Dumping Billy

by Olivia Goldsmith

  Kate burst up out of the water like a submarine exploding onto the surface of the sea. She was about to begin crying again when she heard her cell phone ring. She ran out of the bathroom.

  Brice framed her with two hands. “Ophelia, Drowned for Love and Answering a Phone,” he said. “Pre-Raphaelite school.”

  “Want to stop running the marathon and help clean up dinner?” Elliot asked.

  She paid no attention. She got to her purse and began scrambling through it. Her phone was still ringing. Billy had changed his mind. Somehow he had realized that it had all been a mistake, that she loved him and wanted him, and that everything else that had happened was nonsense.

  She was on her knees, her makeup bag and change purse and wallet spread all around her on Brice’s carpet. But when she finally managed to find the phone, the caller had hung up. She quickly punched in the request for received calls, but she didn’t recognize the number. It was a 212 area code, not the 718 of Brooklyn. It didn’t matter. It had to be Billy. He had come looking for her. She pressed the call button and waited, literally holding her breath. It would all be all right, she told herself. It had to be all right. In a moment someone answered the phone.

  “Hello, Kate?”

  It was a man’s voice, but her stomach lurched when she realized it wasn’t Billy.

  “Yes?” Kate said, though she wanted to hang up and throw the phone into the sink of cold water. If Billy didn’t call, what did she need a phone for?

  “Kate, it’s me. Steven.”

  “Steven!”

  At the sound of his name, both Elliot and Brice nearly dropped the plates and silverware they were clearing from the table.

  “That Steven?” Brice whispered.

  “Drop the phone into this soup right now,” Elliot said, holding out a full bowl. “I mean it, missy.”

  Kate motioned for them both to shut up.

  “Did I get you at a bad time?” Steven asked.

  Kate almost laughed aloud. She couldn’t remember ever crying for this long in her whole life. “A bad time” was a massive understatement. “No,” she said. “I can talk.”

  Elliot shook his head wildly, but Kate paid no attention. She remembered how she had lived for his calls. And now the deadness she felt talking to him was new and curious. Maybe in two years I could feel this way talking to Billy, she thought. Maybe I can learn eventually not to care about anyone. But where was the benefit of that?

  “Look, if you’re not busy, would you consider meeting me for a drink?”

  “Now?” Kate asked. She looked down at her watch. It felt like midnight, but it was only eight-fifteen. Typical Steven move: calling with no warning and expecting her to jump. But she felt no resentment. “I don’t think so,” she said.

  “It’s really important,” Steven told her. “I’m sure you have other things to do, but I have something I have to tell you.”

  Kate couldn’t think of a single thing that Steven could tell her that would be of any interest, unless he had taken a job distributing Publishers Clearing House lottery checks and she was a winner. And even then, what would she do with the money? Buy a big apartment to be alone in? Thinking of her empty apartment made her say yes. “Where?” she asked while Elliot shook both his head and his finger at her.

  “Can you come downtown?” Steven asked.

  Typical. He wanted a favor, but she had to go out of her way. She looked like shit and she felt like shit and she told him yes. What did she care? He gave her an address and she hung up.

  “Kate, don’t tell me that you’re going,” Elliot said.

  “I am,” Kate told him. She fumbled through her makeup bag, took out a mirror, and smeared concealer under her eyes.

  “Rebound therapy is not a legitimate approach to this,” Elliot told her.

  Kate stood up, threw her scattered things back into her bag, and looked at Brice and Elliot. “I’m not going to rebound. I’m not a damn basketball.” She walked to the door, then turned back to them, a happy couple in a world of couples. “I’ve already ruined my life,” she said. “You don’t have to worry anymore.”

  Chapter Forty-five

  Kate sat beside Steven, her purse on her lap, her legs crossed. One foot was perched on the bar rail. She was actually grateful he had asked to meet at Temple Bar because it was probably the darkest boîte in Manhattan. It was so cool that the entrance didn’t even have a name. It was the kind of place that Steven would know about and frequent. It was all dark velvet, elegant uplighting, murmured conversation, and $7 cosmopolitans. Nothing at all like the Barber Bar. It was pure Manhattan.

