Up & Out

by Ariella Papa

  “Fuck him,” Lauryn says, and uses her mouth to eat a steamer as no one ever has. The combination of her contorted face and the effects of the frozen daiquiri cause me to rush to the bathroom, giggling.

  On Sunday, it’s kind of overcast and I have a sunburn. Lauryn suggests we go birding on the island, and before I can say no, I am crouching next to her in high grass.

  It’s all worth it, though, because we go out to a fancy restaurant Sunday night and eat delicious green salad and thick, wonderful steaks.

  Lauryn insists on paying. I try and convince her to let me because she put me up, but she won’t hear of it.

  “Ever since I got here, I’ve wanted to take you to this place. Just indulge me.”

  “Okay,” I say. “Thank you.”

  Monday comes too soon. I would like to extend my trip, but I know that Lauryn has been shirking her research to spend time with me. I have to go back to the hot city and figure out what to do with the rest of my life.

  Lauryn and I grab iced coffee and Portuguese rolls and sit by the dock, watching the piping plovers circle and dive for fish. The ferry comes in. It’s overcast today, which makes it only slightly easier to leave.

  “I had a lot of fun,” I say. “I got a little taste of summer, and I saw how the other half lives.”

  “Yes, you certainly did,” Lauryn says, adapting a formal tone. “And I bid you well on your voyage.”

  “Thank you,” I say, trying to do my best sea captain voice. “I trust I leave you in the capable hands of the strapping lad we encountered the other night at the ale house.”

  “Yes, I pray his hands are good.”

  “And so it shall be.” We smile at each other and walk toward the ferry. She walks me up the ramp to the man who takes my ticket.

  “Thank you,” I say. We hug for a little while.

  “Thank you for coming. Say hi to everyone for me.”

  “I will.” I climb up to the top deck and wave to Lauryn on the pier. I’m bummed to be leaving, but anxious to get on the road. The horn sounds and Lauryn animatedly pretends it hurts her ears.

  We continue to wave at each other until she becomes very small and then I can’t see her anymore.

  18

  Pitseleh

  I walk to my apartment from the Port Authority, stopping in one of the fish stores along the way to buy some salt cod. When I get on my block, Tommy is sitting on the stoop talking on a cell phone.

  “Hey,” I say. “New phone?”

  “New phone and new job.”

  “What?”

  “I’m still going to be working in the DVD store, but I started watching two little boys three times a week.”

  “What? Where did you get these boys? What are you watching them do?”

  “Their parents come into the store all the time. Apparently they had a nanny, but she had to go back to Estonia. Now they need someone to baby-sit and they said they always wanted a guy to hang out with their kids. When school starts I’ll only hang out with them after school. Their mom works part-time and their dad works a lot. He rents good movies, though. Lots of cult horror and sci-fi. He knows almost as much as I do about the Evil Dead trilogy.”

  “Wow,” I say, momentarily impressed, but then, “I go out of town and you become a manny.”

  “What?”

  “A male nanny. I read about this in the Styles section of the New York Times.” It’s how I find out about a lot of trends. Lauryn didn’t even know she was in a starter marriage until I identified it as such.

  “I guess so, though the Greaneys didn’t call it that. That’s the name of the family.”

  “I got that.”

  “The pay is sweet.”

  “I bet.”

  “And it’s fun to hang out with a bunch of boys, throw a ball around, go to the park, watch movies, eat hamburgers and, of course, play video games.”

  “Of course.” Leave it to Tommy to get paid for doing the things he loves to do. I am jealous that he actually gets to hang out with kids. Real live ones, not the kind you watch behind a glass partition while they get prodded for answers about your television show.

  “So you want to celebrate?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know, go out to eat.”

  “For real?” I’m shocked.

  “Yeah, I mean nothing too outrageous. What about the Half King?” I look at my watch. It’s Monday, but it’s also summer, but work hasn’t let out yet.

  “If we hurry maybe we could get a sweet spot outside.”

