“Anything wrong?” Peter asked her, as he was clearing the plates off the table. “You got very quiet at the end of dinner, Tess. Was my risotto that good, or that bad?”
“Oh, nothing. It’s just … I don’t know, Peter, I was just thinking I don’t really know that much about you. I mean … we never really talk about anything real.” Now she sounded like a typical whiny girlfriend.
Peter set the dishes down and wiped his hands on a dish towel. “What do you want to talk about? What do you want to know?” He smiled brightly.
Tess felt awkward, like a teenager. What in fact did she want to know? “Well … Oh, I don’t know what I mean.” She laughed nervously and decided to change the subject. “I think I am just still weirded out by this thing that happened to me a few days ago.”
She told Peter about the Betty Phoenix and the missing book, and meeting Gregory Frankstein at the boat basin. When she got to the end, she waited for him to admonish her about putting herself in danger.
“That’s great!” he exclaimed, pulling her over to him and kissing the top of her head. “Wonderful, Tess. Just what I was hoping for. I can really use something like this. Can you get the documents? Oh, well, never mind … . Write it up anyway, and you can fake the science part. A computer-eating nano-bug? They will love this in L.A.!” He laughed. “I will let them know about this at the WOOSH dinner at ‘21’ on Wednesday. You, my darling, are nothing less than brilliant.”
“But, Peter …” Tess was not sure she wanted Peter to know that she herself half-believed the theory, that she was nervous about it. “I wonder if it’s such a good idea to … . I mean, they told me in confidence.”
Peter hugged her, staring delightedly into her face, his eyes sparkling with utter amusement. “Tess. Really? Some oddballs tell you about secret plans for a circuit-eating cockroach, and what— You think the NSA is going to use their secret decoder rings to track you all down and have you disappeared?”
Tess laughed sheepishly. Still, she felt disconcerted. It was one thing to make something up for Peter, it was another to use this. It almost seemed like … well, not quite betrayal—more like plagiarism, in a weird way. It was certainly disrespectful: no matter what else was true, Betty and Gregory believed what they had told her. At the end of her visit on the boat, they made her promise not to share the information with anyone unless it was someone who would use the information with the utmost discretion.
Tess could not really remember her walk back home through the icy park that day—she had been in such a daze—except that at the upper promenade in Riverside Park, Betty had gone one way and Tess had gone another. But when she got home her apartment had looked different to her, alien. The glass bookcases in the living room seemed slightly tilted. Had the parquet floor always had those speckled black spots in it? The steam pipes were making their usual loud banging noises, but it sounded to Tess like a submarine about to burst in two. The air in the apartment seemed alive with toxic dust. Even the cat seemed off, nervous. She sat down in the first chair she came to—in the dining room—without even removing her coat and hat.
Get a grip, Tess, she told herself. The whole idea is utterly ridiculous! Why was she listening to two people she didn’t even know? Obviously the pressure of her life had caused her to crack up. Losing her father, Matt, Stuart, her column … it had all been too much, it had backed up on her. And then she had watched all those end-of-the-world videos. Now she’d managed to actually find people outside of WOOSH who believed the world was on the brink of disaster, just so that she could escape dealing with her life. It made sense: no more debt, no more family issues, no more worrying about not having a husband or kids. Problems solved. In fact, maybe she was already in a rubber room somewhere. I mean, come on, secret government documents?
“Can you say schizophrenia?” Tess said aloud to Carmichael, who had jumped up on the table.
Finally, she had removed her coat and called Ginny, who she knew would be the reassuring voice of skepticism. Tess was not disappointed.
“Tess, you’re starting to sound the way you did when you were on that crazy diet,” Ginny scolded her. “Remember when you ate nothing except cucumber and cantaloupe for ten days and for about an hour you thought everyone was talking backwards?”
“I know, but … I just have a weird feeling about this. It felt real. You had to be there.”
