Play Dates

by Leslie Carroll

  Owen slipped his arm around my shoulder. “I’ll remember that for next time.”

  I snuggled against him on the couch. “I wasn’t kidding. You may not think it to look at me,” I added, indicating my leather pants, vintage top, and stiletto heels, “but I can be outdoorsy. Depending on what it is. Just don’t ask me to go bungee-jumping.”

  “What about diving?” Owen asked, letting his fingers do the walking through my hair. “I’ve been certified for years—I love it.”

  “Never did it. But I’d be up for it, I guess—after I took a class or ten. I love water. I’m a Pisces, remember?”

  And then the next thing I knew I was on his lap, straddling him, my knees digging into the couch cushions. I don’t know who “put” me there—me or him—it was just an urge—and I couldn’t stop kissing him. He tasted like toothpaste and Merlot. I could have kissed him for hours, though I figured it might be best to wait until after dinner to suggest a remedy for his multiple fashion faux pas.

  On second thought…“What time is our reservation?” I whispered.

  “There’s only one sailing,” Owen whispered back. His fingers traced a line along my collarbone. “Should I cancel it?”

  I weighed our options. “No. Let’s go. It’ll be cool. We…can pick this up when we get back…if you want.”

  “I want. I very much want, Mia.” We straightened out our limbs and clothes. “Unless you think it’s too soon, and this was just a heat-of-the—in which case, that’s totally okay.”

  I looked at him. Who knew he’d press all my buttons, ring all my gooey bells? And what a nice guy. I saw that when we first met. And how sweet he’d been on my birthday, being such a knight. That was long before I started to think about his lips. “The way I see stuff, there’s no set pace. Everyone’s—each situation is one-of-a-kind, right?” No need to tell him that I do tend to move faster than most chicks I know. Always have. It’s not a crime. Truth told, I’ve spent more time talking with Owen and seeing him, just as a person, not a lover, than with nearly every other guy I can think of. Before I went to bed with them, I mean. In a Mia-way, this is a first.

  “Well, you can’t dress down, but at least you don’t eat weird,” I said to Owen after dinner. We strolled on the deck. It was kind of cold. Maybe that’s one reason he picked it. If you wanted the full effect of the view, you had to snuggle to stay warm.

  “Eat weird?” he asked.

  I explained the Serena thing. “We Marshes don’t trust people who eat weird. Except when we decide to do it.” I told him about my niece and the orange food month.

  “You are a stunning woman, Mia,” he said, happy to change the subject.

  “Ah, it’s all artifice,” I teased, mocking myself. “The makeup makes me magically youthful.” Suddenly I thought of Lucky Charms.

  “Hardly,” he laughed. “I mean the makeup is nice and all, but what’s this about you and age? You’re only thirty. I was there, remember?”

  “And a good thing, too!” I cuddled into him. “I wouldn’t have been half as good at handling all that.”

  “Nah. I bet you would have.” We kissed. His mouth felt soft on mine. Our lips touched, just gently, for a long time. “It’s one of the things that attracts me to you. Your ability to go with the flow. To not freak out under pressure.”

  “You didn’t think I freaked out when we found out I was robbed?”

  “That was nothing, compared to just about every other woman I’ve ever known. Including the ones I’m related to. My sisters are very girly-girls.”

  I pulled away and smacked him on the butt. Playfully, but pretty hard. “And I’m not? I’m insulted, you know that?” I was only half kidding.

  “Oh, boy,” Owen sighed. “Talk about finding yourself between a rock and a hard place. I’m damned either way, right?”

  “Yeah. You are.”

  “Mia, you are very feminine. You have nothing to worry about on that score, believe me. There is no doubt in my mind, or in the minds of all the other guys I’ve noticed noticing you. At Jake’s, on your birthday—”

  “That may have been because I was running around the East Village in a strapless wedding gown in the middle of February.”

  Owen pretended to think about that. “Okay, maybe you’ve got a point. But after the initial shock value, believe me, it was all about how you looked in it.” He brought me close and tipped my chin with his finger, tilting my face towards his. “Which was…” he said, right before we kissed for about two straight minutes, “breathtaking. Spectacular.”

