by Ariella Papa
Jordan and Beth pick us up together in Jordan’s new SUV. They are both dressed like they stepped straight out of a Ralph Lauren ad. And they are both wearing expensive supermodel sunglasses. How did they get to be so tanned? Beth gets in the back with me, and Tommy, in the front seat, is really impressed with Jordan’s new toy. I wonder if Jordan will be able to keep this car when he gets replaced. Also, how will they explain that Gus is no longer there even though the show is called Gus and the Gopher? Why didn’t I ask Don that? And what happened with Don and Sarah, anyway?
Jordan is in a really good mood and I wonder if he has been helped in any way by controlled substances. Beth is being really quiet and stares out the window as we go through the Midtown Tunnel.
“Did I show you the coolest thing, man?”
“What?” Tommy asks. He seems to be catching Jordan’s enthusiasm. Jordan grabs a remote control and hands it to Tommy.
“It’s for the radio.” I lean up to the front seat.
“You mean to tell me that you have a remote control so you won’t have to reach over and press buttons,” I ask in disbelief.
“Yeah,” Jordan says, nodding. “Yeah.”
“Man, that’s awesome,” Tommy says.
“Can you believe them?” I ask Beth, who smiles weakly at me.
Jordan insists on leaving all the windows open and pumping some hip-hop all the way there. Beth gets Tommy to roll his window up in a nagging little sister way and that’s about all she says for the ride.
Jordan and Tommy are screaming things over the music and they miss the exit.
“I can’t fucking believe you, Jordan!” Beth yells, pushing herself up between the seats. Her outburst startles me. “You know this is important.”
“Just chill, Beth. I’ll turn around.” He lowers the volume on the stereo and glares at her in the rearview mirror. I’m surprised at the anger in Jordan’s voice and confused at the familiarity between him and Beth. I reach out and touch Beth’s shoulder. I can feel the bone. She ignores me.
“She’s so fucking moody,” Jordan says to Tommy before turning the stereo back up.
“Yeah,” Tommy says quietly. I can sense he’s confused, too. Beth takes off her glasses and sort of smacks Tommy on the back of the head.
“You know, you could have dressed better, too. This isn’t some fucking backyard barbecue.” I can’t believe she is talking to him like that. They haven’t fought like this in a while. Tommy turns around in his seat.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Tommy asks.
Beth says something in Portuguese, a language neither of them speak except with their parents. Then no one says anything and it’s my turn to look out the window.
It takes us another half hour to find the house. We drive in silence, listening to the music and feeling tense.
“I think you need to turn here, man,” Tommy finally says. And he’s right. We turn onto the private road and go up a hill. We pass tennis courts, a cottage and a really big pool before getting to the main house. There are a lot of cars.
“You see, Beth,” Jordan says. “I don’t think they are going to miss us.”
The party is a pretty swanky affair, but it also seems very contrived. It’s a place I would have been impressed by five years ago, but now that I don’t have any money, it seems excessive. It certainly isn’t someone’s backyard barbecue. There are servers in white carrying around appetizers and a buffet-style grill set up that includes a pig. The host comes over to Beth and informs us of all this. He kisses Beth on both cheeks and shakes all of our hands vigorously.
“My house is yours,” he says, waving to the air around him. “Make sure you check out the pool and eat some pig. It’s been roasting since dawn.”
Beth’s mood brightens immediately. I get the distinct impression that Beth doesn’t want me around. Tommy must feel the same way, because he storms down the grounds to the pool. That leaves me to wander aimlessly around the crowd of revelers sipping beers. In spite of feeling out of place and having no one to talk to, I like being here. The grounds are beautiful and there aren’t any horns blaring or sirens or tall hot buildings that keep the heat in. I’m glad to be out of the city, if only for a day.
Eventually I head down to Tommy in the pool, playing water volleyball with a buff older woman against a buff gay couple. In spite of all these toned bodies, I take off my tank top and hike up my drawstring skirt and hang out in my bathing suit (sort of) and resume reading my trashy novel. The sun feels good on my skin and I laugh when Tommy shows off his volleyball skills.
