On the Verge

by Ariella Papa

  Finally the show starts and the crowd goes wild when Jason is introduced. I’m expecting this hot young guy, but Jason is older with gray hair and a little bit of a paunch. I look at Adrian, to see if maybe this is just the opening act, but he’s clapping fiendishly so I know it’s Jason. I try to imagine Adrian and this guy having sex. Yuck.

  Jason opens up with the song “Too Darn Hot.” Show tunes? There is no way I would have been down with this if I knew about the show tunes. Jason is getting really into it, though. What he lacks in vocal talent (which is a lot), he makes up for in dramatic presentation. This is pretty wretched. I keep glancing at Adrian, waiting for him to realize, but he, along with the rest of the crowd, loves it. I can’t believe Tabitha went out with her new Russian boy, Vlad, tonight. How do I get myself into these things?

  What’s worse than Jason’s singing are the ridiculous monologues he goes into before each song. I mean it’s all about himself, but why? Why would anyone allude to their first love affair in front of people they work with? And he’s got all these cheesy effects happening, so when he sings “Stormy Weather” the lights flicker as he’s leaning against the wall of the stage and you hear thunder piped in. I can’t help but laugh. I’m so embarrassed, but I realize it looks like I’m crying, because that is what most of the audience is doing. Am I missing something?

  When the show is over Adrian insists we have to stay to congratulate Jason. Jason emerges like a star and I watch all these people run up and hug him. I’m convinced they’re deaf and blind. Jason accepts all these well-wishers like a diva. He keeps eyeing Adrian. He tries to get over to us, but keeps getting stopped by his crowd of adoring fans. I can’t believe this.

  Finally, Jason is in front of us and he grabs Adrian and kisses him on the lips. Adrian introduces me, and tells Jason what a great job he did. I try to be positive. I tell Jason that he had a great show, but he doesn’t take his eyes off Adrian. What a lech! I can’t believe Adrian would tolerate this pawing. Worse, Jason invites Adrian out for (horror of horrors!) a drink. I want to hug Adrian when he declines. He tells Jason to give him a call to talk about the show. Yuck, yuck, eww!

  Then we’re out of there. I agree and we head over to this place we like on Greenwich Avenue. I study him for a while over our tea, waiting to gauge his reaction about the show.

  “Well, that was pretty bad,” I say. I can’t take it anymore. He looks shocked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “C’mon, show tunes! And when he sang that Michael Bolton song—what the hell was that? It was pretty campy.”

  “Well, he is gay.”

  “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean his show has to be clichéd and bad.” Suddenly, there’s something weird with Adrian, and I feel like I’ve done something wrong.

  “Eve, didn’t you see how into it everyone was?”

  “Yeah, but they were all…”

  “What? A bunch of queens?” What is he trying to say?

  “No, his friends. This isn’t about sexuality.”

  “I didn’t realize you were such a theater critic, Eve.”

  “Adrian, why are you getting so harsh? I’m not a theater critic, but I know when something’s bad.”

  “So, how do you explain those people crying?”

  “Well, I was surprised, because you said that they all work for Sony, so you’d think they’d know better, but honestly, I think sometimes people look for sentimentality. I think those crying people wanted to be moved.”

  “And it was nothing Jason did?”

  “I mean he picked a couple of cheesy songs and people reacted, that’s all.”

  “They came to see a friend, to support a friend. They felt his experiences, I mean whatever talent he has is inconsequential, as far as I’m concerned, because he got up there and he sang about things that mattered to him. It wasn’t glamorous, it wasn’t great, it was just a guy singing from his heart, doing his best. You talk about a lot of things, Eve, and you’re critical of a lot of people and things, but I never see you act on anything.

  “Jason is never going to make a career out of being a singer, but he’s brave enough to stand before his peers and just be who he’s always dreamed of being. It takes courage, Eve, to put yourself out there to give it a go. It’s so easy to laugh when you sit in your life and don’t take a risk.”

  Wow! Now there’s a tension between us. This is the wrong place to be having a fight. It’s too small; the other customers have stopped talking in their groups. Now they’re all busy listening to Adrian and his Oscar scene. I hate that.

