I met you at work and I’m not allowed to date clients (since Marjorie, a now ex-employee outed one of Manhattan’s infamous and very married society ladies – très embarrassing for Rita)
You’re ugly. (Okay, I’m lying just to make a number five. Four reasons don’t quite seem like enough. I’ll admit it, you’re incredibly hot. I’m ashamed to say that if you put on a tool belt, I might just melt into my chair.)
Of course, I didn’t say any of this out loud but just gave him an amused smirk as it all ran through my head at turbo speed.
“I don’t fraternize with clients, it’s against the rules,” was what eventually came out of my mouth.
“You don’t look like the kind of girl that goes by the rules, Shoshanna.” He had remembered my name, his eyes unwavering on my own, not having to drop to my name tag. Or maybe he’d looked at my rack earlier when I hadn’t been looking. Either way, I was impressed now as he said it, looking into my eyes.
He was shamelessly flirting with me and I was loving it. Though, for reasons of self-preservation, I pretended to be unaffected. “We should square up for your massage,” I said, my voice a little rough.
A Visa card appeared over the counter. “Can you add a good tip for Bev and also a gift certificate for another massage? I think my sister would really like to come here.”
I nodded and took the card from him without looking up. Casually looking at the embossed letters, I learned his whole name. Nathan Cooper. Hmm. I knew some Jewish Coopers in the city. Dare I hope?
I looked up. “Any relation to Jeff and Frieda Cooper? They go to the Temple Sinai Synagogue.”
He shook his head. “There are a lot of Coopers out there, but I know I’m not related to them. I’m not one of the Jewish Coopers.”
Damn. Ah well, refer back to reason * * *3.
I told him the total of today’s bill (including a generous but not crazy-generous tip for Bev). He nodded so I swiped his card and put the machine on the counter for him. Bev came walking up from the back.
He turned and looked at her. “Thanks again, Bev,” he said.
Bev giggled like a schoolgirl, “Anytime, Nate. Hope you liked it.”
“Well if I’m supposed to feel like a wet noodle right now, you definitely did a great job.”
I snorted and watched as he pulled the Visa slip off the machine—I hated when clients did that themselves, but I had to be polite and just wait for them to finish.
“Tell me, Bev,” Nate turned completely toward her so his broad back was to me. “Why won’t your friend go out with me?”
Bev’s eyes widened and darted to mine.
“Don’t look at her, just answer me.” His tone was jovial, but I could tell he was looking for the real answer.
If ever there was a time when Bev needed psychic ability, it was now. I concentrated every brain cell in my head on firing at Bev, hoping she would give him the same excuse I had.
“She’s got a boyfriend.”
Oh shit, I telepathically sent excuse A instead of excuse B.
He turned back around to look at me. Behind his back, Bev’s raised eyebrows and big thumbs up indicated that she thought she’d done well.
“A boyfriend, huh? Interesting.”
I was so busted.
“Okay, okay, here’s the truth. We’re really not allowed to go out with clients, and I’m not looking to lose my job, okay?”
“I could stop being a client?”
I shook my head. “That’s not the point, if Rita heard you stopped coming here in order to date me, that would be just as bad. Nope, sorry, it’s not gonna happen.”
Nate sighed, seemingly ready to accept that I wouldn’t date him. “Well if that’s the case, I’d like a standing massage appointment at this time on Thursdays.” He smiled over at Bev.
Wow, he was planning on spending money every week on massages? We weren’t the most expensive spa around, but neither were we the cheapest. I’m embarrassed to admit that I wouldn’t have been able to afford a massage a week without a parental cash injection. That he could was surprising for a grease monkey. All this ran through my head as I turned toward my computer blocked out the next month’s worth of appointments on my computer.
“Sounds good by me,” Bev said.
Nate looked down at the Visa slips he’d torn off and placed on the counter before he grabbed one and shoved it into his pocket, tucking the other under the machine.
I turned to Bev as I dug in my desk for a gift certificate to fill out for him. “You all done back there?”