His skills don’t help him, and he and his partner, Jill, get their asses handed to them by Jonathan and Owen. We all head up to the main house to investigate the pig. It’s more crowded now. There are deejays and some people are dancing. I can’t find Jordan or Beth anywhere.
We grab some grub and sit around a big table, drinking and telling stories. The biceps woman, Jill, is the head of sales for the studio. Jonathan is one of the engineers, and his boyfriend, Owen, is a professional musician who is thinking about going to cooking school.
Jonathan and Owen are sleeping over in one of the guest rooms. They wrangle a bottle of tequila and we do a shot. Our conversation flows even better. I smell the distinct odor of marijuana and smile at Tommy, certain he wants to locate the source.
“Have you seen Beth?” he asks. I shake my head. “I haven’t seen Jordan, either.”
“Do you think we are ever getting home tonight?”
“You want to leave so soon?” Owen asks.
“No, just wondering about our ride,” I say.
“Don’t worry,” Tommy says. “I’m pretty sober and I won’t drink any more. I’ll be okay if I need to drive.”
“If worse comes to worst, you can stay in our room. Jill’s going to,” Jonathan says.
“Thanks,” Tommy says, genuinely.
“Just keep it quiet, you two,” Owen says. He assumes we’re together, and neither one of us corrects him.
After a couple of hours and a couple of second helpings, it starts to get dark and people are scattered all over the property, as are torches. Beth and Jordan come over to our table.
“There you are,” Beth shrieks. “I’ve been looking all over for you guys.”
“We were down by the pool,” I say. “But we’ve been back here for a while. Where have you guys been?”
“We’ve been around.” She is acting much friendlier, almost too friendly. She keeps patting my hair. “Oh, I brought you the sarong. I forgot.”
Although it’s too late for me to strip completely to my bathing suit, I am touched she remembers. I look across at Jordan, who is talking to Tommy and Jill. I can see from Tommy’s expression that Jordan isn’t making much sense. He’s embarrassing himself in front of Owen and Jonathan. Jill gets up and leaves the table. I suspect it’s because Jordan is yelling in her ear.
I continue my conversation with Owen and Jonathan while Tommy tries to understand Jordan. Beth keeps loudly interrupting the conversation and not really making much sense. But I’m getting drunk, too, so maybe it’s my fault that I can’t understand her.
Someone sets up an ice-cream sundae bar and we all gather around and make sundaes. Beth makes a really impressive one with three scoops, all the toppings and a ton of whipped cream, but she doesn’t eat it, except to lick whipped cream off her fingers.
Tommy and Owen want to take another swim, so we head back to the pool. Instinctively, I hold on tight to Beth, who refuses to sit in one of the lounge chairs.
Jordan does cannonballs into the water and screams. He splashes everyone and Beth laughs hysterically. Jonathan says he is going to bed and Owen joins him. Owen repeats his offer, but we decline.
“I want to go in the pool, too,” Beth says, making her way to the edge. She and Jordan don’t seem to be slowing down at all.
“C’mon in!” Jordan yells. I’m still holding on to her. I just don’t think it’s a good idea.
“No, Beth, we’r
e leaving,” Tommy says. “C’mon, we’re tired and it’s going to take a couple of hours to get home.”
“Okay, Tommy.” We go back up to the house and wait while Beth says affectionate goodbyes to everyone.
Finally at the car, Tommy and Jordan fight over who is going to drive home. There is no way I’m getting in a car with Jordan driving and I know that Tommy hasn’t had a drink in five hours. I stay out of it, because he can make a better case for it than I could.
“C’mon, J., you said I could drive it.”
“I know, man, but I’m okay.”
“Yeah, you are,” Tommy lies. “But when else am I going to get a chance to drive it? You can work the remote.”
Jordan agrees as I pat Tommy’s shoulder before we take off. Then, in spite of the music, I pass out. I wake up when we are going back through the Midtown Tunnel. Beth is still talking really loud, but Jordan seems to have calmed down. I’m the only one who fell asleep. Tommy turns to drop off Beth.
