On the Verge
Page 17
“My dress?”
“You took it off. Cute undies, by the way.”
“Thanks.” Our appetizers arrive. I focus on eating sexy, but not in an overt way.
“I figured it was kind of awkward, though,” Rob continues. “I just wanted you to call me and not be freaked out.”
“I wasn’t freaked out. I wasn’t.” Lies. I was.
“Okay.” I’m finding it hard to keep my cool with him and at the same time wondering if I have anything in my teeth. “Does that kind of stuff happen to you all the time?”
“Yeah,” I’m too quick to answer. “Actually, no. I’ve never woken up in a strange bed with no immediate idea why. I think I forgot, or blocked a lot of that night out.”
“You make it sound so traumatic.”
“I don’t mean to, it’s just sort of a weird situation.”
“Why?”
“Well there you are hanging out in the cool V.P. room and I mean, I’m an assistant. I don’t even have benefits.”
“Yeah, we’re working on that. And you’re not my assistant. How do you like that drink?” It’s so good, and when our food comes it is also delicious. I like that Rob offers me some of his meal. I make sure not to have him feed me (not that he offers). He smiles when he sees that I like it. I feel a glow, not the alcohol one that I usually feel, but, a glow like I’m in a cosmetics ad. It’s a perfect sort of romantic feeling. I can’t help but smile. Rob doesn’t ask me why I’m grinning like a dork, he just smiles back.
“You told me all about your plan to have your own magazine. I think it’s a great idea.”
“I guess I think about stuff like that all the time. It’s funny that I actually said it.”
“Why?”
“I mean it’s so far-fetched. I don’t have the capital or the experience. I have an entry level position that’s supposed to be my foot in the door, but really just seems like a big waste of time. No offense.”
“Why should I be offended?”
“Well, because you’re one of the top guys. Guys like you are depressing.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re young and the company is supposed to be young and hip and cool. They want you to represent them. But beneath the image, it’s still a business. There’s the same shit at brokerage firms and other corporate businesses. We just get to wear what we want.”
“And how does that apply to me?”
“Because you either skipped all these steps or you came in when there was a clearer path to where you are now. You’re a reminder of the speed things should move, but it doesn’t usually go that way.”
“I don’t know, Eve, I’ve worked really hard to get where I am. Maybe you should be more aggressive. Do you tell them that you want to do more? That you’re bored out of your skull playing hangman all day?” Not a good idea to tell him my computer recreation activities.
“I think that whole aggressive thing is a lie. I mean, after a while you just start to annoy people. No one wants that.”
“It seems like a waste of the company’s money, of your talent. Part of the reason I’m there is to consult, to tell the board how they can make things run more efficiently.” Ding! Duh! I’ve finally figured out his job.
“You’re here to fire people.” He looks away from me and examines the crease in his cloth napkin.
“Eve, I’m here to do research, to get a feel for all our lines of business. It may be that some of the fallout from my findings is termination, but if not me, someone else.” I wish we hadn’t gotten on this topic, I think Rob let me in on more than I should probably know. We sit in silence while the waitress takes our plates away and asks us if we want dessert. Rob asks me if I like chocolate (I do) and then orders this chocolate dessert they have. I get a cappuccino. I am remarkably sober, and while I don’t exactly appreciate the tension, it’s refreshing to talk to someone like Rob and have him relate to me like I was someone worth talking to.
“There, we got those nice teeth of yours back, Ms. Vitali. Do you like it here?”
“It’s a great place. Do you come here a lot?”
“Actually, only one other time—some business meeting. I thought it would be a really nice place to go with a date. So what comes after dessert?”
“Whatever. It’s only, shit, it’s 11:30.”
“What’s that ‘shit, it’s 11:30’? I thought you were the young one. The night is young.”
“You know I was never late until the day after the party. Even when I was hungover and coming from Jersey.”
“You’re a Jersey Girl? I’m from Cherry Hill.”
“Yeah, but that’s Philly, that’s slightly respectable. I’m not too proud of Jersey.”
“And now you live in Chelsea.”
“How do you know?”
“I’ve got friends in high places.”
“I thought that was confidential info.”
“Right, but we’re not going to talk business, we’re just going to eat this delicious dessert and then…I guess we’ll have to get you home so you can get up early tomorrow. Another day another dollar.” He raises an eyebrow at me. He’s got great brows. I tell him my Kevin story and he laughs.
“Very impressive, Ms. Vitali, you’ve got the pros fawning over you.”
“Well, he wasn’t exactly fawning. I never get fawned over.” Again the eyebrow raise. I really want to go back to his apartment. I really want to practice different elevator activities with him and run my fingers along his eyebrows. This is getting too Spice Channel. “So how’s your doorman?”
“Good, I guess.” He laughs. “Why do you ask?” I could find a way to make it clear that I definitely want to remember tonight, but honestly I can’t help feeling a little freaked out about all this. I need to confer with the girls before I proceed. I don’t want to be the geeky girl who gets seduced by the captain of the football team and then stays moony over him. I know I’m getting carried away, but, as I recently discovered, he was a math major after all.
