by Connor, Anne
“I support you. I think that if you want to disappear for an entire two days, stay somewhere else, go crazy and not shave and turn into a total lunatic, it’s fine. Go and take a plane to Puerto Rico. Get whatever the hell happened between you and Clarissa out of your system. But please, please answer your phone.”
I have to hold the phone away from my ear. My brother is shouting, and I don’t want to risk permanent hearing loss.
“I’m talking to you now, aren’t I?”
“Drew, you cannot do this. When you told me you were getting out of town for a few days, I didn’t know it would involve going off the grid and neglecting our firm. Come back to the city. If you aren’t going to answer your phone, we need you here. If you want to be wherever the hell it is you are, it’s fine, but answer your phone. And if you’re not going to do that, you need to come back so I can keep tabs on you.”
“Keep tabs on me?” I pinch the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger. “Look. I met a girl.”
“So you’re back to your old ways? Don’t tell me you’re in Key West right now. Or Nantucket. Please don’t tell me it’s Nantucket. You’ll never be able to get rid of her.”
“It’s not like that, Eric. I don’t want to get rid of her. Actually, you know her.”
“For fuck’s sake. It’s not Clarissa, is it?”
“Are you fucking kidding me? God, no. It’s Molly.”
“From college?”
“No, not Molly from college.”
“Oh, from your real estate broker license class. That was a long time ago, dude. But I guess if you wanted to double-dip, enough time has gone by that it’s okay that you’re back with her.”
“First, that’s gross.”
“That’s a phrase you coined.”
I shake my head. He’s actually right about that.
“Second, it’s actually Molly from the bar the other night.”
“Friday? But you didn’t hook up on Friday.”
“No, I didn’t, but I randomly met her again. It’s the craziest thing. Wait till we tell our kids how their parents met.”
“So, let me get this straight. You are shacked up somewhere with a girl who showed zero interest in you just a few days ago?” Suddenly, his tone changes. “That’s what I’m talking about.”
I nearly hear his arm go up for a high five, even though I’m not there to reciprocate it.
Not that I would have.
“No. Not shacked up. Taking it slow.”
I don’t want to tell him the full truth right away. She deserves better than that.
“Look. I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, but if she is preventing you from doing your job, then you’ve got to do what you always do and just move along.”
“I’m afraid that is not going to happen. Not this time. But look, if it makes you feel better, I’ll come back to the city. On Friday. Okay?”
“Fine. But if anything big happens before then, you have to come back sooner.”
“That seems like a good compromise.”
“Good. But you also have to do something else for me.”
Negotiating. I like it.
“You have to answer your phone.”
“Deal.”
19. Molly
It’s been another long day at the office. I’m starting to think this isn’t for me. Have you ever wanted something so badly, but never really slowed down to ask yourself why? I like my job, but I can already feel that my passion for the news is going to be squashed at this job, instead of being allowed to flourish.
Even though it’s only my second day, I’m starting to think that maybe I should start reevaluating things
I’ve already reevaluated my situation with Drew, decided to go for the fling thing. The memory of his lips dances on my mouth. I push him out of my head. For all I know, he’s already gone.
Going over last night’s events in my head is going to do me no good if I’m just going to allow myself to have a fling. A fling implies that feelings aren’t to be involved. Just bodies. It’s just sex. There’s nothing going on between my ears and nothing going on in my heart toward Drew Anderson. Nothing.
So I need to stop thinking about his scent. His strength. Everything I know about him. I need to put it away, tuck it away, deep down, and maybe I can reminisce about it when I’m older and thinking about when I was a younger woman and had this random fling with a billionaire real estate guy.
It’s not for me to think about now. It’s for the girls in the heels, the girls in the tight dresses, the girls who want to be on the arm of a rich guy. It’s not me.
I just need to keep telling myself that. I hope I’ll start to believe it soon.
I slip my key into the lock on my door. I’m looking forward to just taking my heels off and putting my feet on a pillow and drifting off in the early-evening sun streaming through my window. Maybe I’ll check out the leak in my sink and make sure I don’t need Drew to come over and take a look at it.
After all, he is still my super, and there’s no feelings involved in routine apartment maintenance. It’s all mechanical
As I’m about to enter my apartment, I hear three sets of footsteps coming up the stairs slowly. There are only four units on my floor, and I know all of my neighbors personally, and I wonder if it’s those investors again.
Mrs. Martinez, the sweet older lady who always makes the floor smell like garlic and onions and whose granddaughter is about my age, opens her door and shuffles out into the hallway.
“Hello, Molly. How is the evening treating you?”
“It’s pretty good. I’m just getting home from work.”
“Good day at the office? That’s good, sweetheart.”
I don’t want to tell her the truth, that the job is hard and I’m having second thoughts about my chosen career path. That I thought I’d love sitting in a cubicle doing grunt work because I know it will lead to something better. The truth is, even though I do know it will lead to something better, I’m not so sure I want what it’s leading to. And even though I love my boss and coworkers, I’m not so excited about working at a paper that’s gravitating more and more toward being a throw-away gossip blog.
