by Ariella Papa
I had this odd fear I couldn’t shake, like if I didn’t do what she wanted and embrace the whole thing, she would lose the baby because of me. She was only a couple of months pregnant; the whole situation was so delicate. If she had been showing, I wouldn’t have been so worried, but the baby was this intangible bean that no one could see. She had told me she’d heard the heartbeat, but I was superstitious about referring to it too much—in case something happened to it.
“Hello.” She sounded sleepy.
“Hey,” I said. “It’s me. Are you asleep?”
“No, I was just resting, watching a little TV. I can’t really fall asleep. Where are you?”
“Ditmars.”
“Another night in the war zone with your mother?”
“No, we actually ventured out to a restaurant.” I would allow only Jamie to call my mother’s apartment the war zone. And fortunately Jamie was the only person ever to have seen it.
“How did that go?”
I sighed. Did I bother getting into the whole story? What was the point? It was just more of the same. “The usual. How come you stayed home from work?”
“My stomach was feeling queasy when I took Sparky out for a walk. We went to the dog run and then on the way back in the middle of the street, in front of everyone going to work, I puked. I tried to get to a trash can in time, but they were all full.”
“Ugh,” I groaned.
“Yeah, and some of it spilled on the sidewalk and Sparky tried to eat it.”
“That’s disgusting.” I felt myself starting to gag. “And I guess…sweet in a way. Have you eaten anything since?”
“When the dog walker came at lunch, she brought me some soup.” She sounded pitiful.
The one thing about her being pregnant was that I felt like she needed me as some kind of crutch to remind her of what it was like not to be pregnant.
“Oh, Jamie, the train’s coming. I’ll call you when I get back to Manhattan.”
On the subway, I wondered why I hadn’t bothered to push my mother about Helen. I had just accepted it. Bringing it up had been daring of me, but then I backed off.
Georgia and I had been playing phone tag since she told me about Helen. Well, that wasn’t really true. She had called me quite a few times after the engagement dinner, but I kept “forgetting” to call her back. We had seen each other at a family barbecue, but my mom was there too, so I hadn’t pursued it.
Like my mother, I was scared to go there.
Thirty-five minutes later, I called Jamie from my land line. She told me that she was puking at least three times a day and she hadn’t told anyone at work yet, so she had to make all these weird runs down the hall to the bathroom.
“They’re going to suspect me of being a bulimic. Lord knows, I wouldn’t be the first in that company.”
“Is there anything you’re craving?”
“Tuna. I would like to wrap myself up in tuna. And Reuben sandwiches.”
“That’s pretty intense. Aren’t you supposed to want pickles and ice cream?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Jamie cried. “Am I?”
“I don’t know.” I laughed, attempting to defuse the situation. I worried that Jamie was going to start taking this stuff as seriously as she had the “trying.” I think she had strange fears of not doing it—whatever “it” was—right.
“I’m sure there isn’t any right craving,” I said. “What else is wrong?”
“My face is breaking out. We just came out with this new super-duper cover-up and not even that can cover it up. All the young interns are smirking at me in the hallways. I’m losing my edge.”
“I think your hormones are just getting a little crazy.”
“You’re right,” she said. Then she started to cry. First my mother’s moods, now this. I was not equipped to deal with it all.
She stopped on her own but continued to sniffle.
“Do you feel better now?” I asked.
“Yes, I should get some sleep. Are you sure everything went okay with your mom?”
“Define ‘okay.’”
“Voula, don’t pull that with me.”
If that was trying not to complain about everything that was wrong with my stupid family, I didn’t know if I could not do that.
“It was fine,” I lied. She was a pregnant woman who needed sleep.
“Okay,” she said.
If she hadn’t been feeling sick she might have pressed me, but I doubt I would have told her, even if I could have named it, even if I had wanted to.
We hung up and I heard a knock at my door.
Kelly peeked her head in. “You going to bed?”
“Not yet. It’s only ten. I’m not pregnant.”
She narrowed her eyes, confused.
“Never mind. What are you up to? Did you just get home from work?”
“Yeah, well, yeah. I had a big scene with Mr. Audio after work. It’s my own fault. I shouldn’t continue to sleep with him, I know I shouldn’t, so I’m not going to bitch. But I am going to pop open a gift set of Amaretto Di Saranno. Don’t make that face. It’s like the only thing in the house. Armando drank all the wine last night with his lady friend. I got this as a gift from one of my equipment rental houses.” Kelly had clued me in to the interesting life of film making in the city. Because she freelanced, she was almost more connected than Raj. She seemed to know how to network. Or maybe it was the fact that her skirt stopped at the top of her thighs. If I had legs like that, people might want to network with me, too.
“I hear it’s good. Want some?” she pressed.
I followed her into the kitchen and we sat on the stools at the counter. She held the gift glasses up for inspection; I gave her the thumbs-up. She added ice and poured. I clinked a glass against hers and sipped. It wasn’t bad, sort of sweet. Both of us nodded approval and laughed.