“I can drop her,” Jordan says. “I’m okay to drive and I can drop you guys off Uptown.”
“No, it’s fine—it’s on the way,” Tommy says. It really isn’t, but he is very firm. I see Jordan turn and glance at Beth, then address me.
“Did you have a good sleep?” I think it’s the first time he’s looked at me all day.
“You have a very comfortable car,” I say.
“I know,” he says. I suspect he wants me to tell Lauryn how well he’s doing. For some reason, the way Beth slams the door when we get to her building makes me think she suspects that, too.
16
Lie in Our Graves
Kathy calls me during Port Charles on Monday. I was never one for soap operas, but I think they set up summer storylines for kids on break and unemployed women to get sucked right in and I do. I mute it because Kathy sounds like she’s been crying.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Nothing. Is this a bad time?” A couple is having sex on screen. I think this is crucial, but I thought they were brother and sister. I’m never going to figure this all out.
“No, not at all.” I switch the TV off. What am I becoming? “Are you at work?”
“No.”
“Oh, my God. Did you get up and outed?”
“No, I called in sick.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know.” Her voice shakes.
“Shit, Kathy, is it Ron?”
“No, well, sort of.”
“What?” Is the wedding off? Do I dare ask?
“I don’t know. I don’t know.” She stops and it sounds like she’s crying a little. I feel awful for her.
“Do you want me to come over there?”
“No, no. I don’t know.”
“What’s going on? Is it the wedding?”
“It’s everything. There are too many choices.”
“What do you mean? Like favors?” I am so clueless.
“Nooo!” she sobs. “Everything. I can’t stand waking up in the morning. I feel so weird. It’s not my period. It’s everything. I wish it was fifty years ago and I could just not have to decide. My mother thinks I need counseling.”
“How long has this been going on?”
“For a couple of months.”
“Months, wow. Why didn’t you say something?”
“I don’t know, I can’t understand it. It’s supposed to be the happiest time of my life.” Although I want to help Kathy, I just can’t get into this whole mind-set. Maybe I’ll change my mind when I’m engaged, but honestly, where my great-aunt Phyllis should sit is not something that turns me on.
“Well, is Ron helping you plan the wedding?”
“Sort of, he’s trying. It’s not just that. It’s everything. I’m up for this big promotion at work and they want me to get my MBA and there is so much. You know? So much.” She sniffles, and then starts crying again.
“Kathy, you sound overwhelmed.” I’m treading carefully, because I don’t want to seem anything less than supportive about any of it. “Maybe you are trying to do too much, you know, with the wedding, work, everything.”
“Oh, I shouldn’t have called you.” Great, I’ve done it, I’ll be X’d off the bridesmaid list before I even get to check out the ushers. “You’ve got your own problems.”
“Oh, those,” I say, not bothering to censor myself. “I’m fine, really.”
“Everyone has their own life. We never even see each other anymore.”
She kind of has a point. “That doesn’t mean we aren’t here for each other. It doesn’t mean we’re not excited, you know, about the wedding. It’s just that no one knew you were feeling this way.”
“Because, we don’t, you know, hang out.” She appears to have stopped crying, but her voice is teetering on hysterics. I am not sure I’m equipped to deal with this. Maybe I should call in the big guns, Lauryn and Beth. And I realize as I think that, that I’m not sure the big guns would call back.
“You’ve got to take it easy.”
“I don’t think I know how anymore. All Ron talks about is buying a house. My job is putting so much pressure on me. My mother thinks this is her wedding. My sister is on kid number two and acts like I’m a prima donna.”
“Well, you just got to get rid.”
“What?” She laughs for the first time. “Get rid of what?”
“I don’t know. It’s just something to say.” I don’t want to lose the laughter. “Maybe get rid of all the shit.”
“No one responded to my sister about the bachelorette party. And now she is being induced next week. Dina acts like my wedding is the reason her water won’t break or whatever the hell is supposed to happen.”
