by Ariella Papa
“Rebecca, what the hell is going on? Are you okay?”
I can’t stop crying. Then the bell rings and I know it’s my food. I get up to buzz the guy in, but Tommy stops me.
“It’s okay, I got it.” I try to get my wallet, but Tommy runs to the door. I hear him talking to the delivery guy in the hall and he comes back into the living room. I am trying to pull myself together.
“Um, Rebecca, can you float me five dollars?” I start laughing, the hysterical kind of laughter you have when you’ve been crying too much. I finally get my wallet and toss it to him.
“Just take the money out of there,” I say. “Don’t pay for my pizza.”
He comes back in and gives me change. I wipe my eyes and open up my soup. I am a little bit out of breath. Tommy stares at me.
“Aren’t you going to watch the rest of the movie?”
“Are you going to tell me what happened?”
“It’s nothing,” I say. I want to forget it ever happened.
“Nothing. One minute you’re sitting here normal, as normal as you can be, and the next you’re crying. What happened? It’s like fucking science fiction.”
I remember the alien girl he said he would run off with, but I don’t mention it. I just shrug.
“I don’t know, maybe I’m PMS-ing.” Normally any mention of the monthly condition I have would quiet him, but Tom Hanks must have given him some bizarre courage. It was terrifying in a way, as if someone had replaced my ignorant gym teacher with a bizarre female teacher who knew that having my period wasn’t an excuse not to play volleyball.
“If I ever tried to suggest something like that you would tear me a new one.” I hate that expression and he knows it. “What’s going on?”
“Esme lost her glasses.” He swallows and looks confused.
“Is this the plot or something? You want me to help you figure out how she finds them?” In days of yore, when the ratings were high, before we had to jump the shark in our relationship, Tommy used to help me come up with ideas for the sixty-second Esme shorts I created. He was really tied to her, too. Even though we had already broken up when I found out we were turning her into a show, I knew he was really proud. Sometimes I felt like she was our kid. I got custody, but now I had been a bad parent and social services had come to take her away. Except it was an evil force named Delores who was now going to raise her. I start bawling again.
“Jesus, Rebecca. I’ll give you a hand.”
“It’s not a plot. She lost her glasses.”
“I don’t get it.”
“No more glasses. Maybe she’ll get contacts. I don’t know.”
“What?” He is about to give up.
“The fucking peanut that I work for doesn’t want Esme to wear glasses anymore. It’s not sexy enough.”
“She’s what? All of twelve?”
“Yeah. Glasses are not going to sell ad time.”
“Jeez.” He runs a hand through his hair. There was the reason I could never get pissed and not have Tommy in my life. Whatever went on between us, somehow he always understood the things that were important to me.
I turn the movie back on, eat a couple of slices of my pizza and give him the other two.
Kathy calls me at work the next day. As soon as I hear her voice, I get anxious about finding a way to get off the phone. That feeling is immediately followed by guilt and then defiance. I am making a lot more than $300 a week, but it’s not worth all the stress. If one of my best friends calls, I am damn well going to talk to her.
Kathy is hot by most standards, but the thing that makes her the most striking is the funky-colored glasses she always wears. It’s her trademark and it became Esmes’s. I am envious that she had an object so tied to her identity. She brought me to Selima for the first time, and it was with her that I finally found a pair of glasses that I liked.
If anyone else was going to feel my pain it was Kathy. I tell her the whole sordid tale. When I finish she waits for a long time before speaking.
“That just sends the worst kind of message. If I was a little girl and feeling dorky enough I would love to see a cool character like Esme wearing glasses.”
“What is so obvious to TV watchers is often derived by TV makers only after a series of focus groups and meetings. No one can ever just accept a good thing. When a program is doing well there is this constant need for tweaking. God! I hate my job.”
“Do you know what you need?”
“Rock shrimp tempura.”
“Rebecca!”
“To get sloshed.”
“No, a trip to everyone’s favorite optical store.”
