“So all I have to do is sign up as a tour guide and find out if he’s coming.”
“Brilliant.”
It’s four o’clock. Maybe I should go now. To check if he’s signed up. No point in me obsessing about it all weekend, if he’s not even coming. “Where are my boots? I’m going to see if this is a possibility.”
She laughs. “This second?”
There they are. I zip them up and wrap my scarf around my neck. I won’t let myself wimp out again. “Be back in a sec.”
I grab my jacket and skip back to the Katz building. Dorothy is still in her office. “Hey,” I say. “How do I go about volunteering to do school tours?”
“You walk around showing people where to go?”
Who knew she had a sense of humor? “Ha-ha. I meant, if I want to volunteer, who do I talk to?”
“Just go sign yourself up. The application room is still unlocked, and the computer should still be on. Just use your task-force password and sign up for the groups you want to lead.”
I feel like I have the key to the golden city. I sign on, then search through upcoming tour groups, looking for Bradley Green. His name is nowhere. How am I supposed to be his tour guide if he hasn’t signed up for a tour?
Foiled!
kimmy has a heart-to-heart
Sunday, February 8, 12:37 a.m.
“What do you want to do this coming Saturday?” I ask.
We’re lying in my bed. We’ve already had sex and are now watching Daredevil. He’s recently realized that his laptop doubles as a DVD player. I keep dozing off. You’d think Ben Affleck would keep me more awake, but with the laptop balanced on Russ’s knees, whenever he shifts I see a glare on the screen instead of the movie. I noticed that Layla has the entire Sex and the City series on DVD in her room. Maybe Russ’ll watch it with me. I’ve never watched a single episode. I know now that the series is over, people will probably stop talking about it, but I might as well catch up.
Boring. “Russ?”
“Hmm?” He doesn’t take his eyes off the screen.
“Saturday night is Valentine’s Day.” As soon as I mention the V-word I feel stupid. Do you celebrate Valentine’s Day with your mistress? Maybe that’s a faux pas.
His ears flush. So cute. Does he have something planned? Maybe he’s surprising me with a romantic dinner. Or with breaking up with Sharon.
“Actually…” he says.
Pause. “Yes?”
“Well…”
Pause again. “Well, what?”
“Sharon is coming this weekend.”
What? Panic grabs hold of my throat and squeezes. “Coming here? To school?”
He squirms, and the laptop slips off his legs, banging me in the knee. “Yeah. She wants to visit.”
Visit? What? “Why can’t you go and visit her?”
He shrugs. “I was just there. She wants to see how I live.”
“You’re going to give her the tour?” I wave my arm around the room like a Price Is Right girl showing a new car. “Show her where you spend your nights?”
Maybe I should suggest she take one of Layla’s tours. Only we’ll modify it slightly and make it far, far away.
He pauses the movie. “You know I can’t tell her about us.”
That’s it. I can’t take it anymore. I throw the duvet off me, sit up and turn my back to him. This is the last straw. It’s one thing to keep dating us both, but to bring her here? How could he? “Why can’t you? Why are you sleeping with me if you’re in love with her? Who do you think you are? Don’t you care at all about me?”
There, I’ve said it. I know I’m not supposed to say it, not supposed to suggest it, not supposed to think it. But too friggin’ bad.
I’m looking at the door instead of him. And he doesn’t respond. And then I realize that he’s never going to break up with Sharon. He’s just sleeping with me. While he’s out of the country. I don’t mean anything to him. I’m just someone to help pass the time.
I hate him. I feel like shit. Why do I need to feel like this? I don’t need this. I don’t need him. Two full minutes later he still hasn’t responded. What, is he napping? I turn around. Tears are streaming down his face. What? He’s…crying?
“I’m sorry,” he says, eyes glistening. “I’m so sorry. I know I’m being a jerk. To both of you. It’s just that I honestly have feelings for you both. I never thought I’d be-” He interrupts himself to wipe his eyes on the back of his hand.
I can’t believe he’s crying. I hand him a tissue.
