“Maybe next time.”
Jamie said it because she knew she wouldn’t come back. Too much opening up made her feel queasy.
“Fair enough.”
Jamie looked at Dr. Dave. Who was looking back at her. The cute one in the Beach Boys. Dennis Wilson. That’s who he looked like.
Jamie stared at her sneaker then back at him. “They say what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, Dr. Dave, but, honestly, I think sometimes it just kills you.”
He nodded.
“You look like Dennis Wilson from the Beach Boys…”
He chuckled. “People have told me that.”
“What else can we talk about?” Jamie said.
“Anything you want…”
“The Mets?”
“If you want.”
“I’m more of a Yankees fan.”
“Reggie.”
“He’s pretty great,” Jamie smiled. “Post or the Daily News?”
“Post.”
“Me too. Although lately…”
“I know,” Dr. Dave sighed.
“Son of Sam,” Jamie said. “Can you believe that asshole?”
“You want to talk about Son of Sam?”
“I want them to catch him so much. Like a weird amount.”
“You take it personally…”
“I think we all do.”
“I think you’re right.”
Maybe this doc was actually okay. But Jamie knew once she walked out that door, she wouldn’t be able to come back and see him again. Not because he wasn’t wonderful and caring. And exactly what she needed. But because something in her would close up as soon as she left. And she wouldn’t want this warm and kind person seeing inside her again.
If that’s intimacy issues then the first shrink was right.
Plus, he didn’t know. He thought he knew, but he didn’t.
And once she said it. It was over.
“I can’t sleep, Dr. Dave,” she said. “I have nightmares.”
“Let’s see if we can help you with that. Anything else?”
“I feel like I can’t fall in love with anyone.”
“Why not?”
“Because if I open up, I’ll die.”
“You know you won’t.”
“I don’t know that.”
She looked at him. She expected a cloudy face of judgment. Instead, his eyes softened.
“I understand.”
“But I met someone - well, she’s 20. But she makes me feel safe. And I feel like my heart cracked open for the first time in forever.”
“You think you might fall in love with her?”
He was cool. He talked to her like being in love with a woman was normal.
Not like how some people pretended to be cool but kind of talked louder or smiled too much. She had seen it too growing up in Rye. The way people would talk to their housekeeper, Regine, who was black. A woman, who in so many ways had raised Jamie and her brother and sister. She’d see the way Waspy white women would talk to Regine. Like too loud. And too much. Trying to be cool. And so, therefore, proved how not cool they were.
But Dr. Dave was cool.
“What’s her name?”
“Bridget.”
“So is it something special?”
Jamie shrugged. “Not sure. She’s kind of straight… and she’s kinda having a tough time cause she lost someone she loved, so… I want to give her room,” she said. “But I feel safe with her. And who knows?”
“But you’re afraid.”
Jamie glanced at the clock on his desk. Then back at Dr. Dave.
“I am.”
“Of falling in love?”
Jamie laughed. “Of everything.”
He nodded.
“Do you want to write something down?”
He smiled. “I’ll remember.”
“I’m trying to do more, Dr. Dave.”
“You can just call me Dave.”
“It’s not as funny.”
“Gotcha.”
“But I am. I’m trying to go on. Do more stuff. Get out more. Lynette invited me to a gallery opening on Saturday night. The past two years I’ve barely gone out.”
“But you’re going to go?”
“Do you think I should?”
He leaned back in his chair. “Do you think you should?”
Jamie smiled. He was really cool. If she wasn’t so busy running away from shrinks and wanting to never come back here, he might just be perfect.
“Yeah,” she said. “I think I should. I’ve tried not being a part of the world and the world got so small. So, maybe going out…”
“Mm hm?”
“Might be good,” she said. “Doing something.”
“Caring about someone.”
She laughed. Lifted her cigarettes out of her pocket. “Let’s not go crazy.”
