by Ariella Papa
Rob King will be out of the office at the Georgia Convention from now through Tuesday of next week. He will be checking in with me, so please call me at 7761 with any scheduling requests or other questions.
Thanks.
Sherman
I have to say that Sherman lacks the e-mail writing panache that I pride myself on. Of course, he may not want to be so casual with this distribution list, which includes people like Joe Sullivan and (gasp!) Prescott Nelson himself. In many ways it’s a personal victory to be on a distribution list with those big guys. Almost like they might check their e-mails and say to themselves “Well, I know Joe Sullivan, but who is Eve Vitali? What a cool name.”
Of course I’m sure that their secretaries (assistants) will be checking the e-mail and probably not give a shit. So my victory is marred by the fact that my significant someone (or whatever the hell I’m supposed to call him at this point) is letting me know via group e-mail and his assistant that he isn’t going to be around to fuck me this weekend. I should Reply All:
Does that mean he’s not going to be able to fuck me this weekend?
The e-mail patrol would certainly be at my desk in a nanosecond, and I would never be heard from again. My ID would immediately stop working, and I could kiss those cool Prescott T-shirts goodbye. Also, after all I put Sherman through, he would probably take it as some kind of embarrassment and disgrace to him. He might commit hara-kiri.
I should look on the bright side of all this. I’ll have a weekend to spend with the girls. Yes, some hard-core quality time. Although I feel kind of guilty that it takes Rob going away to get me to have some much-needed girl bonding. But no, I’ve only been out of commission for two weekends. Don’t I deserve some fun, too?
On Sunday afternoon, we are drunk. We went out too late Friday night and wound up getting a heavy post-clubbing breakfast at Florent at like five in the morning. Of course, we couldn’t find it at first, so we traipsed around the meatpacking district in heels and sexy skirts. We didn’t get in until 7:30, because, still drunk, we decided to walk back. Tabitha spent most of Saturday puking, as Roseanne and I slept through our hangovers. We woke up just in time for COPS and decided it was too cold to leave the apartment, so we ordered Indian delivery and watched a lot of Saturday night TV.
On Sunday morning, we woke up early. We woke up bored. I brought margarita stuff and movies back to the apartment when I dropped off my laundry. We had a Richard Gere film fest with Pretty Woman, Internal Affairs and of course, my personal fave, An Officer and a Gentleman. (I’m a product of the eighties, what can I say?) By 4:30 we were toasted and having a heated discussions over various urban myths. Of course the natural progression was to discuss blow jobs. Roseanne told the story of the time she gave a blow job to that guy in the bathroom (like I haven’t heard that one a million times). What he said afterward is always dependent on the mood Roseanne is in when she tells the story and how drunk she is. This time she claims he said, “That was beautiful.”
Tabitha claims to hate blow jobs (big surprise) but to love getting oral sex. She wishes men were born with penises on their forehead so they could just “do it all in one exciting shot.”
“Do you guys ever wish you could get flavored cum?” Roseanne asks. Tabitha is disgusted by the idea that Roseanne actually swallows.
“Even that guy in the bathroom, the one you barely knew?”
“Especially him. Mmm.” Roseanne licks margarita off her lips. She is dirty today. “Anyway, sometimes when I’m giving a blow job all I want for is a nice shot of chocolate sauce. As a chaser you know?” Roseanne does a little shot-taking motion and I almost pee my pants laughing.
“Alcohol definitely helps,” says Tabitha, “I mean if I am going to do that, I might as well be drunk.”
“Yeah there are two things I like to do when I’m drunk. I like to fight and I like to fuck.”
“Eve, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you get into a fight.” Roseanne seems very concerned that she might have missed something crucial all these years.
“Eve, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you fuck,” Tabitha chimes in. They both find this hysterical, as if I never get laid.
“I’ll have you both note that I—yes, yours truly—am the one getting the most regular sex right now. Thank you very much.”
