On the Verge

by Ariella Papa

  “Why are you making that noise?” Brian whispers, ruining my life.

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” I whisper back loudly as Lacey is reading her copy. He starts to moan low. Was I doing that? “Shut up!”

  “Excuse me,” says Lacey, and then continues to read. I am so embarrassed, I hope Rob didn’t hear me moaning. Herb finishes his critique and we applaud. We’ve been here for almost two hours. I get up to get some water from the kitchen. If I take my time, maybe Rob will join me and we can have an encounter in the stairwell. I give him three minutes. I can only fill and drink my water cup so many times.

  Horror of horrors! When I try to get back to the conference room, the door is locked. I have to knock to be let back in, thus interrupting Gary as he is reading one of the paragraphs of his article that Jim has a problem with. He isn’t too happy about the interruption. I mutter a “Sorry” and catch Rob smiling at me. How embarrassing. Gary and Jim get into a fight over the use of the word “compulsion.” They ask Rob, an objective third party, to settle it. He thinks the word works, Jim will hate him forever. We applaud and finally we are dismissed. I want to talk to Rob after the meeting, but Herb has him and I can’t find a reason to stay so I go back to my desk and call Tabitha.

  “You should have passed him a note.”

  “C’mon, Tabitha, I’m out of the first grade.”

  “Well, all that fantasizing sounds like you’re in high school. Wanna go to an awful Brazilian dance performance tomorrow?”

  “You make it sound so enticing.”

  “Well, you know those things. Everyone is entirely too pretentious.”

  “They could take a lesson or two from you, Tabitha.”

  “Honestly, I should give out my cards.”

  “Tabitha Milton, Pursuer of the Fabulous Life. That sounds good—” I look up and there is Rob King standing at my desk, grinning at me “—actually, Tab, let me call you back.”

  “Eve? Why does your voice sound so funny? What’s up? Is he there?”

  “Yep, great, thanks, ’bye.” I hang up on her and smile up at Rob. “Hi.”

  “Hey there, too bad about that lock.” He is teasing me. I think about mentioning his hands tucked into his waistband, but that might sound too obsessive.

  “It’s great the way you settled that compulsion problem. Now, I know why you make the big bucks.” He laughs.

  “Are you working late tonight?”

  “I’m out of here when the clock says 5:55.”

  “Do you want to come over for dinner? I make a mean chicken marsala. I think it’s good for a man to know how to make one dish.”

  “All he really needs is to have a woman over once, right?”

  “Eve, if you’d rather go out, we can—”

  “No, I was just being mean. What time?”

  “How’s 9:30? I should be home around then, and I’ll start cooking.”

  “Do you want me to bring anything?” He grins so I think it might be true about having the woman over only once.

  “Dessert, of course.” He leaves and I call Tabitha to give her the play-by-play. She forgives me for dissing her. Then I have to call Rob back and get Sherman to give me directions to where his place is because I was in no condition to remember when I was last there.

  At 9:45, Rob opens the door, smiling. He’s got some Billie Holiday on and I can smell garlic. He seems a little harried as he leads me in and gives me a quick kiss. He’s pretty cute with his shirt untucked and his sleeves rolled up. He’s also barefoot. He is moving around the kitchen like he needs to remain in control of all the things that could go wrong with the chicken marsala. He hands me a glass of white wine and kisses my forehead.

  “Can I help you with anything?” I say, walking into the living room.

  “No, no, just got home a little later than I expected. Make yourself at home and relax.” I hear a huge crash in the kitchen. I flip through his CDs. I sit on the couch and look through his coffee table books. Some nice art books. When I look up, he is staring at me. I slide over on the couch and he sits next to me. He fills my glass with more wine and puts his arm around me.

  “So, do you like all these artists, or is this just for show?” He puts his hands in my hair, my neck starts to tingle.

  “Um, well, they aren’t my favorite artists, but I do respect their work and—” he kisses my ear “—I think they are entertaining if you’re just—” my neck “—sitting on the couch—” my cheek “—better than TV, don’t you agree?”

