by Rick Goeld
“No, I’m an only-child. They broke the mold with me.”
“What was it like for you growing up?”
He watched as she chewed thoughtfully. “I guess I had a normal childhood. Lots of relatives around, that sort of thing.”
“Were you raised Jewish?”
“No, not really, my parents aren’t very religious.”
“So you played both sides of the street?”
“Absolutely. I celebrated every holiday … when I could get away with it.”
“What are your parents like?”
“My parents? Let’s see . . .” She settled back in her chair. “My mother is the classic ‘earth mother.’ You know, braided hair, flowered dresses, herb garden, tea brewing on the porch … that kind of thing.”
“And does she work?”
“Yeah, she’s a school teacher. Elementary school. I think it satisfies her need to have children around.”
“You weren’t enough?”
“Oh, I was a handful, but yeah, I always sensed that she wanted more children.”
Having wolfed down half the pizza, he reached for his coffee. “What about your Dad?”
“My dad was a pot-smoking hippie—back in the sixties, of course—with an afro, the weakest afro you’ll ever see. I’ll show you a picture sometime.”
“Hmm … what’s he like now?”
“Now? He’s changed a lot. He got his degree in accounting. He became a ‘God-forbid CPA’ as my mother likes to call him.”
“No kidding. Just like my dad.”
“He’s a CPA, too?”
“That’s how he got started. He runs an H&R Block office in Jersey.”
She looked surprised. “Shit, it’s tax time, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.” Shit is right. I need to call Alison and figure out how we’re gonna do them. Noting that Lois had started on her coffee, he picked up the last piece of pizza. “So where does your father work?”
“Oh. He runs a back office for American Express. Tie and jacket every day. He’s a complete sell-out.”
“And your folks, do they get along?”
“Oh, yeah, as long as they stay out of each other’s way. They’ve been married thirty years now.”
“Did you ever want brothers and sisters?”
*****
He’s interviewing me and I didn’t even realize it. “Yeah, there were times when I did. Mostly I had to make-do with my cousins from Brooklyn.” She sipped her coffee. “But enough about me—I’ll bore you to death.”
“On the contrary,” he replied.
Eddie had a strange look on his face, and she suddenly felt uncomfortable. He’s leading up to something. What should I say next? “So … the night is young.” Did I actually say that?
He seemed to gather up his courage. “Look, there is something I wanted to tell you. Remember I told you I was separated from my wife?”
“I remember.” Here it comes. He’s going back to her, and he’s telling me here? In the middle of a date?
“Well . . .” He took a deep breath. “She’s filing for divorce.”
She looked at him. Is this an April Fools joke? “Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
He looked serious … Oh my God. “I’m sorry.”
“I don’t know whether to be sorry or not.”
Neither do I. “When did she tell you?”
“A few days ago.”
Her mind raced. Do you still love her? “Do you—” She stopped herself. “I’m sorry. Sometimes I can’t turn off the reporter in me.”
“It’s okay.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah.”
What should I say next? “It must be hard.”
“No,” he smiled, “not as hard as I thought it would be. I think I’m beginning to accept it.”
“Still,” she fumbled for the right words, “it takes a while.”
They fell into an uncertain silence. The snack bar was still crowded, but it seemed like the people around them were frozen in place. Finally, he spoke. “I guess I’ve totally screwed up our date.”
“No, you haven’t.”
He glanced at his watch. “Eight-thirty and I’ve thrown a wet blanket over the entire evening.”
“On the contrary.” She forced a smile. “The night is still young … we could go to a movie.”
He looked skeptical. “After all that exercise? I’d be asleep in fifteen minutes.”
“What an old fart. Why don’t we go back to my place? There’s probably something good on the cable.”
*****
She’s trying to salvage the evening. Is it worth it? “Do you have any wine there?”
She grinned. “I might be able to scare up a bottle.”
An hour later, he sat on the sofa, feet propped on the coffee table, watching Obe-Wan Kenobi match wits with Darth Vader. They hadn’t spoken much on the trip downtown. Not much privacy on the bus—or maybe they both sensed the need to shut up and think about what was happening. The apartment was tiny, and it appeared to him that Lois had decorated it with whatever she could beg, scrounge, or buy on-the-cheap. But it was clean, and quiet, and she had made it “comfortable.” And she’d picked the least romantic movie of all time. I guess I deserved that.
*****
She stared at the television screen. Why did I pick this movie? But she knew why: her subconscious was throwing up roadblocks wherever it could. Instead of a nice, fast, convenient taxi, she had chosen a long bus ride home—cheaper, yeah, and a lot less private, too. Not much chance for intimate conversation. And the yawning gap between them on the sofa? You could drive a truck through it. If she’d had a dog, it would be up here on her lap, growling every time Eddie glanced her way, which wasn’t very often. He was probably trying to think of a way to dig himself out of the hole he was in, or a way to just get the hell out of her apartment.
