So far the cold in Connecticut hasn’t been so terrible. The gusts of air are refreshing. They make me feel alive. Like sex. Which it doesn’t look like I’ll be getting tonight. I left my cell phone on the entire time I was home so he could reach me. He could have gotten through while my mother was whining about how miserable her job is. Or while my father grilled me about whether I was wasting my time and money on getting an MBA. Or when I ran into Wayne and Cheryl together at the Rhythm Room and had to maintain a stupid plastic smile on my face.
It was the power-on cell in my purse that kept me sane, reminding me that, yes, there is something good in my life. The very possibility of it ringing was my reason for getting out of bed in the morning.
But now it’s Sunday night, and he still hasn’t called.
What does it mean? That he wasn’t thinking about me? That he was with Sharon the entire weekend? That he doesn’t want to see me anymore?
I feel sick and hot and nauseous. I open the window to fill my room with air so I don’t faint. Or cry. He doesn’t want me anymore. He’d rather be with Sharon.
What do I do? I need a new plan.
I pick up the phone and call him, but he doesn’t answer. What if he’s decided that he can’t live without her? That he’s going to transfer to the business school in Toronto?
The open window doesn’t seem to be helping the room temperature. What’s wrong with me? Why is my heart beating so loudly? I don’t understand why I want him so much. Yes, he’s hot and smart and serious, but so are other guys here. Why do I want the one guy who’s taken? Is it the challenge? Am I worthless if he doesn’t want me? Is it the way he plays with my secret ear spot?
I call his room again.
“Hello?” He’s back! Why hasn’t he come by if he’s home?
“Hi, it’s me. Can you come by?”
“I…um…” He’s stalling. Why is he stalling?
“Just for a few minutes, okay? See you soon.” I hang up before he can turn me down.
I open the bottle of red wine, pour two glasses, light two candles, turn off the lights and take off my clothes.
It’s all about strategy.
layla hits the books
Monday, December 1, 7:02 a.m.
I push open the heavy oak library doors, slightly astounded that I was the only one waiting for the security guard to unlock them. How are more students not taking advantage of the library’s extended hours? From today, the first Monday after Thanksgiving, until LWBS shuts down for winter holidays on December 19, the library will be open from seven until midnight, seven days a week.
The rolling of my bag’s wheels against the polished floor echoes through the empty atrium. I ride the elevator up to the fourth floor and head for my favorite cubicle beside the window. First I skim through the business section of the paper while I sip my coffee. Then I pull out my pencil case, Economics textbook, course pack and binder from my bag. I’ve already done all my reading for today, so I’ll start on tomorrow’s cases. First thing in the morning is my favorite time to study. It’s quiet and serene. Three-thirty is the most frustrating time. Too many people are here engaging in group meetings. My classmates often fail to remember that they’re in a library and that others are trying to study.
For the next twenty minutes I lose myself in Economics, until a large hand squeezes my shoulder.
“Mini-muffin?” offers the voice attached to the hand. I turn to see Jamie passing me a small brown bag. “The bakery down the street makes the most amazing mini-muffins. Have you tried ’em? You gotta try ’em.”
Don’t mind if I do. I peer into the bag and pull out two blueberry and one chocolate chip. “What are you doing here? Do you know what time it is?”
He peers at his watch. “It’s seven.” Then he gasps. “Oh, shit, is that seven a.m.? I thought I slept through the day. The muffins were my dinner.”
“You’re hilarious.”
“Always.” He winks and pulls up a chair. “What are you reading?”
“Econ.”
“Yeah? I hate Economics. I’m going to read OB. Do you happen to have your OB course pack so I can borrow it?”
I find it in my bag and hand it to him. “What would you have done if I wasn’t here?”
“They keep a few copies on the fifth floor.” He flips through the book with his thumb like it’s a fan, then gestures to my bag. “So, when’s the flight?”
“Ha-ha.”
“No seriously, why is your bag on wheels?”
“I like to have all my books with me for reference. No need to strain my back.” People should be kinder to their backs. They only get one. “How was your weekend?”
