“But you live in the opposite direction,” I say.
“Come on,” he says, and I know that it is pointless to protest. Besides, if I protest too much, he’ll smell a rat.
What do I do when we get to Tish’s? I can’t tell him I’m sleeping in my car. How pathetic does that sound?
Oh, here we are already, outside Tish’s!
And the living-room light is on, which means Tish and Julio are up there. Which means I can’t let myself in, then cunningly slip out once Jack’s gone.
“Actually, I feel like a drive,” I tell him, as I hesitate, key in hand. “You know what? That’s just what I’m gonna do. Go for a drive.”
“At this time of night? Are you serious?”
“Yes. I like driving at nighttime. By myself. On the turnpike. I’m helping my friend Katy with her MADD campaign.” I open the car door and climb in.
“You’re mad,” he says, shaking his head.
“Can I give you a ride home?” This would be a cunning way to get rid of him.
“No, I like to walk,” he says, obviously perplexed.
I have now confirmed his earlier suspicions that I am a crazy, deranged woman. But this is better than him thinking I am a pathetic sleeping-in-a-car person.
“So, thanks for the nondate,” I tell him. “You were right—the food was great.”
“You’re welcome. Good-night, then.”
But after I close the door, he’s still waiting on the sidewalk. Oh, God, he’s waiting for me to leave. I’ll have to drive around the block a few times until he’s gone. But if I do that, maybe someone will take this parking space. But what else can I do?
Engine on, lights on, he’s still there. I wave, smile, and pull out. Once around the block should do it. I go around three blocks, just to make sure.
Five minutes later there’s no sign of Jack. And my space is thankfully empty, so after five attempts, I manage to reverse back into it without bending any fenders. I get out of the front, after checking there’s no one around, then climb into the back. I lock the doors and try to get comfy.
I’m glad I had the foresight to throw a comforter and cushion in here. I hope no one can see me. I cringe as I hear a crowd of Friday night revelers pass on the other side of the street.
I’m fine. It’s okay.
This is actually quite comfortable.
Five minutes later, just as I am imagining all kinds of dreadful scenarios and generally working myself up into a bundle of nerves, I nearly die on the spot when someone knocks on the window.
Oh God. What do I do now?
I pull the comforter over my head and pretend to be a pile of old clothes. But then they knock again. I’ll just have to leap into the front seat and make a dash for it. I brace myself and throw back the comforter.
It’s Jack.
Oh God. And he’s knocking again. I open the window just a little. He doesn’t look very happy.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Taking a nap,” I say, folding my arms across my chest. I feel so stupid.
“I thought you were going for a drive.”
“I was, but then I got tired and decided to take a nap first.” Okay, so that sounds lame.
He runs a hand through his hair, and sighs.
“What’s going on, Emma?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all. Just go home. I’m good.”
“You’re crazy. You were going to spend the night in your car, weren’t you? How come you can’t go into your apartment?”
It’s obvious he’s not going anywhere until I give him an explanation.
“Look, Tish has a guy in there. They’re having a romantic weekend, and they don’t need an unromantic third wheel in the living room, and the walls are really thin. Okay?”
“Don’t you have other friends you can stay with?”
“Of course. I have plenty of friends. Plenty. They’re just…all busy.”
“Give me your keys. Come on, give,” he says, as he pushes his hand through the window.
“No, I’m fine. I’ll go check into a hotel right now.”
“I don’t trust you.”
“That’s your problem.”
He doesn’t say a word, but pulls out his cell phone and starts punching numbers.
“Who are you calling?”
“Peri.”
Oh God, not Peri. I will never hear the last of it.
“Okay,” I say, handing him my car keys. “You win.”
16
Home from Home
TO DO
Figure out a way to move in with Jack.
Figure out how to get a new boyfriend. Apart from missing sex, I cannot attend Colleague of the Year alone.
Make sure am completely alone before next impersonating Cinderella making entrance at ball.
Saturday night
Jack’s house is lovely!