She was attracted to him. Most of the time he seemed earnest and sincere. On the other hand, he could be a bit stubborn. And he was a flake. Who pursues a couple of old rock stars? And gets himself arrested in the process? Outrageous thoughts flashed through her brain: Was he setting her up? Was he clever enough to be trying for a pity-fuck? She decided to take her chances. She moved closer.
*****
He could feel her thigh against his. Did this mean she wasn’t angry? Was she making a move on him? Did she sense that he was vulnerable? Was he vulnerable? Or just pathetic?
He took a deep breath, turned his head, and began nibbling on her ear.
*****
She felt him turn his head and nuzzle against her. She closed her eyes and leaned back. Try to enjoy the moment, Lois. But then her body reacted, and she felt her nipples start to tingle, and she started to sweat. She sighed, leaned forward, turned toward him, closed her eyes, and kissed him. Her hand brushed against his thigh.
*****
Her tongue flicked into his mouth. He sucked it gently, and touched her tongue with his. He felt her hand on his thigh. He was getting hard. He reached under her sweater and touched her breasts. He felt her nipples. This will not be like the last time, with Marcie.
*****
She thought about Phil, and the last time they had been together. She wondered where he was tonight. She wondered who he was with tonight. She wondered who he was screwing tonight.
Then she wondered what, this very minute, was going through Eddie’s mind.
She pulled away and took a deep breath. “Let’s go to the bedroom, Easy Eddie.”
“Easy Eddie?” He smiled and took her hand.
38
Sunday, April 2, 2000
Lois sprawled across the sofa, feet propped on the coffee table, and stared out the half-open window. It was overcast, and her flannel pajamas and “Bugs Bqunny” slippers were losing the battle against the cool air that drifted in. She thought about getting her robe, but instead reached down and grabbed the quilt that was placed strategically at her feet. Once settled under the quilt—a gi
ft her mother had given her the day she had moved into this very apartment—she realized that her coffee cup was empty.
Forget coffee … why did I sleep with him?
She was unhappy with how last night had ended. They’d made love, slowly and tenderly, draining all of their energies, and then fallen asleep. An hour later, she’d woken with a start, fearful with thoughts that they’d started something that was spinning out of control. Afraid of waking him, she’d laid there in his arms and listened to his breathing.
He’d woken a few minutes later, subdued and tentative, and maybe even a little embarrassed. He’d gotten up and dressed quickly. She’d put on a robe, and, uncertain of what to say, offered him a cup of coffee. He’d refused. Too late for coffee, he’d said, and he thought he’d better get going. She hadn’t argued with him. They hadn’t said much. After a quick good-night kiss, he promised to call, and slipped quietly out the door. She’d gone back to bed, tossed and turned for a while, and finally fallen into a troubled sleep.
Why did I sleep with him?
She picked up her cell phone and punched in his number.
*****
Eddie lay in bed, listening to the soft music of the city waking up on Sunday morning. Paralyzed by his own doubts, he was unable—or unwilling—to move an arm, a leg, a finger, or even a toe. He’d been that way most of the night, he thought.
Why did I sleep with her?
He didn’t know the answer. Yes he did. She was attractive. And smart. He was attracted to her. He’d wanted to sleep with her. He’d fallen for her, just like he’d fallen for Marcie a couple of weeks ago. What was happening to him? First Alison, then Marcie, then Lois, then the newspaper article, then getting arrested, then more newspaper articles, then Alison again—her phone call—and then, finally, last night.
He remembered making love, and waking up, and feeling uncomfortable, like he was standing naked in a storefront window. He remembered kissing Lois good-night, and the taxi ride, and then climbing into this bed. And then nothing, nothing else, until he’d woken up an uncountable number of minutes ago.
His stomach growled. He needed to eat and get ready for work. He got up and looked out the window. It’s gonna rain for sure … He put on a pair of pants and walked into the kitchen. Ten-thirty, and no sign of his brother, but there was a copy of the Times on the counter. His brother had slept here last night, or he’d slept somewhere else—Marcie’s?—came back to get something, and had gone out again.
He brewed a pot of coffee, and toasted an onion bagel. Not finding any cream cheese, he sliced some cheddar, layered it on the bagel halves, and zapped it in the microwave, watching as the cheese slowly melted. Then he sat at the kitchen table and ate, drank, and glanced at the front page. The last day of the Circus.
His cell phone buzzed. He picked it up and looked at the display: Lois, calling him. He smiled. Rescue me from a dreary Sunday. “Hello?”
“Hi, Eddie. It’s me, Lois.”
She sounded good … maybe a bit restrained. “I know. I saw the caller ID.”
“Did you get home all right? I mean, I assume you got home all right?”
“Yeah, no problem.”
“Where are you now? I mean, are you at the apartment? Your brother’s apartment?”
“Yeah, I’m eating breakfast.”
*****
Lois, you’re all over the place. “Mmm.” What do I say next? “I just had coffee.” Buy some time. “Eddie, can you hold just a minute?”
