“So what’s the plan?” Kevin asked thirty minutes later as they shivered in the cold outside the Barclays Center.
“We’ll wait,” Will said as he blew warm air into his hands and then rubbed them together.
“Sure. Good plan, Whitaker. Can I make one little suggestion though?” Kevin pointed to the other side of Flatbush Avenue. “Why don’t we wait in that warm-looking pizza place right there?”
“What if we miss her?” He was already running through scenarios, trying to determine how the three of them needed to split up to best cover all the exits. It was then that he realized one-third of any scenario he could come up with was missing. “Hey, where’s Ellis?”
“Who’s the man?” their absentee friend suddenly boomed from behind them. “I’m the man!” He fanned three tickets out in his enormous hand.
“You got tickets?” Will exclaimed. “How in the world did you get tickets? Never mind. I don’t care. Let’s go!”
“You may not care, but I certainly do.” Kevin fumed as he snatched the tickets away from Ellis and got in his face. “I’m all for helping Will get McCaffrey back, but your face is literally on anti-ticket-scalping billboards all over the city. I saw you on the side of a bus yesterday! If anyone saw you . . .”
Ellis shook his head and brushed off Kevin’s concern. “No one saw me.” He laughed and patted Will on the back. “Besides, it’s all in the name of love. Let’s do this.”
Will and Ellis took off toward the entrance, but Kevin lagged behind. “Um, guys . . .”
“Oh, good grief, Swoosh! I’ll film a new PSA to salve your conscience, just come on!”
“It’s not that.” Kevin groaned as he handed the tickets back to Ellis and faced Will. “We are the proud bearers of three tickets to a concert by a Barry Manilow tribute band known as The Merry Granilows, happening now at a venue called Pete’s Candy Store.”
Ellis grimaced as he turned to Will. “I’m so sorry about that. But hey, I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner, but between the three of us I bet we can sweet-talk someone into letting us in. Take some selfies, sign some autographs . . .”
“Or, here’s a novel idea,” Kevin said. “Maybe we can maintain our dignity for the rest of the evening. I think it’s time to call it, Will.”
Ellis elbowed Kevin in the ribs. “Don’t listen to him. We’re with you, whatever you need.”
Will had no doubt that Ellis was interpreting his silence and hanging head as resignation and defeat, but nothing could have been further from the truth. Yes, he regretted the wasted time, but he was more determined than ever to win Cadie back in a grand and spectacular way.
“Who lives closest?” he asked.
“To here?” Ellis asked. When Will nodded, he answered, “Kev.”
“Then we’re going to Tribeca.”
“Why are we going to my house?” Kevin asked.
“You’re closest, and you said Larinda went to the concert, so she’s out tonight.” He pulled out his phone and quickly found his roommate in his contacts.
“Yes, but—”
The call picked up on the third ring. “Sam? Hey, it’s Will. Are you home?”
“Dude.” Sam laughed. “I can’t tell you the last time someone actually called me, like the old-fashioned way. The sound kind of freaked me out when it rang.”
“Are you home?” Will repeated emphatically as he began walking back toward where their ride was parked.
“Yeah, I’m home. What’s up?”
“I’m going to give you an address.” He snapped his fingers over his head and pointed toward Kevin. In response Ellis asked Kevin for his address, which Will promptly repeated to Sam. “Meet us there as soon as you can. We’ll be there in about a half hour. I need you to bring a few things with you. Do you have something to write this down?” He paused to give Sam a moment to find a pen and paper and then he said, “You ready? Okay, bring as many of the movies from the list as you can get your hands on, bring some white poster board, a marker, and bring a boom box.”
He was supremely proud of the entire conversation. It felt like the type of definitive conversation that would occur at the end of a scene in one of the movies, right before a montage of Will and his friends putting the plan into action—a montage that would probably be accompanied by some great eighties pop ballad.
But he forgot his roommate was a child.
“What’s a boom box?”
“You know, like a big stereo.”
