by Ariella Papa
It’s three o’clock by the time I’m out of the shower. I’ve almost forgotten what it’s like to have a schedule. I’m not going to rush, though. It’s too damn hot. Tommy is working until seven o’clock, so I leave my towel wrapped around me and let my hair air dry.
I slice the loaf of bread horizontally and coat both sides with pesto. I cut the tomatoes really thin, layer on arugula and the Parmesan. I add some salt and pepper—and I can’t resist a little drizzle of Croatian olive oil I splurged on in a moment of weakness.
I press the bread together and slice the loaf in eleven slices. I wrap it all in aluminum foil and napkins and put them in a plastic bag.
I throw on a tank top and my ubiquitous drawstring skirt. I pile on deodorant, then it’s back out into the oven that is Manhattan.
Bryant Park is already starting to fill up. I love going to movies in the summer, but there are times when people take things a little too seriously. There are single people and couples who have already spread out two or three blankets to wait for their friends. Doesn’t anyone have a job anymore? I slip off my shoes and weave through the jungle of blanket corners.
Now, the movie isn’t going to start for another four and a half hours at least, when the sun goes down. By the time it does there will not be an available inch of grass and there will be people in chairs and standing en masse around the periphery of Bryant Park. However, these early birds get very pissy if you slightly encroach on their territory. I can tolerate some dirty looks, because vengeance will be mine when their friends don’t show up. I try to take up as little space as possible with my sheet. I’m not sure how many people I should expect, but hopefully we will all be able to fit on the full sheet I brought. I let my feet hang over the sheet onto the grass.
I start reading my trashy novel, looking up occasionally as people pass. My cell phone rings and it’s Kathy.
“Hey where are you?” I ask, standing up to scan the park for her.
“To the left of the screen.” I spot her blond hair.
“Okay, you see the guy with the red Happy Birthday balloons?” I watch her turn and spot the balloons. I start waving.
“Oh,” she says. She almost starts to skip. “I see you.”
She makes her way over to my sheet. She is wearing a great big pair of dark sunglasses, perhaps to cover her red eyes. We kiss hello. Luckily, she brought water. We spread out on the sheet and talk about nothing serious.
“Your biceps look great,” I say. I know she’s been working them to look good in her strapless dress.
“Thanks.” I tell her about the party I went to with Beth, but I don’t talk about how weird it was between Beth and Jordan.
“How is Tommy?”
“Cool,” I say. “The same.”
She raises her eyebrows over her sunglasses, but thankfully, passes no judgment. My cell rings and it’s Janice. She and Jen are on the side of the park, trying to find us. I wave and they spot us. (What did we do before cell phones?)
I make introductions and Janice tells me John is coming later. It’s only six-thirty, but the park is filling up with people out of work.
“People are so snotty,” Janice says, recounting all the dirty looks and comments they got as they walked through.
“It’s going to suck when we have to pee,” Jen says. There are public bathrooms on the corners of the park, but getting there is going to be tough. I’m certain to be there soon, though, because everyone brought six-packs and we’ve started drinking.
I think the sun affects how fast you get drunk and I’m starting to feel a bit tipsy. I can tell that my friends are as well. Janice and Kathy are laughing really loud together.
“I got to go pee,” I say.
“Surprise,” says Kathy, obviously recovered enough from her afternoon’s trauma to ridicule me to my former colleagues. “Her bladder is the size of a pea.”
“So I guess you won’t be coming,” I say as everyone giggles. I make my way through the sea of blankets and sourpusses, no longer caring where I step.
There is a long line for the bathrooms and I can’t wait. I’m not going to make it. I go into Bryant Park Grill. I head right downstairs to the bathrooms, ignoring the hostess calling after me. Relief, at last! As I wash my hands and reapply my lip gloss, I notice how red my cheeks have gotten from either alcohol or sun, or both. They almost match my glasses.