  “Well, I never realized you thought I was such a loser, Adrian, but, I have to admit, I was a little shocked to see you letting this guy paw you. Was that part of being courageous, too?” Sometimes I say something and hope that it doesn’t come out as bad as it sounds, but in this case it does. I know I’ve said something I can never take back, just by the way Adrian looks at me. I try to remember exactly what he said to deserve that; to give myself an excuse for being so angry.

  Adrian stares into his tea and shakes his head. The rest of the people in the café are holding their breath, waiting for his reply. I wonder how long they will stay like that, hinged on our conversation. They probably think he’s my boyfriend and this is even more scandalous than it is. But it would be almost more excusable to talk to a boyfriend like that. It’s never cool to cut that deep on a friend. When Adrian speaks to me again, his voice is low and thick.

  “I don’t know what you think of me, Eve. I guess it’s cool for you to have a gay friend. It’s chic, and you aren’t one to miss a trend. Jason and I saw each other when I first got to the city. Maybe he seems like, I don’t know, some campy buffoon to you—don’t roll your eyes, just listen. He is a smart and fun guy and my relationship with him wasn’t too different from your relationship with Rob King. The older man thing. And believe it or not, Jason broke my heart. I hate to say this, but I think you don’t like him because he is a bit too flamboyant for your taste. It’s cool to have a gay friend, but not too gay, right?” It’s really hard to be having this conversation with him here, because I know we’re on display and I really just want to scream at him. I try to be calm and think about what I am going to say.

  “I don’t know where you get off basically saying I’m homophobic, like my friendship with you is built on superficial reasons other than true friendship. It offends me. I’m sorry, I just didn’t think the show was all that good. That doesn’t really reflect my cowardice or my homophobia. I think you’re upset about something else, maybe seeing Jason, or your fight with Anthony, I don’t know, but, I don’t think it’s fair for you to take it out on me.” Adrian shakes his head again and sips his tea. I can see people leaning over slightly to try to catch our conversation.

  “You finished your tea, Eve. Do you want to get out of here?” I nod. We settle up the check and leave.

  We don’t say a word to each other as we walk back. It’s so cold out, so we’re walking fast. When we get to 18th, Adrian’s street, he stops and turns to me.

  “So, um, have a good night. Say hi to Roseanne.”

  “I will, take care.” That’s it.

  No New York Kiss. No nothing.

  Roseanne is up watching David Letterman when I get in. She is sitting on the couch with a blanket around her. I can’t see her hands and I could swear she was, never mind, I don’t want to think about it, she hasn’t gotten any in a while. Maybe I’m a prude.

  “How was the thing?”

  “Shitty! Adrian thinks I’m a coward and a homophobe. Our friendship is most likely over. I guess it doesn’t matter because apparently I was only using him to be a chic trendy woman. You know, because it’s cool to have gay friends.”

  “Wow!” says Roseanne. She isn’t really listening to me, because Dave is in the middle of his monologue. We say our good-nights (she’d probably rather be alone). I try calling Tabitha, who isn’t answering. She was going out with Vlad, her February. I toy with the idea of calling Rob, but I do
n’t know if we have that kind of relationship yet. It’s too soon for him to see my weaknesses and have a glimpse of what my friends think of me.

  So the worst possible fate: I get left alone with myself. I don’t think I’m homophobic and I don’t want to believe that Adrian does. Maybe I am too much of a critic (God, maybe I am a wretched person). I guess it’s pretty cool to pack a place with a bunch of your friends (there were like seventy people there) and just sing, no matter how bad or good you sound. Maybe Adrian’s right about taking a chance, maybe I should.

  No, that’s ridiculous, I’m twenty-three, I’m too young. I’m not going to let Adrian affect me that much. I wouldn’t even know where to begin on my so-called dream. I just hope I haven’t lost him as a friend forever. That would suck.