“Warm. It was ninety degrees in Miami.”
He doesn’t look like he just got back from Miami. He’s paler than I am. “Did you have fun?”
“Oh, yeah. My parents live in a retirement community now, so we partied hard. Played some shuffleboard, a little bingo. Had the early-bird special for dinner. Wild and crazy times. You?”
“I had a nice time. My sister and I have a place in the Upper East Side, so I went back there. I saw my parents for Thanksgiving dinner and some friends on Saturday night.”
“Bet you have a huge Thanksgiving bash, turkey and all the trimmings.”
Not quite. “My mother doesn’t cook much, and the maid was with her family, so we just went to Nobu. No big deal.” Not really.
“I make a mean-ass turkey,” Jamie brags.
“Yeah? Maybe I’ll invite you for Christmas dinner. Have you ever been to a Christmas dinner?”
He shakes his head. “Can’t say that I have.”
“Is there a Hanukkah dinner? What exactly is Hanukkah?”
He leans back, balancing his chair on its hind legs. “It’s the story of how one small jug of oil lasted for eight long days.”
“Do you get presents?”
“No. My parents are misers. You’re supposed to get eight presents, one for every day of the miracle. But my mother used to use it as an excuse to replace my socks. So I’d get eight new pairs.”
“That’s awful.” His balancing is making me a little nervous. He could easily teeter over any second.
“I know. My bubbe always gets me good presents, though. She once bought me one of those toy cars that you can drive around your house. You know what I mean? I bet you had one. Never mind. I bet you got a real car for Christmas.”
He must think I’m so spoiled. “Only twice.” He looks shocked, so I say, “Just kidding. Only once.”
He raises his unibrow. Maybe I should just offer to tweeze that thing. Forget it, how rude would that be?
“What kind of car?” he asks.
This isn’t going to help the spoiled image. “BMW convertible.”
“You have a BMW convertible? Layla, why didn’t you bring it to school?”
“I do have it at school.”
His chair slips backward, but he grabs hold of the desk before he falls and splits open his head. “What? Why have I never seen it?”
“I don’t like to drive.”
“Why do you have a car, then?”
“I don’t know. My parents wanted me to have one.”
“For what? Didn’t you live in Manhattan?”
“Yeah, but I needed to get around. You know. To the Hamptons.” I think I should just shut up.
“Do you think your parents would mind paying for my next semester’s tuition?” He laughs.
Truth is, they probably wouldn’t care. Or notice. “I’ll ask.”
“Wanna get married? I could definitely use a rich wife.”
Married? I can’t even imagine Jamie as a dating contender. He’s too…unambitious. I prefer the serious guy to the clown. “Maybe.”
“I’m no Bradley Green, am I?”
Sigh. Perfect Bradley Green. “It’s not like Bradley even knows I’m alive. I’ll have to wait for him to come to school here, if he gets in, and if he decides to come.”
We laugh and I decide this
is an ideal opportunity to discuss his potential relationship with Kimmy. “Anything new with you and Kimmy?” I ask. “Is she back yet?” Over the weekend, I analyzed the Kimmy situation, and I think falling for Jamie would be a far better strategy for her. First of all, Russ is unavailable. Second, Russ doesn’t strike me as such a catch. He’s nerdy, stoned half the day, and Kimmy needs someone with more personality. Like Jamie.
“I stopped by her room at around six, but she seemed preoccupied and didn’t ask me in.” He shakes his head with dismay. “I think it’s time I give up on her.”
“I think you should keep at it. But for now, could you please stop leaning back in that chair? You’re making me nervous.”
He grins, and slams his chair back on all fours.
“That’s better.” I don’t see why she won’t go for Jamie. She hooked up with him once, so she must feel a smidgen of attraction for him. Russ isn’t going to dump Sharon, and at some point Kimmy will have to accept that and move on.
“I wonder if something’s going on with her and Russ,” he says, as if reading my mind.
