Brooklyn Girls

by Gemma Burgess

  Instead, I want to talk about why love sucks ass.

  “There is no point,” I say, slamming down my third whiskey sour. “No point in any of it. Either you’ll reject him or he’ll reject you.”

  “Any of what?” says Julia, hiccupping slightly. “And who is rejecting who?”

  “Men, love, the men thing,” I say. “Better to be single and just have, y’know, buck fuddies. I mean fuck buddies.”

  Julia laughs so hard at “buck fuddies” that she nearly falls off her chair.

  “Yes there is! Soul mates!” says Coco, devastated I’d even consider saying otherwise.

  I shake my head. “Soul mates don’t exist. Love is just hormones and good timing.”

  I look around. The bar is full of beautiful Brooklynites starting their evenings, and I’m hungry.

  “Starving,” I say, a full sentence suddenly seeming like a lot of effort. “Need food.”

  Julia punches the air. “Yesh! Where?”

  “Bartolo’s!” I say, instantly cheered at the thought. Yay! Lovely Bartolo’s, with lovely pretty Jonah. Thank hell we’re just friends. I’m never going to have any boyfriends again. And I’m going to stop thinking about stupid Eddie, and for that matter, stupid Aidan, and I’m going to stop crushing on him immediately, too. Love sucks. Yeah.

  We roll out of the bar onto Court Street. Everything is a bit fuzzy and warm, and I keep tripping over my own feet.

  Holding hands with Jules and Coco, I skip into Bartolo’s, straight up to the bar, where Jonah, lovely beekeeping Jonah, is opening a bottle of wine. I am delighted to see him.

  “Jonah!” I say, landing with a skippy thud. “How the sweet hell are you, my little cowboy? Your hair looks nice. Be honest: is it highlighted?”

  “Dude, have you been drinking?” says Jonah, laughing. I introduce the girls. Coco high-fives him and Julia leans over to give him a kiss on both cheeks, and I realize, they’re hammered. Am I hammered?

  “We are just so hungry,” I say in a library whisper, seeing a tray of cheesy lasagne go past. “So, is skank-face still working any shifts? I mean Bianca?”

  “No, she quit,” says Jonah, looking confused by the “skank-face” comment. “Hey, guess what? I’m starting my own business! I’m gonna be a bee-babysitter! So many people are into the urban bee thing now, you know? But they don’t always have the time or know-how to look after their bees. So I’m gonna be, like, the bee dude.”

  “The Bee Whisperer,” I say.

  “Yeah! Bee Whisperer! Great name! You are good at this stuff, can you give me some advice on the whole start-up thing?”

  “Of course!” I say, though really, isn’t it just common sense? Find customers, give them what they want, make money. “Anytime!” Suddenly I get the hiccups, and I quickly press my fingers in my ears and start swallowing (it works, I swear). Julia notices and laughs uncontrollably.

  “Hey, why don’t I take you guys out to the kitchen? Vinnie and Ricky will look after you.”

  “This is so Goodfellas,” says Julia.

  “Can we get something nonalcoholic to drink?” says Coco. “I don’t feel very well.”

  “You just need food,” I say. “My boys! Vincent! Richard!”

  Vinnie and Ricky are surprisingly delighted to see us, but perhaps they get drunk people storming the kitchen every night of the week. We sit at a tiny table in the corner, and little taster plates start arriving: courgette fries, eggplant rollatini, garlic knots, buffalo mozzarella salad, chicken romano, spaghetti carbonara, baked ziti, linguine in white clam sauce, tiny pizzas of every variety.… Every bite is delicious, and we stuff and scarf with drunken delight.

  “I am going to learn how to cook like this, I swear it,” says Coco.

  “So good,” I say through a mouthful of spinach and ricotta pizza. “So, so good.” The moment I began eating, I sobered up. Funny how that happens sometimes. I still can’t believe Angie saw Eddie. I wonder where he’s living, or what he’s doing.… No, no, think about something else.

  “Woman cannot live on salad alone,” says Julia. “Stick that in your truck and smoke it.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense. And I never said you could live on salad. SkinnyWheels is about balance. Remember? Balance.”

  “Yeah, yeah, balance, you keep telling me. Can I have more of these garlic thingies?”