“I know this is no excuse. But growing up, I never thought in a million years that a girl as beautiful and smart as you would ever look twice at me. I was scrawny and geeky. You know, the boy who was always picked last for gym class.”
He laughs and then wipes his eyes again. I squeeze his leg.
“I spent my entire childhood buried in comic books. Hung out in the world of superheroes and villains instead of real people. And then in my last year in college I met Sharon.”
I hold my breath. He’s never talked about Sharon directly to me. “And what happened?”
“We had a class together. Pop lit. It was a mandatory for her Education degree. I took it because I heard that the prof put comics on the reading list. She sat next to me on the first day.” He shrugs. “She asked me out.”
I try to imagine him, shy, skinny, not knowing what to do with his hands. I can’t.
“I don’t know what she saw in me. She thought I was funny. I went to the gym with her, started boarding-”
Boarding? I would have pegged him as the downhill type, but what do I know?
“I stopped picking at my face. And then for the first time, I came out of my shell. I didn’t run home between classes to hide my nose in a comic book. I talked to people. Started playing ball. Socialized. I’d wanted to go to business school in the States, but only after starting to date Sharon did I think I had a chance of getting in. And then I came here and met you. I couldn’t get you out of my head. I still can’t, but I can’t just throw away everything I’ve experienced with Sharon, either. I owe her.”
I don’t know what to tell him. I know I can’t tell him what to do or who to choose. Instead of feeling angry, I feel relieved that he’s opening up to me. I lie back down and pull him close.
“I want to be with you,” he says, his breath soft on my cheek.
“But you also want to be with her.”
He stares into my eyes and nods. “I don’t want to give either of you up.”
I half smile. “Isn’t that a little selfish?”
“Yes.” His fingers draw loops on my bare arms. “Do you want me to leave?”
Never. “No.” I kiss him tenderly on the lips. “But is she really coming for the entire weekend?”
He kisses me back. “Yeah. I’m sorry. I can’t tell her not to come now.”
Yes, you can, I think but don’t say. “Okay. No biggie.” I tickle his tummy. “You gonna tuck her in and then sneak in here?”
“Yeah, right.” He lays his head against the pillow. “Did you set the alarm?”
Sigh. “Yes, Russ, I set the alarm.”
I am so bored. I can’t believe I’m taking a tour of the school when I could be sleeping. It’s nine o’clock Sunday morning as I trail behind the eight potential students, through the Katz building.
My entertainment is trying to guess why these people are here. Two nerd boys in navy suits and freshly shaved faces keep asking questions about how to get accepted. Losers.
Then there’s the man who’s already been accepted. He’s about forty and he’s here with his wife. I know he’s been accepted, because she keeps saying it, rubbing it in to everyone else on the tour. “If we decide to go here instead of Harvard…” Blah, blah, blah.
Then there’s the guy who’s on the waiting list and has an interview today. He keeps checking his watch, as though he’s afraid he might be late.
There’s a woman here who’s on the wait list, too. She’s with
a nerdy-looking boyfriend who has horrendous skin. Hmm. That could have been Russ and Sharon.
I’m here to give Layla moral support. Instead of coming up with a fake persona, I’ve elected to keep my mouth shut.
I wonder if Sharon came to check out the campus with Russ, when he came for a tour. I can’t believe I’m finally going to meet her. At last, I’ll be able to check out the competition. Will she be gorgeous? Skinny? Brilliant? How will she compare to me when no longer in separate countries, but on the same floor? We’ll be sharing the same bathroom. I will so not be able to brush my teeth next to her.
“Honey, what do you think of the library? Not as nice as the Harvard library,” the annoying wife says.
We end up in the cafeteria, where Layla wishes the group goodbye and good luck, then bolts toward me. “What did you think?”
Today is her first tour, a practice tour for when Brad arrives. When she came back to her room with the news that he hadn’t signed up for a tour, I decided to call him to encourage him.
He answered on the first ring. “Hello, may I please speak to Bradley Green?”
