Cosmo's Deli

by Sharon Kurtzman

  “Are you Renny?” the nurse asks.

  “Yes.” Renny floods with relief at hearing her name spoken in a mothering way.

  “Your father said you might come by. I’m afraid they left about twenty minutes ago.”

  “Is she…I mean, does she have…” Renny doesn’t want to say it, hoping instead that the nurse will fill in the blank for her. When she doesn’t, Renny follows through, “Is it cancer?”

  “I can’t discuss your mother’s condition, dear.”

  “Can I speak to the doctor?”

  The nurse shakes her head, “I’m afraid not. He’s with a patient.”

  Renny opens her mouth to protest, but inherently knows that even though she speaks with soothing tones, this woman’s words are cast iron. The only way she’d get to the doctor is if she wrestles her way past this woman. As if reading her thoughts, the nurse asks, “Is there anything else we can help you with today?” Her face is serene, but there is a glint in the older woman’s eye that says, “Do you want a piece of me?”

  Renny doesn’t. Her adrenaline high has taken a powder, leaving her drained. She shakes her head and leaves the doctor’s office.

  As the Town Car pulls out of the lot, Renny gives the driver directions to her parents’ house. He nods in acknowledgement. Prick, Renny thinks, annoyed by his silent treatment. She pulls out her cell phone and dials her parents. On the third ring, her brother, Ira, answers.

  “It’s me,” Renny says. “I just left the doctor’s office. They wouldn’t tell me anything.”

  He snorts as if the phone call were the anticipated punchline to a bad joke. “Here’s Dad.” Ira hands the phone over to her father.

  “Renny, where are you?” He asks.

  “I just pulled away from the doctor’s office. What did they say?”

  “It’s not good.”

  Renny feels her stomach churn. She feels like she is going to throw up.

  Her father continues, “There’s a mass on her right lung. It’s malignant. They want to operate.”

  “When?”

  “As soon as possible. It could even be next week.”

  “I’ll be there in about fifteen minutes,” Renny tells him.

  “Hang on a minute.” Her father muffles the phone and hears her mother talking, though the words are inaudible. Renny can tell that the exchange between her parents is about her. He comes back on. “You know, honey, it’s not such a good time right now. I think you should go back into the city.”

  “She doesn’t want me to come? Does she?”

  “It’s been a rough day for her. She’s just tired. It’ll be okay.”

  “Put her on the phone. I want to talk to her.”

  Her father blows out a heavy sigh and Renny knows he’s shaking his head even if she can’t see it. “Maybe later.”

  “She won’t even talk to me?” Even after their most bitter fights, her mother has never refused to talk to her.

  “We’ll call you later,” he says, before hanging up.

  Renny legs begin to tremble, a small quake that spreads quickly over her body. When it subsides she leans over the front seat, “Ah…driver, just head back into the city. Okay?” Sitting back, her body trembles again and she crosses her arms across her chest for solace.

  The driver makes a quick u-turn down a side street, this maneuver being the only acknowledgement that she’d changed their course.

  She’d momentarily forgotten that they weren’t on speaking terms either.

  ***

  Strains of sad love songs float through her apartment as Renny stretches out on the couch, physically and mentally exhausted. She wears the clothing equivalent of a big hug, faded navy sweats and an oversized hoody, replete with holes and bleach stains. She clutches a half-empty goblet of Merlot, while the rest of the bottle sits on the coffee table waiting to be poured.

  Renny eyes the phone. She called her parents twice since getting home and her mother still won’t talk to her. She sips her wine and absorbs the music.

  The last twenty-four hours are like a sinister fable. Little Renny Shuler went off to work and when the black hearted queen tried to do away with her, she escaped by quitting instead. Then upon trying to return to her family, she found them quarantined with the plague. Now, the only thing that can break the evil spell cast on her life is to fall into the arms of the handsome prince with a kiss.

  Only the prince hasn’t called. And he may never call. Renny tells herself that Georgie was just tired last night and that their date will still happen. And as for her mother, well, she’ll be okay. She has to be.

  As Renny wails aong to the music the phone rings.