  I turn to Vinnie and Ricky, who are hard at work chopping, grilling, and serving. “I’ve started a food truck business, guys.”

  “Yeah? What kind of food truck?”

  “Salads with loads of protein and low-sugar, low-fat desserts…”

  Ricky and Vinnie look over at me uncomprehendingly. They have probably never used the words “low-carb, low-sugar, low-fat” in their lives.

  “Anyway, you know sk—I mean, Bianca? She totally copied my idea! She’s selling salads and low-fat desserts all over Manhattan in some big shiny Darth Vader truck!”

  Vinnie and Ricky exchange a look.

  “You can’t trust that Bianca,” says Vinnie. “She messed up orders and always blamed the kitchen.”

  “Skank-face!” Julia hiccups.

  Ricky comes over to me. “So you’re making all the salads, every day, all by yourself? And doing all the baking? That’s a lot of work, Pia!”

  “Coco helped with the baking,” I say. Coco grins proudly. “It’s hard work. I have total respect for real chefs like you.” I flutter my eyelashes at them and Vinnie throws a piece of pepperoni at me.

  Ricky points to a cardboard box in the corner. “Take a look. We were about to throw out a big food processor and an old deli meat cutter. You can use it to cut vegetables real thin.”

  “Ooh, wow, really?” I could double my dessert batches, and make paper-thin carrots and radishes and celery, oh my. “You sure you don’t want them?”

  “Just take them,” says Vinnie. “And, Pia, if you’re buying your meat and veggies at the market, you’re getting ripped off.”

  “Yeah, totally,” agrees Ricky. “Let us order for you. We pay, like, half price what normal people do. Just text us what you want by four o’clock every night and pick it up in the morning.”

  “That would be amazing!” I say. I quickly tap their numbers into my cell. “Would Angelo mind?”

  They both shrug. “He shouldn’t have fired you. We’re not talking to him.”

  Oooh. Power play at Bartolo’s.

  Julia is leaning back, head against the wall in a food coma. “Wow, that was, like, the most intense food experience of my life.”

  “Oh, my God!” Coco squeaks, nearly falling off her chair. “He texted me! Eric! He wants to meet up! I have to go! I need to go to…” She looks at her phone, one eye squinted closed. “He’s at a house party at Windsor Court on Thirty-first and Third.”

  “Oh, that’s Murray Hill,” I say. “Want me to come with you?”

  “No, no, I can handle this by myself. I’ll get the train,” she says. “I’m a grown-up.…” She burps like a trucker, then covers her mouth in giggly shock.

  “Pia, guess who!” says Jonah, coming from the hallway.

  Holy shit, it’s Bianca, half-shaved punk-hipster-hybrid Bianca, sauntering into the kitchen at Bartolo’s like she owns it. I’m so stunned, I can’t speak.

  “Hey, guys,” she says casually, as Jonah, looking absurdly delighted with himself—is he really that clueless?—heads back out to the bar.

  “I saw your truck today,” I finally stammer.

  “Thanks,” she says, picking up a piece of pizza from the tasting plate and sniffing it.

  Suddenly, I’m bursting with anger. “How dare you steal my idea? And how dare you stand here like you’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about after your little drive-by this afternoon? You’re nothing but a— a— a copycat!”

  “A copycat?” she echoes, laughing. “What is this, grade school? What exactly do you think I did, princess?”

  “Have a fight with a chainsaw?” says Jules under her breath.

&nbs
p; “Don’t play cute! You know just what you did!” I probably look and sound a lot like my mom right now. “You totally took my idea—”

  “I’ve been thinking about it for a long time, Pia. Low-fat? Low-sugar? It’s what the people want!”

  “Screw you!” From now on, I hate anyone who uses the term “the people.”

  “Your desserts are full of fat and sugar.” Coco’s voice is quivering with the stress of confrontation. “I can prove it.”

  Bianca rolls her eyes. “I’d like to see you try, sunshine. Vinnie, Ricky, I need your help. Can you add my daily food needs to the restaurant’s order so I don’t have to pay the markup?”

  The guys shake their heads sorrowfully.

  “It’s against the rules,” says Vinnie.

  “No can do, sister,” agrees Ricky.

  “Gee, that’s too bad,” I say, smiling as smugly as I can.

  “Shut up, you brat,” she says, finally losing her temper.