I thank the scowling hostess. I don’t care about her attitude; the crowd of bitter moviegoers has made me resilient. The summer sky is getting purple and the chairs and tables on the periphery of the grassy square are filling.
Again, I’m weaving through the crowd, relishing the fact that a lot of those early birds have been dissed by their friends and are now stuck fighting to keep people off their blankets. As it gets later, people are definitely encroaching on space. I hear someone say “hey!” I’m set to ignore it as usual, but I hear my name. I look up and see Sarah from Programming.
“Oh, hey, what’s up?” She introduces me to a few of her former sorority sisters. I tell her that I’m with Janice and Jen. She says she’ll call me on my cell after the movie if she isn’t too beat.
“I love Father of the Bride. I can’t wait to see the original,” she says.
“What?”
“The movie.”
“I thought it was Double Indemnity.” That’s one of my favorites. “I drink from a bottle, too.” I quote the movie. Sarah doesn’t catch the reference and her sorority sisters give me funny looks.
“No, that’s next week. This week is Father of the Bride. You know, Liz Taylor?”
Oh shit, I hope it isn’t going to be too much for Kathy. Sarah cocks her head. “Oh, hey, how did it go with Don?” I ask.
I catch a look between her and one of her sorority sisters. She manages to keep her face blank for me. I realize that she doesn’t remember hinting at a crush or the fact that I kind of left her and Don alone.
“Okay, why? Did he say something?”
“No,” I say. One of her friends makes a face. I’m not sure I believe her. Maybe she’ll think Don was talking about her and that will boost her confidence with him. “I was just wondering.”
“Nothing happened.” She is still suspicious. “Say hi to those guys.”
When I get back to the blanket, John is there.
“I had to get out of there,” he says, referring to Explore! “I could have stayed all night and it would have sucked the life out of me.”
I try not to be jealous that he was just working on Esme’s Enlightenments. I bend to kiss him hello and I tell them I saw Sarah, but don’t mention anything about Don. According to them, relations between Production and Programming are at an all-time high now that they all share a hatred of Delores. Still standing, I take a low bow and camp it up.
“I’m just glad my livelihood was sacrificed for the good of network relations.”
“When do we get to eat this yummy-smelling thing?” John asks, holding up my party-size sandwich. I’m pretty hungry and I open it up, passing everyone a piece along with a napkin.
The pesto and olive oil have soaked into the bread and tomato, and all the flavors are working really well together. I look around to see if it’s just because I’m hungry. Apparently not, everyone is scarfing up their sandwiches.
“This is delicious,” Kathy says between bites.
“Mmm, perfect,” Jen says.
“You can really make a sandwich,” Janice says.
“Is there more?” John asks, eyeing the bag behind me. We all have seconds and John has thirds.
“Maybe Rebecca will do the race,” Janice says, looking at Kathy. Have my friends been making plans behind my back? People with jobs have things to say. It must be nice to be employed and have things to say to people.
“What?”
“That’s a good idea,” Kathy says.
“What?” I repeat. Now they have secrets and good ideas. Wasn’t I the one who pulled Kathy out of her funk?
“There’s a
10-K at the end of the summer over Labor Day,” Kathy explains. “I’ve been running a lot. I’m going to do it and so is Janice. It’ll be wonderful, two weeks before the wedding.”
“I don’t run,” I say.
“It’s only 10-K. That’s like six miles. It’s nothing,” says Janice.
“That’s six more miles than I run,” I say.
“That’s what I said at first, Rebecca. Fight the power,” Jen says.
“You’ve got almost two months,” Kathy says. “I thought you might want to start training.” I think I see her eye my stomach. Okay, I am a little bloated from the sandwich.
“Is this about a race or how I’m going to look in my bridesmaid dress?” I can tell my question makes everyone feel awkward. It wasn’t what I intended.
“She wants you to run it in your bridesmaid dress,” John says, trying to break the ice. Jen changes the subject to her weekend visit to her sister’s timeshare on the Jersey shore. I don’t look at Kathy for a little while.
