32AA

by Michelle Cunnah

  I instantly forget my caring-person voice and decide on tonight’s method of getting rid of this irritating person who is trying to extract cash from me. And let’s face it, my feelings towards the MASS mothers are not exactly friendly at the moment. As Hal continues to drone on at me (bearing in mind he hasn’t stopped talking since I picked up), I can’t help it. I know what I’m going to do.

  “Ich habe eine grosse Bitte an dich,” I say (no, I am not calling Hal a big dick, although I am sorely tempted to call him something very rude, indeed).

  “Say, what was that? Do you wanna do the silver option?”

  Do you know what? I’m really not in the mood to do this tonight. I mean, how childish is it, torturing poor Hal just because I can’t stand Marion Lacy?

  “Or do you want to go for the premium gold option of ninety dollars? You can give me your pledge now, we’ll get the paperwork in the mail—”

  That’s it. I’ve had enough. I’m so glad that Sylvester spent a year in Austria as a pastry chef.

  “Und nun verpiss’ dich endlich und lass’ mich in Ruhe.”

  Okay, so I couldn’t resist it. I have just told Hal to fuck off and leave me alone.

  10:30 P.M.

  I am in love.

  Robert Plant is totally sublime. And I know exactly how to solve all of my problems—I have a completely great plan. I just have to (a) quit my job, (b) give away all my possessions, and (c) become a groupie and follow Bob around the world.

  Also, I’d never have to see Norbert ever again.

  Our evening has not gone well. This is what happened.

  When I arrive at the great new wine bar where we have arranged to meet, Norbert is not alone. He has already started making friends and influencing people—two people, in fact. Two very attractive twentysomething girls.

  “Emma, good to see you,” Norbert says. “Meet Shelly and Nicole. We just kinda got talking.”

  “Hi,” Shelly and Nicole tell me, checking me out thoroughly. And then they return all of their attention to Norbert, as they giggle and fawn all over him.

  Although I try to be interested in the conversation and make one or two attempts to join it, they really are not interested in me. More in what surgical procedures Norbert thinks they would benefit from. But they’re lovely, for heaven’s sake. Why would they want to do anything to themselves? I’m happy for Norbert, though. I really am. Because this will give him the self-confidence he needs to overcome his insecurities.

  “Take Emma, here,” Norbert tells Shelly and Nicole. “I’ve been sayin’ to her for ages that she should get hers done. It really gives a woman the confidence she needs to overcome her insecurities. I see it all the time.”

  “Oh, you’re so lucky,” Nicole or Shelly giggles to me.

  “I’d love to date a plastic surgeon,” giggles the other Shelly or Nicole. “Someone just like Norbert.”

  “Oh, we ain’t dating,” Norbert tells them. “We’re old pals, me and Emma. I work with her dad.”

  “Oh,” they both say, then forget about me.

  Anyway. I’m forgetting all about Norbert for now. Apart from the fact that he has left me alone all evening to flirt with other women, Bob is just starting to sing “Whole Lotta Love.” Truly, truly sublime.

  “Emma,” Norbert yells in my ear. “Do you wanna go now? I mean, Plant’s not what he was, is he?”

  No, I do not want to go. And he is right about Bob.

  “You’re right,” I tell Norbert as I watch Bob. “He’s like a fine wine—just gets better with age.”

  “Oh. Well, we gotta go soon. Only I got five ops tomorrow and I need to get my sleep.”

  I don’t make it to the stage door. I do not get to make eye contact with Bob, and he does not sweep me away in his limousine.

  Instead, Norbert sweeps me away as soon as Robert finishes his encore. As the cab pulls up outside the apartment, I wonder how I can get out of kissing Norbert good-night. I really hate this about first dates. To kiss or not to kiss. Especially when you know you’re not going on a second date with them.

  “Emma, don’t take this the wrong way,” Norbert says, just as I am bracing myself to endure. “But I don’t think it’s gonna work between us. I mean, there’s just no chemistry.”

  “I was just about to say the same thing,” I say, relieved.

  “You’re a nice-looking chick, and all,” Norbert continues. “But you just ain’t the right type for me. Sorry, Emma, but you just don’t do it for me, babe.”