I look back at my notes and shrug. Am I awful for encouraging him to pursue her, when I know that Russ and Kimmy hooked up after the spin-the-bottle game? At least they haven’t “sealed the deal” yet, so maybe there’s hope.
“Maybe he dumped his girlfriend over Thanksgiving,” he says. “Could be Black Monday for Russ.”
Never heard that one. “Black Monday?”
“The day after Thanksgiving, when everyone comes back to school broken up.”
I doubt it. “We should get to work,” I say, flipping through my notebook. So much work to do before tomorrow! “Why don’t we work for thirty minutes and then take a walk around the floor to stretch?”
“Or maybe you’ll take me out for a spin in your BMW. Some of us only have a Hyundai Excel in the parking lot, you know.”
Matthews spends the morning discussing group interaction patterns, specifically conflict management, negotiations, giving feedback and sharing information.
I’m wondering what kind of information Russ and Kimmy aren’t sharing with their group. They’re both not here. Kimmy really shouldn’t be missing classes when she’s desperately trying to improve her grades. Where is she? She should not be skipping lectures so close to exams.
They both waltz in for Accounting. They walk in separately, slyly, and Russ finds a seat in the back beside Nick and Jamie. Kimmy sits beside me. Her cheeks are flushed, her hair tied back in a high ponytail. She looks like she’s desperately attempting not to look happy. “Good morning,” she sings.
This scenario can’t be good for my set-Jamie-up-with-Kimmy plan. Perhaps I was wrong-maybe Russ did break up with Sharon. “Good morning,” I say. “How was your long weekend?”
“Horrible,” she says. And then smiles. “But all is better now.”
I have a bad feeling about her version of better. “Why? Is it Black Monday? Did he dump her?”
Her face clouds over. “I don’t think so.”
Then what’s she so gleeful about? “What, then?”
She raises her well-plucked eyebrow suggestively. “You know.”
Oh, no. They sealed the deal! “You slept with him?”
She shushes me with her hand.
“But what about his girlfriend?”
She rolls her eyes. “I told you, I don’t know anything more about that.”
How could she sleep with him without knowing? Isn’t it driving her crazy? It’s driving me crazy. “Did you at least ask him?”
“Can we not talk about this here?” she hisses.
Well, excuse me!
kimmy studies it up at the library
Tuesday, December 9, 11:55 p.m.
At five to twelve, I slam shut my Stats textbook and stand up. Only a few of us are still at the library. Namely, me, Layla and Jamie. I’ve been reading for the past half hour, and for the half hour before that, Layla and Jamie were tutoring me. (Turns out Layla got the highest mark in the Block on the Stats midterm. Yeah, the one she said she failed.) We only took a few breaks-one for a stroll around the room and another for massage train. A massage train is something Layla used to do at her sorority house. You sit in a line and massage the person in front of you for three minutes. Then the person at the front moves to the back. I started off in the middle. I massaged Layla, and Jamie massaged me. Then I moved to the head of the train, and Layla massaged Jamie. He has pretty good hands. Too bad I didn’t ask for a full-body massage the night we hooked up.
“You don’t got to go home, but you got to get the hell out of here,” Jamie announces. I’m exhausted. After class I went to a case interview session. Jared, the Block president, has organized a three-hour case session once a week until Christmas, to prepare us for job interviews. As if we have nothing else to do. Surprisingly, though, I’m pretty good at solving the estimation cases, when they ask you something you couldn’t possibly know, like how many buses are in America, to see how you would get at the problem. Who knew? Now if only I could finish my cover letters and résumés, then maybe I could actually get to display my recently discovered talent.
But at the moment I have other things to think about. The highlight of the night-private time with Russ. Most people come to the library because they want to ace their exams; I come because I need to keep Russ out of my bed until after he’s spoken with Sharon. This was my first new strategy, and it’s been working. We used to start fooling around at ten, and go until I evicted myself for his Sharon nightly phone call. Now that I’m at the library until twelve, there’s no pending end for our time together.
My second new strategy was to turn my bed into a sex temple, keeping it smelling clean and girly. I bought red satin sheets and pillowcases to match my duvet, making it impossible for him to even consider wanting to leave.