The secret of people who work in TV is that the majority want to work in film. One of the geekiest things Tommy and I ever used to do back when things were good between us was to film-parody different conversations we would have. For example he would ask me what we should have for dinner and I would say, “spaghetti western,” and then he would have to reask in a certain way.
I might be telling a story about work or something and he’d say, “But how would you direct that like a film noir?” Sometimes I try to imagine my life as a movie and recast certain aspects of it in different genres. It was a lot easier to do when I had more free time.
If ever I get the chance to direct a big-budget Technicolor musical, I am going to shoot one scene of the heroine (because all my protagonists will be women) shopping for glasses in Selima. In fact, the chorus of dancing salespeople and customers who glide around on glass cases and giant optical instruments will do jazz hands and shout “Selima!”
Kathy’s motives for inviting me aren’t as selfless as I originally thought. She is picking up the special mother-of-pearl glasses with yellow accents that she ordered to go with her wedding dress. They look great on her, but after I oohed and aahed about how beautiful she will look with the glasses complementing her dress and bouquet of yellow flowers, I figured it was my turn.
Although Kathy is a CPA she really should be a personal shopper. The bespectacled salespeople at Selima are quite helpful, but they don’t stand a chance against Kathy. You’ve barely adjusted the earpiece when she is declaring, “no,” “maybe” or “fabulous.” She is very sure of herself and of what looks good on her friends. We travel around the cases, followed by the admiring salesperson, and Kathy has me try on various glasses until she is satisfied.
Even though I got a new pair of glasses—black Martine Sitbons that Tommy enjoys ridiculing—last year, Kathy has determined that buying another pair—a funkier pair—is just what the eye doctor ordered to improve my spirits.
We narrow it down to four pairs. I really like a pair of brown glasses that are sort of square. Kathy is having a real quandary over a pair of thick turquoise-and-brown glasses and a red pair. There are also the titanium frames that the salesperson suggested that I take just to appease her.
Kathy has me try the titanium ones first and then shoos them away with a swipe of her hand.
“I don’t know, Kathy, I think these are the way to go,” I say, holding up my favorites. I look at the salesperson, who shrugs, afraid to speak unless spoken to by Kathy. Kathy looks at me for a long time.
“I just don’t know if they suit the shape of your face.” No one has ever spoken so earnestly about glasses before. Then Kathy closes her eyes as if channeling a spirit. “I’m seeing you in a long camel coat with an ecru cashmere turtleneck peeking out. Yes, I like what I see, but it’s very conservative, very winter. It’s summer now, Rebecca. It’s hot, you’re hot. Try the turquoise.”
I try them. I look in the mirror. They are really nice, but it’s a lot of glasses.
“I’m not sure, Kathy. I like them. They seem like a little too much glasses.” She closes her eyes, as if wounded. She takes this shit seriously. I see the salesperson shake her head.
“I just mean that they are a little thick.” She opens her eyes and nods, giving in a little.
“Okay, if you don’t like them, that’s valid. I’ll defer
to you on that.” I appreciate the small victory. “But, I think they look hot. Try the red.”
I try the red. I look at Kathy. Kathy smiles and nods. I look at the salesperson, she agrees with a nod, cocking her head. I look in the mirror.
“I don’t know,” I say. They look good, but red? Kathy sighs.
“Those glasses are like a silk robe or a Prada suit. Those glasses say, ‘I am a children’s television producer, but I give a mean blow job.’”
“Kathy!” I say. I look at the salesperson, who is laughing nervously. “What will they match?”
“They’re red. Everything matches red.”
“Even pink,” offers the salesperson. Now they’re a team. Another customer comes over to us. She’s a woman in her mid-forties with a nice dress, but a bad haircut.
“That’s a great color for you,” she says to me. “I wish I could wear that color.”
Kathy looks at me with her eyebrow raised over her funky purple vintage frames. She told me so.