  The Half King is a great bar/pub in Chelsea. In the winter, there is a warm, welcoming feeling and in the summer they open up the backyard. In the winter, you feel like there is no need to ever step out into the cold again. In the summer, you can just sort of get swept up in all the people talking at once and the outdoor private-party feel.

  Tommy and I snag a seat outside and order pints of cold beer. Slowly, the place starts to fill up and we decide to order Mexican burgers for dinner. I get mine veggie.

  “So are you on a diet or something?” Tommy says accusingly.

  “No, I’m just trying to eat healthier. I’m not as young as I used to be. I don’t like not being able to fit into my clothes.”

  “You’re running—I never thought I’d see the day.”

  “That’s Kathy for you. She kind of convinced me to do it.”

  “Right.”

  “C’mon, you should talk. Those kids are going to wind you in seconds.” I gesture to his burger.

  “Listen, Greta Waitz, I could still run the capri pants off you.”

  “You think, huh?”

  “Yeah, without training.”

  “Oh, really.”

  “Yeah, I’ll do it for all the couch potatoes like me.” He is talking trash.

  “When are we going to race?”

  “Let’s do it at the actual race.”

  “Deal,” I say.

  “If I win, what do I get?”

  “I don’t know, a video game, what?”

  “No, I can get those at the store. How about a case of Guinness?”

  “Okay, and if I win?”

  “A night at Nobu.”

  “For real?” I am very excited.

  “Calm down. The place next door.” Wow! This is great. Nobu Next Door. I am totally running hard core tomorrow. Tonight I am getting drunk. We shake on our bet.

  Tommy is so excited about his new job it’s contagious. We’re talking, really talking, about all the things we used to talk about. I think he’s on sort of an upswing. Things have gone back to normal with Lauryn and are starting to plateau with Tommy. We are adults and we can be friends. It’s all good.

  They close down the garden for nighttime noise control, but we move into the pub and keep drinking. Tommy tells me that he is really concerned about Beth. I feel like he is angry with her and just doesn’t want to admit it.

  “How many times has she not returned your calls?”

  “A lot,” I say. “I don’t expect her to return them anymore.”

  “Who are these assholes she’s been hanging out with?”

  “I don’t know, but she and Jordan seem to be playing the same dangerous games.”

  “What does that mean?” For the first time tonight, he looks upset with me. I retreat, not quite sure what I’m getting at. Instead I tell him about Jordan.

  “Wait, you mean he could lose his job?”

  “Yep, up and out.”

  “Since when?”

  “They have been unsatisfied the whole time he’s been there.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I assumed you knew, besides, you never want to talk about Jordan. You always get defensive.”

  “I’ve heard you and Lauryn tear him a new one. I don’t want to be a part of the gossip.”

  “Well now you see why. He’s irresponsible. I can’t believe you didn’t know he was getting so fucked.”

  “He’s always sort of pushed the limit. H
e said work was fine.” Tommy’s eyes narrow and he stares off at his shoes. I didn’t mean to ruin the vibe.

  “Hey, let’s get one more beer. We’re celebrating.”

  One more was actually two because our bartender bought us a round. We are drunk when we get back home. I am having trouble getting up the five flights of stairs. Tommy keeps shushing me. It is 3:00 a.m. and I am certainly never going to be able to run tomorrow.

  “I love not having a job.” I start to sing. Tommy is trying to quiet me, but laughing really hard, too. “You can play with your kids, but I will be asleep.”

  “Don’t give up your day job,” he says, trying to put the key in the door. “Oh, right, you don’t have one.”

  “I can dance, too.” I moonwalk on the landing and almost trip down the stairs. He pulls me into the apartment.

  “Calm down.”

  “I can’t calm down. Why don’t you take out your guitar? I’ll play you a song.”

  “Stay away, will you?” Tommy has a real strange attachment to his guitar. He never really learned to play, but he likes to sit around strumming it. I sit on the armrest on the couch.