He can stay all night, and does.
He’ll have to break up with Sharon eventually. He can’t keep up this deception much longer. No, he’s going to dump her, soon. Definitely.
When we reach the Zoo, I immediately start preparing. I shower, spritz on my perfume and change into one of my new silk negligees (bought during the satin-sheet-shopping spree).
It’s twelve-thirty, and everything is ready for Russ. I’m lying on my silky bed, waiting.
Soft music playing? Check.
Condom box tucked discreetly under bed? Check. Not that I care so much about the condoms, since I’m on the pill, but I know it’s the right thing to do. Actually, he’s the one who insists on condoms. Maybe he’s afraid I’ll pass his precious girlfriend something unmentionable.
Hmm. My pill. Yesterday was my twenty-first day, which is a bit unfortunate. That means that in exactly three days I’m going to get my period, which sucks. Russ and I are only together for two more weeks before vacation. I can’t be out of commission for one of them. I hop off my bed, open my stuff drawer and search for my next month’s pill sheet. When I first went on the pill, my doctor told me to take two months straight. Maybe I should do that again so I won’t get my period until winter vacation. It can’t be that bad for you if he wanted me to do it when I first started, right? When you forget to take two in a row they tell you to start a new pack straight away, so it must be fine. And I’ll only do it this once, anyway. I push one of the white pills through the foil and swallow it before I can change my mind.
A knock on the door startles me, as if I’m doing something illegal.
I open it quickly, and Russ shuffles inside.
Illegal, illicit, what’s the difference? His lips are warm and I think I might be in love.
The alarm goes off at six-ten. Madonna is on the radio. I wonder what she would think about my affair. The Madonna of “Like A Virgin” would have approved. The English Rose Madonna, not so much.
Russ reaches for his sweatpants and shirt. “See you later,” he says.
Love you, I think but don’t say. The door shuts softly behind him.
I try to fall back aslee
p, but I can’t. That was Russ’s only condition for staying the night. The shrieking alarm at six-ten in the morning so he can sneak out without anyone seeing. Come on, what are the chances that Rena will be standing outside and spot him? I suppose he’s concerned that if he gets up at a normal hour, someone will see him doing the walk of shame and mention it to Rena, who will report back to Sharon. He doesn’t even want us telling anyone in the group. Fine, I understand. Nick has a big mouth, Jamie would be crushed because of his feelings for me, and who knows what the deal with Lauren is. So it’s a secret. For now. Except for Layla, who I had to tell. Eventually he’ll break up with Sharon and we’ll come out of the closet. Closet, dorm room-pretty much the same thing. He has to, doesn’t he? He’s not a bad guy; he’s just trying to figure out what he wants. And he’ll realize that it’s me and not Sharon.
I’m sure Russ has no problem falling back asleep. He’s been late to almost every morning class in the past two weeks. Matthews launches daggers at him when Russ tries to sneak into OB. I’m worried he’s not taking class seriously.
Not like me. Now that I’m up at six-ten, I might as well be studying. I step into my flip-flops and grab my shower supplies.
By seven-thirty I’m at the library. Layla is already there, in her usual seat. “Morning,” she says, waving.
“Hey.” I’m not much for talking this early. At least not until the bland coffee I picked up from the twenty-four-hour campus store kicks in. I’m almost done studying for Economics, which is pretty crazy, considering the exam isn’t until next Monday. OB is on Tuesday, Accounting on Wednesday, Stats on Thursday, and Strategy on Friday. I’ve also done most of the reading for OB and Stats. Tomorrow is the final day of class, so as of Friday I can start studying full-time.
I like being in the library at this hour. From my perch near the fourth-floor window, I watch the sun crawl its way into the sky, illuminating the campus below. Not too many students are around, but every few minutes someone rushes from one building to another. I spot Jamie, a bag of mini-muffins under his arm, on his way to meet us. He comes here every morning at seven forty-five, follows us to class and then walks back to the Zoo with us at midnight. Funny, I would never have pegged him for a library guy.
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