He looked put on the spot. Probably because he was. Jeremy was our usual bike messenger, but we kept it professional. His confusion cleared and he replied, “I’m not seeing anybody, if that’s what you mean.”
“Interesting,” she said coyly. I flashed her a look, and she straightened to leave. “I’ll have to find a girl to set you up with some time.” She gave me a sly grin that Jeremy couldn’t have seen and wiggled her fingers as she walked off.
“Don’t mind her,” I said. “What do you have for me?”
“Just this, milady,” I blushed. He unhooked the garment bag and spread it on the counter. Jeremy was all-American—sandy blonde with dark hazel eyes. Slightly round face and a body like, well, a cyclist. Looks wise, he could be Lance Armstrong’s boyish younger brother.
“Thank you,” I said, pausing for a moment seeing the sender of the bag: Daniel Baird.
“No prob.” Jeremy smiled. “I want to let you know I won’t be running this route for much longer.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” He had been the only messenger we had used since we started and was popular with our neighborhood. He was fast, and in New York City that made you an asset.
“It’s a good thing,” he grinned, continuing, “I’ve been doing this to pay the bills, but I moved here really for my comedy and improv. I have to throw myself into it, no safety net. Plus an opportunity just came along for a side project I’ve been working on. It put a little money in my pocket.”
“Congratulations. That sounds exciting.” I smiled.
“Thanks. I’ll help choose my replacement. This route meant a lot to me.”
“That’s sweet,” I replied, unzipping the emerald green hanging bag.
“I’m not sure how to ask this, but seeing as this may be my last chance, would you like to go out sometime?”
It was my turn to look put on the spot. He chuckled. “No pressure. I’ve been wanting to ask for over a year now. With me leaving and with Violet’s question just now, it seems like kismet.” He smiled wide.
“I’m not sure,” I replied, truthfully.
“I didn’t mean to catch you off guard. You’re probably seeing someone,” Jeremy hedged.
I only had to pull back a corner of the bag to see. “Actually, I’m not,” I stated, feeling suddenly lonely.
His eyes crinkled with his grin. “There’s a new play opening Off-Broadway tonight I’m going with some friends. Afterwards we’ll probably go score some dogs down at Lupe’s on 52nd. You want to join?”
I thought about Violet’s words as I zipped up Tristan’s new suit and laid it over my desk. He would look great tonight at Del Posto.
“Sure,” I said. He asked that we exchange numbers then he left. Just I and Tristan’s new suit remained. I got back to work.
That night I went home and got my little guy ready for his night out. It was a genuine step for Daniel to take Tristan out in public. One I was unsure about but Tristan was excited to make. Del Posto was a familiar place. That put me more at ease. It would be like other nights at our favorite Italian restaurant—except for me not there.
I’d told the girls about my plans. They insisted on stopping by before their own plans for the night. Plus, Jill and Vi loved seeing Tristan dressed up. Jill was eager for me but was not happy about Tristan’s plans for the evening.
“He’s an entitled wanker,” she said, biting into a strawberry before plopping it in her champagne glass. She told me when she arrived “bubbles” were her new drink. I didn’t mind—champagne was my favorite. She swirled her flute. The liquid fizzed around the fat red berry, and she sipped.
“Honestly, who in this town isn’t?” Vi replied, perching on the counter to pour her own glass.
“Touché,” Jill remarked. “But Daniel Baird wins remarkable performance in the category.”
“Let’s get him an Oscar,” Vi snickered.
“A Snobscar.”
Vi laughed thoroughly. “Cheers. You too, Bree.” She set down her glass and poured Moet into the third glass of my set of four flutes. “Here. Let’s toast.”
I hesitated but took the glass. Vi was grinning wide and peeked back and forth between Jill and me mischievously before extending her glass.
She began,
“Here’s to those we love
And those who love us
And if those we love don’t love us
Screw them, and here’s to us.”
I grinned. Jill laughed. “Cheers to that.” We clinked glasses, and the doorbell startled me before I could get down a sip. A bit of yummy champagne sloshed onto my chin. I dabbed it with the back of my hand and went to answer.