  Steven hadn’t seemed to notice her disarray, or if he did, he had the good grace not to mention it. But as she sat there and looked at him, she realized that he was more about being noticed than about noticing other people. There was something in the way he flipped the dark wing of his hair away from his face, the way he held his head, even the way he gestured, that made Kate think he was always performing for an audience, real or imagined. How had she missed that? She simply sat there, tired and sad, and tried to listen to him. It was a long harangue and had gone on for some time now.

  “. . . and I deserved it. I really did,” he was saying. “I know I hurt you, and I know now that I was a fool. I guess I just wanted to prolong my childhood.” He looked away from her, but she could see his expression across from the two of them in the mirror behind the bar. She wondered, in a kind of disinterested way, why he was bothering to go through this again. Elliot didn’t have to worry. The good news was there was no way she was going to sleep with this player, no way she was going to let herself be hurt again. The bad news was she was so numb that nothing could ever hurt her again.

  “I’ve done a lot of soul-searching,” Steven continued. “I didn’t really like what I found.” Join the club, Kate thought, but she only nodded. “I’ve been irresponsible,” he said. “The fact is, I’ve behaved like a boy, not a man.”

  You and five hundred thousand other single men in Manhattan, Kate thought. But again she just nodded. How could she have put up with him? The idea of beginning to date again, of having to meet new men and sit in bars like this and listen to their ruminations and take them seriously, seemed not just more trouble than it was worth, but a kind of torture that no one should be subjected to. Where was Amnesty International when you needed them? Kate supposed she could get used to going out again or she could simply give up, wait until the rest of her friends had babies, and make a career of being a dedicated aunt.

  Surprisingly, Steven reached out then and took her hand. Kate jumped a little but managed to keep her purse on her lap and her perch on the bar stool. “I know you’re not listening, and I don’t blame you,” he said. That brought Kate’s attention back to him. Perhaps Steven was more aware of others than she’d given him credit for. “Kate, what I’m trying to say is that when we were dating we had different goals. At least I thought we did. But I’ve had a long time to think about it, and I spent most of that time regretting losing you.”

  Kate looked at him, face-to-face, for the first time. What was he doing?

  Steven sighed. “I can’t believe how stupid I was when we met for coffee,” he said. “It was arrogant of me to think that an apology would be enough to put us back where we left off.” He looked away for a moment. “Sometimes I lack . . . well, there’s probably a lot that I lack. But because I lack you, I’d like to try, slowly, to prove I’ve changed.”

  Despite her pain, Kate tried to remember if he’d been more stupid than usual. She supposed asking her out at all had been arrogant, but nothing she would not have expected from him. The problem with Steven, she realized, was that everything came too easily to him. He had never had to suffer or work to get anything he wanted, so it was only to be expected that he believed he could get whatever he wanted simply by asking for it. Kate took her hand back from his. He looked down at the bar for a moment, recognizing her rebuke.

  “Kate, you shouldn’t waste your time on an
y man who doesn’t value you. Who isn’t willing to commit to you.”

  Tell me about it, Kate thought, and idly wondered whether Steven had decided to become a counselor for single women. Maybe he wanted her as a client. But, once again, he took her hand in his. Kate felt nothing. But because of her purse and her unsteady seat, she couldn’t easily pull back.

  “Kate, I’m asking for your hand.”

  “You have it,” she said.

  “No. I mean . . . I mean I’m asking for your hand in marriage.”

  Kate couldn’t—didn’t—believe what she’d just heard. Was she having an aural hallucination, projecting this onto Steven, or was he making some bad-taste joke? But, to her utter amazement, he reached into his pocket and took out a ring. Before she had a chance to do anything, he slipped it onto her finger. Kate stared at the diamond flanked by two smaller emeralds, her favorite stone. “Do you like it?” Steven asked.