  I’m having a shitty day at work. There is a lot to be done for some reason. In reality, it’s nothing, but relative to this job, it’s probably two weeks’ work packed into one day. Lorraine is having me do some of her work, Herb has me plan about eight meetings, and there must be some supply demon stealing everyone’s supplies. Everyone keeps coming up to me wanting their special pens and multicolored Post-its and guess what underqualified writer is hassling me to help her do her crappy expense report. It’s all super boring.

  Tabitha is also having a crisis about Vlad, which I can’t seem to stay on the phone long enough to understand. I am contemplating sending Adrian some stupid office humor. It might help reopen lines of communication. Calgon take me away. I haven’t seen Rob in three days so I decide to take a little visit to his floor. I deserve a break.

  “Sherman, how’s it going?” I sneak up behind him.

  “Great, great.” He has no idea who I am until he turns around, but, I’ve got to give him credit for having his “greats” practiced. “Oh, it’s you. Rob is in a meeting, can I schedule something else for you?”

  “Well, when is this one getting out?” I pick up the printed out page of SchedulePlus that’s in Sherman’s mailbox. I can tell Sherman doesn’t like the idea. “Relax, Sher, it’s only his schedule, not a company secret.”

  Sherman is kind of a dork, I have to admit. I mean I want to like the guy, especially after the whole wrap incident. It’s just that I think he’s the kind of guy who gets really jazzed about being an assistant, who honestly believes he can work his way to the top. I catch myself being critical. Again.

  “What’s this reorganization meeting he’s at?” Sherman shrugs and looks nervous. I like feeling like the cheerleader talking to the geek. For some reason Todd pops into my head, but then so does our bathroom interlude, so I suppress it. “Well, it gets out at two, which is in like one minute, and he has an hour window.”

  “But those meetings always run late.”

  “Well, I’ll just wait in his office until he gets back.”

  “Ms. Vitali, I’d rather you didn’t.”

  “C’mon, Sher, it’s only for like a second and you know you don’t want me hanging out at your desk listening to your personal calls.” Sherman is pretty horrified at the idea of that.

  “I never make personal calls at work.” That’s what I’m talking about, too into his job.

  So, I shut the door in Rob’s office. It’s a pretty good size and he scammed a great view of the river. I sit in his chair. If only I knew he wasn’t bringing anyone back to his office or Sherman wasn’t going to pop in any minute to check on me, I’d be a naughty Goldilocks, but I don’t do anything. Once again, I’m not taking any risks.

  I decide that I will find the last file that Rob was working on in his computer and leave a giant erotic message at the top. That’s risky, right? I mean there’s always the chance that it’s a company wide memo that he isn’t going to check before distributing. It will give him a little thrill when he sits down to work on it.

  I open up Rob’s last file and try to think of something juicy. It’s a memo to Prescott with only two other people cc’ed. It’s a lot of bullshit about branding ourselves as Prescott Nelson Inc. and giving all of our magazines a distinct image. Right in the middle, Rob starts talking about cost efficiency and how a lot of the magazines are overlapping some of their operations responsibilities. I’m starting to feel guilty about reading this. It’s not the usual garbage e-mail with lots of pro-Prescott rhetoric.

  Rob suggests that certain divisions are merged. The superfluous staff will be transferred to other positions or terminated. Now, I know I’m not supposed to be reading the memo. It looks like Anna, the women’s magazine, Angry Beavers, the feminist magazine I once coveted, and Banana, the health magazine, are losing quite a few people. I know if I scroll down, I’ll see the Bicycle Boy list. I shouldn’t be doing this.

  I practically scream when Rob opens the door. He’s alone and smiling, so I know Sherman told him I was in here. He doesn’t seem surprised that I’m at his computer; from his vantage point, he can’t see where I’m looking.

  “Ms. Vitali.” He starts adjusting the closed blinds. My hand is still hovering over the mouse. I should just close the file, but I’m frozen. My heart is racing.

  “Hi,” I say, trying to keep my voice level.

  “Are you trying to steal my job?”

  “No.” I think it comes out too defensive. He leans over the desk and kisses me. He grabs my hand and walks around the desk, kneeling before me.

