Dumping Billy

by Olivia Goldsmith

  “Isn’t she newly married?” Kate asked in disbelief. “They’re barely back from their honeymoon. Doesn’t she want to spend her weekend with Arnie?” Once the words were out of her mouth, she realized how her new culture was colliding with her old.

  “Hey, she just got married to him and finished their honeymoon. How much do you expect?” Bev asked.

  Kate had to smile. The gang had a very split but pragmatic view of marriage: that it was necessary to have but easy to ignore. The girls hung with the girls, and the guys hung with the guys.

  Now, however, as she looked at her motley crew, she began once again to have serious doubts about the whole expedition. Quietly she pulled Bina away from the rest of the group. “You don’t have to do this, you know,” she said in a near whisper.

  “Kate,” Bina began, “after I’ve dedicated years of my life to him, he wants to explore his singleness. Who does he think he is? Ponce de León?” She looked over at Bev—more specifically, Bev’s swelling belly. “Neither of us has found the fountain of youth. Don’t you worry about your biological clock?”

  Elliot, having overheard the entire conversation, chose this moment to break in. “Like every modern girl,” he said, putting his arm around Kate, “Kate has had her eggs frozen for future reference.”

  “You have?” Bina said in awe.

  “Really?” Barbie joined in.

  “Don’t listen to him. He’s crazy,” Kate told them as if his nonsense didn’t embarrass her, although a telltale blush was tingeing her cheeks. “Anyway, where the hell is this place?” she asked, refocusing attention on the task at hand.

  “I think we turn down at the next corner.” Bev indicated a side street. “Bunny gave me these directions. I know it’s here somewhere.” They turned the corner. “There should be a barber’s pole—”

  “There it is!” Brice pointed down the block to a barely visible red-, blue-, and white-striped pole, and they all walked toward it.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Since I’m supposed to meet Billy here, I’m buying.” Bina’s voice cut through Kate’s thoughts. “What’s everybody drinking? Beers?”

  “I’ll help,” Kate offered. “The rest of you see if you can find us a table. And if we’re not back in ten minutes, send a search party.”

  Kate led Bina through the crowd to the bar. “Try to get Billy’s attention,” she said. She could see him down at the end of the bar. His white shirt emphasized both his wide shoulders and his tan. Kate wondered briefly if he was so vain that he went to a tanning parlor, but there wasn’t time for much reflection. “Call him,” she told Bina.

  “Call him what?” Bina asked.

  Unfortunately, at that moment a different bartender, older, balding, and with a beer belly, approached them from the other end of the bar. “What’ll it be, ladies?”

  “Omigod!” Bina whispered to Kate. “That’s not him.”

  “Great pickup line,” Kate told Bina. Turning to the bartender, she said, “Thanks anyway, we’re just looking.”

  Kate did a quick scan of the crowd at the bar. It was clear that it was far busier at Billy’s end and that a gaggle of girls had monopolized the stools. A younger man had crouched under the bar top and began taking drink orders. She grabbed Bina and pulled her through the crowd to the other end of the room, and then, mostly by pushing and a couple of shoulder moves, she got the two of them right up to the bar again, this time at the right place.

  Waiting to be served, Kate sighed. She felt way too old for the bar scene. Did that mean she was getting old at thirty-one? At least this place was a little more imaginative than most, she had to admit, looking around. The old barber chairs, obviously restored, were still screwed into the black-and-white marble floor, and the bar, a dark mahogany, was backed by what must have been the original mirror and shelves of the barbershop. Among the vodkas and malt Scotches lined up, there were also antique shaving cups and old bottles of hair tonic, aftershave, and the like.

  The place had obviously been expanded from the original barbershop. Aside from the bar and the row of chairs where people clustered, there were banquettes along the far wall and tables and booths in the back. The noise was deafening, like screams of laughter in a subway tunnel, and Kate thanked God that she had chosen not to bring Michael. The scene was so . . . outer boroughs.

  Bina looked behind Kate. “Omigod! It’s really him.”

  Kate kept her back to the bar, facing away from Billy and toward Bina. “Yep. Elvis has not left the building. Get on my left and get his attention,” she commanded, hoping it would work.

  “What comes first?” Bina asked desperately. “The lick or the annoy?”

