The Hazards of Hunting While Heartbroken

by Passananti, Mari

  I’m almost certain Kevin will say something snide, then shake his head, shrug and turn towards home. Instead he grabs my arm and pulls me to the edge of the sidewalk, so others can pass. We’re halfway down the block from my building, next to a popular coffee cart. I see Marvin rushing in early, consulting his watch at every other stride like the White Rabbit. He must be late for someone somewhat important, because he doesn’t usually move that fast. He nearly trips over his untied wingtips on the way through the revolving doors.

  “Zoë,” Kevin says, in a more serious tone than he deployed before. “Please, please, be careful with this guy. If something or someone seems too good to be true, it usually means there’s something off. And with his ex back in the picture, a little caution seems warranted.”

  “She’s back in New York, not back in the picture,” I snap.

  “Defensive, aren’t we?”

  My gut says he’s spewing melodramatic nonsense, but my brain argues that Kevin has no reason to create more waves, so I try to soften my tone. “You honestly sound like my father, when I was in the ninth grade and I brought home a perfectly nice guy, whose parents happened to live on the wrong side of the tracks. My dad couldn’t find anything wrong with him, but he forbade me to see him outside of school because he just ‘seemed wrong for me.’” I consult my watch. “I have a meeting. I have to go.”

  “So are we okay?”

  “You tell me.” I spin on my sneakers and speed-walk the last few paces into the sanctuary of our lobby.

  I spend the half hour I meant to use clearing my inbox hunched in the ladies’ room, trying not to hyperventilate. I have every right to be furious with Kevin, but the insistent little voice in my head won’t stop buzzing. Am I so head over heels about Oscar that I’m setting myself up for a gigantic hurt that will make the Brendan debacle feel like a minor bruising? Or maybe I should take a leap of faith and trust my guy, because most of the time, I think he’s the best thing that ever happened to me. We’re so drawn to each other. And then there’s the offbeat romantic comedy circumstances of our meeting. It makes me believe we must have crossed paths for a reason.

  When I force myself to emerge from the lavatory, Angela’s on my voicemail, with a full report on Brendan’s wedding invitations. “Please don’t freak out,” she says. “But I think he used the same ones you and your mom picked out. They have the same tiny splashes of hand-painted color.”

  Surprisingly, I’m not freaking out at all. While I felt a fleeting stab when faced with the evidence this morning, there’s something reassuring about the finality of Brendan’s wedding. It closes that chapter of my life and allows me to move forward unburdened. I feel a sudden surge of empathy for Brendan. This has to have been gut-wrenching for him, too. He lashed out because he felt powerless and overwhelmed by what should have been a liberating experience—calling off our engagement to be his true self.

  Since things seem to be working for both of us on our separate paths, maybe I should let the bitterness go and wish him well. I feel the muscles in my neck and jaw start to relax as this realization takes root. I’m logging onto the Williams Sonoma website to buy Brendan and Steven a wedding gift when Marvin interrupts me to ask about a client visit we’re doing later today. By the time we’re done talking about actual work, I’ve decided that forgiveness is healthy, psychologically speaking, but gift-giving probably constitutes overkill.

  At nine in the evening, I step out of a cab in front of Oscar’s building and pull my long winter coat more tightly around me. There’s a bitterness to the chill this evening and it feels so raw that it might even snow overnight. I hope not, because I’m teetering on my highest black heels and I didn’t pack anything more sensible.

  I stand at the desk feeling less certain about my decision to drop in as the concierge rings up to Oscar’s apartment to announce my arrival. What if he’s dead asleep after the long flight? What if he’s not even here? Or worse, here but not alone? The little voice in my head reminds me that the whole point of showing up unannounced is to ease my fears without going through the icky exercise of snooping.

  It feels like forever before the concierge says I can head on up. I hold the elevator doors for an old woman in a wheelchair and catch her looking me up and down. I hope it’s not obvious I have nothing but lingerie under my coat. Because if it is, and it turns out to be a bad time, or worse, he’s not alone, I think I’ll die of humiliation. I shouldn’t have gotten so carried away with my make-up either. I study my reflection in the elevator mirrors and wonder whether I overshot sultry and achieved slutty instead. My heart starts racing. This was a phenomenally lousy idea.

