by Ariella Papa
I get a beep on my phone, but I ignore it.
“Someone said they heard the paramedics saying full body cast…” Janice explains.
“Oh, no,” I say. I stop laughing. “That is really too bad. I mean, that’s awful.”
“Yeah, but she’s not dead,” Janice reasons. “It could be a lot worse. She fell on grass. It could have been cement.”
“You’re right. No one’s dead.” We laugh again. “We are awful.”
“Well, don’t feel too bad for her. John thinks there is probably some way she could sue. Most likely there was supposed to be a height requirement that they overlooked.”
“Oh, my God, because she’s only four-four.” We laugh for a while more. I know this is really an awful thing, but I also believe strongly in karma and fate and I feel like for the first time in a while the universe is on my side.
Janice and I promise to hang out soon. She jokes that we can go to visiting hours. I tell her how well I have been running and I will definitely do the Labor Day 10-K.
I want to be out of the house as soon as possible. I don’t want to see the beginning of the date. I get a pedicure. Since it’s a summer Friday, and most everyone has already gone to their summer places, there isn’t much of a wait. I arrive at Nobu early. I tell the lovely hostess that I will be a party of four, but no one else is here, so I wait at the bar.
I get a message on my cell from Lauryn. She must have left it while I was on the phone with Janice, but it just comes up now. She missed the ferry she wanted to catch and now the one she is on will get her in a lot later than she anticipated. She says she’s going to have to skip Nobu Next Door and she’ll catch up with me tonight. I tell the hostess I’ll only be three.
My phone beeps and I get another message from Kathy. For some lucky-for-her reason my phone didn’t ring. What the hell is wrong with my phone? She is really sorry, but she can’t make it and she hopes I’ll understand. I guess I’m grateful that she doesn’t offer a lame excuse and I’m sure she’s psyched that she didn’t have to talk to me. We are all getting so good at avoiding the obvious. I let the hostess know we’ll only be two. It’s my second change in eight minutes. She smiles politely at me and tells me to let her know when I’m ready to sit down.
So that leaves Beth. I decide to give her forty-five minutes. Of course Nobu Next Door isn’t going to give me a table until my whole party is here. I order a Pellegrino at the bar. Any minute the hostess is going to come over and tell me I’m a friendless loser and I should just go home.
But I can’t go home, because stupid Tommy is having a stupid date with Nanny Nancy. Forty-five minutes pass and another Pellegrino and a glass of expensive chardonnay because I’m worth it.
Beth isn’t going to show.
I could just eat some rock shrimp tempura by myself. I’ve already spent what it would cost for the plate on drinks. I’m sure I won’t enjoy it. I have been spending too much time alone lately to eat my favorite meal by myself.
Why do food and friendship have to be so complicated these days?
I settle my bill and leave. The hostess smiles warmly at me. Her life is simple, I’m sure. She eats tempura anytime she wants.
It’s still light out. I decide to walk home. I’ll walk slowly since these sandals are still killing my feet. Maybe by then, they will be in his room. Ugh! I don’t think I can handle hearing it. I can’t go home. I’ll go to Rudy’s or something. They’ve got cheap beers and free hot dogs. I’ll drink and eat and it will all be great. But I’ll probably have to dodge vomit and drunk boys. And what if Tommy wants to take the mommy substitute to one of his favorite bars and then they see me and it’s “Oh, look, here’s my ex-girlfriend who is going to be listening for squeaks in the bed—what is she doing out alone?”
I can’t go anywhere in my neighborhood.
I see a sign for cheap beer, like some kind of scarecrow in the road. Ah, yes, I will shoot my film about solitude in black and white and color and it will be groundbreaking. But I hadn’t expected cheap two-dollar pints in this part of town. I’m sure it’s shit beer, but Tommy and Nancy will never come down here. It’s safe.
I go inside. It’s a pub that looks brand new. The metal of the stools glistens. The wooden bar and tables aren’t scratched. It feels like winter in here, not hot and sticky like it is outside, but warm.
