I walked in and clumsily busied myself with taking off my coat and looking for the coat check so it didn’t look like I was looking for Travis. It was silly and insecure, but it was one of those hold-over old-Jordan behaviors that I hadn’t forgotten yet. I don’t know why, but I’d always felt uncomfortable walking into a restaurant or walking off an airplane if somebody was there waiting for me. Having that searching look on my face—a look that would be totally normal and acceptable in those circumstances—made me feel nervous. Exposed. Maybe it came from a fear that nobody would show up and the hopeful, expectant look would turn to the shamed, disappointed look and strangers would watch me turn from awaited lass to stood-up loser. A little grandiose to think that complete strangers would be paying that much attention to me and my facial expressions, I admit. But I found the coat check, which was right behind the maître d’s station and also where Travis happened to be standing.
As soon as we sat down and before Travis even had a chance to butter his bread, I put the wrapped frame in front of him.
“What’s this?”
“It’s not a really big deal,” I said. “And it’s twofold. And the second fold isn’t here. It wasn’t ready. But it should be by the time we get done with dinner.”
“You didn’t even have to get me one fold,” he said. “But I’m happy that you did.”
“The truth comes out.”
He laughed and waved his hand in front of his face. “I meant, just because it shows me that you’ve been thinking about me. Whatever it is, I’ll cherish it forever.”
“It’s last Wednesday’s New York Post with a wad of used chewing tobacco in the sports pages.”
“Hmm,” he said. “Did you include a gift receipt?”
“Stop it. I’ve been thinking about you, all right. In fact, some of that thinking has generated, in my humble opinion, some really fun marketing ideas for your restaurant . . . which will be opening next Christmas at a lighthouse near you!”
“I was hoping for a summer blockbuster,” he said, smiling.
“Sleeper of the summer, it is! So . . . you’re going to need to advertise. Which is where I come very much in handy.”
“One of the many ways,” he added. “Do go on . . . ”
“Well, it doesn’t matter how good the food is if nobody knows about it. So a new restaurant needs good buzz. We need to get attention . . . you know, like, like a foghorn blasting your eardrums out.”
“Sounds inviting.”
“An invitation! Exactly. To everyone who walks into any of the quaint little gourmet food shops and gift shops that every little hamlet in the Hamptons is lousy with,” I said.
“People who overspend on food,” he said. “Perfect.”
“The gourmet foodies get a coupon good for twenty dollars at that market or that store. That’ll get us in with the owners. We also give invitations to everyone who gets on the Hampton Jitney.”
“The bus to the Hamptons,” he said, growing intrigued by degrees.
“And everyone who comes to the restaurant gets their jitney ticket paid for.”
“Okay, okay. But is that our clientele?”
“New Yorkers who like to go to the Hamptons will appreciate the twenty bucks and will come back talking about this great new restaurant? Yep. That’s them.”
“I like it . . .” he said, smiling.
“And for fun, the first five hundred or so leave with a T-shirt. The front says ‘I know where you ate last summer.’” He laughed. “Or something silly like that.”
“No, I like that.”
“And then the back has the restaurant’s name, The Beacon, in big letters.”
“Huge letters!” he echoed.
“Lighthouse sized!” I replied. “Totally phallic. People wear them out—free advertising, and then more people will want them, of course, so you’ll start selling them. All the profits, by the way, can go to the lighthouse-restoration fund.”
Travis was shaking his head in disbelief. “I can’t believe you thought of all this.”
“Please.” I shrugged. “I was bored at work.”
“You’re brilliant.”
“But wait! There’s more!”
“Call now and you’ll throw in a second advertising campaign, absolutely free?”
“Yes! Actually, no. But . . . I was looking up lighthouses on the Internet and I came across this . . . ” I pushed the wrapped, framed poem toward him. “It’s really beautiful, and it needed to be yours.” He unwrapped it and just stared at it for a minute. Then he started to read it aloud.
“‘The rocky ledge runs far into the sea, / and on its outer point, some miles away, / the lighthouse lifts its massive masonry . . . ’” Then he put the framed poem facedown and, staring over my shoulder dreamily, continued to recite it word for word. I was stunned.
“I guess you know it,” I marveled.
“‘The Lighthouse,’ by Longfellow,” he said, still quiet, somewhere between melancholic and deeply touched—I couldn’t tell which. “My dad used to recite this poem all the time. I’m not kidding. It was the first thing I ever memorized when I was a kid. That and ‘The Star-Spangled Banner.’”
“Wow! Then I done good?” I said, sensing now which way the wind was blowing.
“You done better than good,” he said, and I could swear he was almost hoarse. “This is really . . . special. I love it.”
He leaned in to kiss me and stopped just short of my face to look at me. Then he kissed me with a force that I wasn’t used to. It wasn’t even as much a physical thing as it was emotional. I felt more connected to him at that moment than I ever had. I could feel how much it meant to him—how much I was starting to mean to him. It was one of those kisses that speak volumes, that say what can’t be said in words. I was so happy that I got nervous. This was becoming a habit. Every time I thought about how incredible Travis was, and how happy I was, I remembered that I’d been lying to him all this time and I actually got chest pains. I had to tell him. But how? I was going to have to think of something. I hated having this big secret from him. He was rereading the poem, oblivious to my inner turmoil, thank God.