Look at Mrs. Martinez, for instance. She moved here from Puerto Rico in the 1960s, and she was a homemaker for most of her life. When her husband passed away, she decided to go to college, and then graduate school, and became a Kindergarten teacher. She’s currently a substitute teacher a few days a week at the very same school she sent her children to.
I find that much more interesting than reading about Clarissa and her ilk, the adult kids of the wealthy who treat Manhattan like a playground.
The footsteps making their way up the stairs stop, and there are some muffled voices and the scuffle of feet before the footsteps start again, getting quieter as they continue. I tip-toe over to the banister of the landing and peer down between the railings. It’s the suit guys again.
I shift my purse onto my shoulder and walk over to Mrs. Martinez.
“What do you think those guys are doing in the building, Mrs. M?”
“Oh, you don’t know? Come inside, dear. Would you like a glass of iced tea?”
“I’d love that.” I smile and enter her apartment.
It’s a larger unit than mine - a two bedroom, and I take in the surroundings. A China cabinet boasts a collection of ornate, beautiful dishes, and she has a collection of ladybug dish towels hanging from the handle of the oven. She has a pot of red sauce cooking on the stovetop, and it’s making the apartment warm, but the late afternoon breeze coming in through the living room and the modest dining room are making the space feel like a big home.
“Here, put your bag down. I guess you haven’t seen those men around the building yet.”
“I saw them once. I’m afraid I already know why they’re here.”
She ambles over to the stove and scoops a little bit of sauce onto a plate and tears a piece of semolina bread off a large loaf.
I slip into a chair in the dining room and put my bag down on the table. It’s cluttered with bills and catalogs, and a stack of spelling exams.
“They make you grade the kids’ tests, even though you’re a sub?”
“No, I volunteer for it. I enjoy it. Plus, it gives me something to do. My granddaughter can’t get here as much as I’d like her to. She comes about once a week, and I need things to take up my time.” She sets the plate of red sauce and bread down in front of me, piping hot with steam rising off the plate. I inhale the sweet aroma of chopped garlic, tomatoes and extra virgin olive oil. “There’s only so much Wheel of Fortune and Golden Girls one old lady can watch.”
“Oh, you’re not old, Mrs. M.” I drag the bread through the sauce, blow on it, and pop into my mouth. It’s sweet and salty and just the right temperature.
“That’s great, Mrs. M.! It tastes just like the sauce my grandmother used to make.”
“Is she Italian?”
“No, actually. She’s from Alabama. Daughter of the American Revolution, or that’s what the folklore in my family says. My grandfather was from Sicily, and his mom, my great grandmother, taught my grandmother how to cook.”
“It’s so nice how the generations take care of each other. It’s a very special thing.” She gets up from the table and goes to the refrigerator, taking out a pitcher of iced tea. “You don’t really see that very much anymore. Everyone in New York seems to be from someplace else nowadays. But that’s okay. Everyone needs to plant roots down, and it’s a beautiful thing to be able to start a family somewhere else. That’s what I did.”
“And you think your grandkids will stay here in New York?”
“I think so. My Anna is thinking about going to Puerto Rico to visit her cousins for the summer, but she loves it here too much to not come back.”
She stirs the iced tea with a long wooden spoon and places it gently in the sink before reaching up into a cabinet to grab two glasses.
“It’s a shame about what they’re going to do to the building.”
She makes room on the table, moving the stacks of papers and bills, putting them into a cardboard box, and pours the iced tea into two glasses. The sun is setting and it’s the perfect evening, not very much unlike the ones I used to share with my own grandmother and parents before moving out to get my own place.
“It’s those men who are in the building. They represent some fancy real estate company. They want to buy the building and kick everyone out.” She shakes her head in disappointment and lays her hands down flat on the table.
“That happened to my family when I was younger. I hardly remember it. I guess I’m lucky.”
“They won’t kick us out right away, but I’ve heard that they are planning on converting the building to condominiums. They’ll probably offer buyouts to the tenants who stick around and don’t move right away, and the remaining tenants will have one hell of a headache when the construction starts.”
“Yeah, I’ve seen them before.”
“We’ve had other guys here before looking at the building, but this is a new group of men. It’s not really that big of a deal. Especially to young people who don’t have roots where they live. Present company excluded.” She gets up and walks over to her window, pulling back the lace white curtains and peering down at the street below. “But I remember my kids being picked up for school by the school bus right down there on the street. The ice cream truck in the summer, and the cookouts on the terraces. The fabric of the community is going to change.”
“What do you think is going to happen?”
“I know the owner of the building has turned down offers before. He’s never been interested in doing anything like that with the building. He likes having the old tenants who he knows.”
“Present company excluded?” I smile and take a sip of my tea. Even though I may be young, I’m from the neighborhood, and I can appreciate what Mrs. Martinez is going through.
“Anyway, it’s just a rumor. We get people coming through the building every few months. Big shot guys in suits, guys from the city. I hope the owner holds out, but he has to do what’s best for himself, too. It’s what we all have to do.”