“Okay. So do I need to bring speakers too? Do you need, like, subwoofers and all, or—”
Unbelievable. “No, Sam, the speakers are built in.”
“So why don’t you just use your phone or an iPod or something?”
“Because it won’t be loud enough.”
“Oh, so you just need me to bring a Bluetooth speaker to connect to your phone. Got it.”
Will let out a frustrated groan, and Ellis took the phone from him and smiled as he whispered, “Allow me.” He put the phone up to his ear and said, “Sammy! It’s Ellis. I believe our man is planning to attempt a Say Anything moment. Yes, exactly. Okay, thanks. See you soon.”
Ellis ended the call and tossed the phone back to Will.
From several feet behind them, Kevin sighed. “I should have known that it was too much to ask that we maintain our dignity for the rest of the evening.”
20
The Rest of the Evening
I am so glad I bumped into you girls!” Larinda said as she hugged Darby and me outside of the Barclays Center.
The three of us had been chatting since we ran into each other in the merch line immediately following the concert. I’d always loved Larinda. Through the years I’d spent a lot of time visiting with her at various social functions and the occasional dinner party at their house, but in all that time we had never connected the dots regarding our shared Manilove. Thanks to Barry Manilow, we were now bonded for life.
The only surprising part of any of it was that Darby was right there with us.
Now clothed in a red “Very Barry Christmas” sweater over her regular clothes, with a “#1 Fanilow” beanie on her head and various other goodies bursting out of her “Barry Manilow: Live!” tote bag, it was safe to say that Darby no longer looked down on my Manilow fandom.
Larinda prepared to step into the cab that had pulled over to the curb in response to her signal, but then she took a look back at us—most notably, my pantyhose-clad legs.
“It’s freezing. Why don’t you two take this one, and I’ll get the next?”
“That’s very sweet.” I shivered, in spite of my best intentions to the contrary. “But if it takes too long I’ll just borrow Darby’s fleece Barry blanket.”
Darby scoffed. “I didn’t end up buying the blanket, remember? It was too expensive, and I needed to be able to buy the coffee mug.”
I smiled at Larinda. “We’ll be fine. Thanks.”
She got in, shut the door, and waved as the taxi pulled away, but after driving about ten feet, the car suddenly stopped with a screech. Larinda’s window rolled down and her arm motioned us over.
“Why don’t you come over to the house for a while? Kevin’s at Enzo’s poker night, so he won’t be home until tomorrow morning sometime. I’m not quite ready for the fun to end yet.”
It had been a very long day and I was beyond exhausted—physically, mentally, emotionally. I had long ago broken my own personal record of time spent with nylon constricting my legs like sausage casings, and though I was used to wearing heels, I wasn’t used to wearing them across multiple New York City boroughs and Long Island.
But I, like Larinda, was having a lot of fun, and all that awaited me at home were quiet and loneliness and reminders of decisions that had to be made—all of which were the very opposite of fun.
“I’m in if you are,” I said, turning to Darby.
She nodded enthusiastically, and Larinda rolled up her window. Darby and I stepped off the curb to approach the other side of
the car and then climbed in—Darby in the front, me in the back by Larinda.
As I fastened my seat belt and got settled in, Larinda said, “I’ve actually been meaning to have you over for a while. Truthfully, ever since Kevin mentioned that you and Will split up. You know . . . to get the scoop. But I thought I should wait the appropriate amount of time, so it didn’t look like I was just seeking out gossip.”
I laughed. “Though clearly . . .”
“Yes, I really want to know what happened. Have I waited the appropriate amount of time?”
In the front seat, Darby was apparently in her own little Barry bubble. “What’s your favorite Barry Manilow song?” she asked the driver.
I shrugged and told Larinda, “There’s not much to it, really. We were heading nowhere. It just took me a long time to figure that out.”
She tsked sadly. “Well, I was really sorry to hear things didn’t work out. Are you doing okay?”
“I am. A lot better since I decided to leave ASN, actually.”