“So how is it? Is it fun to sleep with all that power?” Tabitha is on the edge of the couch. She almost spills her margarita as she leans forward.
“Yeah, is he that good? You definitely seem more…chipper lately.” I can tell just by the way Tabitha cracks up that they’ve been having discussions about my sex life.
“It’s great,” I say, reveling in it. “I can honestly say that I have never been more attracted to anyone in my life.” They are impressed, I can tell. Then of course, as I expected, Roseanne holds up her two hands about four inches apart. I jack my thumb up, her palms get wider, I jack my thumb again, and her palms get a lot wider. I shrug and make a circle with both my hands.
“No way,” says Tabitha, in disbelief. “Eve, it just isn’t fair, I don’t believe it.”
“Neither did I at first, but it’s true.”
“Wait, wait,” Roseanne says, struggling to make sense of it all, “the most important thing and, Eve, tell the truth, does he know how to use it?”
“Yes, that’s it, he does and it’s not just that. He isn’t afraid to get down and dirty and do what I love. He goes nuts. He’s un-stoppable.”
Roseanne holds up her glass. “A toast to Rob King, a prince among men.”
“Hey, Roseanne, that’s great. Wow!” Roseanne has no idea about her pun, but Tabitha laughs because nothing escapes her even when she’s drunk. I figure now is a good time as any to ask about Pete. I can tell it’s a painful subject, but what bugs me the most is that Tabitha already seems to know. Tabitha, who criticized everything about Roseanne right up to her earrings, is now rubbing Roseanne’s back in a “Go ahead it’s okay, just let it out, honey” way. Don’t they realize that I am the one who brought them together, that there should be no fraternizing when I am not involved?
“He fell asleep while he was, you know, going down on me.”
“No fucking way.” I am horrified, and Tabitha nods like she’s heard it all before. Whatever.
“Yeah, I thought he was just getting some air, but it took a while. I tried to encourage him, but he just stopped, that was it. So what do you do? I mean I couldn’t let him sleep there. I mean it would’ve been kind of a traumatic wake-up don’t you think?” Of course her new best friend Tabitha chimes in.
“I said she should have left him there, maybe he would have gone back to business.”
“So, what did you do, Roseanne?”
“Well, I kind of scooted around as carefully as I could, and slept next to him. It wasn’t very comfortable, but I think I saved some embarrassment. In the morning, he was back to the old Pete, you know quiet, sort of surprised he actually wound up with a girl. Of course not a call since.” I want to ask her if he said anything about Todd, as in Todd and me. But I am in love with Rob and I shouldn’t care and this is Roseanne’s story, not mine.
“You know Pete. We’ve known him for what, five years, now?” That part is for Tabitha. “He’s just quiet like that. He’s probably so into you, but he can’t show it because he still doesn’t know how to talk to girls.”
“I’d like to think that, but I think I’d be lying to myself. I’d sooner just get drunk. Anyone need a refresher? I think we’re done with margaritas. Luckily I got some Absolut. I’ll pop in Internal Affairs.”
“Yeah, get me another drink, I’m never going to get to the laundry away. I don’t know what it is, but every time I do laundry it seems like I have less and less underwear. Maybe I should get some of yours, Tabitha.”
“What does that mean?” Tabitha is suddenly all touchy.
“Nothing, you just have a lot of underwear. I mean you’re always buying it. Everywhere we go you get underwear.”
“Yeah,” says Roseanne, coming back in with the drinks, “you do have a lot. What’s the deal?”
“Hey, I don’t really think we need to be talking about my underwear. It’s my business.”
“Well, excuse us, Tab, Roseanne just told us about swallowing a shitload of cum, and now we can’t mention your penchant for underwear?”
“No, we certainly can’t and I don’t have a penchant for underwear, all right? So are we going to put the movie on or do I have to leave?”
I can’t believe her. Roseanne shakes her head as she puts in the movie. She mouths the word “Wow.” There is definite tension until I mention how much I like Andy Garcia in this and Tabitha tells me I like him because he’s hairy. I do not like hairy men, I merely wind up with hairy men, but since she is being so (dare I say?) pissy today I let it slide.