“I’m going to put this right up front in the entrance of the restaurant.”
“Which will give the customers something to read while they’re waiting for a table because it’s always so damned crowded!”
He looked at me intently. “Have I told you how crazy I am about you?”
“No, but if you had, I don’t think I’d get tired of hearing it.”
“Good, because I think you’ll be hearing it a lot.”
We sat there, our faces inches away from each other, when suddenly he lurched backward.
“What’s wrong with me?!” he screeched, and then pulled a little gift-wrapped box out and put it in front of me. “I was so caught up in my present I didn’t give you yours.”
“Don’t worry, I’m glad,” I said. “I’m thrilled that you like it.”
“Here. It’s just a little something. Open it,” he instructed. And I did. I pulled out the most delicate gold locket I’d ever seen. With a J inscribed on the front.
“It’s a locket,” he said.
“I see that,” I said back. “It’s beautiful.” I opened it to see if there was anything inside and there was. A tiny picture of a lighthouse.
“Oh, I love it!” I said.
“That’s just temporary. You can put anything you like in there.”
“I wouldn’t change this picture for anything in the world,” I said quietly, and I felt I didn’t want to joke with him anymore.
“I was hoping you’d say that.” He beamed.
After dinner Travis and I enjoyed a brisk walk toward the East Village. I was guiding us in the direction of the printing shop, because I wanted to pick up his T-shirt and give it to him and the guy told me he’d be open late. I’d pretty much ruined the surprise already by telling him about it, but I was awful with surprises and he didn’t know I’d actually gone and had one ma
de.
It was true, though, about me being bad with surprises. I could never buy anyone gifts ahead of time because I prided myself on giving good gifts, and whenever I had purchased something particularly groovy, I’d get so excited that I’d need to give it to that person right then. Even if it was a month before the event that I’d bought the gift for. Then—being a person easily and often riddled with guilt—I’d end up having to buy another present for when the actual day rolled around, because I wouldn’t want to show up empty-handed or risk that person having forgotten that I’d already given them a gift. So the added bonus of being a bad surprise giver is that it also gets really expensive.
I actually put a self-imposed time limit on when I’m allowed to shop for people—usually falling between three and five days before the occasion. The downside to this restriction is that it guarantees I’m smack-dab in the middle of the frantic last-minute Christmas shoppers, getting pushed and shoved out of the way of the discounted cashmere sweater that I don’t even want but end up buying anyway because I now have a bruise of honor and I don’t want to end up with nothing to show for it. Pretty much a lose-lose situation.
Anyway, we were cutting through Union Square, where the booths in the Christmas bazaar had been, when I spotted Dirk and some bimbette. I took a moment to see what I was feeling. Was I hurt? Angry? Sad? I watched him from about fifty feet away, imagining him pulling his charming Dirk tricks, telling choice stories from his best-of arsenal—all of which I knew from experience were certainly enchanting hearing for the first time or two or six.
And I was elated to find that I didn’t feel anything as I watched him. Of course it was jarring to see him with another girl—especially since we hadn’t broken up officially, so he was blatantly cheating on me once again. But, thankfully, this time I didn’t care.
That didn’t mean I wasn’t going to fuck with him, though. It was too good an opportunity. The funny thing was, what I noticed first was a man in an ugly black Patagonia jacket with purple and green trim—and I wondered who was in charge of the color palate at Patagonia and why people allowed them to get away with it. It was only when I got a better look that I realized it was Dirk. In a new jacket.
“Could you excuse me for a second?” I said to Travis, and then walked over to Dirk and Bambi.
“Hi, Dirk!” I said as chipper as can be. Dirk looked up and turned white. He dropped the girl’s hand and ran his own through his hair.
“Jordan, hi!” he said.
I turned to Bambi and put out my hand and smiled. She took it, we shook, and Dirk looked like he wanted the earth to open up and swallow him.
“Hi. I’m Jordan. Maybe Dirk’s mentioned me to you. I’m supposedly Dirk’s girlfriend, at least Dirk thinks that I think I’m his girlfriend, but I have amnesia. Apparently he does too because he’s forgotten that he’s supposed to be my boyfriend and, well . . . he’s here with you.”
“Jordan . . .” Dirk said, but I ignored him and kept talking to the girl.
“I’m sorry to say this, but you’ll probably wish you had amnesia too after spending any length of time with him. He’s good for some laughs, though. Good luck.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said out of the side of his mouth in a lame attempt to disguise it from her.
“Really, don’t. You see that guy over there?” I was pointing to Travis. “He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, so you just carry on. This all works out nicely. You with . . .” I looked to Bambi.
“Jessie,” she said.
“Perfect. You with Jessie and me with that handsome gentleman you see over yonder and everybody’s happy.”
“But—wha—” Dirk, stammered. “Can you excuse me for a minute?” he said to Jessie and then motioned for the two of us to move to a more private location, approximately four feet to the left.