  I think my sigh of relief is audible all the way down the hall when I step off the elevator and Oscar’s standing in his open doorway, obviously fresh out of the shower in his bathrobe. He’s grinning at me like he’s won the lottery.

  “Wow. Look at you.” He kisses me and then pulls away, looks at me with raised eyebrows and a mischievous grin and peers under my coat. “Very nice.” He takes my arm, pulls me through the doorway and leads me towards his bedroom. “How was your trip?” I ask, as I teeter down the hall half a step behind him.

  “Long and busy, but productive.” He undoes my coat, pushes it off my shoulders and looks at me appreciatively. I’ve abandoned my usual undergarments for a risqué black lace teddy that made the salesgirl blush, and the tiniest matching thong they had in the store. I’ve completed my sex kitten look with silk stockings held in place by actual garters. He spins me around to get the full effect before leading me down the hall. We tumble onto his bed, groping like frenzied teenagers. I start to slide under the covers, but he stops me and says, “Not so fast. You went through all this effort and I want to see you.” He guides me on top of him. “This is the best surprise. I missed you, you know.” He reaches up to play with my breasts through the lacy fabric.

  “I missed you, too.” He’s looking up at me lustily and the little voice in my head is telling me to enjoy the perfect moment, but I can’t help myself. And it’s not the call girl thing, because I’ve decided that’s bullshit. All I can think about is Olivia. Instead of feeling like the sensual seductress I was in the cab over here, I feel like a pathetic imposter. Why would he want to settle for me when he could presumably have her?

  And what if Olivia came to New York because she wants Oscar back? That would give her a motive to scare me off with the stupid call girl story. Maybe they’ve already discussed getting back together, and her besotted behavior towards Jean-Luc was merely theater. Maybe I should ask Oscar, casually, if he’s run into her again. The little voice in my head screeches at me to refrain from mentioning his former spouse while straddling him in bed.

  I’m so engrossed in this new nightmare scenario that it takes me a second to realize that Oscar’s stopped touching me and he’s waving his hand slowly in front of my face, asking “Hello? Are you still with me?”

  “Totally,” I murmur, and lean down to kiss his neck, thinking that I’ve ruined the moment, but Oscar smiles devilishly and says, “Good, because I’ve never wanted you so badly.” He rolls me over and slides on top of me and we have mind blowing sex that far exceeds any expectations I had when I decided to drop in. The whole time he seems so into me, so present, so singularly focused on making me happy, that by the time we’re both lying breathless, tangled in the sheets, I’m convinced that my insecurity over Olivia is just my imagination running amok.

  EIGHTEEN

  On Saturday night, Angela puts on a slinky red and pink Cavalli dress, throws down her Amex, and celebrates her thirty-third birthday in style with a party for thirty-three friends. She makes her entrance at Cipriani’s with her new Roman lover, Claudio, on her arm. Because Angela said it was all she wanted for her birthday, Kevin and I have temporarily put aside our differences to toast the start of her thirty-fourth year on the planet together. We’re flanked by Oscar, who’s jetlagged and trying his gentlemanly best to pretend he’s not slightly smitten by my glittery, i
nfectiously bubbly best friend, and by Lily, who eats nothing but a single boiled shrimp all night. Without any cocktail sauce.

  It’s Oscar’s big debut with my friends, except for that night when he clocked Reiner, of course, and I’m nervous about him talking to Kevin. I so badly want it go well, so Kevin can quit criticizing. I told both of them that I bet they’ll like each other. Advertising and politics have some overlap, after all.

  When the waiter asks if he can offer us an aperitif, Kevin wonders aloud why Angela’s spending this kind of money.

  “She says it’s because, on the other 364 days of the year, men buy her food and drink. She’s giving back.” I laugh.

  “Except none of her benefactors made the invite list.”

  “So she’s paying it forward. Which is her prerogative.” I raise my glass. “Drink up, O’Connor.”