I sit at the bar. The cute bartender asks me what I want. I can’t believe I can get a pint of Magic Hat #9 for two bucks, but I can. I do.
“Why is it so cheap?”
“We just opened.”
“It’s cool. What’s the name of it?”
“We don’t know yet, still deciding. It’s a sore spot. What’s your name?”
“Rebecca.”
“Yeah, it could be anything.” I could go for a little innocent—or not so innocent?—flirting. Bartenders always seem to work for Lauryn. This bartender is cute, but he is distracted by the guys at the other side of the bar.
There is a group of girls in a corner table, drinking bottles of beer. I’m guessing they’re a couple of years younger than I am. They’re at the stage when friends are still everything to them. I check to see if Beth’s called. She hasn’t.
“Something wrong?” I look up at a guy in a chef’s jacket and plaid pants. He’s come from the kitchen.
“No,” I say, and try to smile. “I just…no.”
“Wanna another beer?” I still have a couple more gulps left in my glass, but I shrug. He goes to the keg. “Magic Hat, right?”
“Yeah. Do you guys sell cigarettes?” I might as well smoke if I’m going to be drinking alone.
“No, we don’t, but I’ll give you one of mine.”
“Oh, you don’t have to.” He reaches into his pocket and offers me his pack. “I couldn’t, not in this city. It’s just not cool.”
“It’s okay. I bought two cases in New Hampshire. Real cheap. I can give them away. Besides, I keep trying to quit.” He lights my cigarette and one for him.
“Ben, fish and chips,” the bartender yells from the other side of the bar.
“Well, duty calls. I’m the cook. See you in a bit?” I nod. He has smiling eyes. “We’ve got great fish and chips, I hear. I don’t eat fish, but I know how to make it.”
“Okay.” He goes back behind the door again. He’s left his cigarette burning in my ashtray. That means he’ll come back. I go to the jukebox and put on some tunes. The girls are singing happy birthday to one of them. I smile and raise my drink.
“How old are you?” I say to the birthday girl.
“Thirty.” So maybe there’s hope for me and my friends. I go back to my stool. I stub out my cigarette. Ben’s is one big ugly ash. He comes out and puts a piece of chocolate cake in front of me. He walks down to the other end of the bar and puts a place setting in front of one of the guys. Ben watches him take the first bite. So do I. The guy smiles and exchanges some words with Ben. I’m hungry and I want Ben to come back. I guess this cake is for me, but I’m not going to touch it until I get the okay.
“What, you don’t like chocolate? It’s on the house.”
“Thank you. I haven’t even had dinner yet.”
“Nothing says you’ve got to play by the rules.” He is so cute. There is something about him that feels familiar to me. “Do you want another beer?”
“I guess. If it goes with chocolate cake.”
“C’mon,” he says. “What doesn’t go with beer and chocolate?”
“This is great,” I say, chewing my cake. My spirits are rising. I don’t want anyone else to order anything. I’m desperate for him to cook something for me, but I don’t want him to leave.
“Ben,” he says.
“Rebecca.” I hold out my hand. He wipes his on his pants and shakes. I have no idea what to say to him. I feel a bit overwhelmed. “This place is great.”
“Oh, yeah. I love it.”
“Do you own it?”
“No, I wish. The owner’s a good friend.”
; “How is it doing?” I check out his hand for a wedding ring. He seems older than me.
“So far, so good. It’s only the first week.”
“It must be your fish and chips. So how come you don’t like fish?”
“Ben, two shepherd’s pies,” the once-cute, now-evil bartender calls.
“This won’t take long. I just got to heat it up.” He holds my eye. “Rebecca, will you stay?”
“Okay.” I like how he says my name. If I stay, he might say it again.
My songs come on. I sip my beer. For the first time in a long time I don’t feel like going anywhere. I’m not anxious or sad or in a rush. What was in that chocolate cake?
He smiles when he comes back out, like he wasn’t sure I would be here. He gives me a plate of fish and chips and brings the other food to the table the bartender points out. He comes back and smiles at his burned cigarette.
“We don’t have a waitress yet. Know anyone who needs a job?”