  “Mmm.” We wind up kissing on the couch and I barely have a chance to set my wineglass down. The book falls down as he kisses my shoulder, twisting up the fabric of my shirt to get to it. I want to just pull off my shirt but that might be too forward. I start to undo more of the buttons on his shirt.

  “Maybe we should eat dinner first.”

  “Right,” I say, moving my hands on his stomach.

  “Okay wait, let me just shut the oven.” He is back on the couch in a nanosecond…

  Afterward, we smoke Dunhill Lights. We eat cold, delicious chicken marsala on the couch in our underwear. There really is an afterglow. I decide that my press release on the Act will be only to reveal a few telling things. I don’t want to sound like a lovesick cheeseball.

  He kissed the poochie for about a half hour and concentrated on that task like it was the most amazing thing in the world. He has an absolutely godlike chest, and more importantly, at the most crucial moment, he found a way to look in my eyes and say, “Say when.” He settled for a sign (squeezing his shoulders). It really was triumphant and passionate, although I am skipping that part in my press release to the girls and Adrian because I know they would cling to that worse than my subway comment. After the chicken, we consider doing the dishes, but give it a go on the floor instead and then we eat the tiramisu I brought.

  He is also a great cuddler, which can be alluded to, because that’s a respectable thing. He doesn’t let go at all in his sleep and wakes me up with some more lovin’. Nice.

  “Why are you in such a great mood?” asks Tabitha, who actually pays me a personal visit in the morning. She is looking me up and down, hoping to discover my secret.

  “No reason, isn’t it Friday?”

  “Those clothes look suspiciously new and generic.”

  “I stopped at the Gap on the way in.”

  “In, from where? Roseanne said you didn’t come home last night.” I cannot believe they were already on the horn gathering evidence.

  “It’s true.”

  “So?” I clear my throat and prepare to release my statement calmly and professionally, with the knowledge that every word I utter will be repeated in a higher pitch with much more enthusiasm. I can do it, I’m certain of it.

  “Tabitha, it was wonderful. Oh, my God, in the vein of a romance novel, earth-shattering, the prototype for a Cosmo article. The man has a gift. He should patent himself, then clone himself. He is that good.” I lower my voice a notch, “I am still trembling.”

  “Eww,” says Tabitha, and then her eyes get wider. “Wow!”

  “Yes,” I say, “yes, yes, yes.” Herb walks by and smiles. I hope he doesn’t know.

  “Do you need a Valium?” Tabitha asks with complete seriousness.

  “No, I just need to calm down, honestly I need something mundane like this crappy data entry that has piled up. It will focus me, if you will.”

  “Wanna have lunch?”

  “Honestly, I don’t think I can eat.” Tabitha looks at me suspiciously. “I know exactly what you’re thinking, believe me I’m not acting like this to him. I am cool as a cucumber. Honest. I’ve got my poker face all set.”

  “Great, but don’t use another shitty metaphor. I’ve got to get back, but you should call Roseanne. Next time, maybe she’ll bring you some good clothes.”

  I don’t call Roseanne right away. I feel like I can’t even talk about it. My stomach is tied in knots, and if I say a word to anyone I’m likely to just explode or som
ething. I’m not usually this much of a sap. I could tell by Tabitha’s concerned face she thinks it’s a score, yes, but a one-time-only thing that I should just not expect too much from. And it’s bad. He is too high up there for me not to feel like I’m violating some kind of employee code. I’m having a real hard time concentrating on anything. It takes me forty-five minutes to send an e-mail about the staff meeting being changed to Monday.

  When I do finally call Roseanne an hour later, she is on her other line with Tabitha, getting the story. She’d rather hear it from the horse’s mouth (what is it about booty that reduces me to these pitiful metaphors?) so she comes back on with me. I’m still trying to remain calm and it isn’t easy to give the blow-by-blow (gasp!) at work.

  “Next time give me a call, so I know he’s not a psycho killer.”

  “There probably won’t be a next time. It’s weird.”

  “Morning weirdness?”

  “No, not even, I don’t know, it probably shouldn’t have happened. It’s a won’t work weird.”

  “Maybe it will. What should we do tonight? I’ve got post holiday blahs.”