20. Molly
“Well? How is my working woman?”
“Who? Oh, me? I’m good.”
I open the door for Jess and let her in. She’s still in her work clothes.
“That bad, huh? The boss really cracking the whip already?”
“I mean, yeah. Kind of. I like it and all, but it’s very exhausting.”
“At least you work regular hours. Nine-to-five. That’s not so bad. Wait until you move up and you have to work crazy hours. Imagine how busy you’ll be when you become Editor-In-Chief.”
She kicks her black pumps off and flops onto the couch, putting her feet up on the coffee table and flipping on the TV.
“Oh! Jeopardy is about to start,” I say, sitting down next to her.
“You know, I always thought you’d be on Jeopardy someday. You’re so smart.”
Not smart enough to stay away from Drew Anderson.
“I’m not smart. And anyway, it’s all trivia. I don’t know all the little details about presidents and 18th Century poets, and all that.”
“Yes, you do.”
“Anyway, I like Wheel of Fortune better now. I used to like Jeopardy, but now I’m a wheel watcher.”
“That’s a sign you’re getting old. I remember always sitting down with my grandma for Jeopardy and Wheel. The younger people always like Jeopardy, and the older people always like Wheel.”
“Old? Because I like Wheel of Fortune? That’s a new one.”
“Think about it.”
I get up and start into the kitchen to grab a couple of glasses and a bottle of wine. I still can’t believe that Drew got me to drink beer - and do other things.
But I’m not about to go out and buy beer now. That would be too drastic a change for me.
I’m already doing things I know I shouldn’t be doing.
“How’s the man?”
My face flushes and I turned to the sink to wash my hands, an attempt to divert my attention away from Jess.
“Huh? Can’t hear you over the running water.”
“You’re so full of crap. Drew. How is Drew doing?”
“He’s fine, I guess. I wouldn’t really know.”
I pad back over to the couch with my after-work libations and pour two generous glasses for me and Jess.
Jess’s eyes light up and she tucks her legs under her, taking a glass of wine eagerly from the table.
“Something happened. Did you have sex with him?”
“God, no!” I reply, but I know that I’m incapable of lying to my best friend even if I want to.
Jess sips her wine coyly and looks up at me through thick, dark eyelashes.
“Oh, okay.”
“Okay, fine. Maybe a little.”
“How do you have sex with someone a little? You either did it, or you didn’t. And I can tell that you definitely did. Go ahead and deny it. It’s fine. Just make sure to Skype me from the penthouse when you move in with him.”
“Okay, first of all, no one is moving in with anyone. Second of all, it isn’t going to happen again. And third of all, you don’t even know what happened.”
She tosses her hair behind her shoulder and inspects her fingernails.
“Then what is it, exactly, that isn’t going to happen again?”
“Okay. Fine. Something did happen.”
“Tell me! What did you mean when you said that you had sex with him a little? Does that mean you didn’t do it in a bed? Where’d you do it? His office? Bent over his desk?”
“No!”
“Your office?”
“Shush!”
“It’s not like anyone can hear us. It’s just us girls. You think your boss is hiding in the bathroom and he’s going to pop out and say, surprise! You’re fired because you fucked the hottest guy this side of the Mississippi in y
our new office?”
“I didn’t.” I take a large sip of my wine. “Okay, fine! I did. We had sex. Not sort of, not a little, not kind of. We did it, okay?”
“This is exactly what I told you to do, isn’t it?”
“Yes. I have to say that I did do what you told me to do this time.” I grab the remote from the table and turn up the volume. “Shh, Alex is on.”
“Your man Trebek is going to be there after we talk. Turn that off. We have important things to talk about. Right now.”
She grabs the remote from me, mutes the TV and puts the remote behind her back.
“You know, in the old days, I would have been able to get up and turn the volume up. I don’t even know how to do that on this TV.”
“You’re too nostalgic, you know that, Molly?”
“Yeah. I’ve been accused of that before. By you.”
“So where is he now? Why isn’t he taking you out to a fancy restaurant tonight? A gala? A ball? Isn't that what those Anderson types do every night?”
“I don’t know what he does every night.”
“But you know what he did at least one night, no?”
“Yes. And I also know it’s not going to happen again.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. It was a fling. He is going to be gone soon, and as much fun as it was, I can’t afford to get hurt again.”
“Why not take a chance, Molly? He obviously likes you. And I don’t think I should have to remind you that you should really get back out there.”
“So what? So, he likes me. I don’t know why that has anything to do with it. Guys like anything with boobs and a vagina.”
“That’s so romantic.”
“I mean, you know who he is. This,” I say, gesturing around the small, stuffy apartment, “is not for Drew Anderson. He might like me now, but remember that this is not his real life. He is going to go away, and go back to work and his real life. Maybe he’ll even go back to his fiancee.”
I take a long sip of my wine and feel the cool calmness of the alcohol steady my nerves.
“You’re acting like he lives a million miles away. He doesn’t. It seems to me that you’re just looking for reasons why it won’t work between you, when it’s obvious that it’s at least worth a shot.”