  She jumps. “Hello?” All she hears is bar noise. “Speak up, I can’t hear you.”

  “It’s Lucy!”

  “Lucy?”

  “You left the office so fast today. I wanted to congratulate you on quitting. That took balls.”

  “Thanks,” Renny answers raising her glass in dismal self cheer. “It’s starting to sink in.”

  “Listen, I want to let you know that Val is gonna clean out your office on Monday. I overheard her saying that the only reason she didn’t do it today is because she’s going away for the weekend and didn’t want to miss her train. If there is anything you want from your office you better go in tomorrow and get it.”

  “Can I still get in?”

  “I left a note for the weekend guard that you’d be stopping in. You should go tomorrow though.”

  “Thanks, I will. Where are you?”

  “Shark Bar.”

  Renny waits for more. “Lucy are you there?”

  “Listen, I don’t know how to tell you this. Are you sitting down?”

  “Yeah. What is it?” Her palms turn clammy.

  “It’s Georgie. He’s here and he’s with Tawney.”

  The fog that has surrounded her all night grows thicker. Renny looks at the wineglass in her hand and notices how tiny and faraway it seems, as if she were seeing it from a distance away. “Are, are you sure?”

  “What?” Lucy shouts.

  “Are you sure?” Renny suddenly yells.

  “I’m sure. And you don’t have to scream at me. It’s not my fault he’s here canoodling with her.”

  “They’re friends. I’m sure it’s perfectly innocent,” Renny rationalizes.

  “Innocent my big thong wearing ass. By the looks of it, they’re really good friends.”

  “Well, then what are they doing now?” Renny demands.

  “I can’t see, too many people moved in the way. Maybe they left.”

  “Go look!” Renny pleads.

  “But I’ll lose my seat at the bar,” Lucy whines. “And I have Mr. Giggles in my sight line. He’s six seats away.”

  “Lucy, you called me on what has been the worst day of my life with even more shitty news. I need to know what he’s doing with her.”

  “Okay, okay. I’m going,” she grumbles. “I’m working my way through the crowd. Hang on a minute.”

  Renny listens for what feels like an eternity to the generic bar static of voices, tinkling glass and music.

  Lucy comes back on. “They’re still there.”

  “And?”

  “Hang on.” She muffles the phone.

  “Lucy!” Renny shouts.

  “Oh my god! You’re not going to believe this.”

  “What, what is it?” Renny’s heart clogs her throat, making it hard to breathe. What if I pass out right here in my apartment, she thinks? I could asphyxiate. Half the world isn’t talking to me. Who would find me? I’d probably lay here decomposing until my stink wafts down into the lobby.

  “Mr. Giggles just sent me a drink!” Lucy exclaims. “He’s smiling at me from the end of the bar.”

  Renny abandons her decaying corpse. “What about Georgie?”

  “He’s playing tongue hockey with her, okay. His tongue is so far down her fucking throat it’s practically coming out her belly button. You’re better off knowing. Just file
him under fun while it lasted, and move on. That’s what I’d do. Mr. Giggles is waiting for me. Ciao.” Lucy is gone.

  “Damn him,” she says, dropping the phone. A tear falls from her right eye and she brushes it away. When another trickles from her left eye she knows it’s no longer because of Georgie. “Damn you, Ma.”

  Renny unmutes the music and splays out on her bed, as a puddle of tears, snot and drool forms on her comforter as if it were a big denim tissue.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Gaby and Annette enter the crowded Friday night bar scene of Dandel’s, a new fusion restaurant where the wait for a table usually stretches into centuries. Pushing through ribbons of cigarette smoke like a beaded ‘70s doorway, Annette gives their name to Zanzi, the Maitre D’. Zanzi, short for Zanzibar, is Euro and in his early forties with slicked back ebony hair and a Hugo Boss suit. A Manhattan table warden at four hot city restaurants in the last six years, once the masses hear that a new place is opening with Zanzi at the door, they swarm. Gaby knew Zanzi well when her company was flying high. Back then, she was ushered to a table with air kisses easing her way. Waving hello to Zanzi tonight, he looks at her with barely a nod, as if she just emigrated from New Jersey.