  “You’re not so bad yourself! Look!” I pointed to the Brooklyn Bridge. “Now, that’s breathtaking and spectacular. The lights look like diamond necklaces, don’t they?”

  “Oh, yeah, you’re a hundred percent girly-girl, all right. I give you a kiss and a compliment and the very next thing you talk about is diamonds!”

  “Nuh-unh,” I said nuzzling him. “You’re wrong, my sentimental friend. I gave you a compliment back. First.”

  After Owen brought me home, we made out some more on the couch. We both stood up and I was about to lead him to the bedroom, but something made me stop. I turned back and told him, “Please don’t think I’m a cock-tease because of this. Because, trust me, I’m not. No way. But…I can’t even believe I’m saying this after such a great date…and you…you’re so great…and maybe it’s because you’re so great and because I have such a piss-poor track record that I want this to be different. For me, anyway. Can…can we wait a bit?”

  He took me in his arms. “Of course we can, you nut! You don’t need to get yourself so worked up over this.”

  “Oh, yes. I do,” I said. “Wait ’til you get to know me better. I do. Trust me on that, too.”

  “No big deal, Mia. Whenever you’re ready.”

  “You sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure. I’m not just saying that because I think it’s what you want to hear.”

  “You sure about that, too? Because guys say they’re sure and they don’t really mean they’re sure. What they really mean is, ‘I can’t fucking believe I didn’t get laid tonight. And I bought dinner and everything!’”

  Owen started to laugh. “That might be true in your experience, but I am not ‘guys.’ And I can only speak for myself, not these nameless, faceless, generic ‘guys,’ but I promise you Mia, that when I say something I mean it. So, take your time, and I’d love to see you again, if that’s okay.”

  “It’s very okay.” I kissed him and walked him to the door. “I had a blast tonight.”

  “Me, too.”

  “Thanks, Owen.” We shared another kiss at the door. “I’ll call you soon.”

  I closed the door and went back to the couch. I liked the slight dent in the soft cushion where his ass had been. A goofy memento of his presence. I wondered if it still was warm. The cushion, not his ass. He’d probably hailed a cab when he got downstairs. Owen Michaels didn’t strike me as the kind of guy who took mass transit at 11 P.M., just to save a few bucks. I went to the phone and dialed his cell.

  “Hey. It’s me. I hope you don’t have plans for Monday morning, ’cause, if it’s all right with you, tomorrow might turn into kind of a late night. And I promise to give you a real lesson in how to dress down.” His answer made me smile.

  Dear Diary:

  Ashley’s not my best friend anymore. She came over to my house after school for a play date yesterday. That’s how it started. MiMi picked us up from school because Mommy was working and she gave us a snack and Ashley said she didn’t like the snack because she doesn’t like cheese and MiMi said that Mommy told her she was supposed to give us something healthy and Ashley didn’t want anything that MiMi said was good for us.

  Aunt MiMi was getting mad, I think, because Ashley didn’t want to eat any of the things that MiMi said we could have. And MiMi opened the cabinet where we keep the cookies and she took the box of Oreos and she threw it on the table and she said, “Here! I don’t care what you eat. You’re a spoiled
brat!”

  And I didn’t think that was nice for MiMi to say that to Ashley because she’s my best friend. And Ashley started to cry and told MiMi that cookies are junk and HER Mommy never lets her have cookies for snack after school. And then Mommy came home from work and wanted to know why I was crying. I said I was crying because MiMi was mean to Ashley. And Mommy asked why Ashley was crying and Ashley said it was because Aunt MiMi said she was a spoiled brat because of the Oreos and because she didn’t want to eat any of the food that MiMi said we could have for a snack.

  And Mommy looked like she was trying hard not to laugh and to be very serious. And MiMi put her hands in the air and said to Mommy, “I don’t envy you!” I asked Mommy what envy means. She said envy is being jealous of somebody. I used to be jealous of Ashley because she has a summer house with ponies and a real movie theater but I’m not anymore, because I wouldn’t want to have a mommy who wouldn’t let me eat cookies.