After what has been hours, the sun is finally down. Someone announces the movie is going to start and people cheer. I think we must all be drunk on beer or sun or long, hot summer days. I glance at Kathy to see if she minds that the movie is wedding-related, but she smiles at me. I think she is worried that I’m upset that she thinks I’m chubby.
A promo for the sponsors of the movie comes on the big screen. All the people who come here every Monday night get up and do a funny hand-clapping dance at the opener. Kathy, who has never been to a Monday-night movie, gets up and sways as Janice and John get goofy. Jen and I look at each other and laugh.
“Nice job,” I say to them when they sit down. I realize it isn’t so hot anymore. The movie opens with an old Bugs Bunny cartoon. Everyone cheers about this, also. There is all this pent-up energy from waiting around so long.
I try to get as comfortable as possible on the blanket that I’m sharing with four other people. I notice the way my stomach sort of bulges out more than usual.
“Maybe I will start running,” I whisper to Kathy. She smiles and nods.
I wake up in the morning feeling hot and fat. I take a long look at myself in the full-length mirror and try to decide if Kathy was hinting that I’d gained weight. I have certainly been going out less since I lost my job, but I think the damage was done from the past year of expensive meals, eating at my desk and being office bound.
I belonged to a gym once. I have the expensive sneakers to prove it. I’m more of a spinning-class girl. Okay, so it’s been a long time since I sat on a bike. It’s been a long time since I exerted any energy.
I’m not a small girl, and I never expect to be. I usually like my butt, but staring into this mirror, I think I’m a lot rounder than is healthy.
I eat a container of yogurt and turn the TV on. I’m going to get out and do something, but first I’ll watch a little TV. The prospect of going out into the heat is not very appealing and I certainly can’t go joining another gym, so I’m just going to eat my yogurt one spoonful at a time.
I’m flipping through the channels when I see it. Esme—the new Esme—episode number eleven. This is animation that I worked on, but I was obviously gone when they did the sound design. Esme has no glasses and a completely different voice. She sounds like a dimwit. My voice-over talent—the voice I gave her—was husky with a constant edge of sarcasm; this voice is saccharine sweet.
I pick up the phone to kvetch at Janice, but then I hang it up. Of course she knew, she just didn’t tell me. I don’t blame her. At this point, what could I have done except get as upset as I’m getting now?
I consider calling Tommy, but I’ve got to try to stop running to him with everything that goes wrong. I have to wean myself off relying on him if I’m really sure I don’t want to be his girlfriend anymore. And I’m positive I don’t. Okay, almost positive.
I watch the entire episode of Esme’s Enlightenments with a sinking feeling in my stomach. It’s clear that Esme really isn’t mine anymore. If only I had been smarter when I developed the series, maybe I would still have some control. If only everything…
I watch the credits roll. I see mine, “Based on a character and story concept by Rebecca Cole.” At least that will be there for as long as the show airs, but without my vision for her, I’m not sure I want the credit.
I dig my sneakers out of the closet and find some bike shorts and try on a variety of T-shirts. None of the ones in my drawers cover enough of my butt. I go into Tommy’s room. This is a total violation, but I’m not going to go out into the steamy city with my butt on display for every construction worker and delivery guy to critique.
Tommy has an extra-large Incredible Hulk T-shirt and I put it on and put my hair up. I’ve been neglecting to have my hair cut and I have to bobby-pin some of the longer layers back up into my ponytail. I also take my Walkman. The batteries are dead, but if I am going to get the catcalls that increase ten-fold during the summer, I want to give the impression that I can’t hear them. I’m not saying I’m hot, mind you, the New York machismo factor is strong no matter what you look like or what you wear.
I walk fast over to the Hudson River. It’s hot, but not as hot as it has been, and once I get over to the pier, I feel a slight breeze. Then I just start jogging.