I liked Kelly. She was easy—not in a sexual way. I wished I could make an impression the way she did. We had been spending a decent amount of time together, catching up when she got home or watching the occasional talk show together when I wasn’t working or running to apartments. I hadn’t told her or Armando that I was looking. That would have meant I was fully committed to moving out. I still wasn’t a hundred percent sure that I was.
“So what did you do tonight?” she asked. “Tell me one of us got lucky.”
“Hardly. I went out with my mother.”
“Your mother live around here?”
“Astoria—where all the Greeks are.”
She topped off my drink and poured herself another. “You guys close?”
I snorted. “No.”
“So why did you go out to dinner?”
I can see how from the outside it would be the right question.
“She doesn’t really have anyone.”
“Your dad passed?”
“No, he’s in Cyprus. He lives there. I don’t know what the story is with their marriage—if there is a marriage.”
“And you’re an only child?”
“No, well, now I am.” Maybe this was why I didn’t like meeting new people. Maybe I just didn’t want to have to share my family history with anyone. “My oldest sister died when she was nineteen, and my other sister, she sort of ran away.”
“Wow,” Kelly said, nodding.
The few times I had said this to someone I had seen that look. The pity look. I got it from all my teachers; from kids at school who otherwise would have teased me for being too smart; and the few times that it came up when I worked at the nonprofit. Only two people hadn’t given me that look: Jamie had hugged me when I told her and not asked any more questions, and Warren Tucker had kissed me on the jetty in Block Island.
“How did she die?” Kelly asked.
I wasn’t expecting it, but it was a fair question. Of course she backed it up.
“I mean, we don’t have to talk about this.”
“She, uh, got into a moped crash in Cyprus. She wasn’t wearing a helmet.”
; “She was driving.”
“No, her fiancé was. He died, too. He was Cypriot.” Now that I had started, I was going to tell the whole story. “She was supposed to be home, but she called my parents and asked them to let her stay. They only let her because they liked him. He was from a good family, that’s all that mattered to them.”
“She must have liked him too.”
I nodded. She must have. I hadn’t really thought about it. I’d never met him. She saw him on the sly for two years when we were in Cyprus before she told my parents. An image of my sister flashed through my mind. She was getting up from a table, her long red-streaked hair a curtain on one side of her face. She had spent hours on her hair; she hated when it got messed up. My mother had clucked disapprovingly at the amount of time Cristina spent on her hair. It was her only vanity.
“She was really pretty,” I said.
“I can imagine,” Kelly said, nodding.
I looked at her curiously.
“Well, you are.”
“Come on!”
“I’m serious.”
“This old thang,” I said, teasing. I poured myself another drink.
“Really. When was the last time you had a boyfriend?”
“Greek girls don’t date.”
“Why?”
“We just get married.”
“So, wait.” Her eyebrows rose. Her eyes shot down to my crotch, then she caught herself and giggled.
“No, I’m not a virgin.”
“What a scandal.”
“Tell me about it. Not a virgin, but a spinster.”
“Jeez,” she said. “I guess we’ve all got our issues.”
“What, do American mutts have problems too?” I was teasing, but her face got serious and I regretted being so flippant. “Sorry.”
“No, it’s fine.”
“You don’t get along with your parents either?”
“No, it isn’t that. They were alcoholics. Are alcoholics. Sometimes we didn’t even have food in the house. Boy, did they know how to go at each other. They got divorced and started their twelve steps. Now, it’s like they just want to go out to dinner with me, together, and act like nothing was ever wrong.”
“But you’re still mad at them?”
“Yeah, but like, they don’t or won’t remember half of the things I do about the past. They have no idea what they were like, but I can’t forget. I feel guilty because they mean well, they’re trying to make a fresh start. You know, what am I supposed to do with all this shit?”
I shrugged. We were almost done with the Amaretto Di Saranno.
“Do you ever worry that you’ll turn out like them?” I wondered if I was treading on thin ice, but Kelly wasn’t like me. She was open.
“No, I’m so used to being in control of things, you know, being the responsible one, for them. I’ve always known my limits. You can’t be afraid. Although, I guess I wonder if I’ll ever have kids. I just don’t see why people do it.”
I thought of Jamie. For the first time in my life, I felt like I had more in common with someone other than her. It was unexpected. I hadn’t really let myself think about having kids—I had just thought I was too far from it. But the truth was, I didn’t know if I wanted kids either. There. I had admitted it to myself.
“I should get to bed,” Kelly said. “I have a six a.m. call tomorrow.”
I looked at the clock. It was almost midnight. I said good-night, poured myself the rest of the amaretto and took the phone into my room. I planned to call Maureen Soltero and offer $220K on the studio. They were asking $225, but with any luck the prospective bidders had gone way low. She told me I could call her anytime on her cell, but she seemed like the type of person who answered at all hours. And after all of the amaretto, I wasn’t sure I should be talking to anyone. I decided to call her office and leave a message so she would get it in the morning.