  “You think I’m just a brat?” I raise my voice. “By the time I’m done with you, you’re going to wish you’d never met me!”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “I’m warning you!”

  We’re both shouting now.

  “Why don’t you go back to your rich parents? You don’t belong here!”

  “I do belong here! This is my home!”

  Jonah runs in, a look of shock on his face. “What the hell is going on? The entire restaurant can hear you!”

  “She’s a fuckin’ fruitcake, J,” says Bianca, all innocence. “She’s totally insane.”

  “Your bitch needs a muzzle,” I snarl. Bianca turns around and, I swear to God, is about to charge me, when Jonah grabs her by both arms and pulls her out of the kitchen.

  Wow! The adrenaline rush of battle. “I want to kill her!” I exclaim.

  “That was awesome!” says Ricky. He and Vinnie seem to be delighted with the evening’s drama. “The bitch who needs a muzzle! Ha! Classic.”

  “But you better get out of here before Angelo comes back,” says Vinnie.

  We slip out the back door and into the alleyway behind Bartolo’s.

  I light a cigarette. I haven’t been smoking recently, mostly because I don’t want to smell when I’m working. And there’s this rumor going around that it’s bad for you. But it is kind of nice after a fight.

  Wow. Bianca. What the hell is her damage?

  “Oh, my God! I am so nervous about meeting Eric!” hisses Coco at my side. “Feel my palms!”

  “You’ll be totally fine! Just be yourself.”

  “What if myself isn’t good enough? Don’t you just wish you could be someone else sometimes? God, I do.”

  Coco heads for the subway entrance. “Coco, why don’t you get a cab instead? It’s safer.”

  “I, um, oh, I didn’t get enough cash out.” Coco suddenly looks incredibly young. I have never felt so protective of someone in my life. This guy had better be nice.

  “A cab’s much easier, honey,” I say, thrusting fifty dollars into her hand. “That’s enough to get home, too. Call me if you get lost or anything, okay? Remember, have fun, be safe, and … yeah, uh, that’s it.” I’m not so great with the motherly lectures.

  “Where’s she going?” says Julia in a surprised voice. “Cuckoo? Where are you going?”

  “She’s going to meet some friends, and you and I are calling it a night,” I say, frog-marching her up Smith Street.

  “I don’t want to go to school on Monday,” she mumbles.

  “You mean work,” I say.

  “Same difference. Except that I loved school and I hate work. I’m about to turn twenty-two years old, Pia. Twenty-two! I’m ancient.”

  “You’re not! You’re just starting life!”

  “I’m tired of starting life. I miss college. Don’t you wish we could just go back?”

  No way, I think. I love my life right now. I love walking in the door at Rookhaven, I get this mmm feeling, sort of safe-and-comfortable, that I’ve never felt anywhere I’ve lived before. I love being surrounded by my best friends at all times. And I love driving Toto around, and talking to new people every day, and thinking of ways to make SkinnyWheels a success. It just fits me. And life has never fit me before.

  But I don’t say that, as the contrast between my attitude and hers might upset her.

  “College would get boring,” I say. “Remember the showers? And the food? Come on. Grown-up, I mean adult, life is way better.”

  Julia mumbles something unintelligible, stumbling slightly over a tiny crack in the sidewalk.

  “What?”

  “Adult life can kiss my heart-shaped ass.”

  “Who told you your ass was heart-shaped?”

  I’m still laughing as we walk past Brooklyn Social, and then I remember.

  Mike!

  I check my phone. Four missed calls from him at eight o’clock … It’s past ten.

  “Shit,” I say. I keep walking, one arm holding up Julia, and dial his number. It rings seven times before he answers.

  “Hello?”

  “Dude! Mike? Hello?”

  “I waited for an hour,” he says eventually. His voice sounds very far away, like he can hardly bear to speak into the phone.

  “Oh, God, I’m really sorry.”

  “I had a basket of eggs. I looked like the fucking Easter Bunny.”

  I burst out laughing, until I realize he’s seriously pissed. He does not like to look silly. “Mike, I’m sorry. I totally forgot. I was with Julia and Coco, and then we went to eat and I just … I have no excuse. Forgive me?”

  There’s a pause. “So are you still out?”