  “Just call his name and order our beer,” Kate told her, turning toward the bar to help her. Billy, his teeth as white as his shirt, his hair more golden than Kate remembered, finished pouring a drink for another customer. She gave Bina an elbow poke. “Say something.”

  “Billy! Here,” Bina gasped. Perhaps he heard the urgency in her voice, because he came right over.

  “What’ll it be, ladies?” he asked, flashing his perfect Crest commercial smile. Kate turned away, but it was too late. Billy looked straight into her face, and she didn’t think it was her imagination that she saw his eyes widen in recognition. She elbowed Bina again.

  “Two pitchers of Shirley Temples and a beer,” Bina sputtered, and then flushed bright red.

  “Better line, but not effective,” Kate said softly to Bina, who had apparently frozen with an exaggerated smile, her eyes bulging.

  Billy narrowed his eyes for a moment and searched Kate’s face, but Kate was careful to keep hers perfectly blank. “Is this for a whole table of designated drivers and one drunk?” he asked, grinning. He ignored Bina’s embarrassed giggle and looked directly at Kate.

  “It’s two pitchers of beer and one Shirley Temple,” Kate replied, not as amused.

  Billy wouldn’t take his eyes off Kate. “At the risk of sounding like a cliché,” he began, “haven’t we met before?”

  “I think you met my friend Bina. At Bunny and Arnie’s wedding,” Kate said. “Bina, this is Billy.” She noticed how Billy did not even look in Bina’s direction, but rather kept his gaze on her. Her face felt hot beneath his stare.

  “Nice to meet you,” Billy said to Bina without so much as a nod in her direction. “But you and I,” he said, still looking intently at Kate, “we met—”

  “Bina lives here in Brooklyn, too,” Kate interrupted, pulling her eyes away from him and focusing on her friend.

  “Oh, yeah? Nearby?” Billy asked, glancing over at Bina for the first time.

  “Well, kind of. In Park Slope,” Bina replied much too anxiously.

  Billy began to pour the two pitchers of beer. “Hey, there’s a big difference between Park Slope and Williamsburg, Reina.”

  “Bina, her name is Bina,” Kate snapped.

  Billy shrugged and handed over the tray with the drinks on it. Kate took the tray and hustled Bina to the table where the rest of the group was sitting.

  “That was him!” Bina exclaimed.

  “Who?” Elliot said slyly.

  “Him!” Bina squealed.

  “Mel Gibson?” Bev asked, playing along.

  “Bill Clinton?” Barbie joined in.

  “It was Billy,” Kate said in an aside to Elliot, “but he didn’t have the ightest-slay interest-ay.” Elliot grimaced. It was becoming clear that Bina was going to need all the help she could get. “Well, here are your pitchers, ladies,” Kate said, handing over the tray. “I’m going to run to the bathroom.”

  She made her way through the crowd to the tiny one-stall bathroom. It was surprisingly clean. She had just entered when she heard two voices just outside the door.

  “Hey, did you see the way that redhead looked at me?” said the first. It was a thick voice, raspy and guttural: the older bartender, the one Kate heard customers call Pete. “Man, she’s hot! Did you see the eyes on that girl? And she had two other beaut
iful things.” He snickered suggestively.

  “What redhead?” This voice Kate recognized immediately: Billy Nolan.

  “The one who carried off those two pitchers of beer.”

  “She wasn’t looking at you,” Billy said with thinly veiled contempt.

  “You know,” Pete grunted. “You do all right for yourself, but sometimes you miss the subtleties. She wants me.”

  Kate heard Billy groan, and then the two were quiet for a moment. Billy’s voice broke the silence. “Susie was in earlier.”

  “Shit!” cried Pete. “And I missed her. She was so fucking hot. Why’d you dump her?”

  “I dunno,” Billy answered. “Anyway, she comes in and tells me that—”

  “Don’t tell me,” Pete interrupted, “she’s engaged, right?”

  “How did you know?” Billy asked.

  “Billy—buddy, look. I don’t know what it is that you do to these women, but once you date them they become like marriage roach motels. Other guys check in, but they don’t check out.”

  Kate was finished, and she really didn’t want to hear any more. But even as she flushed, washed her hands, and hit the dryer button, she could hear the men still talking.