25
8:30 on a Saturday night. Penny stepped out of the revolving door of One Fifth Avenue Restaurant. Just above Washington Square Park. She nodded to an editor she knew from Random House and wave to a book agent.
Others spilled out from the book launch through the revolving door to the sidewalk. Another muggy Manhattan night.
A week had passed since she and Davis had their evening with Alyssa and life was better. That night was an adventure that had opened up a new day. Even just in her.
Penny spotted Davis talking to some people on the sidewalk. He smiled as he made his way over to her. He slipped a pack of Lucky’s out of his navy blazer and a lighter out of his jeans.
“Babe,” he said. “You had more endurance for that party than I did..”
“How long have you been out here?”
Davis finished lighting his cigarette, exhaled some smoke up into the air and shoved the lighter back in his pocket.
He grinned and slipped his hands around her waist, staring into her eyes.
“Where’s the car?” he whispered. “Let’s go home and get it on.”
“Well, Barry White...” Penny said, peeling his hands off her. “The car is in the ‘you didn’t call and order one’ And we’ve still got another party downtown.”
“God, you’re beautiful. So what now? Skip that party downtown?”
“Is that what I just said?”
He smirked.
“Aw, enough. Let’s skip it. I’m tired.”
“Or we’ll not skip it and go.”
“You look incredible tonight, did I tell you that?”
“Uh huh.”
“You don’t believe me.”
“I’m not sure what you want.”
He laughed, pulled away. “Aw, that’s harsh.”
She heard a clamor of loud voices behind her.
Davis cast his eyes towards the entrance of the restaurant behind her. She turned to see what he was looking at.
There on the sidewalk, teetering towards them in a glittery top and high platforms, was a 30-something frizzy red-haired woman. Tight dress and ample cleavage spilling out.
Penny felt Davis’s body tense.
A shreiky voice called across the sidewalk.
“Did you tell her?!” the woman yelled.
Davis let go of Penny.
“Lana, I think you’ve had enough,” he said to the woman. “Let us get you a cab.”
“Oh, I’ve had enough alright, Mr. Llewellyn. Did you tell her?”
Penny had a quick, sinking feeling that ‘her’ was her.
“Oh, Jesus, Davis,” she said calmly.
The red haired woman was making a beeline for Penny.
Davis walked over to the woman on the sidewalk, mid-lurch just as she got to Penny.
“Lana, it’s time for you to go home,” Davis said quietly.
Lana took another stumbly step towards Penny, past Davis.
“He fucked me!”
Penny shook her head. “Oh my god,” she whispered.
People were still spilling out from the party. Publishing types. People she knew. People who knew her.
Lana raised her arched red eyebrows. “You don’t believe me?” She stumbled back a step.
“Oh, I believe you,” Penny said without emotion.
“He fucked me! And then he never called me.”
Penny shifted her weight. People were staring.
“This is lovely, Davis,” she said.
“Lana, a cab. Now.”
Davis held onto her elbow and guided her to the curb where he flagged down a passing Checker.
Lana looked at Penny and lurched backward, all elbows and knees like a drunk giraffe. Davis opened the cab door and slid her in.
Then as the cab door shut, Penny heard the words. They were garbled. They were slurred. But she heard it through the cracked open backseat window.
“Murmur murmur… pregnant!”
Davis leaned into the front window of the cab. He handed the driver two twenties.
“Take her home, please.”
The cab eased into the traffic down Fifth.
Penny’s heart was pounding in her ears. A crowd of people had formed outside the restaurant. Publishing world people. Faces she knew.
She heard Davis’s voice. He was next to her now. Hand on her back.
“Penny, she’s no one…”
She closed her eyes. “For fuck’s sake, Davis…”
He sidled in close where others couldn’t hear. “Look, she’s drunk. She’s Harry’s secretary. He’s the one who slept with her,” he said. “I’m so sorry. This is embarrassing.”