  She stared up at him. What in the world was he thinking of? His audacity, his presumption, were enough to infuriate her, but then she stared down at her hand. The diamond seemed to wink at her in the reflected light of the bottles behind the bar. And then she began to laugh. Once she started, she couldn’t stop. Her foot slipped and her purse fell to the floor, but she couldn’t silence herself. She wasn’t trying to be cruel—she had lost control.

  At first, as she began to laugh, Steven looked at her with a smile. Then, as her laughter continued, he stopped smiling. Patrons’ heads began to turn and look in their direction. She didn’t want to humiliate him, but he had already done it for himself. Why is life like this? Kate thought. When you really wanted something, you didn’t get it. Then when you did get it, you didn’t want it anymore.

  With a tremendous effort she got herself under control. She stopped laughing and thought about all the things she could say, all the things she could tell Steven. In the end, she decided his education and therapy were none of her business. She simply took her hand from his, pulled off the ring, and handed it back to him. “I’m afraid not, Steven,” she said. “It wouldn’t be good for either one of us.”

  His face immediately took on the stricken look she knew all too well. For a moment she felt sorry for him. Pain was as hard to inflict as it was to bear. But she knew Steven. In a few days he’d find some other woman who would comfort him, trying to get that look to change. Good luck to her, Kate thought. Then she stood up and patted Steven on the shoulder. “I have to go,” she told him. Her empty apartment suddenly seemed like a haven.

  “Be well,” she told him. Then she turned and walked down the long bar to the door. It wasn’t the best exit line, but it would have to do.

  Chapter Forty-six

  Kate lay on her bed. The oppressive heat had closed down on New York. The temperature and stagnant air made it feel more like mid-August. Kate was unprepared for this kind of heat. She felt unprepared for everything in her life right now; she had an air conditioner stored in the basement but hadn’t asked Max to help her bring it up to her window; she hadn’t folded and put away her school clothes and refilled her tiny closet with her light summer things; she hadn’t made plans for the July Fourth weekend. In fact, summer had come and Kate felt as unprepared for her whole life as she did for her vacation. Somehow, without planning any of it, she had wasted too much time with Michael, revisited a ridiculous relationship with Steven, inappropriately fallen for and been blown off by Billy. Meanwhile, everyone she knew was moving forward with their lives. Brice had gotten a promotion, Elliot was teaching a course at the New School, the two of them had rented a share on Fire Island, Bina was endlessly preparing for her wedding, Bev’s baby was keeping her busy, and—the latest news flash was that Barbie had announced that she was pregnant. It seemed as if everyone had a direction and only she was rudderless.

  Kate thought about the reasons she should get up. She had laundry piling up, she should go to the gym, she ought to try to get the air conditioner in somehow. There was a pile of books she had been saving to read over the summer. The plants in the living room needed watering. Still, she couldn’t force herself to move. She tried to think of something she had to look forward to and failed miserably.

  What came to her mind instead were thoughts that didn’t bear thinking about: Both her parents were dead, she had no sisters, no brothers. Elliot would be gone for the whole summer. Her friends were married. She’d cut off Michael and was glad of it, but the proposal from Steven had thrown her. She didn’t want Steven—but she had once. And she didn’t want Michael, but she’d once thought she might have. She obviously didn’t know what—or whom—she wanted. Maybe she never would. She was becoming more and more convinced that she would always be alone. Something must be wrong with her, something deep, no doubt caused by the traumas of her childhood. Her mother had died; her father had been emotionally unavailable, and then he’d died. She had chosen abandonment or abandoning as a way of life.

  She threw the sheet off of her and was exhausted by the effort. Why had she moved to Manhattan? Why had she struggled through school? Even her work with the children, over now for the summer, seemed hopeless, useless, and second-rate.