“Just wondering.”
“Should we get the check?” I nod, although I don’t really want to leave. “Maybe we could walk back to your place, if it’s not too cold.”
We decide to walk. We go past the Prescott Nelson building, and Rob senses me stiffen up. “You know we’re not really doing anything wrong, Eve. I’m not your boss.” But, once we get onto 40th, he puts his arm around me and I feel sort of tucked into him. There’s nothing for me to do but put my hands around his waist. When we start getting close to my apartment, I wish we’d walked slower, because I don’t want the night to end and I don’t want to deal with the doorway etiquette.
“This is it.” I stop and turn to him. Should I invite him up? No, he can’t see my apartment, I can’t remember the last time we cleaned.
“Eve, I have to go to the L.A. office until after the New Year.” He probably has a girlfriend in L.A., some aspiring actress… “Don’t look like that, I don’t want to go, I hate L.A. I was hoping to spend Christmas with my parents for a change.”
“When are you leaving?”
“Friday morning. I’ll call you.” Now I’m the one who is going to be waiting on a call from god knows where. I can’t deal.
“No, Rob, don’t call, you can just wait until you get back.”
“Eve, c’mon, don’t be upset. I had a great time with you tonight.” He tips my chin up to look at him. I reach up and touch his sexy, arching brow and then we kiss for a while against the door. I can tell he is getting into it, and so am I.
“You can come up if you want.”
“I want to, Eve, but…” I don’t know what his “but” is, but I definitely have some “buts” of my own. I decide to just kiss him.
“All right, good night.” I kiss him for a little bit longer and go upstairs. Tabitha and Roseanne are sitting on the couch, poised for interrogation.
“Why did he leave?”
“Are you going to get a promotion now?”
I cannot believe them.
When I get back out and I’m ready to talk, the lights are out and Roseanne is in her cranny and Tabitha is asleep on my bed. So much for their curiosity. Looks like I have to figure this out for myself. On the couch.
Rob doesn’t call me on Thursday. I spend most of the day entering data, because the office will be closed a couple of days for the holidays. Tabitha can’t hold out anymore and she invites me to hit Fifth Avenue with her for a few quick sprees before her trip. She’s already spent far too much money on coordinated luggage, but she insists she just needs a few more things. She gets all the details out of me and is not as fascinated by our passionate kissing as she is with the reason for him being here.
“Wow! So heads are going to roll.”
“Probably not our heads, we’re too low.”
“Yeah, but it could totally shake things up around here. You could be like a spy for all the people who suspect they’re going down.”
“Tabitha, I just want him to call again.”
“He will, maybe when he gets back.”
“I don’t want us all to be pining away for these jet-setting guys. Our lives are exciting enough, I don’t need to be waiting by the phone.”
“Yeah, Roseanne is pretty into that Texan.”
“He’s a cutie. He said he’s from right outside of Houston—near you. You guys should hang out.”
“Yeah, we could share our Texan pride.”
“He’s got an accent, though. You don’t have one at all.”
“Thankfully.”
“Is your family upset that you won’t be spending Christmas with them?”
“I doubt they’ll notice.” Tabitha will never talk about her family. I imagine this really cold, rich family having no idea what to do with this crazy super-cool New York mover and shaker daughter.
“Do you want to come over tonight? We can exchange presents. I mean, I can give you your present.”
“Don’t worry, Eve, I got you something.”
When I get back from shopping, there is one message. It’s Lacey, who needs me to messenger something from her desk to her at home. She isn’t feeling well today so she isn’t coming in (can we say six-day weekend?). I do it and stare at the phone a while before I decide to call it a day. I’m looking forward to going to Jersey tomorrow. Even with my sister there, it will be nice to wake up at home.
I buy some apple cider and some spiced rum. Roseanne is home early and she has lambchops in the oven and is making some cranberry and wild rice side dish. Every day my apartment looks more and more like a gourmet magazine cover. I tell Roseanne that Tabitha and I are going to exchange presents, and to my surprise she says that she has something for Tabitha, too.
We have a pretty mellow night. After dinner, we eat some of the chocolate cake Tabitha made. It’s awful, which to me, is a little comforting. Tabitha gives Roseanne her present first. It’s a crepe pan, a pretty expensive one, too. Roseanne is so touched.
“I figured I would get used to eating them in ‘Gay Paree’ and no one else could make them for me. It’s selfish really.” Tabitha also gives Roseanne some MAC makeup. Roseanne is a little surprised, but seems to like the colors. It might be the start of a new Roseanne. Roseanne gives Tabitha a (get this) handmade porcelain ornament with her name on it. It’s really delicate.
“Oooh, I hope Jaques has a tree.” There is also a pillow for the airplane and a trashy novel. They hug again. It’s almost too much for me. Tabitha gives me a sexy, yet classy silk nightie with a matching robe and some perfume, which I love. Tabitha adores her pendant from Tiffany’s. Roseanne gives me a woolen scarf that she knit and a pair of short classy silver earrings that I was looking at in Tiffany’s (now I have my own blue bag). She loves her cookbook and she declares her new shirt a New Year’s “Eve” shirt. We talk for a while about what we are going to do for New Year’s, but we don’t dwell because Tabitha won’t be with us. With all this love and Christmas cheer we are like the Three Musketeers.