I started to dial her number. Then I stopped. Maybe I shouldn’t make this kind of decision in my current state. In fact, maybe the place wasn’t all that great after all. A lot of people thought that doormen really did nothing but add thousands of dollars to the asking price. The same could be said for decorative fireplaces. I wasn’t even sure what the building sublet policy was. I had never thought about things like this until Maureen told me that a liberal policy was good for reselling. Also, how much of the building was owner occupied? This didn’t matter to me, but apparently it mattered to banks. I should have answers to these questions before I made a move, right?
I knew I was making excuses. The truth was that most of me wanted to get my own place, but a tiny tiny part of me feared that if I didn’t have people around me—if I didn’t have roommates—I would turn into a recluse. I would become a cat lady. I would be dead for three days before anyone bothered to look for me. It was silly, but I had realized while talking to Kelly that I wasn’t as introverted as I liked to pretend. I enjoyed talking to people and listening to their stories; that’s half the reason I enjoyed my job so much. Finding out how other people lived, what it would be like to walk in their shoes, was exciting.
I changed into my pajamas and finished my drink before washing up for bed. Kelly was coming out of the bathroom as I went in.
“Sleep tight,” she said as she passed me.
I wouldn’t get that living on my own.
When I finally crawled into bed, the sweetness of the drink had added a sweetness to the world. I hadn’t been sleeping well since the fire, but I knew the amaretto would put me right out. My body felt heavy and I couldn’t wait to drift off to sleep…
Three hours later, I jolted up in bed. For a minute, I thought that there was an earthquake going on. Animals were yelping like they had been hurt. I heard thumps and I felt my bed shaking. My heart was racing as it had on the many occasions I had been startled out of bed when I was younger. Then I got my bearings and realized that the thumps were coming from Armando’s room. His usual murmurs of “shh, shh, bella, bella” weren’t working. He had himself a screamer. This was worse than the time I was certain he was using props.
I pulled the covers over my head, but kept feeling the wall hitting my headboard. I had always meant to move my bed, but had never gotten around to it. Plus I had arranged my room like this after doing an article on feng shui. Why should Armando’s sex life interrupt my long life and prosperity?
“Oh, my God! Oh, my God! You’re so big, you’re so amazing. Oh, my God!”
Oh, Panayia Mou, this one needed to stop watching so much porn. It was ridiculous. (Though I had always wondered how big Armando really was.) It sounded like they were in the home stretch. “Oh, oh, oh, I looooove yooooooooooooouuu!”
I sat back up in bed. Then I giggled. That was a sure sign of a one-timer. Armando couldn’t stand for women to be too into him. I couldn’t stand the wake-up calls. He had been considerate about bringing women home since the fire. I think he still felt really guilty, but old habits die hard, I guess.
I dialed the number to Maureen Soltero’s office. What would she think when she got a message from three-thirty a.m.? I didn’t care. I pressed the pound key on the phone when I heard her greeting. I didn’t even have the patience to listen to the whole thing.
“Maureen, hi. It’s Voula Pavlopoulos. I want to bid 220 on the place on West 15th. Talk to you tomorrow.”
11
When I got up in the morning, I found a note slipped under my door. It was from Kelly. It said, “Amaretto not good for six a.m. calls. Neither are wailing shrieking banshee women. Hope you’re sleeping peacefully.”
I smiled. I had totally misjudged Kelly, but I had learned my lesson. Maybe we could still hang out after I moved. If I ever moved out. I was edgy about Maureen calling me. I wanted her to just call and tell me one way or the other if I had the place. I was dying to find out, but still not sure what I was hoping for.
I called Jamie as I brewed a pot of coffee. I was excited to tell her about the prospect. But when I asked her how she was doing, she launched
into a lengthy monologue.
“Well, my skin is worse than ever. I had to come in to work today, because I am slammed with meetings, but I feel like shit.”
“You’re going to have to tell them soon. You’re gonna start showing.”
“I know,” she said in a pensive way before rattling off all the ways she was miserable, interspersed with stories of how great it felt to know there was a baby growing inside her. I realized that all she was really thinking about was the baby. I doubted she could concentrate on anything else. Or maybe she had just gotten accustomed to me not having anything interesting to say about my life. It wasn’t that she was being inconsiderate, it was that she didn’t know any other way—I never had any news to report.
“This morning I was brushing my teeth,” she continued, “and the next thing I knew I was gagging. I crouched down at the toilet and tried to puke, and then I realized my legs were wet. I was peeing and gagging at the same time.”
“Gross,” I said. How could anyone choose to do this to herself?
“Oh, I wanted to tell you. Last night Raj told me Warren Tucker did body shots with the contestant. He has a strong chance of winning.”
Great, I thought. I still wasn’t exactly sure what the premise of Raj’s dating show was, because every time I asked him he rolled his eyes. He made a good living from working in television, but it seemed to shame him somehow.
“Have you watched the tape yet?”
“No,” I said. I kept it in my underwear drawer, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.
“You are a freak.”
“Thanks,” I said dryly.
“Hey, Voul, are you okay?”
Sure I was okay. I could keep all the fluids in my body.
“Yep!”
“Is this because of dinner with your mom?”
I heard her other line beeping. It was almost ten o’clock. I was certain she had a meeting coming. She seemed to have them on the hour.