“Speaking.”
“Hello Bradley, this is Grenadine from LWBS student services.”
Layla looked like she was going to pass out. “Grenadine?” she mouthed. “You’re a drink syrup?”
I hushed her away.
“Hi, Grenadine,” he said. “What can I do for you?” He had a sexy voice. If it wasn’t for Russ…and Layla, of course.
“I want to personally congratulate you on your LWBS acceptance,” I said. “We’re thrilled to have you as a prospective student. We’d like to schedule a tour of the school for you at your earliest convenience.”
“Hmm. I wouldn’t mind seeing the school. Do the tours run daily?”
“I…I believe the tours run daily,” I repeated loudly, looking at Layla expectantly. She nodded. Then I mouthed, “What time?”
She held up three fingers.
“Every day at three,” I added.
“Three is convenient,” he said. “I have a meeting in Greenwich on Wednesday morning. I could be at the LWBS campus by three for a tour.”
Oh. My. God. I gave Layla a thumbs-up. “Fantastic. So I’ll pencil you in. Directions are on the Web site. Meet the group in the Katz building at two-fifty. Your leader will be the gorgeous blonde with the clipboard.”
Layla covered her face with her hands and I hung up the phone.
Her hands started waving around the room. “How am I possibly going to be prepared to be an LWBS tour guide by Wednesday? I only know a fraction of the school’s history, not nearly enough of the architecture-”
“Stop freaking out. We have to start planning the final P. Packaging.”
Then she started jumping up and down on her bed, screaming that she was about to meet her husband. She froze in mid-leap, then sprinted off to the library for books on the history and architecture of LWBS, and then back to Dorothy to sign up for Wednesday’s tour. Dorothy agreed, but only after Layla agreed to do the early-bird weekend tour as well (nobody likes to volunteer on the weekend). But that was fine, as it would give her a chance to practice, and that’s how I came to be in the cafeteria so early on a Sunday morning, congratulating her on a job well done.
I pat her arm. “You were the best guide ever. Award winning. If I were Brad, I would certainly want to sleep with you.”
She shushes me. “Fall in love with me you mean.”
“Sleep with you, love you, what’s the difference?”
“You are kidding, right?”
Kind of.
jamie’s wake-up call
Wednesday, February 11, 6:12 a.m.
R ing.
I jump into the upright position. Who the hell is that? It’s six in the morning. Oy.
“Jamie?” The voice sounds hoarse, scratchy.
It takes me a few seconds to place it. “Mom?”
“Honey. Bubbe…”
I’m now wide-awake. “Bubbe, what?”
“She had a stroke. A few hours ago.”
My head pounds. Shit. “Is she…?”
“No, she’s in the hospital. Miami General. In the ICU.”
“I’m getting on the next flight.”
“What about school?”
“Don’t worry about school. Are you okay?”
She starts to cry. “No.”
“Where’s Dad?”
“He’s talking to one of the nurses.”
“Is she cute?” It’s my feeble attempt at a joke. What’s wrong with me? Why do I feel compelled to make people laugh, even now?
“What, dear?” She didn’t hear, thank God.
I pull out my suitcase and start packing. “Okay, Mom, don’t worry. Everything will be fine.” I know I’m lying as I say it, but I say it anyway.
layla makes her move
2:00 p.m.
“Layla, how do you not poke yourself in the eye?” Kimmy asks me. She’s sitting cross-legged on my bed, watching me apply my makeup. My vanity mirror is set up on my dresser, and I’ve rolled my computer chair so that I’m facing it. “And how do you not blink? My eyes have a natural tendency to protect themselves when a pointy object heads in their direction.”
I finish outlining half of my lower eye rim with charcoal-colored liner and move on to my Lash-a-Lot mascara. “Practice makes perfect.”
Done. I roll my chair back to the desk and pivot. “How do I look?”
“The red shirt is a million times better,” she says. I’d been wearing a collared white shirt under my black pantsuit, but Kimmy persuaded me to change. “Very pretty meets intellectual,” she says approvingly. “Miranda meets Charlotte.”