“Shit!” I forgot all about the e-mail. “She sent the e-mail the day I got shitcanned and I never wrote back. I’m sorry.”
“No,” she sighs. “At least you had a reason. Lauryn and Beth didn’t respond, either—neither did my college roommate. I don’t want you to think this is just about that. It’s everything. Sometimes, I don’t want to get out of the shower because it means I’ll have to stop crying.”
“Boy. There’s a lot going on.”
“I know. I feel so abnormal.”
“You’re going to have a great wedding and a great career.” She laughs. “And a wonderful, happy life.”
“Thank you, Rebecca. Thanks. I just feel so, I don’t know. I’m not even twenty-eight and I feel so old.”
“I’m sure you’re not the only one. I bet a lot of people feel this way before their wedding. Just because you’re getting married doesn’t mean your whole life stops. It seems like it’s a lot of pressure.” This is still tricky, her guard is down, but criticizing the wedding can still be construed as blasphemous.
“I know you’re right. I wish we could just elope.”
“Are you kidding? After I tried on a rainbow of fucking dresses all over the tristate area?” She laughs really hard, the kind of laugh you have when you could start crying any minute. “Oh, I see, it was just for your amusement. I hope you think about that when you are fucking your new husband in the south of fucking France.”
“Stop, stop. I can’t imagine your tits in that backless number.”
“Yeah, saggy, thanks, you like that? You think I need that?” I’m starting to feel like we might be in the clear. “Listen, what are you up to tonight?”
“I don’t know.” She sighs. It’s possible I moved too quickly. “Ron is going to a game. I should start researching MBA programs. I’ve been putting it off.”
“This is the problem, Kath. Why don’t you just take a night off? No wedding plans or working from home or looking up grad schools.”
“What else is there?”
“Some of the Explore! folks and I are meeting over at Bryant Park for the Monday-night movie. I’m actually going early to reserve the spot. Do you want to go?”
“Will anyone I know be there?”
“No, just me.” This could be a deal breaker.
&nb
sp; “Great, what time?”
“How’s four o’clock?”
“Okay, do you think it’s bad that I’m doing this when I called in sick?”
“That’s the beauty of it.”
“You’re right. What should I bring?”
“Booze, and lots of it.” Kathy’s sigh of relief is way worth missing the incestuous love scene on the soap I shouldn’t be following. “That’s what the doctor ordered.”
I plan on walking down to the Union Square Market, but once I get out of the apartment, I am smacked with oppressive heat. It’s so hot my head starts to hurt. I decide to take the subway, even though I know it’s certain to stink of all the millions of people who pass through Times Square every day. I walk over to the Times Square station, cutting through all the alleys and hotel parking lots to avoid the tourists. This is the worst time for crowds, but this is when everyone seems to want to visit New York City.
I get the N downtown to Union Square. There is still a bit of a lunch crowd at the market. I promised Janice and John I would make food and hold a spot if they brought wine and beer. Now I have to figure out what to make.
I’ve been watching a lot of Molto Mario on the Food Network. He stresses buying what looks fresh each day instead of having a set idea in mind when you shop. I’m trying to practice this when I got to farmer’s market.
I do my usual once-over of the market. I can’t get anything that takes too long to prepare. It’s already one-thirty and I need to make whatever the hell it is I’m making and get to Bryant Park by four. I’m getting to know what the different stands have to offer and where I prefer to buy tomatoes as opposed to greens and herbs. My preferences are only slightly influenced by how hot the guys are behind the stand.
I decide on a rustic loaf of multigrain walnut bread, some beautiful red tomatoes, arugula and Parmesan. I walk down Fourteenth and stop in Garden of Eden, a gourmet market I used to go to with Lauryn sometimes. I pick up a container of pesto. There is no way I have time to make my own.
I hop on the 1 train back up to Times Square. I walk through the long tunnel to the Port Authority exit and get out on Eighth Avenue closer to my apartment. I am sweating by the time I climb up to my fifth-floor walk-up with my bags. I pour myself some coffee I’ve been icing and hop in for a quick shower.