“Sweetie, what’s with all the library research anyhow? I know you promised Peter that extra stuff, but how many pages of the actual book have you written? I swear, you will do anything to get out of writing. I’ve got authors who are master procrastinators, but you—you’ve invented a whole high-tech thriller to avoid writing.”
“But, Ginny, Betty Phoenix quit her job over this. And she really is the sweetest person—”
“You think just because she is a librarian with nice manners, she can’t also be a serial killer? It was bad enough you took this cult job; now you are wandering alone in the park with conspiracy theorists … and you went into their houseboat? Have you seen no scary movies? Did you not learn basic safety when you were eleven?”
Tess laughed. It made her feel more grounded to have Ginny lecturing her. But after she hung up the phone with Ginny she had a sudden impulse to call her brother, who besides being very logical was a biochemist. He would be someone who would really listen calmly and carefully to the whole computer bug concept and tell her if the science made any sense at all. Back in 2001, when she had been freaking out about the anthrax scare, her brother had not laughed at her; instead he had given her a patient look and told her, “You have more chance of dying in your bathtub than of anthrax, Tessie. Now, if you were a postal worker, or a senator, you might be justified in being a little nervous.” And with a single confident grin he had somehow made it all disappear—her anxiety, her insomnia, her paranoia about opening packages at work. But the mere thought of Stuart, especially now at Christmastime, opened up a well of sadness. She had purposely been avoiding her brother—at least until after the holidays. Her strategy this year was to go Scrooge and just ignore Christmas altogether. If she called Stuart, he might feel obligated to invite her down. And she knew that would be too much for her to deal with.
Tess turned her attention back to Peter and the risotto dishes. “You never know, I just might be disappeared,” she joked, loading the dishwasher, “For all I know, you could be a government agent!”
She felt an arm steal around her waist. “You got me,” said Peter. “I’m afraid now I’m going to have to interrogate you.”
Later that night Tess woke up with a headache. She had drunk too much red wine. She needed water and some Advil. But when she slid open the mirrored door of the bathroom medicine cabinet, she found there was nothing there. Not even a toothbrush or old razor, or a paper cup. Where were Peter’s things? It was like he was living here like a jewel thief, packed and ready to lam it at a moment’s notice.
She tiptoed back into the bedroom. He was still asleep. He always slept with his arms stretched far out to his sides, claiming the whole bed. Suddenly she remembered the stitches in his two jackets. Curious, she went to the bedroom closet and opened it.
From the streetlights outside the window she could make out his tuxedo and three other suits hung in a neat row. She pulled one of the suits out and held it up to her face in the dimness, examining it closely. It had been mended in more or less the same place as the other two, near the left shoulder. Teeny-tiny stitches, barely visible. What could it mean?
“If you’re looking for a robe, Tess, that isn’t one,” came Peter’s bemused voice from the bed. He switched the light on. She felt ridiculous, caught in mid-snoop like a jealous wife looking for lipstick stains. “Whatever in the world are you doing over there?”
“I’m sorry. I’ve been noticing your suits are all stitched up, Peter, which I mean, is fine … I mean I’m not criticizing your … But they are all mended in the same place … . What, do you carry an ultra-sharp fountain pen in your pocket?
” Peter blinked at her, and his mouth twitched. “Or, like, a Razr phone?” Tess’s sense of humor always got worse when she was embarrassed, or scared.
Peter pulled himself up and sat up against the headboard. He ran his hands back through his hair to wake himself up more fully. For the first time since she had known him, he looked nervous. He smiled, but it was stiff, unconvincing.
“There are some things I can’t tell you, my darlin’.”
“What things? Peter. Come on. This is weird.”
Peter rolled over and closed his eyes. “So you’re my tailor now? Okay, so hold the starch and come back to bed.”
Tess did not laugh. She waited until Peter sat up again.
“All right, fine. I was trying to avoid telling you about my last relationship, who turned out to be a spectacular mistake.” There was an edge to his voice. “I thought … well, after you knew about my contentious divorce, I thought if you found out about Marla, you might be … somewhat skittish, to say the least … . Tess, for god’s sake, put the damn suit back in the closet and come back to bed.”