  Oh God. I’m old and ugly and unattractive.

  Thursday evening

  Girlie night in Tish’s overcrowded living room. The video of choice tonight is What Women Want, because, apart from the fact that Mel Gibson is hot, it is Tish’s favorite movie and it’s her turn to choose. Plus I think they’re sick of hearing about Robert Plant, and how wonderful he is, and how fabulous the planet would be if all men were Robert Plant.

  Mel is just about to try on pantyhose when the front door buzzer buzzes. I have a mouthful of four-cheese pizza, but am also the nearest, so I pick up.

  “Hewow,” I say, chewing madly.

  “Emma?” It’s Katy.

  “Yef.” But I thought you were on your way to Disneyland, I nearly say, but I don’t because (a) my mouth is full, and (b) she obviously isn’t on her way to Disneyland. But I press the buzzer to let her in.

  “I hope nothing’s gone wrong,” Tish frets. “I wonder where Tom is? Do you suppose they had a fight and now the whole vacation is off?”

  Oh no. Surely it hasn’t come to that, has it?

  “Marion Lacy better not be involved,” Rachel says, taking a hefty swig of her wine. “That woman is a public menace.”

  God, if Tom and Katy split up because of some stupid, pushy, arrogant, bitchy broad, what will happen to poor Alex?

  “You should have heard me, girls,” Katy says as she comes into the room, her face flushed and triumphant. “I was great. I was empowered. Boy, did I kick ass. Can I get some wine?”

  “But why aren’t you on vacation?” Rachel asks. “You’ve had a fight with Tom, haven’t you? I knew it. You have had a fight with Tom.” And she’s off in full rant mode. “You are so lucky to have him,” she continues. “Not only is he supportive and kind, he’s also intelligent, which is rare for a guy. I can’t believe you’d be so stupid.”

  This stops us all in our tracks. Is this really Rachel speaking, or has her brain been hijacked by aliens?

  “What are you talking about? Tom’s a complete angel,” Katy says. “Why would you even think I’ve had fight with Tom? After he planned such a wonderful surprise for our anniversary? We’re leaving in half an hour. I just had to stop by and tell you about my fight with Marion Lacy.”

  Oh. That takes the wind out of Rachel’s sails. And out of mine and Tish’s, too.

  “It was great,” Katy says, pouring some wine. “Marion came up with a fundraising plan. She expected me to spend the whole weekend calling strangers and asking them for money. Can I get a slice of that?” she asks, stuffing pizza into her mouth. “I mean, can you believe that?”

  “But you’ve never said no to her before,” Rachel reminds her.

  “I know.” She pauses midchew. “I was a wuss. What can I say? But I’m not anymore.”

  “Yes, but what actually happened?” I ask. “Get back to the story.”

  “Okay. Well, she dropped by unexpectedly this afternoon so I made Tom answer the door.” She blushes just a bit and then pushes on.

  “I know that was weak of me. Weak. But when Tom told her I was unavailable this weekend, she really laid into him. Right on our own doorstep.” She pauses, then pulls a face. “Okay, I was hiding in the living room so I heard every word.”

  “I’d hide, too, if Marion Lacy came knocking on my door,” I tell her loyally. Because it’s true.

  “Thanks, hon,” Katy says. “I appreciate the support.”

  “So how exactly did you kick ass if you were hiding?” Rachel prompts he
r.

  “I’m just getting to that. You see, it was when she laid into Tom about how he dominates me, and how controlling men are in general that I got real mad. How could she pick on Tom? That was the final straw. I came out, all guns blazing, and told her what a cold, interfering bitch she was and what she could do with her PPPTA and her MASS mothers.”

  “Atta girl,” I tell her.

  “Wow. I wish I’d been a fly on the wall,” Tish says.

  “Fucking fabulous, darling,” Rachel says. And then, “Speaking of flying—you’d better go. Much as we all love you, and this may come as a shock, the airline doesn’t feel the same way about you. They have flight schedules to worry about.”

  “Thanks.” Katy hugs us all on her way out of the door. “You’re such good friends.”