“I do,” I say, raising my hand. “But I think I’d be a shit waitress. I’m not very nice to strangers.”
“I can’t believe that,” he teases. How is he so comfortable with me already?
“Thanks for this.” I start to take a fry.
“Careful, it’s hot.”
“Okay. Besides, I don’t think the food would ever make it to the table. I’d probably eat it on the way.” We smile at each other. Damn! I’m starting to feel nervous about something. I don’t know what to do, so I pick up a chip and eat it. It is hot, but crispy and perfect. I open my mouth to let some air in to cool off. “Issh delicioushh.”
“Thank you. I’ll get you some water and another beer.” He does both. He is now my bartender, waiter and chef. What more can he be?
“So, you asked why I didn’t eat fish?” Like a million minutes ago, but he was listening to me. “I’m a vegetarian.”
“Really,” I say, as if he just told me he had six toes. “It’s funny that you make so much of the stuff you don’t eat. I imagine the pub menu is full of meat.”
“It is. I am almost a vegan, but every now and then I need a grilled cheese or some cheese on my pasta.”
“Oh, God, I couldn’t live without cheese,” I say strongly. He laughs. I feel like a dork.
“I like your glasses.” Maybe this is proof of how dorky I am.
“Thank you. I got them at a store nearby called Selima. My friend Kathy should work there.” I tell him all about how Kathy wears glasses all the time and makes people get the right glasses for their face. He is looking at me the way I’m sure I’m looking at him, like everything is fascinating. The bartender calls him over for a shot.
“I’ll be right back. It’s this little tradition we have. Are you going to hang out?”
“Of course,” I say before I can stop myself, but it makes him smile so it’s worth it. I watch him do his shot. This is really strange. Is he just nice to all his customers? Maybe this is a ploy to drum up business.
“Whiskey will be the death of me. Or nicotine. You want another cigarette.” I nod and take one out of his pack. “You ate all your fish and chips. Good girl.”
“Oh, yeah. It was delicious. And I like to clean my plate.” What the hell am I saying?
“Good, I’m glad you liked it.” He stares at me.
“How old are you?” I ask.
He laughs. “Why?”
“Just wondering. How old?”
“Thirty-five. And you?”
“Twenty-seven.”
“What did you do before you didn’t have a job?”
“I used to write and produce a show called Esme’s Enlightenments.” Used to, it still hurts to say.
“Really? I think I saw some of those. They were commercials, right? I used to watch Explore! all the time when I got off work when I lived in Santa Barbara.”
“Yeah, they turned it into a show.”
“That’s really cool. Did the show get canceled?”
“No, I did.”
“I’m sorry.” He says it like he means it.
“Thank you.” I want to lean over the bar and kiss his lips. I must be getting drunk.
“Ben, you got a turkey Reuben in your bag of tricks?” I have decided I hate the bartender.
“Yeah,” Ben says, but he doesn’t look at the bartender. He is still looking at me. I think he wants to kiss me, too. I hear the group of women get up behind me, it distracts me. The spell is broken. I look at them.
“Good night,” the now-drunk birthday girl says to us.
“Happy birthday,” I say.
“Have a good night,” Ben says. I look back at him. “Another beer?”
“Okay, but you’ve got to get the turkey Reuben.”
“I know, I just, I want you to stay.”
“I will, I’ll put some more songs on the jukebox.”
“Okay.”
This time when he comes back out he brings me French onion soup. I’m getting full, but I can’t resist the melted cheese on top and a little of the broth and most of the soggy oniony bread.
“You see why it’s so hard to give up cheese?” he says, smiling.
“You don’t have to tell me.” I try to scrape off some of the cheese from the side of the bowl. “So what were you doing up in New Hampshire?”
“My family’s from there. I went to see them for the Fourth. Have you ever been?”
“Yeah, a couple of times. I went to school in Massachusetts.”
“It’s a nice drive up. A long drive, but I think you would like it.” He stares at me again. “I’ll be right back.”