He sounded pissed. Sheepish, but still curious, Tess hung the suit back up in the closet, went over, and sat cross-legged on the bed, facing Peter.
“So, what, you’re saying this Marla mended all your suits?”
Peter smiled in a rueful way. “Not exactly.”
“Well? What?”
“Marla murdered all my suits.”
Peter told her that when he first met Marla, who was an actress and a model (ouch, double whammy, thought Tess, involuntarily sucking in her stomach), she had seemed sweet and fun, if not particularly smart.
“What I did not know was that she was severely bipolar, as in totally nuts. One day I came home to our place in Malibu and she had taken a butcher knife to my jackets, and my overcoats too. She only stabbed them in one place, oddly enough. I guess she was going for the heart.” Here he smiled, but again it was more of an imitation of a smile.
Tess felt a cold prickle down her spine. “Yikes” she said, because she felt she had to say something. She could almost see the word floating above her head, surrounded by a balloon, like a comic book.
Peter put a tentative hand on her shoulder. “Tess, when I met you, and saw how smart and funny you are, I could not believe my luck. In California it’s all status houses and plastic surgery and film connections, you get sort of used to it, and you forget what’s important … .”
As Peter described Marla’s descent into an increasingly unstable mental state, Tess began to feel he was finally opening up emotionally about his past—even if he was opening up about a psycho ex with a butcher knife. She was also flattered he seemed so anxious about making sure things were okay between Peter and herself. Though there was a nagging dark part of her that thought, Maybe I’m just his next psycho girlfriend. But then he whispered in her ear, “I never met anyone like you before. Please tell me this hasn’t scared you away.”
“That depends,” she answered, giving him the kind of severe look she would give somebody over the top of her glasses, if she had been wearing any.
“On what?” His huge soft eyes were on her, searching her face (or were they trying to mesmerize her?).
“On where this Marla is, and whether she’s still allowed to handle sharp instruments.” Tess smiled sternly. She was only half kidding.
When he laughed he was his old self again. “Have no fear. She’s back in L.A., living happily and medicinally with her former shrink.” Then he cradled her in his arms. “Contessa, my Tessie … I would never let anything happen to you, don’t you know that?”
Tess closed her eyes and relaxed back against the silky warmth of him. He was like human cashmere. Except there seemed to be a lot of holes in this man, and not just in his suits. But she was almost forty, and who was she to expect Mr. Perfect? That kind of man you only get in the movies, and P.S., she had been looking for him for about twenty years. Peter was a fun playmate, and maybe he was even a good fit for her. After all, was she so very normal? And besides, anybody can have a crazy ex-girlfriend, she thought.
Suddenly she heard Ginny’s voice in her head: “Oh really? And a crazy ex-wife as well?”
***
CHAPTER 4
Dating as if Your Life Depended on It (Which It Actually Does)
Post-2012 romance is a lot different from what you may remember. For one thing, you are going to have to lower your standards somewhat. To wit, no longer can you rule out thieves and murderers from the dating pool; it’s all about the circumstances. Who did he murder? Someone who was about to kill and eat his pet dog? From whom did she steal? The terrorist tribe who has been stealing from others all over the countryside? Remember: Don’t be too picky or you will end up alone. And believe me, alone is not good if you want to survive.
There is also the matter of rethinking the qualities you may be trained to look for in a mate.
Ladies, you are going to have to unlearn a few things, I’m afraid. Remember that sensitive, caring, book-reading, portobello-mushroom-cooking kind of guy? Did you used to feel ever so lucky to have found him amid the renowned urban-man shortage? Well, don’t look now but this guy is simply not going to cut it under the current circumstances. On the contrary, what you are going to need is a lot closer to that red-faced construction worker who used to hoot at you from the shoulder on the New Jersey Turnpike.