  Mommy was still wearing her spring coat and had her pocketbook on her shoulder, but she made us fruit cup with fresh fruit from scratch not out of a can. And then she said when we finished our snack we should start our homework even though tomorrow is a weekend. Mommy always likes it when we do my homework on Friday after school so we can both play on the weekend but we don’t always finish it on Friday. Like my big projects. We have to design a city. But Mrs. Hennepin said that we have all of Easter vacation to do it. We have to build a diorama and we have to pick what kind of government we have and who is in it and make a budget and say how much money it will take to pay the firemen and the policemen and the teachers and all the people who will be working for the city to make it run.

  Mommy sat at the table and helped Ashley and me with our homework. We have a lot of math and it’s really hard. I’m still confused. Sometimes I get the right answers but I don’t know why they’re right. I figure it out on my fingers even though I’m not supposed to. And we have spelling words to practice, too. When we took out our homework Mommy said something really quietly about being a hands-on mom. After she said it she looked at MiMi and MiMi made one of her funny faces where she rolls her eyes around. Tennyson, Ashley’s sister, makes a face like that all the time when she thinks someone is being stupid, which is a word Mommy doesn’t like me to use. She says it’s not nice and I should say silly instead.

  After we did our homework I asked if we could play while Mommy was making dinner. So Ashley and me went into my room and we played dress-up. And I took out my Disney princess dresses that Granny Tulia and Grandpa Brendan got for me and I was going to be Belle because her yellow dress is my favorite and Ashley was going to be Cinderella and as soon as I said I was going to be Belle then Ashley said SHE wanted to be Belle and she tried to take the dress away from me and I was holding onto it really tight and part of it ripped. And I got really mad at Ashley and I yelled at her and said that I “called” the Belle dress first and she picked Cinderella. Then she yelled back at me and she pulled my hair and I tried to pull her hair back.

  And Mommy and MiMi ran into my room and wanted to know why we were fighting and why was it that there was so much crying this afternoon and she said she thought we were best friends. And I said I thought Ashley was my best friend too, but then she wanted to dress up as Belle and she tore my dress. And Ashley said she didn’t tear it. She said I tore it MYSELF. And I said she MADE me tear it because she was trying to take it away from me and I didn’t let her and that’s why it tore. And I don’t think it can be fixed because it’s the floaty part that tore.

  And then the telephone rang and I think it was Fireman Dennis because Mommy called the person “sweetheart.” She told the person, “I can’t talk now, sweetheart, I’m breaking up a fight.”

  Ashley said she wanted to go home. So Mommy asked Ashley if she meant that for real and if she should call Ashley’s mommy and ask her to take Ashley home. And Ashley said that her mommy and daddy were going to dinner and to a Broadway show so they weren’t home and that was why we were having a sleep-over. Because her mommy and daddy wouldn’t be home until really late at night, past our bedtimes. And her nanny wasn’t there at night and Tennyson was sleeping at a friend’s house too.

  We had dinner and Ashley and I weren’t fighting so much. We played Barbies and watched a video and then we went to sleep. But we didn’t sleep right away. We were talking a lot. And Ashley said she was sorry for tearing my Belle dress. She didn’t sound a lot like she meant it for real.

  But we had an uh-oh in the morning because Ashley’s mommy and daddy were supposed to pick her up at eleven o’clock but they called Mommy on the telephone to say that they couldn’t do it until the afternoon. And the uh-oh is that Mommy and I are going to Lissa’s birthday party at Bruce Frank Beads at twelve o’clock and I know that Ashley wasn’t invited because Lissa doesn’t know her so she couldn’t invite her if she doesn’t know her. And I went into Mommy’s room and I told her what are we going to do? Then Mommy talked to Lissa’s mommy and Lissa’s mommy said that it sounded like there was nothing Mommy could do because she couldn’t leave Ashley alone, so Ashley could come to the party because another little girl had canceled because she had a sore throat so there would be enough places at the table. And Mommy called Ashley’s mommy and told her where Bruce Frank Beads is and that the birthday party ends at two o’clock.