Eventually we’re done with all the movies and it’s eleven. Tabitha is passed out on the couch and I’m feeling pretty dizzy when I get up. Roseanne and I wash up in the bathroom together and whisper about what is up Tabitha’s butt.
“She is really touchy when it comes to her underwear. Actually underwear in general—one time she picked up a dirty pair of mine that was on the floor.”
“Eww.”
“That’s what I said, and she just said they were cute. They were plain cotton underwear, I think they were hot pink.”
“That’s totally bizarre. Do you think she’s got some kind of compulsive disorder?”
“No, I think you’re drunk and you’ve been reading too many of Prescott’s women’s magazines,” Roseanne concludes. I don’t say anything. I’m sick of her and Tabitha’s condescension.
“Hey, Eve, I was just kidding.”
“I know. I know.” I sit down on the toilet. “Roseanne, are you sick of living with me?”
“Eve, I like living with you, it’s one of the few things that I like about my life right now. Really.”
“But, I haven’t been around much.”
“So? I mean you’re not supposed to hang out with me and help me feel sorry for myself. I just gotta get my shit together.”
“Well, you’re making scads of money. I don’t know what more you need to get together.”
“I just want to go to work and not believe that if I keep going this will be my life, you know.”
“Yeah, I had that feeling the other day at the interview that I could be doing the same, old nothing for the rest of my life.”
“At least you have ideas—you know, the magazine.”
“What are you talking about? I told you about that, too?”
“Whenever you get really drunk, starting back in college, you talk about it. You get so passionate about it, sometimes you even get teary-eyed.”
“Please tell me I don’t sit around bars weeping about a magazine I can barely remember when I’m sober.”
“It isn’t that bad. I mean it sounds good—a magazine for people our age in our predicament. A magazine about getting the most out of your lot. I’d read it. I can’t believe you never realized.”
“God, I can’t believe I’m such a lush. Do I do anything else when I’m drunk that I should know about?”
“No, actually it kind of makes me wish that I had something I dreamed about. I go to work, I exercise, I watch just about every sitcom, and I’m so typical. Here I am in New York with you two, who like, know about everything.”
“But we totally don’t. I mean there’s so much shit we want to do that we can’t, that we don’t even know about.”
“Yeah, but what about me?” Roseanne asks.
“When we do it, you’ll do it.”
“Do I want to do it?”
“I don’t even know what ‘it’ is.” I laugh.
“Right.” Roseanne nods. I feel bad about not being around and even worse about being jealous that she’s been hanging out with Tabitha.
“Ro, I’m sorry if I’ve been a bad friend.”
“Eve, you are a great friend.” She kisses my forehead. “You took me in when I got here, you kept my spirits up, and you always tuck me in when I’m drunk. Don’t ever feel like you’re a bad friend.” It’s a touching bathroom moment, which is a testament to our blood alcohol level. We both realize this and go to bed.
In the morning, Tabitha has a huge hangover. Neither one of us can seem to get moving with enough time to walk to work, so we take the subway.
“Tabitha, do we always talk about starting a magazine when we’re drunk?”
“Of course.”
“How come we never talk about it when we’re sober?”
“Because alcohol gives us balls. I don’t know.”
“Maybe we should start writing it down.”
“Eve, oh, God, I have such a headache. I’m not going to start scribbling away in the middle of a night out. I hate those pretentious people.”
“It wouldn’t be like that, Tabitha. Maybe we’ve got some good ideas.”
“They’re definitely good, Eve. So good you can’t remember them.”
“Well, Roseanne says they’re good.”
“Eve, no offense, because I am really starting to like her, but Roseanne thinks Lifetime, that is, Television for Women, is good.”