And fellows? Say good-bye to your spike-heeled, long-nailed prima-donna trophy girlfriend. She may have lit your fire before, but it’s not the kind of fire you’re going to need lighting now. No, you’ll want to charm that wood-chopping, cropped-haired, broad-shouldered type you always used to try so hard not to get into the elevator with when you both arrived at the office at the same time. If she has a few extra pounds on her, so much the better, with the current food shortages.
The good news is that everyone looks attractive by firelight. But whether you are gay or straight, you are going to have to reorder your priorities. Health before beauty, resourcefulness before charm. Here is a useful checklist for assessing your prospective partners:
End-of-the-World Mate Checklist:
TEETH: Everyone knows that the teeth are a sign of good health, but after all he is not a horse (though you may hope he is as strong as one), so you can’t just go up to a person and pull his lips back. When endeavoring to sneak a peek at someone’s teeth, it is important that you be somewhat subtle. Making the person laugh is often a good way to get a look. Also you might try, “I think you have something stuck in your teeth. Let me see if I can help you.”
FEET:
Tess looked up from her laptop when she saw Richie coming over to her. She had snagged her favorite corner seat at the back edge of the bar, the one right under the 1960s Tuesday Weld poster for Dash laundry detergent. It always felt like her own private Idaho.
“How’s the writing going?” Richie asked. “You ready for another drink?”
“No,” said Tess. “I have to be clearheaded enough to assemble a solid oak bed frame that came from Ikea this morning. I’m a little worried because the instructions say it’s a two-man job. And I’m not even one man.”
“That’s so true,” grinned Richie.
“I could pay the super to help me, but it kind of defeats the whole purpose of buying the thing at Ikea.”
“What about your gorgeous Mr. WOOSH?” Richie refilled her water glass. “Sorry … . It’s Peter, right?”
For some reason Tess blushed. “I don’t think he’s very handy that way.” What she didn’t say was that she had gotten the new bed frame specifically with Peter in mind. He had invited her to a New Year’s Eve black-tie casino party that was being held in her neighborhood, and she realized it would make sense for them to come to her place afterward. It would be his first time at her apartment. Her old frame was an antique sleigh bed Matt had picked out years ago, and it had always creaked terribly. Every other month one of the braces came loose and the box spring would slip off one corner. Tess had wan
ted a new bed for a long time, and this was the perfect occasion. New man, new start, new bed, no creaks.
“Here’s a thought,” Richie said. “I’m off at seven. I know those Ikea pieces pretty well. The instructions are written in Sanskrit. They’ll drive you insane … . If you want, I could give you a hand.” Richie had his head in down under the bar, moving bottles around. “My plans with Jason got canceled for the evening anyhow.”
Ah, Jason. The hot boyfriend. “What a nice offer … but …” It was odd to think of Richie outside the Scrub-a-Dub-Pub. She felt almost as if he would vanish in a puff of smoke, once outside this world. Or that the wonderful comforting thing she had with him would be ruined in some way. Crossing boundaries with people was always a little dangerous. But then she thought of the long heavy Ikea boxes the super had lined up along the wall in her bedroom.
“God, Richie, that would be so fabulous. Are you sure?”
Walking home with him beside her felt more natural than she imagined it would. They chatted easily about neighborhood shops, bemoaning the invasion of the chains, admiring the latest “Purple Man” sidewalk painting. But as they drew near to her building, Tess started worrying about the condition of her apartment, especially her bedroom. Were there clothes on the floor? Had she left all the drawers open with things hanging out? She hoped he was not one of those super-neat gay men. But that was just a stereotype, wasn’t it?
When they first came in, Tess spotted a pair of black underwear dangling off the back of a dining room chair, where she had forgotten she left them. She tried to quickly slough them off onto the seat of the chair but they landed on Carmichael’s head instead. Richie pretended not to notice, smoothing it over by going on at great length about how much he loved her apartment, her vintage knickknacks, her numerous shelves filled with old leather-bound books.
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