Bev nodded and sighed, echoing my own relief at the day being over. I was almost ready to go; other than Nate, it had been a slow night and I was able to tally up the day’s receipts before close. I recorded the number and handed Nate the gift certificate after filling it out.
He thanked me and smiled at us both. “Have a great week ladies. See you next Thursday,” he said before turning and striding out the front door. Bev followed and locked the door behind him, watching him walk away.
“He is just so hot,” she said when she finally turned back toward me.
I snorted. I opened the cash drawer to put Nate’s Visa slip in but noticed some extra scribbling on the back. It was his phone number, written in neat block letters. Underneath it, there were three words:
Call me, Shoshanna.
Before Bev could see it, I shoved it into the drawer, phone number side down.
“He’s got a tattoo on his shoulder. I’m so into guys with ink,” Bev said.
Turning off the computer monitor, I got up from my chair. “You’re only into guys with tattoos because you’re shit scared of getting one yourself.”
“I don’t see you running and getting one.” Bev turned off most of the lights, leaving the one at the front on for security.
“What do I need a tattoo for?”
Bev shrugged. “They’re just cool, that’s all.”
“What was his tattoo of?”
“A parachute.”
“Huh?”
Bev clucked her tongue. “A parachute. You know, like when you jump out of a plane?”
“I am familiar with the concept of skydiving, Bev.” I just thought it was odd for a man to have a tattoo of a parachute. I was used to seeing Celtic designs and even the odd dragon or astrological sign or even a sleeve of intricate designs, but never a parachute. Maybe skydiving was his hobby. Yuck. I shivered at the thought of jumping out of a plane. To me, an adrenaline rush was Black Friday at Macy’s with my dad’s Amex card. That was excitement.
“Let’s get out of here,” Bev said.
I nodded and we headed to the back to grab our purses and set the alarm.
* * *
Friday morning meant it was my day off. I was dozing in bed, not ready to get up but well past my nine-hour sleeping maximum, half-dreaming half-fantasizing about Brad Pitt (from the old days before he got so grisly). It was going really well: Angelina was out of the picture and Brad and I were lounging by the pool, feeding each other Skittles. Suddenly, my mother appeared in the doorway of the mansion, shrieking, “He’ll just cheat on you, Shoshanna, all men are pigs, think of your father!”
Thankfully my phone rang, ending the good dream gone very bad. I slid my arm out from under the covers and grabbed the cell off my nightstand, bringing it to my exposed ear.
“Hello?” I groaned.
“Hi Shoshanna, it’s Rita.”
“Oh, hi.” Oh God, please don’t call me in to work today, I prayed. Then panic set in; I sat up and prayed I hadn’t screwed something up. I mentally went through everything I’d done at work the night before but couldn’t think of anything I’d missed.
“Don’t worry, I don’t need you to come in. I was just going through yesterday’s receipts and I saw your name and a phone number on the back of a Visa slip.” Rita sounded positively giddy. Sometimes it was hard to believe she was a fifty-five-year-old grandmother. She sure didn’t act like it, and thanks to her own products didn’t look it either.
&nbs
p; I opened my eyes, blinking a few times to focus. “Oh, that’s the air conditioning guy. He’s come in a couple times and keeps asking me out. Don’t worry, I keep turning him down.”
“I know, Bev told me.” Rita paused. “So, are you going to call him?”
I blinked several times, trying to clear my brain so I could understand what she was saying. “Uh, no. And even if I wanted to, you said we’re not allowed to date clients.”
“I might make an exception in this case. Shosh, that guy is rowr!”
It was obvious Rita just wanted to live vicariously through some torrid affair that she was sure I would have with the air conditioning guy. I tried to let her down easy. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Rita, but he’s just not my type.”
She made a noise. “What, you’re not into hot men?”
I laughed. “It’s not that. It’s just…” How on earth did I get into this conversation with my boss?
“Well, okay. But I am going to write this number down for you before I send the slip to the bank. Just in case.”
I could almost hear her winking at me.