“Can you help me decide between these two pairs?” she says to Kathy. I feel for the salesperson. I look at myself again in the mirror. Red glasses, red shoelaces, maybe this is solidarity.
“I’ll take them,” I say to the salesperson. I do like them. The woman with the bad haircut is telling Kathy about her Internet dating experiences.
“Well, that’s why you have to get these.” She holds up a pair of midnight-blue frames. “Those tan ones make you look ten years older. I wore a pair of green-and-brown ones that had a similar shape when my fiancé proposed.”
“Oh my goodness,” says the woman in true awe. Kathy holds up her ring.
“Tiffany’s,” she says. The woman gushes over it. Kathy is quite smug. “I know.”
I hear gasps as Kathy recounts the whole story of Ron’s proposal. I rub my temples as I sign the credit card deposit receipt. More debt, yippee!
Kathy turns her attention back to me. “When are they going to be ready?”
“Next week,” I say.
“I want to see them on her again,” she instructs the salesperson. Then she laughs. “And I want to start getting a discount. I bring enough business here. She got those at my behest. And that other lady is getting the ones I suggested.”
The salesperson adjusts the glasses on me and starts writing up a ten-percent-off coupon for Kathy. She changes it to fifteen percent when Kathy clears her throat. I turn to Kathy.
“Those look great on you,” she says. She puts her tongue in the corner of her upper lip. “Mmm.”
“You wear your glasses during sex, don’t you?” I ask.
“Only if he’s good.”
We leave the store. Kathy wishes the bad haircut lady luck. She is thrilled to have been the fairy glasses mother for so many. I am further in credit card debt, but I can’t think about it. I deserve a little joy.
“Do you want to go to Nobu Next Door?” Kathy asks. “Will that put you in a better mood?”
“I’m in a great mood. I just paid too much for glasses that I don’t need.”
“Of course you don’t need them. But they look hot, so be happy and let’s get some tempura.”
“Don’t you have to go home to the ball and chain?”
“He’s at a game tonight.” My mouth has already begun to water about the prospect of spicy creamy sauce. I don’t care if I am Kathy’s backup plan.
Kathy and I have a really nice dinner. It’s been a long time since we hung out, just the two of us. Occasionally, I like to get my friends one-on-one. We don’t talk at all about Beth or Lauryn. And surprisingly, Kathy barely mentions the wedding. I find myself talking shop way too much.
We split a chocolate soufflé for dessert and Kathy tells me about how there are going to be a bunch of layoffs at her job and she knows about it because she had to report all the overages. She’s feeling pretty bad about it.
“I see all these people in the elevator or the lobby, and of course to me it’s just a bunch of names, but I know that the cuts will include some of these people. I feel awful. I want to scream, ‘Start saving your money! Don’t make any large purchases! You’re all getting up and outed!’”
“What?”
“That’s what they call it, on paper. Up and out.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No.”
“It sounds almost like a good thing.”
“I know. That’s how they get you. I have to talk about this and understand the economic benefit, but I can’t imagine how much it’s going to suck.”
“Up and out?”
“I know,” she says. “I know.”
“Wow, I’m probably getting up and outed, and I just spent four hundred bucks on ruby-red glasses.”
“Don’t worry about it. They need you. You’re the whole show.” I shake my head, eat some more chocolate goodness. I don’t even like dessert that much, but I want to eat the whole thing.
“Don’t you think those people getting up and outed think they are needed, too?” She nods. I can tell she feels like shit about it. That’s why there’s been no talk of wedding favors.
“Sometimes it sucks being an adult,” she says.
Delores spends the rest of the week in a management conference at a company headquarters in Gary, Indiana. I can’t imagine she’s spending much time in meetings because she sends me e-mails and voice mails every five minutes. Still, I prefer not to have her around. The very sight of her makes my allergies act up.
Seamus rents a car on the first Saturday in June. We’re heading all the way out to the tip of Long Island for the day. We hit a ton of traffic, but he’s holding my hand and the windows are open. It’s just nice to be out of the city, which is beginning to boil.