“What is it, Dirk?” I asked.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and he looked like he meant it, but I didn’t see the point. “I am. It’s totally nothing.”
It was interesting. I knew he felt bad and I appreciated what limited remorse he was seeming to muster, but I honestly didn’t care. “It’s okay, Dirk,” I said. “Really. Go on and enjoy your night.”
“Seriously?” he asked hesitantly.
“Seriously,” I reassured with a chuckle.
“But what does that mean for us?” he asked, still not quite getting it.
“What do you think it means, Dirk? There is no more us.”
“You’re dumping me?” He recoiled in shock.
I couldn’t help smiling at him ruefully. “Don’t make it sound so completely unwarranted or unexpected, my big, dumb animal. I think we can both recognize the awkward circumstance we’ve happened upon this evening.”
“That,” he said, meaning Jessie, “doesn’t mean anything.”
“Well, I’m sorry for her, then. Because, as I said . . . that”—and I motioned over to Travis—“means a lot. And right now isn’t the time to have this conversation anyway.”
“Baby, this is all a misunderstanding. We’ve gotten way offtrack. I swear to God I was just telling Mike and Joe in the office that I was going to propose to you on Christmas.” What?!?!
“What?” I said in disbelief. “Where is this coming from? We haven’t even been seeing each other.”
“You know it’s what you want. And it looks good for me workwise if I’m settling down. I’m so close to making partner early and I know if we get hitched it will be just the push I need. Win-win,” he said, and then held up his index finger to Jessie, indicating that he’d be just one more teeny minute. Because he’s pseudo-proposing to his girlfriend. But he’ll be back in a jiffy and they can continue their date.
“Do you not see the many, many levels of wrong here?” I asked calmly.
“Think about it. I’ll call you tomorrow?” he asked.
“No, Dirk. Why don’t we just let some time go by and then if—and that’s a really big freakin’ if—but IF there’s anything we need to talk about, we can. Take care.”
And I walked back over to Travis, took his hand, and led him away from my past. Dirk looked after me completely dumbfounded. Jessie didn’t look any too pleased herself. But me? I felt happy. There are probably so few moments in life when people can truly say they’re happy. And even fewer of them when that happiness is acknowledged. I wanted to savor it. Breathe it in. Really feel it, because it was the first time in a long time that everything felt right.
“What was that about?” Travis asked.
“Oh, just some unfinished business,” I said. He looked at me inquisitively and I added, “It’s finished now.”
“Good.”
And without looking back, we walked toward the T-shirt print shop and Travis’s place. I told Travis to walk ahead and meet me in front of his place. I said that the rest of his surprise was coming.
“Another surprise? This is like Christmas and my birthday rolled into one!” He closed his eyes again and held out his hands and I pushed him in the direction of his apartment building.
“Shoo! Off with you! I’ll meet you there in five minutes.” And he walked off and I continued on my way to the print shop.
When I got there, the shirt was all ready and waiting for me. It was perfect. He was going to be so excited. I paid the guy and told him that we’d probably be needing a lot more of them down the line, so don’t lose the design. (I didn’t want anyone to have to pay that setup fee again.) The guy said that they keep records and templates for three years and that whenever we needed them, they’d have them.
“So this Beacon place . . . it any good?” he asked.
I smiled knowingly. “It’s gonna be the best restaurant ever.”
* * * * *
When I got to Travis’s place he wasn’t out front, so I rang the intercom bell, then called his cell phone. No answer either time. I walked in front of his building, figuring that he’d just run off for a minute and he’d be back any second.
I th
ought I saw his friend Ben walk into the building, but then I thought it couldn’t be him because he didn’t even say hi to me. In fact it almost looked like the person scowled at me. I continued to wait, calling Travis every so often but still getting no answer.
After about fifteen minutes an elderly couple was coming home so I followed them into the building.
When I got to Travis’s apartment door I could hear voices from inside. He was home? What was the deal? I wondered. It was Ben that I heard first.
“I told you not to get involved with her, but no . . . you had everything under control.”
I knocked on the door. It swung open, and I took about two steps in. But nobody looked happy to see me.
“Hi. What happened? I had a surprise for you . . .”
“I already got my surprise,” growled Travis. “Thanks.”
“Why are you acting like this? What’s wrong?”
“Not much. Except that I’m being sued!”
“Oh my God!” I exclaimed. “By who?!” Travis looked at me like I was insane.
“By you!” he shouted.
“What are you talking about?” He thrust the papers in front of me. I took them and looked at them and saw the words right there before me, but I couldn’t believe my eyes.
It was all there. I was suing Travis. But I’d had nothing to do with it. I was absolutely 100 percent as shocked to see those papers as he probably was.
“This is bullshit! Travis, I promise, I had nothing to do with this. You have to believe me,” I pleaded.
“And it was just a coincidence that you told me to wait out there when I was served papers?”
“Yes! It was,” I said. “I swear.”
“Not likely,” Ben threw in.
“Dude, why don’t you take off? I can handle things from here,” Travis said to Ben.
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