  “You look like a dark-haired Goldilocks. Who’s been sitting in my chair?” He is trying to be cute, but, I can’t relax. “Do you think I can get you to call me Papa Bear? What’s going on?”

  “Just stopping by, you know.”

  “I thought you were still upset about that job. I’ve missed you.”

  “Me, too. I’m not mad or anything, I’m fine.”

  “Good, I locked the door. I have a half hour and I intend to use it.” I am not sure how I feel about being scheduled in. I am still blocking his view of the screen. He doesn’t kiss me right away, he looks at me for a little while, plays with my hair. “You’re really pretty, Ms. Vitali.”

  I should tell him. I should turn around and point to the screen and say, “I know you’re some kind of corporate grim reaper,” but I want to just forget it and kiss him. I can’t help liking him when he’s kneeling in front of me in his office, staring at me with those sexy eyes. We start kissing. Thank God the door is locked because for a little while I forget where I am. His hands are moving up under my shirt and we are both in his chair pushing it back. Sherman is a very distant thought.

  Rob realizes as he is kissing my neck. In all the excitement, I forgot to keep blocking the screen. It takes me only a second to figure out why he’s stopped.

  He is disheveled when he pulls away. He looks back and forth from me to the computer, like I’m some kind of awful traitor. My lipstick is smeared all over his mouth. He sits back on the floor and stares at me, waiting for me to say something.

  “I was just leaving you a note, I swear I wasn’t snooping.”

  “Eve, this isn’t cool. I mean all that information is totally confidential. There are maybe five people in the company who know we are going to do something like this. Did you see the Bicycle Boy list?”

  “So there is one? Am I on it?”

  “Eve, c’mon.”

  “Why aren’t I on it, because of you?”

  “No, Eve. We always need assistants.”

  “Well, that’s comforting. I may hate my job, but I love the job security.” He doesn’t say anything. He just stares at me. I want to wipe his mouth off and forget about everything but the kissing parts, but, I can’t. “So who is it? Who’s getting fired?”

  “Eve—” he’s shaking his head “—we can’t do this. I was spoken to about it—”

  “What? You were talked to about me?”

  “You need to relax.” He is up now; I don’t mention the lipstick.

  “What, is our half hour window over?”

  He doesn’t answer me and I hate being ignored. He stops at the door and looks at me. “I have a meeting I can’t mis
s, Eve. I’ll call you later.” I hate the way he talked down to me. I wish he would come back and we could give it another go to make everything seem normal. He might be thinking that, too, but he’s late for a meeting and so he shuts the door behind him and leaves me sitting in his chair, still disheveled with the stupid file still open.

  I hate everyone.

  Except Roseanne. She makes me ribolita for dinner—it’s my grandmother’s recipe. She doesn’t ask me why I’m being so quiet, she just gives me a second helping. Roseanne will be a wonderful grandmother someday.

  Rob calls me that night. He’s still at the office. The conversation is a little tense, especially when he tells me he is going to another conference early tomorrow. He’ll be out of town for a week and he doesn’t seem to realize that means he won’t be around for Valentine’s Day.

  “Eve, I don’t know what’s wrong with you. You were snooping around my office and that’s not cool. I have a million things to do and I have to go home and pack. I’ll call you from Jacksonville, okay?” Again, he’s talking to me like I’m someone he needs to be patient with. Whatever.

  We have no heat on one of the coldest days in the past two years. I’m trying to sleep through it, but I wake up in the middle of the night to Roseanne standing over my bed with all her blankets.

  “I think my pee just froze on the way into the toilet. There’s a draft in the window. My body temperature is rapidly dropping. I have to get up in three hours.”

  “Climb in,” I say, rolling over in my bed. She gets in and scrunches up to me. I miss having someone sleep in my bed. It’s kind of cozy. I need to work it out with Rob.

  We arrange the covers so that only the very tops of our heads are exposed to the elements. Roseanne cannot stop whining and moaning. “This is the worst, ever!”

  “C’mon, it’s cozy! Besides, at least we have a home. Just think, one day we’ll look back on this like our starving artist phase. We’ll remember it fondly.”