  But it was the scene with Billy that made her inconsolable. Thinking about it was almost unbearable, but she played the scene over and over in her mind. Now she thought of the day they had gone skating in the park and his easy leadership when the crowd became unruly at the ice-cream store. She wondered if his garden was still so cool despite the day’s heat. Thinking of the grass, the fish glimmering in the water, the canopy of leaves, she felt again how special Billy was and what a perfect idiot she had been. She had sent him two notes: One was a simple apology and the other a longer explanation. She hadn’t gotten a reply. It wasn’t possible to know if he had really loved her, if he’d read her letters, or if—regardless of the nastiness—he would have dumped her anyway; but falling in with Bina’s crazy superstition and Elliot’s plan had been madness. She thought again of his face when he had confronted her at school. She had seen real pain there and couldn’t bear knowing that she had caused it. And she had hurt Michael. And she had hurt Steven, though he had deserved it. Still, she had never meant to hurt any of them and certainly didn’t want this pain she was in.

  Her loneliness was too big for her little bedroom. She felt it expand out the door and into the living room, until the place felt like a vacuum of love. Kate turned on her side and thought again of Billy. It was always Billy. She began to cry, and the tears were absorbed by her already damp pillow.

  When the bell rang, Kate awoke with a start. She felt sticky and disoriented but managed to rise from the crumpled bedclothes and move toward the door. Who would be visiting her, unannounced, at one o’clock on a weekday?

  She opened the door, and Max stood there with Bina beside him. Both should have been at work. It was Monday, wasn’t it? Her terrible weekend had seemed endless, but it couldn’t possibly still be Sunday?

  “Katie, we have to see you,” Bina said.

  “Can we come in, or did we get you at a bad time?” Max asked.

  Kate was too sad, dispirited, and confused to tell him that any time was a bad time for her. She just stood aside and let them walk past her into the living room.

  “God, it’s hot.” Bina sighed and took a seat on the sofa.

  “Oh. I should have remembered to bring up your air conditioner,” Max said. “Why didn’t you ask me?”

  “I’ve been busy,” Kate told him, but the sarcasm was lost on both of them. She must look awful, but neither of them seemed to notice. Instead of looking at her, they seemed to be either exchanging looks or avoiding her glance. She thought of the Reilly twins and their bad behavior, but what did Max and Bina have to be guilty about, and what naughtiness could these two possibly be up to together? Kate sank into her wicker chair. “What’s up?” she asked.

  “It’s just that . . . well, I can’t . . .”

  Bina’s mouth began to tremble. Kate wasn’t sure that she could sit through one more of
her friend’s cloudbursts. After all, she was getting everything she wanted and needed. She’d have the Vera Wang knockoff dress, the bridesmaids, a wedding with all her family there, the down payment on a house, a husband who might now appreciate her, and, no doubt, babies on the way. And, as always, after the flood of tears Bina would be cheerful and sunny again. It was Kate who would be drained.

  Before she could manage to say anything or get up from her chair, Max put his arm around Bina. “It will all be okay,” he said. “I promise. It will all be okay.” He looked up at Kate. “Tell her it will be okay.”

  “What will be okay?” Kate demanded. “Bina, stop crying and tell me what’s wrong.”

  “Everything. Everything is wrong,” Bina sobbed. “I don’t want to marry Jack. I can’t marry him. But I have to.”

  “No, you don’t,” Max told her.

  “Omigod!” Bina said. “What will people think?”

  Kate tried to keep her mouth from dropping open. Why in the world would Bina . . . Then a hideous thought occurred to her. Could she be pregnant? Pregnant by Billy? “Bina, you have been using birth control, haven’t you?”

  Bina looked up for a moment and wiped her eyes. “Yeah. Sure. Why? Do I look like I’m bloated?” Max handed her his handkerchief, and she wiped her eyes. “My mother sent out three hundred invitations,” she said. “A calligrapher wrote the addresses.”

  Kate leaned forward and took one of Bina’s hands in her own. “You shouldn’t feel guilty. Just because you slept with somebody else doesn’t mean you can’t marry Jack. It’s not like you had a real relationship. Or that you loved him.”

  “It is a relationship,” Max said. “A serious one.”