“That would be difficult, I imagine.” She shifted in her seat and elegantly crossed her legs. I couldn’t picture a day when I would ever have the capacity to elegantly cross my legs in a cab. “Seeing him every day, especially when his career is really taking off, would be awkward, I would think. It would be pretty near impossible not to feel some resentment toward him doing so well.”
I considered that for a moment and then shook my head. “No, I don’t think I felt any resentment toward his success. Toward his name and face being everywhere? Yes. But his success?” I shook my head more fervently. “I’m happy for him. He deserves it.”
The pattern beneath our feet changed as we drove onto the Brooklyn Bridge and began our trek back across the East River. As I reflected on the different sounds that accompanied the shift in roadway, I also began reflecting on the truth of my statement. I was happy for him. No matter how much I wished he had done things differently in our relationship, and no matter how much I still felt confused and bewildered that something that had once been so good had resulted in so much nothingness, I didn’t have it in me to hate him, or even dislike him. I wanted him to be happy and successful and, someday, in love.
Slow down, Cadie, I thought in response to the tightness in my throat and the sinking feeling that had invaded my stomach. One step at a time.
“He’s a good guy,” Larinda said. “And I’m sure that in his own time he’ll find a way to move on.”
“From me?” I chuckled because it felt like the appropriate response—not because the thought of Will moving on in any way filled me with humor. The thought that he would have to “find a way” was, I admit, somewhat amusing. “I really don’t think he’ll have much trouble.”
“What makes you say that?” Larinda asked, and I noticed that Darby had begun paying attention. I could always count on her to be standing by with a rebuttal for whatever self-deprecating comment I uttered.
But I wasn’t feeling self-deprecating at all. Just factual.
“He’s a catch, for one thing,” I began. Both ladies looked at me with wide eyes, and I laughed. “What? I don’t have any problem admitting that. When I met him, I was completely smitten within minutes. He’s charming and smart and hilarious, and really kind.”
“He’s also a stud,” Larinda muttered.
I laughed once again, but Darby laughed harder.
“You don’t really have a type, do you?” Darby asked. I understood her point. Physically, it was difficult to piece together a single similarity between Kevin Lamont and Will Whitaker.
Larinda joined us in our giggling. “I do have a type, and I assure you, I’m married to it. But that doesn’t keep me from appreciating what Will has going for him.”
Darby twisted more in her seat in order to face us. “I’ve never really seen it. I love Will, but he’s kind of a dork.”
“Oh, he’s totally a dork,” I agreed, and Larinda laughed and nodded. “I think that’s what I found so attractive about him. I always loved that he wasn’t caught up in his looks like a lot of guys, or even aware of his looks. He’s certainly never had any clue how women look at him.” I sighed. “I don’t know . . . I think he’s kind of a Picasso. Most of the individual aspects don’t really make sense together. The pieces don’t fit. But when it all connects and you see the whole canvas, it’s rather artistic and beautiful.”
We pulled up to the Lamonts’ gorgeous Federal-style townhouse in Tribeca and all reached into our purses to gather money for the cab fare. Larinda shooed our money away and took care of it herself, and then we all stepped out.
I’d always loved their home. I’d always loved Tribeca, actually. It was my favorite residential area in New York, and though I had no intention of ever leaving Greenwich Village, if I did, it would be for Tribeca. To live in Kevin and Larinda’s townhouse, I’d have left the Village in a heartbeat, before you could say “banana pudding.”
We walked across the private cobblestone mews to their four-story home, and I marveled as I always did. They lived only a couple of blocks, in various directions, from the Hudson River, Holland Tunnel, various subway stations . . . and yet you couldn’t hear a sound.
Darby had never been there, and I watched her take it all in as we walked up the front stoop and into the rustically decorated living room. It had the quaint and comfortable feel of a family farmhouse and yet the extravagance of the multimillion-dollar property that it was.
“Take your coats off, ladies,” Larinda insisted. “Cadie, kick off those shoes. Hot tea, coffee, a glass of wine?”