  “Usually it wouldn’t bother me,” Billy said, “but I was at Arnie’s wedding a few weeks ago and I realized that I’m like the last single guy out of all my friends.”

  “You’re a bartender,” said Pete. “Bartenders are supposed to be single. You’re not the marrying type. Besides, what’s happening with Tina?”

  Kate had heard enough. She opened the door quickly, hoping to get back to the table before Billy and his friend were finished with their break, but she was moving too late. Just as she stepped into the passage beyond the rest room door, she found herself face-to-face with Billy Nolan.

  “Whoa! Slow down, Red,” he said as Kate tried to continue on her way without speaking. She ignored him. The hallway was narrow, and a guy pushed past them and nudged her up against Billy. He steadied her with a hand on each shoulder and looked at the passing customer. “Hey, watch it!” he shouted. He looked again at Kate. “Je pense . . . ,” he stopped. “Je n’oubliez pas,” he said, slipping into French.

  What was it with this guy and French? Kate wondered. “I haven’t forgotten you, either,” she admitted, but as a throwaway line.

  “Right. We discussed existential issues. I always like to combine Sartre and weddings,” he added, and Kate couldn’t resist smiling, though she tried. This guy was impossibly self-assured. How could she entice him to date Bina? “So what are you doing on this side of the river?” Billy asked.

  “Having a drink with my friends in that corner,” Kate said, pointing to their table. Just then Pete tapped Billy on the shoulder from behind.

  “Yo, Bill,” he said. “Forget the conquest. There’re customers waiting.”

  Kate blushed against her will, angry at the thought of being considered “a conquest.” “See ya,” she said, and forced herself to give him an enticing smile.

  She returned to their table, hoping the hook had worked. Sure enough, just moments after their glasses were empty and Barbie had refreshed Bina’s lip gloss, Billy appeared at their table, a pitcher of beer in each hand. “Welcome to the Barber Bar,” he said, and put down the pitchers. He smiled at Kate. “So, you weren’t lying about your posse at the wedding.”

  All eyes at the table focused on Kate. She hadn’t mentioned their little pas de deux on the terrace to anyone. Now, she regretted that. Across the table, Kate saw Bev dig an elbow into Bina’s side.

  “Hey, Billy,” Bunny said, “business looks real good.”

  “You gotta pretty full crowd,” Bev said approvingly. “And dancing.”

  “Yeah,” Billy said, and then looked back at Kate. “We do a little hokey-pokey.”

  “Don’t you get a night off?” Bev asked.

  “Usually Saturdays. But one of the guys called in sick. Lucky I was here and got to see all you beauties,” Billy said.

  Above the general noise, Pete, the older bartender, bellowed, “Yo, Billy! This ain’t a one-man band. Where’s Joey?”

  Billy didn’t turn around. Bunny, clearly desperate, grabbed his hand. “This is my friend Bina,” she said. “You two ought to get together.”

  Billy looked at Bina blankly for a moment. “Yeah. Nice to meet you.” He turned back to Kate, who felt desperate herself.

  “How about bowling with Bina and me next Wednesday?” she asked.

  He blinked, then smiled. “I wouldn’t have guessed you for the bowling type,” he said.

  Barbie, always prepared, pushed Bina’s phone number scribbled on a piece of paper into Billy’s hand. “Here,” she said, “give Bina a call to set it up. She’s in charge of all the bowling events with Kate.” There was another yell from the bar, and this time Billy turned.

  “Coming,” he said, and gave the group a dazzling smile before he disappeared into the crowd.

  “My God,” Brice said. “He’s gorgeous. Can I come, too?”

  Elliot gave Brice a look, then turned back to Kate and gave her a more searching one. Before he could say anything, Bev began to high-five everyone at the table. Next, Kate thought, they’d do the Wave. “Nice work,” said Barbie, slapping Kate’s palm.

  “Good save,” Bunny agreed.

  “I think he believes he’s going out with you, Kate,” Brice said.

  “Well,” she told the table, “he’ll find out differently when he meets Michael. Anyway, he has Bina’s number.”