After Tabitha leaves, I do the dishes. Roseanne and I discuss the possibility of having a New Year’s party. Later, I lie in bed and think about Christmas for a while. I used to have a major countdown starting right after Thanksgiving. I’m not as aware of it anymore, but as cheesy as it can be, I still go for all that stuff. Especially the present part. I mean you can’t say “Merry Christmas” or “Happy Holidays” enough. I’ll be sad when the tree comes down in the lobby.
“Somebody has an admirer,” Lorraine says. I look up from my computer and one of our messengers, Ben, is holding a big bouquet of flowers. I don’t believe they’re for me, but they are. Lorraine hovers around my desk. “Well, aren’t you going to read the card?”
“No, don’t get excited, they’re probably from my mom.”
“Looks like an awfully expensive bunch from your mom. I’ll let you keep your admirer a secret.” She leaves, but of course, now Brian needs to know.
“What are those?” he says, standing by my desk.
“Poisonous herbs that will fend off the unwanted stupid questions of those around me.” He shuffles over to his desk. I open the card.
I’ll miss you. Have a great holiday.
R.
The flowers are beautiful, but it would’ve been nice to get a phone call. It’s going to be hell taking these home on the train and I can only imagine what my mom is going to say. I’m sure she will embarrass me in front of my entire family over Christmas dinner and then my sister will make some comment about the wastefulness of flowers.
I try calling Rob, just to thank him (it’s the right thing to do). Sherman answers and makes me identify myself before he tells me that Rob is already out of the office. He won’t confirm that he is in L.A.
Herb comes over to make sure I sent out the company Christmas cards. He actually asks about my holiday plans. I wonder if he’s acting interested in me because somehow he found out I went out on a date with Rob. He takes out a small wrapped box and hands it to me.
“Just a thank you for all you do.” Wow! I open it. It’s a Christmas ornament that looks like something from the fifties.
“Wow! Thank you. Thanks a lot.”
The nice thing about leaving for the holiday is that everyone is in a good mood. Despite how harried this time is, most people hug each other before they go. I go visit Joe and Adam and eat some Christmas cookies that are in their conference room. I tell them I’ll let them know after the break if we are going to have a New Year’s Eve party.
It’s a relief to be on the train to Jersey, even though I get tons of dirty looks as I push on with my flowers. Everyone else is loaded up with packages, so I don’t know how or why I should be singled out. Monica is waiting for me at the station. I can tell by her expression that it isn’t going well. I attempt to be cheerful.
“What are those?” She nods to the flowers. I decide to practice my story.
“One of our advertisers sent them to the magazine and I was the only one who wanted to take them home. I thought Ma would like them for the table.”
“Can you believe they’re starting with the church thing again?” I know that’s a lie. Every year it’s the same. My sister comes home and, just to antagonize them, announces that there is no way in hell she is going to Christmas Eve mass. They fight, she cries, she complains to her friends, but she always winds up going and the next day, Christmas, there is all kinds of residual bitterness.
“Monica, I know you’re the one starting it. I really want to enjoy my time at home. Do you think for a change you could just suck it up and be mature and go to church since you know you’re going to wind up doing it anyway? We’re not kids anymore.”
She doesn’t say a word to me for the rest of the day, she just mopes around her room. I
help my mom with all the cooking (Roseanne is rubbing off on me). I spend a lot of time watching Christmas shows and just vegging. Monica finally breaks down on Christmas Eve when I lean across the pew and offer her my hand. The classic “peace be with you” thing.
“And also with you,” she says, but I’m not sure she means it.
Christmas morning. Although the four of us are adults now, we like to feign surprise that Santa has actually visited us. We even put out cookies for Santa and carrots for the deer. We all sit in the living room in our pajamas and ooh and ahh over every gift. This year, since I’ve been sleeping in the living room, I’m awakened by my mother’s squeal. I sit up on the couch and she looks at me and says, with all seriousness, “Eve, I can’t believe Santa didn’t wake you up.”
My dad makes coffee and we have some leftover fish from last night (yes, it’s only 10:30 a.m.) and thus the Christmas ritual begins. Even the gift tags are marked—some are from Santa and some from my parents. (Although it seems like everyone forgot me this year.) Everything is for Monica. My parents love the gifts we got them, but one after another, it’s a wretched sweater for Monica or a new comforter for Monica and I am trying not to be selfish, but it’s Christmas, for Christ’s sake, where are my gifts?
“I guess that’s it,” says my cold, heartless mother.
“More coffee anyone?” asks my mean, negligent father.
“I guess I’ll have some.” I might as well get something out of this whole thing. When my father comes back in he’s is carrying a big box. The three of them are thrilled with themselves for fooling me and I rip off the paper and (oh, my God!) it’s a computer.
“Wow! I can’t believe it! This is awesome!”