  Friday night

  I’m pumping iron in the gym. I’m not doing the fat-burning aerobics, because I don’t want to burn fat—I want to encourage it as much as I can. In a nation obsessed by obesity, we thinnies tend to be forgotten—I mean, how often do you hear people bragging about how many pounds they gained over the vacation? Personally, I think a little extra weight on women is lovely. I’d love to be a nice, curvy size ten.

  And the disgusting shakes and the exercise are starting to work. I put on three pounds this week, which means I’m no longer officially underweight, according to my body mass indicator. So that’s good, isn’t it?

  But I am officially homeless for the weekend, which is not good.

  Last night, Tish ordered me out of her apartment. Actually, she didn’t order me out at all. She very sweetly and kindly asked if I’d mind spending this weekend at Rachel’s instead, because she wants to invite Julio back for breakfast in bed. They’ve already been on four dates, so it’s time to progress to the next stage.

  “I know you’re allergic to Rachel’s cats, but it’s only for two nights,” Tish tells me. “Sorry, Emma, I wouldn’t ask, but we can’t go to Julio’s because he lives with his uncle. I should have mentioned it earlier this evening, but with Katy and her kicking-Marion’s-ass story, I forgot.”

  “Course I don’t mind. Stop apologizing,” I say, wondering how much allergy medication I have left. “No problem.”

  “Oh, sorry, but would you mind storing some of your stuff at Rachel’s too, to make some space in the living room? Maybe you could take the huge plant?”

  So I call Rachel straightaway and ask if I can store some stuff in her storage room for the weekend. Before I ask if I can store me on her sofabed for the weekend too, she interrupts me.

  “Sure. But can you bring it round now? I have weekend breakfast-in-bed plans with Marco.”

  So I can’t stay there, either. Obviously.

  So what’s going on? Everyone but me suddenly has weekend-breakfast-in-bed plans? I feel left out. Why don’t I have an overnight date?

  Katy and Tom are still in Florida, so that’s good. But they didn’t leave a spare key, so I can’t even squat at their place. Plus Sylvester’s mom is visiting, so their spare room is also out of the question. It seems pathetic to call Dad and ask him and Peri if I can stay with them. They’ll only worry, and maybe they’ll force me to move back in with them permanently. Then there’s the terrible twins…

  On the bright side, Dad ordered new car keys for me, so at least I have my car back. He and Uncle Derek drove down last weekend, because Dad insisted that I shouldn’t be put to any trouble, seeing as it was the twins who caused the problem in the first place. I think he just wanted to get out of the house and away from the twins for a while. And Uncle Derek only mentioned breast implants once. Which is good, for him.

  I wonder if the backseat of my car is comfortable? I mean, lots of people sleep in their cars, don’t they? And if I hunker down, no one will be able to see me, will they? I’m parked half a block from Tish’s apartment, and it’s a nice part of Hoboken, so it’s not like anything could happen, could it?

  I could check into a hotel, but the whole point of not doing that is so that I can save money. I have to save money—I can’t stay with Tish much longer. I’ve got eight hundred dollars in my savings account. So once I save approximately double that, and trade in my car, I should be able to afford to move into a really dreadful, cramped apartment.

  The thought of living in any of the apartments I’ve seen is depressing, so I abandon my weight training and take a leisurely sauna and shower. Actually, I think my muscles are getting bigger. I’m sure I’ve got more definition. I check my watch again. It’s still only 9:15 P.M.

  I decide to retreat to the juice bar to while away more time. It is nearly empty. Obviously, everyone else has something better to do on Friday night. Apart from me. I think the gym closes at eleven.

  Just as I am drinking my second carrot juice and wondering how much more of it I can stomach, someone sits at my table.

  “No hot date tonight?” Jack asks me.

  His hair is still damp from the shower. He’s wearing shabby old jeans and a faded white T-shirt. His biceps gleam healthily, and so do his teeth as he smiles at me.

  “No,” I tell him, stirring my carrot juice. “You?”

  “No. Didn’t finish work until eight thirty—too late to set something up. Mind if I join you?”

  Oh, so he’s alone through choice then. This does not make me feel better. This makes me feel even more belligerent toward the whole world in general, so my reply is not very friendly.