  “Okay.” I remember Tommy playing his guitar for me, the first time we had sex. Then I start laughing thinking about it. Tommy laughs, also, for no apparent reason.

  “What’s so funny?” he finally asks.

  “I know,” I say, working myself up into hysterics. “I know.”

  “What do you know?”

  “I know why you played the guitar that time.” I am having trouble getting through the sentence without laughing. “The first time we did it. I know why you played the guitar.”

  “What do you mean?” he asks, looking sober. I know he is guilty. The first time we had sex was in his dorm room. His roommate was at his girlfriend’s and I got up and went to the bathroom down the hall. When I came back into the room, he picked up his guitar and started playing.

  “You farted!” I scream. I flop over onto the couch, letting my legs stay over the armrest. I am holding my nose and laughing at the same time. “You may have covered up the sound, but there was still the smell.”

  “Shut up!” Tommy says with mock annoyance. Then he starts laughing again. “You know you’re no delicate flower, either. I’ve been amazed at what the bathroom’s like when you come out of it.”

  “You shut up! You shut up!” For the first year of our relationship, I was constipated whenever we were together, but that had to end when we moved to New York and I began eating my way through the borough. I throw a pillow at Tommy and he picks another cushion off the easy chair and wails me with it.

  We have an all-out pillow fight for about five minutes and then collapse onto the floor huffing and puffing.

  “Aaarrggh!” moans Tommy. “How do I keep up with an eight-and a ten-year-old?”

  “God,” I say. “I think you’re gonna be great as a manny.”

  “You’re such a weirdo,” Tommy says, shaking his head. Then he looks me in the eye. “I’m sorry about Esme. You know everyone else is a bit player, but you are the real deal.”

  “Thank you,” I say.

  “I mean it. You can’t forget what she was when you created her.” He looks up at the stereo for a minute. I think he is getting emotional. “I’ll always be proud of you for that.”

  Wow! I know I’ve lost a lot of confidence, but hearing Tommy say that reminds me of all the things I’ve been missing. A piece of me was tied into what I was doing. I liked telling people that I worked in kids’ TV, but more importantly, I actually enjoyed working in it, creating something that I thought kids would see and enjoy.

  I reach out and touch Tommy’s hand. And then I want more. I want to kiss him and I do. I know that sex in movies is awesome and passionate, and Tommy and I have definitely tried to keep straight faces as we did it porn-star style in the past, but what I want now is comfort. I want to know what I am getting into and what to expect when.

  We slept together thousands of times. There aren’t any surprises this time and that’s what I need. I don’t think about whether or not I’m making a mistake.

  All of it happens on the couch. When we’re done, Tommy sits up and looks at me. We are both sober now.

  “Was that okay?”

  “Yeah,” I say. He seems very confused about what to do next.

  “Do you want to…come and sleep with me?”

  “Um, no, I think I should go to my own bed.”

  “Okay,” he says, and touches my cheek.

  More questions, fewer answers.

  I get up at ten. Tommy is already gone, thankfully. I don’t feel as hungover as I anticipated. I sit on the couch, having flashbacks of last night. It all just kind of happened before I could consider if I was being stupid or not. We were doing so well at being friends and then I went and fucked it up again.

  I feel pretty selfish and I have no idea how Tommy feels. I wish he could just communicate with me. No, it’s me—I send him mixed signals.

  I decide the best thing to do to take my mind off it is to go for a run. It’s only about eighty degrees today, which is quite cool for August. By the time I get to the river, I am sweating profusely, but I appreciate the breeze. Okay, I match my steps and my breath and clear my mind of everything but this minute, the traffic on one side of me, the Hudson and Jersey on the other. There can only be this now, my feet beneath me. I run until I feel like I absolutely must turn around, and when I do, I find some more energy. If there is a Zen of running I experience it and it brings me peace.