“Yes, Davis,” Penny said. “This is embarrassing.”
Tears sprouted in Penny’s eyes. And a fury in her throat. She turned and started walking down Fifth towards Washington Square Park.
He followed her.
“Babe, wait.”
She didn’t stop. She just kept walking. Through the arch and into the park.
He caught up with her and walked alongside her.
“Penny, it’s not like that,” he said.
She fixed her eyes straight ahead through the park. Didn’t look at him.
“Don’t tell me what it’s not like.”
They didn’t speak all the way through the park.
A few minutes later, they came out of the park on the other side at West Fourth Street by the N.Y.U library. Penny stopped.
“Is it true?”
“Of course not.”
“Is it fucking true?”
“Of course it isn’t!”
“Davis, is that woman pregnant?”
Davis retracted his head. “What? Woah. Of course not. And she’s - she’s Harry’s problem, not mine.”
“She’s my problem, Davis. She is completely exemplary of my fucking problem. With you.”
“Why don’t you believe me?”
“Is it true?”
“Penny. NO. For fuck’s sake. No, it isn’t true.”
She felt a tear fall down her cheek. She wiped it off with the back of her hand.
They both didn’t speak. Just standing there.
Finally, Penny broke the silence.
“Do not… make me feel like you love me. And then make me feel ridiculous for believing it.”
“Penny. Look, it’s not like - ”
She held up her hand for him to stop talking.
“I can’t look at you,” she said. “I’m going out. I’m going to this party downtown. And you are going home. Because I can’t even look at you.”
“Penny- ”
“I mean it. I can’t fucking look at you.”
“I didn’t sleep with her.”
She spun around and glared at him.
“You didn’t sleep with her, but what about Caroline St James from marketing? Or Charlie your assistant? Or any of the dozen other women I know you’ve slept with?”
“Penny, that’s not true.”
She shook her head. “God, I’m so stupid.”
“Penny - ”
“Davis. No.”
Penny turned. Heading down Thompson Street.
“Just go home,” she called over her shoulder.
She knew he wouldn’t follow her. Just like she knew she wouldn’t leave him. She was trapped and she was the one who wouldn’t open the jail door.
26
“Well, this is a miracle! You fuckin’ came!”
Lynette made her way over to where Jamie was standing by the door of the busy Soho gallery.
“Hey,” Jamie said. She glanced around the white, high-walled gallery. Crowded, smoky, filled with art and downtown artsy types. But also more than a smattering of Upper East Side art buyers.
“I should have worn something nicer,” she said to Lynette as they hugged.
“Fuck that, Brennan, we’re the artists here.”
“So tell me again – what’s this for?”
Lynette laughed. “Julian Schnabel, asshole. He’s an up and coming painter.”
“Right- unusual forms, bright colors, chaos… anti minimalist almost.”
“Look at you, fancy Miss Fancy.”
“It’s called reading Flash Art magazine because I work in a bookstore. He’s amazing.”
“Well, he’s right over there so don’t be an asshole.”
“I’ll try not to be.”
Lynette handed Jamie a beer in a plastic glass.
“Thanks,” Jamie smiled. “It’s hot out there.”
Jamie tilted the cup to her lip and gulped down half the beer.
Lynette watched her. “Okay, woah woah. Slow down, Hillbilly Susie.”
Jamie laughed. “Sorry. It’s hot out!”
“Not hot enough to drink a beer like you’re on Hee Haw.”
Lynette fixed her with a look. “Okay, now act like a frickin’ lady. There’s someone I want you to meet.”
Jamie felt the alcohol hit her at the same time she realized what Lynette was up to.
“Oh my god, no. Is this – Did you invite me here for a set-up?”
“Of course not!” Lynette said. “Or yes.”
“Please tell me that’s not true.”
“C’mon. You’ll thank me later.”