So I guess we’re done with that conversation. Still, I’m intrigued at this other, less inhibited, me who goes around shooting my mouth off about a dream that I can’t remember or won’t let myself think about in my normal life. I feel the train approaching by the wind in the tunnel. I rarely take the train, but whenever I do, whenever I first feel the wind in my hair and start to hear the train, I can’t help but feel like it’s the beginning of a movie about my life, like somehow my fate is going to change. I manage to hold on to this feeling all the way into work until I have to go to the shitty meeting and listen to the asshole Gary complain about there not being any light cream cheese.
As usual Rob is getting out of work a lot later than I am. It’s too soon to ask for a key, so I decide to get my hair cut. I have the best hairdresser (stylist) ever. His name is Ed and he is what I think should be the standard for hairdressers—gay and Asian. I don’t know too much about Ed, because he never talks to me. He’s only concerned with my hair and making me look good. I try to make conversation with him and he answers me with a series of nods and monosyllables. Tabitha turned me on to Ed and I’m working on convincing Roseanne to go there. It’s about time she stopped looking a little too much like a country singer.
When Ed is done with his masterpiece, he hands me a mirror and turns me around in the chair so I can see his work from all angles. He gives me a few tips on how to do it, as if, standing in my bathroom, I have one-tenth of the artistry he does over my head. I let him delude himself, and nod.
“Nice hair,” says Rob as he opens the door. I’m want to tell him all about my wizard, Ed, but I don’t get a chance because he slams the door and the next thing I know we are on the floor, reacquainting. “I missed you,” he keeps saying over and over, and I almost (but don’t) tell him that I love him, because it’s barely been a month and I vowed it needs to be at least two. When we’re done, I toss on his shirt and he orders some Italian from the place around the corner. I watch him on the phone, naked. That’s my man.
When the food is delivered, we eat and lounge around all lovey-dovey. I think I might be able to stay at Rob’s forever just having sex and eating. He is so easy to be around that I sometimes forget who he is.
“So, how’s your job going? Firing anyone yet?” I’m trying to be whimsical, but I should’ve probably kept my mouth closed.
“Eve, that’s not what my job is about. Look, we really shouldn’t be talking about this.” I’ve managed to annoy him.
“C’mon, you can trust me, I’m not a company spy.”
“Are you sure, you have vays of making me talk?” He pulls me close. He wants the subject to drop, so I let it. He pulls his shirt off me and suggests we “go to sleep.”
Later, when we are cuddling and talking quietly, I remember about th
e flowers. I tell him how much they made my day. I don’t mention the interview to him, because I don’t want him to know about it if I don’t get the job.
“Thanks, Rob, I loved them. They got there at the perfect time. How did you know?”
“Eve,” he says into my ear as he kisses me, “how do you think you got the interview?”
February
Somehow, Adrian gets me to go to some show in the East Village. It’s starring some guy (Jason, I think) that Adrian used to see when he first got to the city. He and Anthony have been fighting for three days and Anthony hung up on him. Oh the drama!
When we get to the theater, there’s a huge line outside. Adrian tells me that he’s had reservations for weeks. I wait patiently while Adrian kisses just about every guy on the line. A ton of names go by me and I’m sure I’ll never see half of these people again, so I just smile and nod as I get introduced.
“Yeah, my boyfriend Anthony was being a drama queen, so Eve agreed to play fag hag tonight.” The guys love this. I’m a little concerned about how high Adrian’s voice is getting. He’s putting on some act, like he is Super Gay, a new superhero.
Finally, we push our way into the place. Surprisingly, it’s full of middle-aged women and quite a few young, trendy hetero couples. Adrian explains in a more normal voice that Jason works in the finance department of Sony, so he knows tons of people.
“But, does he really want to be a singer?”
“No, I mean I think it’s a little too late for that. He just does this a couple of times a year for his friends. Tons of people show up.”
We wait an inordinate amount of time for the show to start. At least we can drink, although everything is sort of watered down. Adrian keeps getting up to greet all these older guys I’ve never seen before. They are so openly checking him out. Now, I see why it’s better for him that I came. Anthony would flip out.