When I say lovely, I mean it has great potential. At the moment it mostly resembles a building site, because two of the second-floor bedrooms are undergoing floor restoration and are sealed off with thick plastic sheeting. Strange machines and toolboxes lurk in corners. The master bedroom, Jack’s room, is next on the list, but he says he has to wait awhile until he’s saved more cash. But even in its unrestored state, it’s beautiful. He has so much light and space! He has three whole floors to himself.
He’s put me in the huge attic room, which is great, because apart from the fact it is so spacious and light, it has an en suite bathroom—or at least it will once the shower’s been installed. But there is a toilet and basin, so at least I can pee and brush my teeth in peace. And there’s an air-conditioning unit.
Bliss.
I’d forgotten what it was like to have space.
It’s so great to be on my own. By myself. No one to disturb my solitude.
I wonder who I can call?
Hmm…Tish and Rachel are possibly (depending on how last night went) entertaining Julio and Marco. (Though obviously, not all in the same bed. At least I hope not. Marco’s friends were very odd.) Sylvester and David—nope, no time to chat—the restaurant’s probably heaving. I’ll see them tomorrow night, anyway…I hope Katy and Tom are having a good time in Disneyland.
I’ll just have another walk around the house, but obviously will avoid the master bedroom—I don’t want to invade Jack’s privacy. Maybe I’ll just peek around the door…My God, the size of his bed! No, I’m not even going there. Do not even think about it.
Jack doesn’t have much furniture yet (apart from beds)—it makes sense to wait until the renovations are completed before filling the rooms. But the living room is finished. The floor is a beautiful rich cherry brown, and although the walls and drapes are cream, it’s not cold in the way of Adam’s apartment. Jack believes in color and texture. Lovely green sofa and chairs, with russet and yellow cushions. The central rug is pale-green-and-white check. I can just picture the color and light that will fill the rest of the house…
Jack’s got a date tonight. But he told me to make myself at home, so I am. I’m currently making myself very comfortable on the squishy sofa. I’m wearing pajamas, I have grilled cheese sandwiches, and I’ve rented The Wedding Planner from Blockbuster. I love this movie. It’s a really feel good movie. Plus Matthew McConaughey is extremely hot. I wish he’d been around to save my Manolo Blahnik shoes…Wonder if they’re fixable? I can’t quite bring myself to throw them away.
The only problem is that Jack’s house has totally ruined me for apartment hunting. I really have to explore more apartment opportunities. There must be something out there for me, surely? But the ones I saw today were no improvement on the previous batch, and all the time I was trying to be objective about small, grotty bedrooms, I couldn’t help but envision Jack’s attic.
Jack was very unamused last night after blackmailing me with Peri. He didn’t give me any lectures, but he barely spoke to me as he drove my Beetle to his garage. Typical man—I mean, I do know how to drive. It is my car. Still, he was
okay this morning.
I thought I’d slip out of the house early and get breakfast at Rufus’s deli to cheer me up before checking out today’s list of apartments. But as I came down the stairs, the smell of bacon wafted up to greet me. And then Jack wafted to the kitchen doorway to greet me.
This is what happened.
“Hi. You sleep okay?” he says. “Come and have breakfast.”
Oh. Thank God he’s not pissed at me anymore.
“You sure there’s enough? I don’t want to steal your food,” I say, because my stomach is now growling and I do want to make peace with Jack.
“You kidding? You don’t eat enough to keep a bird alive. There’s coffee in the pot and mugs in the cupboard.”
“Thanks.”
“Here,” he says, as he pushes a huge plate of bacon, scrambled eggs, and toast under my nose. “Eat.”
“This is way too much.”
“Knock yourself out. So where are you planning to stay tonight? You want me to check out the park for a bench? I hear the graveyard’s very popular—loads of benches and comfortable tombs there.”
“Don’t exaggerate. I would have been fine in my car.”