  “Me, too. I don’t know. Shit, my other line, I’ll call you in a bit.” I switch over. It’s him.

  “What are you doing tonight?” Play it cool, I tell myself. Keep him guessing.

  “I don’t know, nothing. I really want to see you.” Foiled myself again.

  “I know, Eve, I think I’m going to get out of here early tonight. No, I will. I should be able to clear out at 6:30. Everyone is still clinging to the holidays. Can you wait around?” You are never supposed to wait, you are supposed to be picked up.

  “Sure.” When we hang up, I call the girls and tell them my plans. I feel a little bad about Roseanne because I know she’s got the blahs.

  I wind up waiting at my desk until 7:30. I’m getting pretty sick of surfing the Net when Rob comes to my desk. He looks stressed. I try my best to be pissed. I check my watch.

  “I thought you had adjusted to New York time.”

  “Funny, Eve. I’m sorry, I got caught up in something.” I quietly shut my computer and gather my bags. Even though there isn’t a soul around, I can tell he’s nervous about someone busting us. Whatever. I walk to the elevators, leaving him to follow.

  “You’re pissed, Ms. Vitali. I’m sorry. I really wanted to see you tonight. I went as fast as I could. Does that help at all?” It does, but he can’t know that. I don’t say anything; we get in the elevator. I stare at the wall and he starts humming a familiar song.

  “Hey, you like Aerosmith?” He looks so cute and he starts to sing off key and air guitar “Love in an Elevator.”

  “Dork, don’t even think about it,” I say and laugh. He grabs me and gives me a big sweet hug. It shouldn’t be this easy, but it is.

  The weekend is a blur. I don’t leave his side. I just keep buying new clothes or wearing his T-shirts. It honestly feels like one of those love montages, from all those eighties movies, except we don’t have any rain scenes. We go out to dinner, we do the deed, we sleep in. There are cold walks in the park, lots of nastiness. We go to brunch on Sunday and hold hands over the table. We rush back to slap skins, and then it’s Sunday night and we are lying on his couch reading the rest of the Times. I can’t help but wonder if it’s going to be strange at work.

  “Are you done with ‘The City’?” he asks, kissing my hair. I hand him the section.

  “Do you ever feel like your life is just Sunday nights? Like everything centers around certain sections of the Sunday New York Times?”

  “No, I feel like it’s one long meeting.”

  “Do you like your job? I mean, is it fun?” He shifts me around so he can look at me.

  “Yeah, I like it. I like planning a project, implementing it, and seeing it succeed.”

  “You like the power.” He shrugs and looks back down at the paper. I gather his job isn’t something he wants to talk about with me. We read for a while longer and then go to bed.

  On Monday, even the staff meeting doesn’t get me down. I clap enthusiastically when Lacey reads the first installment of her four-part series on women and bikes. I cheerfully gather up the leftover bagels. I laugh when the writers hover by my desk and make fiber jokes. My messages:

  “Eve, it’s Tabitha. Are you still alive? I swear you and Adrian are lost in some kind of lover’s wasteland. Why don’t you call me at some point? I met an amazing Brazilian this weekend.” Delete. Mother of God.

  “It’s me. Rob. What’s up? I wish my life were a Sunday night. I’m in meeting hell. Wondering if you wanted to catch a late dinner and movie. Maybe ten. Will you be around?” Save. I’ll listen to it at least five more times.

  “Eve, it’s Roseanne. Just calling to see if you are coming home for dinner tonight. I bought some salmon yesterday at Chelsea Market. I didn’t make it because you didn’t come home. Just let me know if you are coming home tonight. Okay, ’bye.” She sounds really sad. Delete. I don’t need to be reminded what a sucky friend I am.

  “Eve, it’s Lacey. Can I get a 4:00 with Herb today? I need to talk to him about my installment before the Feed Meet.” I hate the way she says “need” like I should drop everything and hook her up. I hate her. Delete. Delete. Delete.

  I tell Tab I will have lunch with her. I call Roseanne and say, yes, I’ll be home for salmon, then I leave a message with Sherman saying I will meet Rob at ten, but not for dinner. I don’t say what we’re doing at ten, because I don’t want Sherman to get the wrong idea. I don’t even know Sherman, but I hope he doesn’t think I am some kind of assistant traitor. I schedule a time for Lacey and Herb. I’m multi-tasking.