  They squeeze through the packed bodies and nab a bar table in the middle of the action. Gaby yawns. This is their fourth stop in what has turned into too long a night.

  “Hey, don’t poop out on me now,” Annette says, scanning the crowd.

  A waitress appears at their table. She is tall and waif-thin, with dark hair smoothed off a flawless face into a neat ponytail. “What can I get you?”

  Annette orders her third vodka and cranberry of the night, while Gaby orders her fourth French martini.

  Actress wannabe, Gaby thinks, watching her walk away. And then with more contempt than one should have for a complete stranger, Gaby says to Annette, “Someone should tell that gal the waif thing is done and gone.”

  Annette tosses her eyes toward the right. “He’s hot.”

  Gaby traces the imaginary line across the bar to where a group stands chatting. Just as if her eyes had tapped his shoulder, a dark head turns. Their eyes connect briefly. His are hazel and Gaby’s are alive again. “Very appetizing,” she says, shedding some of her crankiness. Gaby had begun to think tonight was a bad idea, finding Annette’s incessant babbling and guy scoping annoying as hell.

  “Hey, hands off. I saw him first!”

  “Annette honey, ever heard all’s fair in love and war?”

  “Yes, I have.” Annette pouts. “Well I guess we’ll just see who he prefers. He’s coming over.”

  Gaby bristles. Does she think she’s any challenge for me?

  “What are y’all doing sitting here alone on a Friday night?” His drawl instantly takes Gaby home.

  Gaby beams a smile at him and ratchets up her own lilt. “Dahling, I think we may be neighbors. Where y’all from?”

  “South Carolina. Just outside a Charleston.”

  “Low country. We’re practically kin. I’m from North Carolina. When I was a child, my family used to summer at Kiawah.”

  The freckles peppering his nose dance as he talks. “I been there many times myself. Practically weened on the golf course.”

  Annette links an arm in his. “I’m from Chicago. That must at least make me a kissing cousin?” She tippy-toes up to his height and kisses his cheek.

  Gaby’s eyes narrow. Ho-ho-ho, she thinks, having nothing to do with Christmas.

  He waves toward them, “Mind if I join you?”

  Gaby and Annette shift aside and create a few empty inches of space between them.

  “I’m Alex,” he says, stepping into the ring they’ve created.

  ***

  An hour later, Alex and Annette are cozied together at one end of the table while Gaby, cast as third wheel, props her chin in her hand as she sips at her fifth French martini. Regret washes over her. Why did she ever make these plans to begin with?

  She turns her gaze on Annette. She looks different than the last time she was in town. How had Gaby not noticed that before? A few months ago Annette was a short overweight brunette, funny in an acerbic way and as a friend, she was an acquired taste. Gaby was one of the few that liked her. Now she’s dropped fifteen pounds on Atkins, highlighted her hair and dumbed down her personality so that the lowest common denominator finds her enchanting.

  Good Lord, Gaby thinks, Annette is like Maryann in the Gilligan amnesia episode.

  She gasps, and I’m Ginger!

  Gaby yanks Alex’s arm hard, almost knocking him off his feet. “So Alex, y’all miss home?”

  He straightens up. “Huh, ah, I don’t know. Some things I guess. What about you?”

  Her eyes clutch his, desperate to ignite his interest with the current of her own. “I miss having good barbecue. You just can’t find it in the city.”

  “Barbecued what? Chicken?” Annette asks.

  Alex and Gaby share a smile. “Bless your heart.” She touches Alex’s arm, “Where we come from barbecue isn’t an adjective, it’s a noun.”

  “That’s right,” he nods.

  Annette waves her hands excitedly. “Okay, okay. What’s your favorite bagel place?”

  He turns back to Annette. “Ahh, H&H I guess.”

  Gaby restrains her desire to twist his face back, aware that she may dislodge his head from his shoulders if she did.

  Annette touches his arm, “No silly. You’ve obviously never been to Ess a Bagel?”

  “What a a bagel?” He asks.

  Gaby blurts out, “You know, I used to own a ladies underwear company.”