  “Cheers.” Big, genuine smile. Maybe whatever disturbance was in our force has passed.

  Kevin empties his glass and gets up to go to the men’s room. I snuggle closer to Oscar in my chair, stroke his arm and ask playfully, “Can you do something for me?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Make nice with Kevin. He’s afraid you’re some dirty old predator.”

  “Right. Sounds like exactly the man I’d want to spend the evening talking to.”

  “He’s just being protective. In a brotherly way. Think of him as my older brother.”

  “My high school girlfriend’s older brother once chased me off their porch with a hunting rifle.”

  “This isn’t Arizona.”

  “Fair enough. I’m sure I’ll win him over with my countless charms.” He kisses me on the cheek. Kevin’s at the bar. Oscar goes over to join him. I catch myself holding my breath. After forcing myself to exhale, I turn my attention to Angela and Claudio. He’s telling us about their failed Vespa-driving lesson last night in Central Park.

  “This one is dangerous,” he says with a grin, as he pulls a beaming Angela onto his lap. She looks even more radiant that usual.

  “You didn’t tell me that your scooter had a manual transmission,” she counters playfully.

  “You should have seen her. Right into the bushes and over the top, and she leapt right up from the ground, dusted herself off and said that was only a rehearsal.”

  “Your Vespa doesn’t sound long for this world,” I say.

  “I’m afraid you’re right,” Claudio says, with exaggerated solemnity. He is stunning, but he’s got something more, a charisma that money and education can’t purchase or cultivate. You have to be born with that kind of charm.

  Maybe this guy has something Angela’s other rich Europeans don’t. Claudio has been in the mix with a couple of other guys for over a month, but for the past few weeks, she hasn’t seen anyone else, and he scored date status for this birthday celebration. That’s as close to a traditional boyfriend as I can remember Angela having since college.

  Kevin and Oscar arrive back at the table with fresh drinks, and I’m thrilled to see they’re discussing baseball as if there’s nobody else in the room. When Oscar gets up to talk to a friend of Angela’s from the magazine he knows through work, Kevin leans over and whispers in my ear, “He’s alright, I suppose. I’m sorry I was an ass.”

  Maybe Kevin’s second or third cocktail, tossed back on top of his second or third glass of Prosecco, poured tonight in lieu of champagne as Angela’s one nod to the grim economy, has lubricated his conscience. Whatever the source of his softening, I’ll take it. I jump up and give him a huge hug. “You have no idea how happy that makes me.”

  He hugs me back. Maybe it’s that simple. Maybe our tiff has ended as abruptly as it began. I hope.

  Lily begs off after the dessert tray she doesn’t touch comes around. She has an early photo shoot, and she’s due in the make-up artist’s chair in under five hours. Kevin walks her outside and puts her in a taxi. I’m surprised he’s not going with her, but maybe she’s serious enough about her work that she’s banned him for the night.

  Angela is making the rounds, saying good bye to some of her guests, and trying to rally her core supporters for an after-party elsewhere. I’m so happy that Oscar actually found lots of people to talk with, besides the super model at our table, that it doesn’t bother me at all when he says he has to call it a night. He hasn’t gotten a decent block of sleep since before his trip to Asia. It’s somewhat surprising that he’s still upright and coherent. I’d be toast.

  I go with him to get his coat, because mine is on the same hanger. The attendant is nowhere to be found so Oscar goes behind the counter and reclaims our outerwear himself. He kisses me good night and tells me he just needs a power nap. “Come by after the festivities,” he murmurs, as he drops his key in my palm.

  Wow. I wasn’t expecting that. A key must mean we’re kicking it up another level. He trusts me to come and go from his place on my own. That’s huge.

  “You sure you won’t be dead to the world? You won’t attack me as an intruder in your sleep? Clobber me to death with the bedside lamp?”

  “That depends how you go about waking me up.” With a big flirtatious smile, he buttons his coat, pulls on his gloves, and kisses me once more before striding out to face the unseasonably cold autumn air. I watch him go, still feeling his kiss tingle on my mouth and thinking I even love the way he moves. He has the manliest gait.