Every time he leaves I wonder what the hell is happening to me. I’m not the kind of person who picks people up in bars. Okay, I’m not that kind of person anymore. This seems like more than that, but how can it be? He’s just nice, that’s all. I just happened to pick the right seat. It’s almost midnight. I should go. I should just leave. No, I have to say goodbye.
When he comes out again, I lose my cynicism and just accept the fact that I don’t want to go, that I want to stay and talk to him. He has changed into a regular button-down shirt.
“What? No amuse bouche?” I ask, referring to the starter you get at the beginning of a meal at some restaurants. “Isn’t this a reverse meal?”
“I get it, she’s a foodie.” He laughs.
“I prefer gourmand, thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Is he wearing contacts that make his eyes sparkle like that? “The kitchen is officially closed. I decided to just bring you me this time.”
“That’s the best,” I say a bit brazenly.
“Do you want to do a shot with me?”
“Sure.”
“Do you mind if I sit with you for a while?”
“Not at all.” He gets two lemon-drop shots and sits next to me at the bar. We swivel in our stools to face each other. We clink glasses and do our shots.
“Another?” He raises an eyebrow. “I know the bartender.”
“Maybe in a bit.”
“Yeah, we don’t even need alcohol. Okay, maybe I’ll just get another beer, you’ve still got a lot of yours.”
“I’m slowing down.” We chat at the bar, keeping our stools turned toward each other. He approves of all the songs I play on the jukebox. He tells me all about some of the specials he makes and how he has other people taste them, if they eat meat. Every once in a while he touches my knee to emphasize certain points, but it’s very light and not lecherous at all. I want him to keep making points.
“Do you want to go for a walk?”
“Oh.” I look at my watch. It’s almost one o’clock. “You know, I should go.”
“Oh, no, just forget it, aah, let’s stay.” He looks crestfallen. “Forget I said anything.”
“Well, where would we go?”
“We’ve got a whole city.” Is he trying to get me to go home with him or something? I guess that would solve my Tommy/Nanny issue. No, I can’t do that. He could be a crazy.
“I can’
t go walking with you, you could be a psycho.”
“Hey, Will, am I a psycho?” he shouts to the bartender.
“Only sometimes.” I laugh.
“You see, it backfires.”
“No, really, I’m not, but forget it, we can stay. It’s safe here. Just don’t go home yet.” I want to kiss him again, a lot.
“Okay, let’s go for a walk.”
“Cool.”
We walk east over to Little Italy and Chinatown. He stops at a small restaurant and buys a fried veggie pocket. I’m full, but I take the bite he offers.
“That’s delicious, but the oil is probably just as bad as the meat.”
“Yeah, but nothing got killed.” I nod, and then I’m sure that he is not a psycho. It’s my gut feeling and I trust it.
We walk for a while. We talk about everything. It’s been so long since I talked to anyone like this, since I listened to so many interesting stories. There are tons of people out, but it’s a whole new vibe. Usually at this time I would be home or going home in a cab. Tonight, I suddenly have all this energy. I could stay up all night. I guess it doesn’t hurt to sleep until noon every day.
“You okay?” he asks. “You think I’m a danger?”
“No, this is great.” I don’t mind letting him see how happy I am. “You know I’ve lived here for like five years and I’ve never done this, just walked late at night. It’s like, you know, it’s like it’s our city. It’s unreal.”
“And you said you weren’t nice to strangers.” We stop and smile at each other. “Are you cold?”
“No.” It is a little chillier than it has been because it’s so late, but I don’t notice.
“You have goose bumps,” he says. He rubs my forearm with one of his knuckles.
And I think about Tommy, not because I’m comparing, but because of what he said about Nancy. I think I understand those feelings, sort of. Maybe I’m getting way ahead of myself, but something is happening here.
“It’s you,” I say. “It’s like, weird.”
“I know. It’s weird for me, too.”
“Are you married?” He laughs and shakes his head. “Girlfriend?”
“Nothing, no one. You?”
“No, no one.” I can’t seem to raise my voice above a whisper and then I remember Tommy again and I just want to be honest. “Actually, I live with my ex.”