“Hey, you watched my Sex and the City DVDs.”
“Yup,” she says. “I’m halfway through season one. Not bad. A little girly, but not bad. I even got Russ to watch with me.”
“Did he get any tips?” I’ve certainly gotten many tips. Like those fake nipples Samantha used. I wore them out once and they were hot.
“Not really,” she says.
The sad tone of her voice makes me worry about her. “Are you okay? Playing the mistress getting to you?”
She waves her hand. “I’m fine.”
She doesn’t seem fine. More to the point, what she doesn’t seem is satisfied. “You know, you’ve never told me how Russ is in bed.”
“How does one measure if a guy is good in bed?”
Uh-oh. “I measure it by how often he makes me orgasm. How many times a night does Russ make you orgasm?”
She examines her split ends. “Not often.”
So what is it exactly she sees in this cheating bastard? “How often?”
“Never.”
I must not have heard that correctly. “Did you say seven?”
“No, never.”
“Kimmy, my dear, that’s awful. He won’t commit or satisfy? Can you please dump him and date Jamie?”
She rolls her eyes. “I’m not attracted to Jamie.”
“Fine. Then you have to show Russ what you like. You know, what gets you off.”
Her face turns a deep shade of red. “Um…what if nothing does?”
What? “Nothing? What does that mean?”
She plays with her hair again. “It means I’ve never had an orgasm.”
“Bullshit!”
She shrugs and I realize how insensitive I just sounded. It’s just that I didn’t know that a woman who never had an orgasm actually existed. I always thought it was just a myth. That’s like a woman who never tried chocolate. I know there’ve been women who’ve never had a sex-induced orgasm, but this? “You do masturbate, don’t you?”
She blushes. “It doesn’t do anything for me.”
I can’t believe this. “You haven’t been doing it right, obviously. Have you ever tried a vibrator?”
“No. Have you?”
Have I? Have I tried chocolate? “Of course, I have.” I point to my sex drawer. “I have a few in there. Do you want to see?
”
“Um, sure.”
I open the drawer and pull out my Zoombuster and my Magic Banana. “Both are my favorites, but the Magic Banana is better for school. It’s heavier but quieter. It’s modeled after the Holy Grail of penises, one that curves up at the end so it hits the G-spot during missionary-position intercourse. Some of my girlfriends have claimed they’ve seen one, but I think it only exists in vibrators. Do you want to see the attachments?” I should try juggling these things. I haven’t practiced my juggling in a while. I don’t want to forget my new skill already.
“Definitely not.” She looks so amazed that I almost laugh.
“It’s all about the perfect orgasm,” I explain.
“I’d settle for any orgasm,” she says wistfully.
“I think we should order you one.”
“Don’t you find it…gross?”
“Gross? No. Celebrating my sexual vitality? Yes.” I point to the Sex and the City DVD. “Watch episode nine. You’ll change your mind.” If Charlotte can become obsessed with the rabbit, so can Kimmy. It seems that my next order of business is encouraging Kimmy’s personal empowerment. But at the moment I have to go play tour guide. “And I’ll send you some sex-toy Web sites so you can see all the various options.”
“Why not?” she says, and laughs. “Hey, I wonder if any of this will help us with my work group’s Marketing project. We’re doing female condoms.”
That is so much fun. I wish I were in their group. “Lucky you. My boring work group is doing a new soda. Hey, can you get me samples?” I glance at my watch. “I’m off to meet my destiny. When you leave, make sure the door is locked, all right?” I dart to the bathroom, careful not to blink so that my mascara doesn’t smear.
Jamie is getting out of the shower stall, wearing his bathrobe and flip-flops. “I thought you already had a job,” he says.
“Jamie, you’re looking at the new tour guide for prospective students.” I’m about to tell him about Brad, when I notice that his eyes are bright red. “You okay? Did you get shampoo in your eyes or something?”
He takes a deep breath. “My grandmother had a stroke last night.”
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