  “It’s a bit late to ask, isn’t it? Seeing as you’ve already got your feet under the table.”

  “Okay. I’ll leave.” He scrapes back his chair and I panic. It’s only Jack, but at least he’s human and breathing. Someone to talk to. Someone with whom to while away the lonely hours before bedtime.

  “No. No, it’s fine. Stay if you want to.”

  “Gee, thanks,” he says, rather dryly. “Try not to be too enthusiastic.” But he sits back down, so he can’t be that pissed with me.

  For a couple of minutes we drink our liquidated vegetables.

  “So how come you’re not out on the town?” he asks.

  It sounds like a challenge. It sounds like, “So what’s wrong with you? No one like you enough to ask you for a date?”

  “Didn’t feel like it,” I lie. “Work’s hell at the moment.”

  “Yeah. Me too.”

  “Well, good,” I say. “I’m glad we got that sorted out. We’re both young, attractive, educated people who prefer to spend our Friday night without Friday-night dates.”

  And when he looks at me in that who-are-we-kidding-here way, I can’t help but smile, and then he’s smiling back at me.

  “You didn’t get asked, did you?” he says.

  “No.”

  “Me neither.”

  We grin at each other in a conspiratorial kind of way.

  “Have you eaten yet?”

  “Only veggies,” I say, pointing at my drink. “Very nutritious.”

  “I hate eating alone. You want to come eat with me? You look kinda hungry.”

  “What? You mean like a date? You must be desperate.”

  “Desperate for sustenance. This is a nondate. Just two hungry people. You look like you need to eat.”

  “Gee, thanks.” A nondate? Well, it’s better than sitting here alone, isn’t it? “For your information, I’ve put on three pounds this week,” I tell him.

  “Well, see? You gotta keep up the good work. Come on. I know this great Thai place. You like Thai food?”

  “You’ve only been back in Hoboken for a month and you already know the great places to eat?”

  “Hey, man cannot live by love alone, you know.”

  “Please don’t feel you have to share those details with me.” I giggle.

  Surprisingly, I have a really good time on my nondate with Jack. I think it’s liberating to have dinner with someone you don’t like and who doesn’t like you. You don’t have to pretend to be something you’re not to impress him, and you don’t have to worry about saying anything to
hurt him. I’m dying to ask about his ex-fiancée though, but think that may be going a little too far.

  “So let me get this straight,” Jack says, as he devours another bite of spicy chicken. “Adam is your ex-boyfriend and he’s also your boss? Jesus, that’s not good. Not good at all.”

  “Yeah. I know, I know,” I say, waving my hands. “Don’t give me the lecture. I already had it from Rachel.”

  “Nope. No lecture. You want any more of this noodle?”

  “I can’t,” I say holding my hand to my throat. “Too full.”

  “Okay, if you’re sure. This is great. I told you this place is great, didn’t I?” Jack says, finishing it off in two mouthfuls. And then, “I dated my boss once.”

  He did?

  “You did?” Wonder if I should ask him what happened. Would that be too nosy? “What happened?”

  “Oh, same old, same old.”

  Obviously he doesn’t want to talk about it, so I won’t push. I’m not that interested, anyway.

  “We got engaged. Then she met someone else.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” I say. “That’s terrible.”

  Interesting. It explains a lot about Jack.

  “It happens. I was too young to get married, anyway. At least she left me before the wedding. She did me a favor. Can you pass me the shrimp?”

  And although I want to hear the whole story, Jack obviously doesn’t want to tell it, and we chat about stupid stuff. After he’s vacuumed the rest of the food from the dishes, we realize that the restaurant staff are anxiously hovering because it is now 11:30 and they want to close up.

  Jack insists on paying for the food, and since it is only twenty-five dollars for the two of us, I let him. It’s when he insists on walking me home that I balk.

  “It’s a few blocks—it’s out of your way—I do it all the time.” I hedge.

  “Yeah, but I need to know you’re safe. Your dad would kill me if anything happened to you after you’d been out with me.”

  Oh, so he’s worried about my dad. Not about me, then. How can I get rid of him?