  Tabitha and I meet in The Nook. She gets the chicken cordon bleu with two sides and I grab a California roll. She gives a good show of asking me about Rob. Since I don’t really want to say too much, she starts right in about Joao, this Brazilian choreographer she met at the dance performance on Saturday. He is only in town for two weeks.

  “Tabitha, do you ever think that maybe you have some reason for going after all these out-of-towners?”

  “I certainly hope this quasi-domestic blissful relationship you are having with a totally unattainable and who-knows-how-reliable guy is not making you just a tad judgmental. But, yes, there is definitely a reason.” She licks her chickeny fingers slowly. Always the drama mama.

  “I give up, what is it?” She takes another bite of her mashed potatoes and leans into the table, encouraging me to do the same.

  “I get bored fucking one guy for too long.” I laugh out loud. Tabitha is rarely so crass. “That’s right, laugh. Monogamy is monotony.”

  “Even Jaques? You were down for the long haul with Jaques.”

  “I was slightly deluded by his fashion sense and the way he would encourage me to eat buttery things. You can’t fault me for that. What you can fault me for is picking a friend—that would be yourself—who would not knock some sense into me when I started to get all mushy faced.” She sips her iced coffee and scans The Nook. “But I can be strong-willed, so I guess I can forgive you not speaking up sooner. Although, I would like to think that in the future you will alert me to these strange behaviors.”

  “Only if I get the feeling you want to be alerted.”

  “Good plan. Hey—” she looks past me “—isn’t that a high-powered exec who is rumored to be having an affair with an underling?” I see Rob having lunch with a very attractive woman. I decide I need some catsup for my sushi. I try to eavesdrop on my way up as I walk behind him. He has his all-business stance, which is slightly encouraging. I’m acting like a teenager. This is stupid. If he was screwing around with this very attractive woman, he wouldn’t bring her to The Nook. He apparently doesn’t see me at the condiment stand. I decide to sneak back behind him, to avoid suspicion of my suspicion.

  “Hey, Eve,” he says as I am walking behind him. There is a table full of people between us and I know his lunch companion is checking me out.

  “Oh, hey, Ro
b.” How cool am I?

  “Did you get enough condiment?” His face is serious, but he cocks an eyebrow up.

  “I think so, see ya.” He turns back to his lunch date or whatever. When I get back to the table, Tabitha has her analyzing face on.

  “Interesting exchange?”

  “I guess it’s a business meeting.” What am I doing? “Did you talk to Ro this weekend?”

  “Not really. I invited her out to the dance performance, but she didn’t want to go. I think she’s mopey about Pete. He still hasn’t called. Oh, God! The Big C is in our midst. Look at the skirt, it’s like she plans her Monday outfit around the Sunday Times style section. What’s she eating, Eve, can you see?”

  “Not sure, looks like a salad.” She stops to chat with Rob.

  “Of course, probably no dressing. She’s ridiculous. Let’s get upstairs before she spots me. We have to start going to delis.” It’s a rare occurrence for us to see anyone we know in The Nook, but one Big C sighting and Tabitha will keep us out of there for a month.

  Roseanne is sitting on the couch watching one of those gossip news shows when I get back to our apartment that night. Monday is usually her Spinning class at the gym. When I ask her why she isn’t going she shrugs and tells me she will grill the salmon in twenty minutes.

  When she gets up to make the salmon, I try to call Rob at work to tell him that I can’t make the movie. Sherman keeps picking up. I can’t believe he has to wait there until Rob gets out of his meeting. What a slave driver Rob is!

  Roseanne’s salmon is delicious and I tell her. I must be the worst roommate ever, because she is giving me the silent treatment without actually committing to it. I shouldn’t have spent the whole weekend at Rob’s. I hate conflict.

  “Hey, Roseanne, are you mad at me?”

  “Not at all.” She sounds pretty convincing, but now that I’ve grabbed this confrontation thing, there’s no turning back.