“Coffee,” Darby and I answered emphatically in unison.
Our hostess smiled. “You’ve got it.”
She headed off toward the kitchen and we made ourselves at home as we’d been instructed—though Darby’s Manilow hat didn’t leave her head.
“So why didn’t you ever tell me?” Darby whispered when we were alone.
“Tell you what?”
“How gorgeous this house is. I have such house envy right now it’s not even funny.”
“Oh, I know!” I laughed softly as I looked at her. “I kind of thought you were going to ask me why I never told you Barry Manilow would change your life.”
She looped her arm through mine as we began walking toward the kitchen. With a sigh she said, “You did tell me that. And I was a fool for not believing you.”
“So, Cadie,” Larinda began as soon as we appeared in the doorway. “You were telling us the reasons you don’t think Will will have difficulty moving on.”
Our journey indoors hadn’t been enough to distract from that lovely conversation. Goody.
“I think I was done.”
She shook her head. “No, you said, ‘he’s a catch, for one thing,’ which must mean there is more than one thing.”
I looked to Darby as she and I climbed onto barstools at the island in the center of the kitchen, but my best friend was no help whatsoever. She just shrugged and said, “You did say that.”
Unable to come up with any way out of the conversation, I said, “In a lot of ways, I think he was over me a long time before we broke up, so I don’t think that moving on will really be a problem. That’s all I meant. Besides, I’m pretty sure he’s already in a relationship with Anna Alvarez.”
Darby groaned and faced Larinda. “This is what I deal with.” Her attention was back on me as she said, “How many times do I have to tell you there is nothing going on there?”
With a shrug meant to convey all of the indifference I knew I was supposed to be feeling, I said, “Maybe there wasn’t before, but you should have seen the way she just walked over to him earlier and grabbed on to him.” I felt the heat rising in my cheeks and I was suddenly aware of the scornful way I was feeling. I could have no doubt that the scorn had overtaken my face, as well. “And I don’t care, of course,” I quickly qualified, “but regardless of who you are or what the situation, it’s just bad form to act that way in front of someone’s ex.”
Espec
ially when they’ve only been officially broken up for a month and a half, and the guy and his ex were finally having their first relatively nice conversation. Well, at least their first relatively nice conversation after the very nice conversation that almost led to a kiss. Hasn’t Anna read the rule book?
I knew that Will’s involvement with Anna shouldn’t alter my intent to follow my mom’s advice. I still needed to talk to him, apologize for my part of the wrongdoings, forgive him, and figure out a way to clear the air so that I could move forward.
Admittedly, seeing him with Anna had made me slightly less confident that forgiveness was the final step to placing Will firmly in my past and moving on to a bright, sunny future.
Tears brimmed my eyes and I buried my face in my hands in an attempt to hide my sadness. I’m pretty sure my forlorn posture and suddenly incessant sniffing still gave it away.
“What’s wrong?” Darby asked as she jumped down from her stool and wrapped her arms around me.
Even in front of Darby, I’d done a pretty good job of remaining stoic, I thought. Sure, we’d talked about every last detail of my relationship with Will and pored over and scrutinized the minutia of the breakup, but through it all I’d been resolute that ending things had been for the best. That hadn’t changed, but something had.
I continued sniffing and raised my head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t—”
“Yes, you should,” Larinda insisted. “Honey, get it out. If you stifle it and bury it long enough, you’ll wake up one day and realize there’s nothing that needs to get out.”
That sounded nice. “Isn’t that a good thing?”
Larinda placed her hand on mine and shook her head. “Doesn’t mean anything’s healed. It just means it’s become a part of you.”
Admittedly, that sounded less nice.
“I just miss him,” I uttered softly.
I felt them both gawking at what I imagine was a declaration they weren’t expecting, and I wanted to take it back. Actually, I wanted to take it back for a myriad of reasons, but I couldn’t. It was true.
Wooing Cadie McCaffrey Page 23