“I like your sunglasses,” he says, looking over at me.
“Prescription,” I say. Another shopping trip with Kathy last summer.
“Nice.”
We stop at a few of the vineyards. In the sun, the wine hits me a little harder than I expect. Or it could be the allergy pill. The wine is not affecting him, because after every sip he swirls it around in his mouth and then spits. I am kind of embarrassed, but the people doing the tasting act like this is normal.
We stop at a little place called the Country Kitchen for dinner. It’s a small, charming place with purple tablecloths and focaccia bread baskets. We have a really good meal of locally caught seafood. He picks the wine and I feel myself getting slightly drunk.
“I always drink a lot of wine around you.”
“I like that. I like how your cheeks get red.” He reaches across the table. “It matches those glasses.”
“They’re new,” I say. “I just got them this week. I’m giving my eyes a rest from contacts.”
“They’re cool. You look good in that color.”
“Do you think it’s going to take us a while to get back to the city?” I am planning on skipping dessert.
“Well, yeah, I was thinking that maybe we could stay around here if you were up for it. I made a reservation at a place a ways down the road.”
“Really,” I say. I can’t believe he did that. “That’s a nice surprise. I would love to.”
I’m going to leave these glasses on tonight to kick it up a notch….
We have a great night and we drink one of the bottles of wine that he bought. The motel is clean and cute. It’s no frills and that makes it more appealing, like we’re having an affair or something. The glasses work, too. We have a lot of fun. In the morning we walk along the bay that is right behind the motel. We go back to the Country Kitchen for breakfast. I’m starting to look ahead and imagine this as our place and the Motel on the Bay an escape. It feels like we are finally becoming a couple and that means that sometime in a future, we will have a past.
This weekend has solidified something between Seamus and me. We keep having all these false starts because of our schedules and other commitments, but now things are getting more intense. I can imagine moving in with him. Sure, it might be a little str
ange to live in the same building as Jen, but we’ll manage. I am definitely getting movers this time. Maybe I’ll make Seamus Kool-Aid every morning. Perhaps sometime Tommy can come over for dinner and the two of them can talk about…okay they’ve got to have something in common. Me, they can talk about me. No, that won’t work. What can they talk about?
“What’s up?” Seamus asks. He squeezes my hand and puts it on his leg. “You all right, you seem a million miles away?”
“Oh, no,” I protest. “I’m right here. I’m just thinking about what a good time I had.”
I smile all the way to Queens. Then, he tells me that he is going to do a summer share in the Hamptons starting after the Fourth of July. I’ve never been into the whole idea of the summer share, but I kind of wish that he would ask me if I care or if I’m interested or something, but he doesn’t. I know a lot of partying happens at those houses in the Hamptons, and if we are getting closer and becoming boyfriend and girlfriend it might be nice to be included in his plans for the summer weekends.
“So you’re not going to be around at all on the weekends?” I try not to sound too desperate or hurt or anything that could be construed badly.
“No, it’s only half the time. A half share.”
“A half share.” It’s more of a repeat than a question.
“Yeah, you can even come out sometimes if you’re not busy. A couple of my buddies are doing it, too. I think it’s going to be a lot of fun. If I can’t spend the summer in Nice…” He tries to make a joke and laughs.
What am I supposed to say? Just when I think things are getting better, we’re back to square one.
“What? You’re not mad, are you?”
“No, of course not,” I say, and smile without opening my mouth. If he was Tommy, he would know I was. Not only am I furious, I am also a passive-aggressive doormat of a wannabe pseudo-girlfriend. And a coward to boot.
“Do you want to come over tonight? We could order some sushi or some Indian?” Of course nothing that he has to make. He can’t buy me. I will not be plied with food and sexual favors. Okay, I would if I thought this was actually developing into something. But is it? It’s not every date that we spend two nights in a row together? Maybe he needs time. No, fuck it. I have to be strong.