“Hello,” I greeted Daniel’s driver, Desmond, or Des as he asked to be called. Not the same one from the night in the limo, thankfully. Desmond had explained he was a personal hire by Daniel, after meeting him in his Marine cammies at an event. Daniel always waited downstairs in the car. “Tristan’s ready. Just give me one sec.”
Tristan dashed out of his room looking adorable in three-fourths of his suit. The girls stood beside me, taking him in. Beaming like three proud moms seeing their child dressed for prom. He set down his Stegosaurus onto a pile of clutter on the dining table, shrugging into his suit jacket.
“You are so handsome!” Jill said. Her cheeks were pink from the champagne. That garnered a big grin. He did look adorable in his new suit. It wasn’t department store, but it wasn’t Armani either. I could live with it.
“Well, hello there, Mr. Cutie Patootie!” Vi pinched his cheek. He was beaming and dusted off his shoulder after Jill stood. I moved in to bundle him in a big hug. He gave me a big squeeze back.
I decided as usual the least painful route was to rip off the bandage quickly. “Have fun,” I instructed him. “Des will bring you up after dinner.”
“All right,” he said, apprehensively. “Mommy, you could come with us. If you want to.”
He radiated sweetness. “Honey, thank you. I’m okay. You enjoy your dinner.”
“Your momma will be fine,” Vi chimed happily. “She’s got a date tonight.”
Tristan looked startled. “You do?”
“It’s not a date,” I said. “I’m going to see a play with a friend. Don’t worry; it’s not The Lion King. We’re saving that to do together,” I assured him. He was satisfied and looked up at Des. Desmond smiled warmly.
“Looking very sharp, my man,” he said and reached out for a low five. Tristan returned it. “I’ll get him back to you safe, Ms. Valentine. Best driver in NYC.”
Desmond always said that. He had told me without braggadocio on our second meeting he used to drive tanks. He was a hit with Tristan. Tristan made it to the door and turned around.
“Momma?”
“Yes, honey?”
“Don’t forget your mace on your date,” he said seriously.
The girls barked laughter. “I won’t,” I promised. He smiled widely with an edge of awareness, the smile that hadn’t come from my half of the gene pool, and I stopped grinning.
Forty minutes later, Jill and Vi departed for their evening plans, and I was on my way to the theater. Violet had brought over a few outfits, and I chose slim black jeans and an off-the-shoulder cream top with a black trench. Neither of them had that as a first choice—they said I looked a bit serious. I reminded them it was group outing, not a date. Fact was I had no comfort with date attire, only dressing the part with August, and then the opposite extreme of being covered in sawdust in my work. I opted for not-sawdust.
When my taxi pulled up, Jeremy was waiting for me in front of the small theatre with his friends. He was wearing faded jeans and a band T-shirt under a well-worn jacket.
“You look nice,” he said, taking me in. I thanked him.
“Too nice to be out with me. People are going to think I’m your mailman or something.” he grinned cheerfully, but I could sense an edge of nervousness. It was endearing.
“You are her mailman,” one laughed chestily, extending a
hand to greet me. “I’m Regal. This is Marcy,” he said, signaling to a pretty wide-eyed woman in a headband. She smiled.
Jeremy continued the introductions, “That’s Steph, JJ and Finn,” he said indicating a trio in line at Will Call. They were all about my age, dressed downtown hip. I greeted them all with a wave.
As Jeremy ushered me into the theater door, I noticed a familiar face in the Will Call line. It was the man who’d been photographed on a date with Kate in The Post. Moving on from Kate, I guessed, since she was back in Daniel’s graces. Good for him. Maybe I could root for myself tonight, too.
We took our seats and the lights dimmed down to a dated hotel bedroom with a veranda. The set, it turned out, where the entire play took place. It was a bawdy comedy about a vacation Ernest Hemingway took with his wife and his mistress to Spain. Some parts were funny. More weren’t. I sensed Jeremy shifting beside me during the moments when laughter didn’t come. At one point Regal, to my right, covered his face with hands and peeked out between his fingers.