“Okay, Rita, see you tomorrow.” I hung up the phone and stared at the ceiling for several minutes, mentally preparing myself to get up.
I had no plans for the day, other than a few errands and visiting Bubby, but it was well past time to get out of bed. Throwing off the covers, I got up and headed toward the bathroom for a shower.
Halfway there, the phone rang again. I expected it to be Rita again, or even Bev, taking up Rita’s cause, but instead it was Susan. She barely held it together for a hello before she dissolved into sobs.
“I need you to help me,” she said, her breath catching halfway through.
“What’s the matter, Susan?” a sudden image appeared in my mind: my dad had cheated on her too, and was leaving her right before their wedding. Or worse, she ran into Mom at Macy’s and they got into a catfight. Poor Susan.
“My car broke down and I have a fitting at eleven then I need to go to the florist and…the caterer and…” she was racked with sobs. I couldn’t believe she was freaking so much about her car breaking down.
“Why don’t you call a car service and have a driver for the day?” She could certainly afford it.
There was a long pause, like the thought had never occurred to her. “Oh. That’s…” she sighed. “I don’t know why I never thought of that. But…would you come with me, I’m just in such a state.”
To be honest, it was about the last thing I wanted to do, but she really was a nice lady and I would hope if the roles were reversed, she would help me out if I was having a pre-wedding meltdown. “Sure Susan, why don’t you call a service and just text me when you’re on your way. I just need a shower and to get dressed.”
“That would be great,” she said. “Thank you so much. I’m sorry I’m all in a tizzy; I’ll explain more when I see you.”
And I was off and running.
* * *
Smiling at the middle-aged driver who was holding the door for me, I got into the back seat of the long black Town Car at ten-forty, arranging myself next to my soon-to-be stepmother. We had plenty of time to get Susan to her fitting for her wedding gown. I was a bit concerned about Susan’s seemingly fragile state of mind, which, while improved from earlier, still seemed a bit delicate.
“Thank you so much, Shoshanna,” she said, wringing her hands, despite the big rock on her finger.
“It’s okay. Good timing though, this being my day off.” I gave her a genuine smile. Now that I was here, I was eager to accompany her to her fitting: I had yet to see the dress.
She smiled weakly back at me. “Seems like this is becoming a regular thing for us. Anyway, I don’t want you to think I’m a complete basket case for no reason, it’s just been a horrific morning.”
The driver pulled the car away from the curb and into traffic. I shook my head at Susan. “It’s okay, really.”
“I did call Jen to come with me this morning. I had hoped we could have a nice day like you and I did last Friday.” Although I kept my eyes on hers, in my peripheral vision I could see her fidgeting her hands in her lap.
“She told me that she would have no part of it and wasn’t likely coming to the wedding either. She called me a homewrecker.” Susan hiccupped.
Seriously? Maybe Jen and my mother could go out for drinks on the evening of the wedding. After all, like they say: misery loves company.
“That’s terrible, Susan, I’m really sorry.”
“And she had to wait until now to tell me she’s not coming?” Susan hiccupped again, her voice rising in pitch and volume. “My own daughter?”
I wasn’t sure what to say. A lot of people had been hurt by what she and my Dad had done, and some weren’t so willing to put their support behind the upcoming union.
“I shouldn’t be dumping this on you. But I can’t believe my own daughter...” She looked out the window and shook her head before she turned back to me and smiled, reaching for my hand. “You’ve been so great.”
Apparently Susan and my father had not spoken about the brunch episode of Sunday previous. I was still feeling guilty. “Not really.”
She turned to look at me. “What do you mean?”
“Dad and I sort of had a thing last week at brunch.” I didn’t want to get into the details. It’s hard to admit a conversation that ultimately ends up with you being told to grow up and then walked out on.
Her fingers resumed their fiddling. “He mentioned it. I think he feels badly about what happened, but he’s not angry at you, Shoshanna. He…and I, only want the best for you.”
