”

“Yeah. Do you guys sell cigarettes?” I might as well smoke if I’m going to be drinking alone.

“No, we don’t, but I’ll give you one of mine.”

“Oh, you don’t have to.” He reaches into his pocket and offers me his pack. “I couldn’t, not in this city. It’s just not cool.”

“It’s okay. I bought two cases in New Hampshire. Real cheap. I can give them away. Besides, I keep trying to quit.” He lights my cigarette and one for him.

“Ben, fish and chips,” the bartender yells from the other side of the bar.

“Well, duty calls. I’m the cook. See you in a bit?” I nod. He has smiling eyes. “We’ve got great fish and chips, I hear. I don’t eat fish, but I know how to make it.”

“Okay.” He goes back behind the door again. He’s left his cigarette burning in my ashtray. That means he’ll come back. I go to the jukebox and put on some tunes. The girls are singing happy birthday to one of them. I smile and raise my drink.

“How old are you?” I say to the birthday girl.

“Thirty.” So maybe there’s hope for me and my friends. I go back to my stool. I stub out my cigarette. Ben’s is one big ugly ash. He comes out and puts a piece of chocolate cake in front of me. He walks down to the other end of the bar and puts a place setting in front of one of the guys. Ben watches him take the first bite. So do I. The guy smiles and exchanges some words with Ben. I’m hungry and I want Ben to come back. I guess this cake is for me, but I’m not going to touch it until I get the okay.

“What, you don’t like chocolate? It’s on the house.”

“Thank you. I haven’t even had dinner yet.”

“Nothing says you’ve got to play by the rules.” He is so cute. There is something about him that feels familiar to me. “Do you want another beer?”

“I guess. If it goes with chocolate cake.”

“C’mon,” he says. “What doesn’t go with beer and chocolate?”

“This is great,” I say, chewing my cake. My spirits are rising. I don’t want anyone else to order anything. I’m desperate for him to cook something for me, but I don’t want him to leave.

“Ben,” he says.

“Rebecca.” I hold out my hand. He wipes his on his pants
and shakes. I have no idea what to say to him. I feel a bit overwhelmed. “This place is great.”

“Oh, yeah. I love it.”

“Do you own it?”

“No, I wish. The owner’s a good friend.”

“How is it doing?” I check out his hand for a wedding ring. He seems older than me.

“So far, so good. It’s only the first week.”

“It must be your fish and chips. So how come you don’t like fish?”

“Ben, two shepherd’s pies,” the once-cute, now-evil bartender calls.

“This won’t take long. I just got to heat it up.” He holds my eye. “Rebecca, will you stay?”

“Okay.” I like how he says my name. If I stay, he might say it again.

My songs come on. I sip my beer. For the first time in a long time I don’t feel like going anywhere. I’m not anxious or sad or in a rush. What was in that chocolate cake?

He smiles when he comes back out, like he wasn’t sure I would be here. He gives me a plate of fish and chips and brings the other food to the table the bartender points out. He comes back and smiles at his burned cigarette.

“We don’t have a waitress yet. Know anyone who needs a job?”

“I do,” I say, raising my hand. “But I think I’d be a shit waitress. I’m not very nice to strangers.”

“I can’t believe that,” he teases. How is he so comfortable with me already?

“Thanks for this.” I start to take a fry.

“Careful, it’s hot.”

“Okay. Besides, I don’t think the food would ever make it to the table. I’d probably eat it on the way.” We smile at each other. Damn! I’m starting to feel nervous about something. I don’t know what to do, so I pick up a chip and eat it. It is hot, but crispy and perfect. I open my mouth to let some air in to cool off. “Issh delicioushh.”

“Thank you. I’ll get you some water and another beer.” He does both. He is now my bartender, waiter and chef. What more can he be?

“So, you asked why I didn’t eat fish?” Like a million minutes ago, but he was listening to me. “I’m a vegetarian.”

“Really,” I say, as if he just told me he had six toes. “It’s funny that you make so much of the stuff you don’t eat. I imagine the pub menu is full of meat.”

“It is. I am almost a vegan, but every now and then I need a grilled cheese or some cheese on my pasta.”

“Oh, God, I couldn’t live without cheese,” I say strongly. He laughs. I feel like a dork.

“I like your glasses.” Maybe this is proof of how dorky I am.

“Thank you. I got them at a store nearby called Selima. My friend Kathy should work there.” I tell him all about how Kathy wears glasses all the time and makes people get the right glasses for their face. He is looking at me the way I’m sure I’m looking at him, like everything is fascinating. The bartender calls him over for a shot.

“I’ll be right back. It’s this little tradition we have. Are you going to hang out?”

“Of course,” I say before I can stop myself, but it makes him smile so it’s worth it. I watch him do his shot. This is really strange. Is he just nice to all his customers? Maybe this is a ploy to drum up business.

“Whiskey will be the death of me. Or nicotine. You want another cigarette.” I nod and take one out of his pack. “You ate all your fish and chips. Good girl.”

“Oh, yeah. It was delicious. And I like to clean my plate.” What the hell am I saying?

“Good, I’m glad you liked it.” He stares at me.

“How old are you?” I ask.

He laughs. “Why?”

“Just wondering. How old?”

“Thirty-five. And you?”

“Twenty-seven.”

“What did you do before you didn’t have a job?”

“I used to write and produce a show called
Esme’s Enlightenments.
”
Used to,
it still hurts to say.