  And then Fireman Dennis called again and Mommy said she was getting ready to take me and a friend to a party so she couldn’t talk a lot and she would see him tonight. He calls a lot when Mommy and me are doing stuff and she always has to say I’m sorry, can we talk later?

  Chapter 20

  It’s like pirate treasure! I can’t speak for Zoë, but it’s definitely the best kid birthday party I’ve attended in ages. I’m impressed. Melissa Arden might have had to winnow the quantity, in terms of her guest selection process—as she said, the venue is modest in size—but she certainly didn’t skimp on quality. To save time, she pre-selected the beads, and there are little cups set out all over the big oak table, overflowing with vintage and semiprecious stones, Venetian glass, and glittering, funky findings. A bunch of seven-and eight-year-old little girls and their mommies are going to be taught over the next two hours to make necklaces, bracelets, and earrings from (among non-mineral media as well) peridot, coral, amethyst, carnelian, turquoise, garnet, and jade. I’m sure the mothers who are keeping score have already toted up what Melissa and Simon have laid out for the beads alone.

  The Bruce Frank staffer is a friendly blonde named Casey. She must do the kids’ parties a lot because she’s got a great way with small girls who don’t seem to want to wait for instruction. They can’t wait to get started, and I can’t say I blame them. The mommies get to use the pointy pliers and wire cutters and we’re taught how to make loops and connect them. And with two long “head pins,” a few beads, and a pair of pre-made ear wires, it only takes about five minutes to make a really cool, totally unique pair of earrings. I find myself wanting to try all the different colors, and to experiment with mixing and matching media. We get a mini-class in knotting and the little girls are more adept with the needle and stringing paraphernalia than they are with the metal stuff.

  I watch Zoë fashion a necklace with colorful glass beads and admire her aesthetics. She’s pretty good with the materials. Some of the children are having trouble with the smaller findings; although the pieces are kid-size, it’s a coordination issue. Casey suggests they make something out of the larger, nugget-sized stones. The whole point of the party is that every guest will go home with at least one piece of wearable jewelry that she made all by herself.

  All the mommies and daughters sitting around the table makes me think of quilting bees. I compliment Melissa on choosing such a delightful venue. What a treat for us big and little girls to sit around a table for two hours—with time out for birthday cake, of course—and create pretty things together, as opposed to sitting around the dining table helping them with their homework—or, more specifically—using carr
ot and stick to coax, cajole, and coerce them into sitting down for more than ten minutes at a stretch to do something that has all the allure—for both of us—of a vaccination.

  The subject of homework presses everyone’s hot buttons. Fractions introduced in preschool; math problems assigned to fifth graders that our generation didn’t see until junior high; science projects you need a B.S. to competently complete.

  Melissa Arden bites a string, instead of clipping it with the scissors. “Lissa’s brother Will, who’s in sixth grade over at Ethical Culture, is supposed to redesign the New York City subway system by Monday.”

  “Well, I’m sure he’ll do a better job of it than what we’ve got now,” I say, “particularly with the signage.”

  Lissa sighs. “The really crazy part is that things like the subway project don’t get our knickers in a twist anymore. Simon and I have grown accustomed to the insanity of our children’s assignments. It’s appalling—the pressure the schools claim to be under to force-feed them overachievement. Last semester, Will had to publish a newspaper. Daily. For two straight weeks. With no cartoons, crosswords, or horoscopes.”

  It’s as though a floodgate has been opened. My sisters in sorrow, even the quiet ones, are no longer shy about contributing to the discussion.

  One of them, whose daughter is at Trinity, bubbles over with bile. “You wouldn’t believe what Cosette came home with the other day! They have to illustrate the Seven Deadly Sins. Isn’t that a little advanced for a second grader?”

  “No!” chorus three other women.

  “What are the Seven Deadly Sins?” Zoë asks.

  Cosette herself is too focused on her necklace to respond, nor does she seem to evince interest in anything but the most intense concentration on stringing it together.

  I expect an adult to begin to define or explain the concept of the sins for her, but some of the mommies start to list them. Soon, the table resembles a bunch of contestants on a game show, trying to come up with the right answers for the adult version of a Seven Dwarves or Eight Reindeer question.