“Sure.”
She put the phone down, tossed the quilt aside, stood up, picked up her cup, walked into the kitchen, and poured herself more coffee. He didn’t even ask if I was all right. She walked back into the living room, placed the cup on the coffee table, turned, and walked into the bathroom. On the other hand, what would he have said? I had a good time? Was it good for you? She looked in the mirror. I knew he was lying about his wife. She thought about slapping herself a few times, and then thought better of it. Grow up, Lois. She played with her hair, which was still mashed flat with sleep. Act your age. She went back to the living room, flopped back onto the sofa, and picked up the phone.
“Sorry, someone at the door.”
“Sunday morning?”
I’m wallowing in pity and lies. “One of those Jehovah’s Witnesses.” What? He’ll never believe that.
“They can be a nuisance.”
She took a breath. “Look, Eddie, I think we should talk.”
*****
We should talk? Warning lights flashed in Eddie’s head.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes … no … no, I’m not all right.”
“Can we meet somewhere?”
*****
Can we meet? “Yes … I mean, no, I just wanted to talk on the phone.”
“What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong?” Funny you should ask. “Nothing, really, it’s just that, well, I think we’re moving a bit too fast.”
*****
“A bit too fast?” He set his bagel down on a napkin, and pushed it aside.
“Yeah, Eddie, don’t you think so? Don’t you think things are moving too fast?”
Yeah. The view is getting blurry in the rear-view mirror of my life.
“Eddie? Are you still there?”
“Yeah, I’m still here.” Hanging on your every word. “Lois, are you breaking up with me?”
*****
“Breaking up?” Hold it together, girl. “I didn’t realize we were a couple.”
“Well, we’ve had a few dates . . .”
“Look, Eddie, I like you … but this thing has caught me off guard.” And I’m already having an affair with a married man.
*****
She wants to slow things down … life can be very strange. “I didn’t mean to rush things, Lois.”
“Well, you didn’t, not really. I mean, I rushed things, too … we both rushed things.”
A familiar narrow blade started to work its way into his belly. Was this just a one-night stand? “Do you want to let things cool off for a while?”
“Yeah, that would be good. I need some time to think.”
“Can I call you again? I mean, when can I call you again?”
“In a week? How about a week?”
Time to think. “A week … I guess I can struggle through a week without you.” He picked cold cheddar cheese off what remained of his bagel.
“Thanks, Eddie.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“Easy Eddie … I can hear you smiling.”
“I don’t feel happy.”
“I don’t either, but we need some time apart.”
She says that like we’re an old married couple. “Don’t say it that way. We’ve only known each other, what, three weeks?”
“Yeah, that’s about right … three weeks.”
“I’ll call you in a week.”
“Okay, Eddie.” He heard her disconnect.
*****
She put down the phone. Why did I call him Easy Eddie?
39
Monday, April 3, 2000
Ten minutes late, Lois tiptoed into the conference room and eased into an empty chair in the back. A couple of friends, reporters she’d worked with many times, nodded to her and rolled their eyes. The city editor—an obese man in a wrinkled suit who liked to be called “The Boss”—was well into his weekly speech, exhorting the troops to greater and greater achievement. Blood and Guts was what he wanted; the bloodier and guttier, the better. Guttier? And don’t forget that sex sells. Who could forget that? Even better: deviant sex, as long as it wasn’t “too gross.” Too gross for The Post … what a concept. And don’t forget human interest stories: little old ladies, cats, dogs … babies! Those bastards at The News were still far ahead, circulation-wise and advertising-revenue-wise. Pound that pavement! Punch up those stories!
It was pretty much the same speech she’d heard every Monday morning for as long as she could remember. There were perhaps t
wenty reporters in the room. Maybe five were paying attention; the rest stared out the window or sipped coffee. Lois wished she’d picked up something at the Starbuck’s downstairs.
She heard a faint buzzing, looked into her handbag, and saw her cell phone flashing. She picked up the phone, slung her handbag over her shoulder, stood, and headed for the door.
“Lois Lane Smith.”
“Lois, Phil! Top o’ the mornin’ to ya!”
Funny you should call today. “Just a minute, Phil.” She walked down the hallway, past restrooms and vending machines, looking for privacy and better reception. She found both next to a window that overlooked West 47th Street. “St. Patrick’s Day was last month, Phil.”
“That’s right, it was!”
“Haven’t heard from you in a while . . .”
“It hasn’t been that long, has it?”
“It’s been a month, Phil.”
“Guilty as charged. I fall on my sword.”
She smiled. “Well, be careful … you don’t want to bend it.”
“What?”
“You don’t want to bend it? Your sword?” We’re not talking about the same thing.
She visualized wrinkles on Phil’s forehead as he tried to figure it out. After a few seconds, he blurted, “Oh, that sword!”
“Yeah, Phil, that sword. If you break it, you’ll need a splint. But don’t worry, you can make one out of tongue depressors. Or, in your case, toothpicks.”