  When Oscar disappears down the hallway, I snap myself out of my happy love-haze, check that my scarf and gloves are still stashed inside my sleeve, and turn to leave the coat room to re-join the party when Kevin appears in front of me. “Zoë?”

  “Yes?” I say absent-mindedly. I’m still tasting Oscar’s kiss and I’m stunned he gave me a key. I wonder if it’s just for tonight, or if he means for me to keep it.

  “I can’t do this anymore.” Kevin says, and his voice sounds like he has something big on his mind.

  “Do what?” I start to ask, but before I can spit it out, one of my closest friends, who was too mad to speak to me until very recently, has pushed me back against the counter and he’s kissing me. Hard. Like he means it.

  My brain lurches into overdrive. The one time I contemplated hooking up with Kevin was many years ago, after I came back from that ill fated trip to Belize with my Australian adrenalin-addicted transitional man. I thought there might be something nice about being with someone whose quirks are already familiar, who’s smart, reliable and always there. A known entity. But I never went there, mainly because I assumed if we had that kind of chemistry, we’d have acted on it years ago. I figured kissing Kevin would be like kissing my brother. Platonic. Disgusting.

  But it’s none of those things. Kevin’s kiss is insistent, hungry, and not taking no for an answer. And even though I’m still fingering Oscar’s key, I feel myself kissing the best guy friend I’ve ever had back.

  Like I mean it.

  Claudio clears his throat loudly and turns to look out into the corridor while Kevin and I unlock lips and step away from each other. “Everyone is ready to go,” Claudio says. He’s located the coat check girl and she slides behind the counter and takes his ticket.

  The remains of the party pile into three cabs. I make a point of taking a separate car from Kevin. He goes with the birthday girl and I hop in with some of Angela’s girlfriends from the magazine. I stare out the window and watch Midtown whiz by and wonder, quietly and incoherently, what I’ve just done, whether it means anything, and what happens next for me and Oscar.

  Angela’s new beau reserved space for her after-party at the Rose Bar in the Gramercy Park Hotel. I perch on an upholstered chair designed by someone famous and stare at the Warhols. Claudio tells us that they recently refused entry to Paris Hilton, which to him is reason enough to patronize the place.

  After the waiter takes our order, Angela leaves her post at Claudio’s side and drags me into the ladies’ room. Once we’ve checked that no one from our party is within ear shot, she says, “Told you so.”

  “Told
me what?” I’m not sure why I decide to play clueless. News obviously travels fast.

  “Don’t be coy.” She whips out a lipstick and pouts at the mirror.

  “Claudio told you?”

  “Of course. He thinks there should be no secrets between lovers, which is total bullshit, but he’s an awful gossip. He said he cleared his throat twice before you guys noticed.”

  “He’s exaggerating.” I feel my ears redden. The bathroom attendant hovers a few feet down the counter. She’s taking her time stacking clean hand towels, and obviously hoping to hear something good. Who can blame her? It’s got to be a horrible job, even in an immaculate marble bathroom like this one.

  “So? How was it?”

  “How was what?”

  “The kiss. Don’t play dumb.”

  “It was nice. Really nice.”

  “Who started it?”

  “He did, but I didn’t exactly push him off me.” I turn away from the mirror where I’d been playing with my hair, trying to arrange the highlighted pieces to best frame my face. “What am I going to do?”

  She pauses with her eyelash curler in mid-air and says, “You don’t necessarily have to do much. Not yet. Kevin knows all about Oscar, and Oscar doesn’t suspect a thing about Kevin. You could date them both for a few weeks and see how you feel. Even if you choose Oscar, which I don’t think you will, by the way, Kevin will be okay because you were open about it from the beginning. And if you dump Oscar, it really doesn’t matter what he thinks of you dating Kevin.”

  “Why do you think I wouldn’t choose Oscar? We’re well past the point of dating other people. He gave me a key to his place tonight.”

  “So fine. Tell Kevin you’re sorry, but you’re in love with Oscar and you can’t do this right now.”