It was during the scene when the bellboy delivering food walked in and was invited to stay. It was a small theater, and not quite Off-Broadway. Technically off-off-Broadway, with about two hundred or so metal folding chairs arranged in a semi-circular stage. Like a venue for an improv troupe. I checked the time on my phone, hiding the luminescent glow of the screen deep in my bag.
V: How’s it going?
G: Not bad. It’s a play about a threesome.
V: Ohh, what’s the name of it? ;)
G: Hold on, let find my playbill. It’s called Heming-Which-Way
V: Ha-ha. Yikes.
I checked the runtime on the playbill.
G: Almost over. How’s the party? Is Jill having fun?
V: It’s amazing. The editor of Chic is here. I’m trying to get some face time. Jill is freaking. Her ex is here.
G: Nathan??!
V: Yes.
I buried my phone in my bag, contemplating contacting Ian. That would be a mistake I knew. Jill was a big girl. She could handle herself, without a doubt. But this situation was more than a woman should handle alone. I pictured Violet mingling, being the life of the party, oblivious to what Jill experienced with Nathan. Not much later the play ended, and we were filing out of the playhouse.
“Should I ask what you thought?” Jeremy asked in a nervous joke, opening the theater door.
His friends took a bathroom break before we met outside. I grimaced. “Well. It’s a process. His next play could be a hit.”
“Stick with it, right?” He raised thick blonde eyebrows, disappointedly. He seemed especially dejected. “We plan on walking to Lupe’s. I don’t want to ask you to walk though. You look way too. I don’t know.”
I squinted my eyes at him with a smile. “Go on,”
“I don’t know.” He shook his head, grinning. “You can ride piggy-back if you want. Seriously. I’d feel better if you did. I feel like I should be your horse more than your date.”
The word date clicked in my head. Maybe it was the rocky start, the bad show, but maybe I simply wasn’t ready to go any further. “I’m going to skip if that’s okay.”
“Okay,” he grinned. “I’m going to save my ego by assuming you’re heading home to save me a trip to the chiropractor.”
“I’m sorry. I do have to go, though. My babysitter is expecting me,” I cliff-noted.
“Any chance of a mulligan?” he called to me as I stood on the curbside flagging a lit taxi I’d spotted.
“Pop in the store sometime,” I offered, climbing in the car. I felt bad letting him down. I’d have a soda with him at the counter and find a better way to tell him no thanks. I plopped my purse on the ripped vinyl seat and pulled my phone out of my purse. I saw four missed calls from Jill and one text from Violet.
V: SOS!! Jill has lost it!!!
Redialing Jill, it went right to voicemail. I told the driver to loop the block and dialed August. He was at home in his PJs.
“You go. You’re three blocks away. I’m much closer to your house. I’ll go meet Tristan,” he said hurriedly.
“Thanks,” I said.
“No. Thank you,” he replied and hung up.
I gave the driver the hotel name where they were. By the time I arrived, the action had simmered into a sidewalk spectacle. A large group of fabulously dressed A-listers sipping drinks, some with cigarettes, watched Nathan drunkenly slosh in the giant multi-tiered fountain in the courtyard of a chic hotel. Jill had pinched the key to his new Lamborghini Gallardo from the valet box and chucked the electronic key into the fountain. All this after a confrontation between them inside. His dark wet clothes clung to him like over-sized sealskin as he kicked the water and howled curses. He saw me standing with the spectator who’d recounted the story to me and marched over.
“Where is she?!” Nathan said, slicking back his wet hair.
“She who?” I asked innocently.
“Nice. You tell your friend karma is a bitch,” he spat, shaking his hair like a wet dog. Nadia emerged from the crowd to his side just as Violet appeared at mine.
“Karma is a sacred concept, Nathan. I wouldn’t invoke it that way,” Violet chided cheerfully, with a security guard at her back. I’d texted her to meet me there when I’d arrived.
“Tramps,” he said angrily and headed back into the hotel together with Nadia. The security guard followed and blocked him.
“Let’s get out of here,” Vi said. As her driver pulled up in a black SUV, Nathan and security were still confronting each other. She rolled down the window and waved to the onlookers as we sped away.