Lynette slipped her arm through Jamie’s arm and walked her over to where three people were standing by a pillar. Two older men were obsequiously hovering around a 30-ish knockout of a brunette, who looked like an Italian movie star. Wild dark eyes. Full lips. And a voluptuous body poured into a figure-hugging, cleavage-revealing white dress.
“Giovanna, this is my friend Jamie Brennan. She’s an author.”
“How do you do?” Giovanna smiled.
Jamie shook the woman’s delicate hand, as her dark eyes stared into Jamie’s through a libido-charged glance.
Lynette continued. “Brennan, this is Giovanna Cecchi, she’s a curator.”
“Nice to meet you,” Jamie said.
The woman nodded and smiled graciously, like Sophia Loren greeting an admirer with an autograph book.
There was an awkward pause.
Jamie jumped in finally.
“A curator. Here? At this gallery?”
“No,” Giovanna said. She spoke slowly in a sing-songy Italian way. “Not this gallery.”
That accent did certainly add to the sex appeal. But, unfortunately, Jamie Brennan never did find sex appeal sexy.
Giovanna’s eyes widened as she talked about herself. As though she was just discovering a wonder. That was herself.
“I have not worked here at this gallery per se,” she said. “But I have curated many places… Manyyy places…. Lots of galleries…”
The delivery was so languid, Jamie wasn’t sure where the sentence ended.
“Like what kinds of - ”
“Some in New York, Milano, Paris…”
“Ahh,” Jamie smiled, “That’s really -”
“ - London,” Giovanna continued. “Stuttgart…”
She stared into Jamie’s eyes. Had a sip of her wine. Another awkward pause.
“I hear Stuttgart is quite the - ”
“—Zurich, Seville …”<
br />
Another uncomfortable silence. Jamie opened her mouth to say something but closed it slowly as Giovanna continued.
“Madrid, Iceland,” she said. “Tokyyyyooo…”
“That sounds - ”
“- Is not the where I curate it’s the WHAT and WHO…”
She squinted and waved to someone across the gallery.
Jamie braced herself. Another list was starting.
“Sculpture... modern contemporary.... Spanish style... Neon like Jenny Holzer but not Jenny Holzer but Sasha Steubben who is very talented and has a cat that has a mustache named Sergio...”
The old guy with the bow tie next to Jamie piped in. “Cats with mustaches are so -”
Giovanna shot him a look. “I no finish.”
“Anyway!” Lynette jumped in, “Brennan is writing a new book about people in the art world in Florence,” she said. “Giovanna, I thought maybe you might be able to provide a little insight.”
Giovanna smiled at Jamie. A smile that Jamie recognized. The secret flash in the eyes. I’m one too. I know what to do with you. That sort of thing.
Giovanna slipped a card out of her leather purse. “Si. Call me anytime, Janet.”
“Jamie.”
“I’m in New York for another couple of weeks.”
“Great,” Jamie said.
“After that, I head off to - ”
“Yes, places!” Lynette chimed in “She’ll be in touch!”
Lynette, held Jamie’s arm as she led her away.
Jamie glanced around for the waiter with the beer tray. “Okay, wow.”
“Right?”
“Not ‘good’ wow.”
They poured themselves through the crowd.
“Look, just meet her," Lynette said. She’s gorgeous and she’s a swinger.”
“A swinger.”
“She’s bi. Sleeps with girls.”
“I know what bi is.”
“Well, aren’t you learned. What I’m saying is - there’s your new girlfriend. You’ve got her card. Make that shit happen, girl. Go to Studio 54, make out and do some coke!”
“Ah yes, my perfect evening,” Jamie said. “Thanks, hon, but I’ll pass.” She glanced towards the bar. “I need a beer.”
“Aw, come on. Why not her? Was it because she was—”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t finish.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“Self indul—”
“—Yes.”
Lynette laughed. “Alright. Suit yourself, Brennan… But you can’t keep it shut down forever. That stupid optimistic big red fucking heart of yours.”
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