“Sure. I can just see the news headlines now,” he says, taking a bite from his toast. “I can’t believe you have flowers painted on that car. I can’t believe I drove that car. I’m sure glad it was dark—I’d never live it down if someone saw me driving that car. It’s so—so girly.”
“Well, I am a girl. I love that car.” Obviously, he has no taste.
“It’s okay to love the car. Just don’t live in the car. Do you know how stupid that was?”
“Yes,” I say, indignant, because he’s right. “Look.” I wave a fork of bacon at him. “I don’t poke my nose in your business, so you keep out of mine. I’m saving money, okay? Because if I don’t, I might be spending a lot more nights sleeping on that backseat, flowers or not.”
“I’m so not poking my nose in your business. We’re family. Interfering is compulsory. That bacon’s about to make a bid for freedom—I’d eat it quick if I were you.”
“You are so like Peri,” I tell him as I push the fork into my mouth.
There’s silence as we eat. But it’s not uncomfortable, because I’m not really pissed at him anymore. Before I realize, I’ve eaten three quarters of the food on my plate.
“You finished with that?”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
“Pass it over.”
As Jack finishes my breakfast, I stack dishes in the dishwasher, because Jack cooked, so it’s only fair that I clean up, isn’t it?
“Okay,” I say, grabbing my purse. “I’ve got to hit the real-estate agents. Thanks for breakfast. And thanks for letting me stay.”
Wonder if I could stay tonight?
“Hey.” Jack follows me into the hall and dangles a bunch of keys in front of me. “I have a date tonight so you’ll need these to get back in,” he tells me with a wry smile. “See you later. Or maybe tomorrow morning.”
Whew.
How kind is that?
Wonder what it would be like if I lived here?
11:30 P.M.
I wake up to the sound of voices, and for a moment I can’t remember where I am. Oh. Jack’s house. I meant to head up to bed before he got back, because I wanted to avoid a sticky I’ve-brought-a-date-home-for-the-night situation. But I’m too late. I jump off the sofa just as they head into the kitchen. Don’t want to cramp his style. I want him to realize how easy I am to live with. I’ve already disinfected the bathroom and cleaned the kitchen floor. Wonder if I can make it up the stairs without them noticing me?
I am just about to climb onto the first stair when they come out of the kitchen with drinks. The immaculate, well-stacked blonde stops in her tracks as she spots me, and raises a beautifully plucked eyebrow. I am self-consciously aware that not only am I wearing my oldest, ugliest pajamas, but my hair is sticking up, and I am not wearing a scrap of makeup.
This is not a good look for me.
I give her a huge grin.
“Hi,” I say brightly. “Don’t mind me. Just going to bed. In the attic. I won’t hear a thing. That is, I won’t hear a thing if you make any noise.” I shut up, before my tongue can get me into any more trouble.
“Jack, who is this?” she says, after giving me a thorough once-over.
“This is Emma. Emma, this is Laura,” he says, grinning wryly.
He’s very good at those wry grins. I wonder if he spends hours practicing them in front of the mirror for varying degrees of wryness. He obviously thinks this is funny, but at least he’s not embarrassed or pissed off at me.
“Oh, nice to meet you, Laura,” I say, retreating up the stairs. “I’m Jack’s niece. Er, well, have a good time—I mean, a pleasant evening…”
I shut my mouth and flee before I can further embarrass myself by telling her to enjoy her night of hot, unbridled sex with Jack.
Sunday evening
I’ve packed what little I brought with me. My overnight bag, my comforter and cushion are all safely back in my car. All the dishes are neatly stacked in the dishwasher, and I’ve vacuumed the living-room rug. Okay. Time to go. Better go find Jack and tell him good-bye.
He’s working on some architectural plans in the dining room. Well, it will be a dining room once it’s finished and he puts a table and chairs in here. At the moment, he just has a desk and a computer.
“Er, sorry to disturb you,” I say from the door. “Thanks for, you know, everything. I’ll leave the keys in the kitchen, shall I?”