When we arrived home, I encountered Des in the elevator. Tristan had just arrived. August gave me a curious look as I entered the apartment. I gave a minuscule shake of my head and set about putting Tristan to bed. I didn’t ask as many questions as I wanted about his big night out, but as I tucked him in he was deliriously happy. Cloud nine, you could say. He said the chef brought out the calamari himself, with a radish garnish sculpted in a flower. He did love Del Posto. I hung his suit up carefully and silently closed the door to his bedroom.
I cleared a spot at the dining table and we sat. August and I were like hotline workers, calling, contacting, looking for Jill. Ian was concerned and hadn’t heard from her. We called her assistant and anyone we could think of, without wanting to set off alarms. Violet called before bedtime to say she had reached out to a few friends and heard nothing. August went home an hour before midnight.
When the house was quiet and I was alone, I sat back down at the table surveying the heaping scrapbook project spread across the dining table. August and I shared a few mugs of hot chocolate and I was wide awake. I refreshed my cocoa and returned, troubled for Jill. I used that sleeplessness to finish a project spewed across my dining table. Photos I’d intended to compile into a scrapbook commemorating his fifth birthday were everywhere. I was in a meditative state of clipping and glue-sticking before long.
August asked about Tristan’s night. I gave him a brief synopsis. He absorbed in August-like manner, not commenting. He hadn’t, I noted, inquired about my date. It wasn’t just the bombed play. A few times Marcy and Regal had stopped to kiss. I sensed Jeremy’s desire to make some type of move. I found myself intrigued by Regal and Marcy but hoping Jeremy didn’t act. They were a sweet couple. Jeremy was a decent guy. But the connection didn’t sync. Maybe everything I’d ever heard in the stories about chemistry was wrong. Of course the one person I did feel some spark with was all wrong. Daniel had someone, and we were so fundamentally different. I found myself questioning a lot about these things. When I reached his party pictures, I was startled from my thoughts by a knock at the door. I checked my phone and saw no notice of an arrival from Jill but felt relief and anticipation she’d found her way here. I went to the door. A quick glance through the peephole indicated differently.
I swung the door open. “Hi. What’s wrong?” I said to him, a little breathless.
Daniel stood in t
he doorway in jeans with no belt, a plain black T-shirt and a long wool coat with an upturned collar, framing the angles of his face. He looked like he’d just gotten out of bed. In fact, he looked like he’d jogged all the way here. He took me in with a pinch in his brow and a determined look glinting in his eye.
“Tell me everything,” he said, as if he didn’t know how to get it all out.
It was want but a new kind. One that seemed foreign even to him. “Tristan,” I said.
“Yes.”
I felt something warm bloom in my chest. “Come in.”
I offered him a cup of cocoa but he declined. He moved inside and took a seat at the table.
“Tea, if you have it,” he said. I made a cup and set it down before him. He didn’t drink. I saw him taking in the photos stacks and supplies scattered around us.
“I’m working on his scrapbook for his birthday,” I said, answering the unasked. “I make one every year.”
He made a noise of understanding, scanning the photos.
“So. Where would you like to start?” I asked kindly.
“The beginning.”
“The beginning it is.” I went to my small coat closet with bi-fold doors at the end of the dining table. I unfolded a compact step ladder that hung on a hook in the back and carefully pulled down four photo albums and two shoe boxes of loose photos. I returned to the table with the collection. He was distractedly flipping through the book I’d been working on.
“That’s him at the zoo,” I recalled smilingly at a cute photo of Tristan in a lion’s mane knitted hat from this spring.
Daniel didn’t speak much. He’d said he wanted to start at the beginning but as it were, we went backwards. In reverse from his five year old album. He seemed to absorb and soak in every photo, and the stories I told along with them.
Hiking, swimming, bug collecting. Funny photos with sud beards in the bath, vacations we’d taken. Holidays, birthday parties, and every kind of moment between. I kept tons more photos on my laptop, but there was something special about the printed photos in their albums. Mile-markers. Mementos. I told him as much.
“My dad did his best to keep albums. They’re one of my favorite things,” I said.
In the Land of Milk and Honey Page 24