I run really slow, but it is kind of nice. I look up at the Intrepid and pass the Circle Line Depot. A few other people are out and they kind of smile when they run or bike past me. We are a community of people trying to attain better health.
I am startled each time a biker whizzes by and even more jumpy when they ring their little bells. It’s hot and the rest of the runners appear to be okay with this. Of course, they are mostly wearing less clothes than I am—men run by shirtless and most of the women have color-coordinated Nike outfits with half tank tops and tight shorts that show off their flabless asses. I’m never going to look like this.
Everyone is going faster than me, even though I am starting to get a stomach cramp. I try to just breathe. In and out. It should be easy, but I can’t seem to regulate it. No one else is having these problems. Everyone is able to pick up their feet in a way I can’t. Everyone who goes by has a different way of doing it. Some people look like they’re running hard, like it’s a struggle they are battling against, and some people kind of glide. I shuffle.
I take a walking break when I get down to Chelsea Piers, but then I start running again and jog to Chelsea Market. It’s a lot cooler inside and instead of buying a bunch of delicious cheeses from the Italian market, I get a juice from the juice stand. It hits the spot. I’m refreshed and energized and I manage to run and walk back up to my apartment.
I can’t believe that I’ve probably jogged about two and a half miles! Yes, I’m dripping with sweat, but I have a sense of accomplishment. Maybe I actually will do the race. What else am I going to do with all of this free time? I sit on the stoop of my building and take many labored breaths. I didn’t think about Esme or Tommy or my friends or food or anything the entire time I was running. I just looked around me and tried not to hyperventilate.
I can’t believe how clear my mind is. Although when I stand up from the stoop, my knees buckle a little, but I grab hold of the railing in time to greet the postman coming out of the building.
“Stay cool,” he says.
“You, too,” I whisper, unable to raise my voice over a pant.
I check the mail. I got my unemployment check, my severance payment and my credit card bill. I only open up the checks when I stop on the third-floor landing.
Back in the apartment I take a shower but still feel over-heated when I get out. I lie down on the couch in a towel and turn on the Food Network. I deserve a little reward, and now that I’m here I don’t ever want to move.
Lauryn calls during The Naked Chef, just as I am getting slightly excited as Jamie Oliver stuffs a chicken.
“Did somebody say sweat?” she asks.
“How’s it going? Is it that hot up there, too?” I flex and unf
lex my sore legs.
“Hotter, and this town is full of hot men in the summer. The only problem is I’m living in the dry part so I always have to drive to the alcohol. Then I can’t drive back.”
“Be careful,” I warn.
“Oh, I am—they don’t fuck around with drunk driving here, which is good.”
“They are protecting and serving. It sounds like you are back in the saddle again.”
“Kinda.”
“Anything newsworthy?”
“Well, I kissed this bartender the other night. There’s nothing like a first kiss.”
“I wouldn’t know. What’s with you and bartenders?”
“They’ve got what I need, plus I have to talk to them. It helps me get over my shyness.”
“Because you’re really quite shy.”
“Yes.” Right.
“Did anything else happen?”
“Well he brought me back to his place and all his roommates checked me out. Then he told me all about the girl he was in the process of breaking up with.”
“Did you tell him about Jordan?”
“Of course not. We weren’t on a talk show. I just wanted some fun—some good clean no-strings-attached sex.”
“You’re back!”
“A girl’s gotta eat.”
“Tell me about it,” I say, feeling a bit peckish as Jamie, the Naked Chef, pours olive oil over some potatoes. “So what happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Not a thing?”
“He had issues. All this talk of his dead relationship stifled him.”
“Wow!”
“I know. What happened to guys who just want to get laid? All of a sudden they’ve grown up and decided to have feelings?”
I started laughing and felt better. It’s amazing how a friend can do that for you.
I tell her about my jog and she is truly shocked. I feel like she called at the perfect time. There is nothing I would rather be doing than lying on the couch talking to Lauryn. She’s listening to everything I say and it’s like we’re talking the way we used to in high school.