  “Thanks, Katie,” Bina said, and looked totally exhausted. Kate smiled at her but wondered how she would talk Michael into a Wednesday night of bowling.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Kate felt guilty as she pressed the buzzer, then she remembered she had Michael’s keys. Silently she cursed herself. She checked her watch and was even more concerned when she realized it was a quarter to one. She was sure he was sleeping and equally sure she had more beer on her breath than she would like him to smell. Somehow it was all right to go out with friends because of obligation but not to have a good time.

  When Michael came to the door, still dressed but obviously rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, she greeted him with a quick hug and passed him in the narrow foyer.

  “You shouldn’t have waited up,” she said. What she meant was, she should have gone home to her own apartment or, better yet, not gone to Brooklyn at all.

  But Michael just yawned and stretched. “Time to go to bed,” he said. Kate agreed with a nod but headed to the bathroom.

  “I have to pee,” she said.

  Once she had the door closed, she washed her face, brushed her teeth, gargled, and then brushed her teeth again. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror as she reached for the face towel. She looked so . . . furtive. For a moment, Kate saw—in her jaw, the set of her eyes, and her hairline—a frightening similarity to her father. It sent a shiver through her. Then she realized that more than the physical resemblance, it was the guilty, skulking body language and expression that had conjured up his image. She stood immobile under the light of the bare bulb in Michael’s bachelor bathroom and looked herself in the eye. You have nothing to feel guilty about, she told herself. If Michael is rigid with his schedule, there is no reason for you to feel guilty. Having drinks with your girlfriends is nothing to feel guilty about.

  But Kate knew it wasn’t just that. Her thoughts about Billy Nolan were unsettling. She didn’t want those thoughts; she didn’t want the feeling she had had as she’d flirted with him. And even if she had done it for Bina, and even if she was only tricking Billy, the fact was she had acted as if she were making a date with another man and the other man had believed it. Wasn’t that kind of cheating on Michael? Raised as a Catholic while her mother was alive, Kate had never quite gotten over the concept of sins of commission and omission. Was she guilty of the latter?

  Now she was returning to sleep with her lover, and she felt uncomfortably like a slut. It wasn’t the
beer on her breath or the smell of cigarette smoke on her clothes that embarrassed her. It was her own feelings.

  Kate washed quickly and emerged from the bathroom in her panties and bra. As she walked into Michael’s bedroom, she was dismayed to see that he was completely undressed under the sheet and had lit the candle on his nightstand. Michael usually slept in pajama bottoms and a T-shirt. The lack of them and the lighted candle sent a clear signal.

  “May I borrow a shirt?” Kate asked meekly.

  Michael nodded and gestured to the bureau. She took out a plain white Fruit of the Loom and slipped into it, then slid into bed beside him.

  “Was it fun?” Michael asked, putting his arm around her.

  “Not really,” Kate said. “And I’m so exhausted.” She paused. Michael was good with this kind of sexual nuance. She waited a minute. “Can we just spoon?” she asked, and turned her back to him, feeling his chest against her shoulder blades.

  “Sure,” Michael said, and Kate was relieved not to hear disappointment in his voice. He shifted for a moment, blew out the candle, and pressed his body up to hers. Kate sighed, and out of either shame, exhaustion, or too much beer, she closed her eyes and was asleep in moments.

  Sunday morning, she and Michael fell into their comforting ritual. He had bought The New York Times and bagels, and they spent two hours reading bits of the paper to each other and nibbling on cream cheese and pumpernickel. Kate opened the “Styles” section to read a continuation of a story about beauty parlors in Afghanistan and accidentally ran into the Weddings/ Celebration page. It was something she tried to avoid, something unsettling, like stepping around a dead pigeon on the sidewalk.

  She then went on to read the rest of the section, as she always had to when she forgot to avoid it. It was a bad mistake. Column after column describing happy unions, listing the groom’s parents, the bride’s family, with quotes from their siblings and descriptions of the celebrations that always left her feeling depressed and different from everybody else. If she married Michael, what would the Times possibly run about her wedding? “The bride, close to her 32nd birthday and an orphan, elected to have a small wedding. ‘I couldn’t really afford a big party, and I don’t have enough family and friends to attend one,’ Katherine Jameson-Atwood said. ‘In fact, I’m not sure I’m doing the right thing, but then, who is?’” Covertly, she peered over the top of the paper at Michael and wondered how he would look in one of the grainy gray photos, his head leaned toward hers. She closed the paper and put it aside.