  “Cool,” he comments before swiftly focusing back on Annette. “Run that name buy me again.”

  “Ess a Bagel,” Annette giggles. “It’s on Third in the forties. They are huge! Almost as big as your head.”

  “You’ll have to take me there some time.” He plays with her fingers.

  Annette giggles, tossing her hair for the umpteenth time and surreptitiously flashing Gaby with the victory in her eyes.

  Ginger is dead, so Gaby heads off to find the bathroom, well aware that they won’t even notice she’s gone.

  Squeezing through the small space between the door and the toilets, Gaby hunts for a clean stall, as a crush of women vie for mirror time. They grab the Paul Mitchell from the counter gratis basket and shellac already stiff hair, while relining their lips in case the men at the bar forget their facial location. The mingling smells of hairspray, perfume, cigarettes and bodies make Gaby woozy. Secured in a stall, Gaby relieves herself and wonders, what’s happened to me? Six months ago she would have loved this scene. Reeling off balance she grabs onto the toilet paper holder to steady her marinated equilibrium.

  CLINK! Gaby follows the noise to the floor, where a ring has bounced into the stall and landed next to her foot.

  A woman calls from outside the stall, “Is my ring in there?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be right out,” she calls back. Picking it up Gaby sees it’s a diamond engagement ring.

  She knocks into the woman as she swings the door open. “You better hang on to this,” Gaby warns, giving the ring over. “This is what they’re all after. They’ll claw you to death for it.”

  The woman, a redhead, big chested and apparently younger than Gaby, seems oblivious to the sarcasm. Instead, she bubbles over with the juice of her life. “Thank you. We just got engaged yesterday. I guess I’m not used to it yet.”

  Gaby shoves her way to the sink to wash her hands. “Congratulations.” Great, she thinks, I had to stumble onto a chatty one.

  “Thanks. My boyfriend, oops,” Chatty giggles, “I mean my fiancé. He picked it out all on his own. He did pretty good, huh?”

  “Mmmm.” Gaby fights through the crowd, slipping on the damp floor.

  Chatty catches her by the arm and rights her, without missing a beat of conversation. “We’ve only been together a month, but I guess you know when it’s right. You know?” Chatty lets out a
heavy sigh. “He’s so great, I can’t believe we’re engaged!”

  “Mmm,” she mumbles, whipping the door open to escape.

  “Honey!” Chatty yells from behind Gaby.

  Reflexively, Gaby looks up to check out ‘Honey.’

  They see each other at the same time and he immediately looks at the floor.

  It’s Stan! Gaby puts one hand on the wall to steady herself, while the other moves across her throat as if for protection.

  “How are you?” he asks, stepping forward.

  “Good,” Gaby answers, suddenly sober. “How are you? That’s stupid isn’t it? I just heard how you are. You’re engaged.”

  Chatty comes up. “Do you two know each other? That’s so funny, we just met in the bathroom.

  “It’s hysterical,” Gaby snaps, making no attempt to hide her lack of civility.

  Stan awkwardly says, “Honey, this is Gaby.”

  “Oh,” Chatty says taking a step away like she’s just met a baglady. She whispers to Stan, “The crazy one, right?”

  “And you must be the stupid one.” Gaby shoots Stan a death glare before shoving people out of her way like a human plow.

  Annette and Alex are making out as she comes up to the table. “Sweet Jesus!”

  Annette’s pulls away, her lipstick-smeared mouth curling in carnivorous glee like a lion that’s in the midst of devouring its prey.

  Gaby wants to smack her. “I’m leaving.”

  “You don’t have to go,” Alex says. “Stay, have another drink. I’m buyin’ the next round.”

  “Annette, next time you’re in from Chicago, don’t fucking call me.” Pushing the front door open, Gaby is swallowed by the momentary woosh of inside air meeting outside air.

  A hand grabs her arm. “Whoa, what’s your hurry?”

  Gaby pulls away, but then realizes she knows the man grabbing her arm. But from where?

  “Gaby, right? Griffin Maxx, from Phosphorous. You wrote a story about us a few months ago.”