“Emma,” Jack says. Those glasses really suit him. He’s a bit Clark Kentish. Bit of a babe, actually. Not that I like him or anything.
“Hmm?”
“I’ve been thinking.”
“Yes?”
So have I. I really want to live here. I know Jack’s part of the package, but I can stay out of his way. He’s probably not here much, he’s probably out every night with a different woman.
“Peri has a point. About you moving in here.”
“Oh, no.” I laugh, waving my hand in front of my face. “Don’t give it another thought. You know what she’s like…” Please ask again, please make me an offer I can’t refuse. I can’t bear the thought of living in any of the terrible places I’ve seen.
“I could use the extra money—you know—toward the cost of refurbishing this place, and paying off the rest of the loan to your dad.”
“You don’t have to do this just because my dad lent you the money, you know. I’m sure I’ll find something…” Convince me, convince me.
“You could live here just temporarily, until something else comes along. It’s gotta be better than the backseat of your car.”
Okay. So how long is “temporarily”? A month? Six months? A year?
“I figure it’ll take me another few months to fix this place up, then I’m going to put it on the market.”
If I owned this house I’d never sell it. It’s gorgeous.
“We’d be doing each other a favor,” he tells me. “I don’t want the hassle of a tenancy agreement, you need somewhere to stay. I could really use the extra cash.”
“But we don’t like each other,” I say. Then, “How much rent do you want?” I don’t want to sound too negative or disinterested, do I?
“Five hundred a month?”
“A thousand.” Yes, I know this is stupid of me, but I can’t cheat the man out of a fairer rent.
“Let’s split the difference.”
“But that’s not—”
“You’re gonna save me a fortune in housecleaning services, anyway, so let’s say seven fifty.”
Oh, he noticed that I cleaned. Good.
“So when do you want to move in?”
“Tomorrow?”
“Fine. Keep the keys.”
This is fabulous. I’m no longer homeless! Can’t wait to tell everyone my news.
“Hi everybody,” I trill, as I step through the door of Chez Nous
. “Guess what? I’ve found a really great place to live…”
I close my mouth as all eyes descend on me. Tish, Rachel, Sylvester, David, and Sylvester’s mom, Hélène, are all looking at me like they just saw a ghost.
“What’s going on? Did something terrible happen?”
“Where the hell have you been?” demands Rachel, the first to reach me. She surprises me by hugging me fiercely, then just as abruptly lets me go. “We were going to call the cops and report you missing.”
“Thank God you’re safe.” Tish hugs me.
“Chérie, you took years off our lives.” Sylvester kisses me. “Don’t do zis again.”
“Hon, we were about to get the Hudson dredged.” Now David kisses me. “But we figured we’d give you until tonight before we really panicked. You got lucky, didn’t you? You spent the weekend with a guy, I just know it. See everyone, I was right.”
“You give everyone beeg fright,” Hélène tells me, squashing me to her ample bosom and slipping into a stream of incomprehensible French.
“God, I never thought you’d all worry about me. It never occurred to me…”
I love my friends.
“Peri called yesterday afternoon to speak to you, so I gave her Rachel’s number,” Tish says. “And when she called Rachel’s, you weren’t there, either. And your car was gone. And then you weren’t here at Chez Nous, either.”
“Does Peri think I’m missing? Because I’d better call her—she’ll have the state police out en masse.”
“Relax,” Rachel tells me. “I told Peri you were out. She knows nothing. You idiot. Didn’t it occur to you that we’d worry? Why didn’t you tell either Tish or me that you had nowhere to stay? Why didn’t you call David or Sylvester? Nope, don’t answer,” she says, holding up a hand. “I already know why. Emma, stop being so—so fucking nice. It’s bad for my nerves.” She takes a gulp of her wine. “We’re your friends. We’d have changed our plans.”
My friends are so wonderful.
“Oh God,” Rachel continues, slapping her forehead with her palm. “Please don’t tell me you slept in your car. Do not tell me that’s what you did. That is what you did, isn’t it?”
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