  When I get home, I look at the clock. I’ve been out forty-five minutes. It’s my longest run ever. If I can run that long, I may actually be able to do the 10-K. I can’t believe it.

  I call Lauryn who, to my delight, is home. I tell her about my long run and then I casually mention that I slept with Tommy.

  “Did somebody say ex-sex?” she says.

  “I know. Am I awful? I was doing so well.”

  “Rebecca, you moved back in with him,” she scolds. “It’s not like you were doing that well to begin with.”

  “Well, I was trying.”

  “Did somebody say denial?”

  “I know,” I whine. “It just seemed like the right thing to do at the time. Maybe I should start living my life minute to minute.”

  “Is that like paycheck to paycheck?”

  “Sort of.”

  “But you’re unemployed.”

  “Planning Kathy’s bachelorette dinner is going to be a full-time job for the week.” I don’t appreciate the reminder of my employment status, so I catch a bit of an attitude, then I change my tune. “You’re coming down for it, right?”

  “This sounds vaguely like a conversation we had five times yesterday.”

  “Come on, I need you. Her sister put her trust in me and I hate when people do that. I got to get a place for this. And Beth’s no help.”

  “Restaurants are your thing.”

  “I know,” I admit. “So has anything else changed in the past twenty-four hours?”

  “Actually, I got lucky, too.” I gasp.

  “With the coed?”

  “The very same.”

  “That was fast. Was it satisfying?”

  “Why, yes it was.”

  “Cool.”

  “I guess so.” She sounds a little sad.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, it’s just that it kind of showed me how empty sex can be when you don’t really know or care for the person that much.”

  “I rest my case,” I say to excuse my behavior but then remember about her medicine. “But are you okay?”

  “Sure.”

  “Okay, hang in. It’s only a week and a half until you come down.”

  “Okay, bye.”

  Tommy calls to say that he and Jordan are going to hang out tonight. I think he wants to let me know his plans so that I won’t think he is just avoiding me. But, I think he’s avoiding me, anyway.

  I make a salad out of the cod
I bought. I use new potatoes and tomatoes and lots of oil and fresh lemon juice. There is no good TV on in the summer—even the digital cable kind of sucks.

  I decide to read Zagats from cover to cover and find a place to have Kathy’s bachelorette dinner. It’s got to be sort of cool and New York enough for the people who are coming in from out of town, but it also can’t be one of those places that rushes you out, since we have a big group.

  There is a lot to consider when planning a dinner for so many. You have to take into account that not everyone is an adventurous eater, which rules out a bunch of places. Also, some people don’t make a distinction between types of Italian food. They are shocked—yes, shocked—when they don’t see manicotti or baked ziti on the menu. Of course these things have their place, but not everyone can accept that spaghetti and meatballs isn’t on every menu.

  The last time Kathy’s sister came to the city she was very apprehensive about traveling by subway. The list I have for the dinner totals fifteen people. Some of these women work with Kathy and some are cousins coming in from out of town. It is a sort of girls’ weekend in the city for them. I think it’s probably best to keep the activities in Midtown, where the lights are bright and no one will have to travel very far from the safety of their Times Square hotels.

  I like the control of planning the party and I’m probably the only one who has the time for it, but it’s a lot of pressure. I decide to just relax and go through the book until something pops out at me or inspires me.

  I am almost done with the R section and carefully considering Ruby Foo’s when the phone rings. It’s Tommy. He’s very upset.

  “Can you come to the hospital? St. Vincent’s. Jordan’s had an accident.”

  The emergency room is hopping. There is no sign of Jordan, but Tommy is sitting with his head in hands. I sit down next to him and tap him on the knee.

  “Hey.” He looks up at me. “Thanks for coming. Did you call Lauryn?”

  “Not yet. I had to figure out what the hell was going on.”

  “He was fucked up, punched his hand through a window. It isn’t pretty. Needed like twenty stitches. They got him in quick, because he’s losing all this blood. Also, they need to see if he got a concussion when he fell over. He chipped a tooth.”