I thought to Tuesday night, to what I had said and done to my mother. No, I wasn’t mad at her either, just tired of her self-indulgent whining. Of course, I still loved her and all. So it followed that Dad wouldn’t be angry at me either. I needed to call him.
“So what are you going to do about Jen?” I asked, eager to shift the conversation away from myself.
She shrugged. “What can I do? She’s a grown woman, I can’t make her come to my wedding if she doesn’t want to.” She looked out the side window again. “At least Jacob will be there.”
“That will be nice for you,” I said, groaning inwardly at the image of her son that had just flashed into my mind.
“Well, anyway, on to better things. I’m so glad you’re coming with me today, I’m anxious to get your thoughts on my dress. It’s a bit shameless that a forty-seven-year-old divorcee is wearing a wedding gown, but I have to admit, it’s magnificent.”
Fashion, that was more my speed. “What designer?”
“Pronovias.” She was grinning like a schoolgirl, it was sweet.
“They are stunning.” Although I had never been a bride, I’d been a bridesmaid enough times to have spent some considerable time in bridal shops and thus knew which designers I liked (the important information tucked away in my memory banks for future use) and Pronovias was one of them. “I’m sure it’s beautiful,” I said.
The dress was beautiful; a stunning silk empire waist with the most delicate lace top. It was not white, but almost almond and the train was a conservative chapel length, much more appropriate for a second wedding, I thought. Susan had chosen really well.
And she looked so elegant in it, with her hair swept up off her neck (albeit in a cheap clip for the time being) that I smiled with pride. It was easy to forget that she wasn’t a first-time bride all aglow with thoughts of her wedding night. Okay, ew, no need to think about that.
By the time the dressmaker had added the few pins for a tuck here and a let-out there, Susan was back to her normal easygoing self. We stopped for lunch, this time just taking a few minutes for a quick salad at Wendy’s (I even offered to pay, but Susan would have no part of it) and then continued on to the florist for a final discussion on her bouquet and Dad’s boutonniere.
Then it was off to the caterers for a tweaking of the menu and headcount.
“So, Shoshanna, the wedding
is two weeks away. I’m going to have to let the caterer know if you’re bringing someone.” Susan said on the way to the restaurant that would be catering the wedding.
I panicked. “Yes, I’m bringing someone.”
She seemed surprised but quickly smiled at me. “Oh, that’s wonderful, who is he? Assuming it’s a ‘he,'” she twittered, obviously having heard about mine and Bev’s legendary lesbian prank.
“It is definitely a he. But ha ha on your little joke,” I was stalling, trying to think of what to tell her. Before I knew what was happening, a name flew into my head and out my mouth. “His name’s Nate. Nate Cooper.”
I bit my lip. Shit, what am I doing?
“Oh. Any relation to Jeff and Frieda?” she asked.
We pulled into the restaurant parking lot. “Hmm, not sure.” Of course, I was totally bullshitting and I was going to hell where I would sit on Satan’s lap and burn with him for all of eternity, probably wearing Wal-Mart clothes and Velcro running shoes as part of my punishment.
“Is this a new beau?” Susan asked.
“Not sure where it’s going just yet. We’ve been out a few times.” Sure, I thought…if you count telling him where the air conditioner is as a date.
“Well, I’m looking forward to meeting him, although, I will say Jacob will be disappointed.”
Okay, so I made the only reasonable choice. An eternity on Satan’s lap had to be better than an evening stuck next to Jacob. Now I just had to figure out how to show up alone and save face. Maybe there would be some sort of emergency that prevented him from attending?
Unless…
* * *
“Okay, I’ll go out with you,” I blurted out the second Nate came in for his Thursday massage appointment. I was wired and panicked; with the wedding in just ten days, there was a good chance he would turn me down. What kind of crazy girl asks a guy on a first date to a wedding and with such short notice?
Nate looked around, confused. “What? Right now?”
I laughed, trying to look casual. “No. Um, I don’t know how to ask this, but um…” looking around the counter, I made sure we were alone. “I have this wedding to go to next weekend and I really need a date.”
Dating Kosher Page 9