  “Nope. Heading back to Rookhaven.” I pause as Julia drops her purse, staggers trying to pick it up, and falls over. “Jules is trashed.”

  “Want me to come over?”

  “Oh, Jesus, no—” I say, without thinking, as I hook my phone between my shoulder and my ear and try to pull Julia up at the same time. “I mean, um, I’m just … I’m really tired. I’m sorry. Maybe…”

  “No problem,” he interrupts. “I gotta go. Bye.”

  And just like that, he hangs up.

  Whatever. I’m not going to waste any more time thinking about him.

  Jules is now pretending to do the running man up Union Street.

  “Jules, you are one cheap drunk.”

  “You’re a drunk,” she says.

  “Great comeback.”

  Just as we reach our stoop, Julia turns to face me, a pleading look in her eyes. “Tell me everything will work out.”

  “Everything will work out,” I say, putting both my hands on her shoulders. “I promise. One way or another.”

  I wish I believed it.

  Julia stares drunkenly at me, then heads up the stoop. “Pia, one last thing about that Bianca girl,” she says over her shoulder.

  “What’s that, kitten-pants?” I say, helping her up the steps.

  “Let’s nail the bitch.”

  CHAPTER 14

  Since last night’s showdown in the kitchen at Bartolo’s, I’ve been watching Bianca’s Twitter and Facebook accounts. The original and the best! She keeps saying. Hands up if you hate SkinnyWheels! SkinnyWheels is a rip-off! Try my real food that tastes great with none of the calories! And so on. All day long I was furious, but then, I realized that Julia was right.

  And revenge, like vodka, is best served straight up and extra cold.

  So I rang Jonah this afternoon, on the pretense of apologizing.

  “I just feel really bad about arguing with Bianca,” I lied. “Can you give me her address? I’d like to apologize.”

  “That’s so sweet of you, she’d really appreciate that,” he replied. I stifled a snort of disbelief. How can he still not see through her? Or is he just one of those annoying people who likes everyone?

  Now, we’re all in the kitchen, dressed in black, and we’re about to execute Operation Karma Is a Bitch.

  We look like female nin
jas. Well, female ninjas of varying degrees of fitness and enthusiasm.

  Julia is lying on the floor, complaining about feeling bloated and applying black camouflage makeup in horizontal stripes across her cheeks from a tin of shoe polish. Coco is washing up the tray of macaroni and cheese she made for dinner. Madeleine is slicing and eating a pear very slowly. And Angie’s hungover and still wearing sunglasses. I haven’t asked her about Eddie, thanks to a superhuman self-control I didn’t know I possessed.

  “Okay team, let’s go over the plan again,” I say.

  “We know what we’re doing! Jeez, when did you become such a control freak?” says Julia, trying to zip up her pants. “I am seriously retaining water. And I think my jeans are shrinking. And my bras.”

  Coco beams at me. “I’m so excited! Scared! But excited!” Of course, Coco would be psyched if I said we were going to drown kittens. Apparently Eric was hammered last night, but “so, so nice,” and at the end of the night he put her in a cab and kissed her on the lips good-bye. She is taking it as one small step away from a declaration of love and a marriage proposal.

  “Me too,” says Madeleine, narrowing her eyes in concentration as she cuts another sliver of pear.

  “I’m psyched.” Angie’s tone suggests otherwise.

  “Game faces, you guys,” I say. “Let’s roll.”

  We all walk out of Rookhaven together. Angie and I are leading. Angie offers me a cigarette, but I’m too keyed up to smoke. She lights her own, then holds it between thumb and forefinger, as though she’s in a prison yard. “Do I look tough? I’m trying to look tough.”

  Julia is singing. “Hit the road, bitch, and doncha come back, no more, no more, no more, no more.…”

  “I’m pretty sure that’s meant to be ‘jack’ not ‘bitch,’” says Madeleine.

  “I’m improvising.”

  “I’m getting nervous!” says Madeleine, skipping up to us and hooking her arms through ours. Gosh, she’s really thawing lately.

  As we approach Gowanus, the genteel, cozy brownstones of Carroll Gardens disappear and everything looks dilapidated. Shuttered storefronts, peeling signs, and a graffiti’d train overpass that seems to go on forever.

  “This is totally where we’d be murdered if this was a movie,” says Julia.