Chris was still asleep, so I had the place to myself. I took another sip of my Diet Coke and began reading the papers. I came to an article about a British psychoanalyst who asserted that human beings had to learn to enjoy the things they normally disliked. I sipped my drink and thought about that a moment. I wondered if Blinda would agree. After all, it was she who told me to look inside for happiness, while I’d argued that the issue wasn’t being happy with what I had, but getting what I deserved. Somehow, some way, this last week I’d gotten exactly what I wanted, and I wasn’t about to pretend that I wasn’t glad for it. I wouldn’t pretend that I’d rather have tugged my reluctant psyche to a point where I was happy with the old me. I liked the new life. It was just the way it had happened that was so startling, so, well…mystical. My thoughts streaked to the green frog, who was, right now, sitting precociously on my nightstand.
The phone rang, surprisingly, taking me away from my musings. It was Tess.
“Shouldn’t you be at church?” I said. Tess wasn’t very religious herself, but she took her two kids to mass every Sunday. Puts the fear of God in them, she always said. And they need it, because they certainly aren’t scared of me.
“I made Tim take them,” she said. “I couldn’t handle it.”
“What’s up?”
She groaned. “I need a girl’s night. Are you free for dinner tonight?”
“Sure. Want me to come out there?” Tess lived in Wilmette, and it was usually me who made the drive when we got together.
“No, I need a night downtown. Tim will watch the kids.”
At seven o’clock, I kissed Chris and left him in front of the computer. I walked through Lincoln Park toward Mon Ami Gabi, the French café where Tess and I planned to meet. The sun was staying later now, the sky a soft, deepening powder blue. The May air was warm, with a fresh, thick breeze coming off the lake, promising summer, soon.
Tess was already at the restaurant, seated at a cozy table by the windows. She was a willowy blonde who wore little makeup and tucked her simple bob behind her ears. I pointed at the large bottle of San Pellegrino in front of her. Normally, a bottle of wine would have held that place on the table. “You’re not!” I said.
She nodded, her expression chagrined. “I am.”
“Oh, my God, another baby? Congrats!”
Tess stood and hugged me weakly.
“Are you feeling okay?” I said as we took our seats.
“No, I’m not! This wasn’t supposed to happen, and now it’s no wine, no Advil, no brie, no hot baths. Pregnancy takes away everything that makes me happy.”
“It was the Advil that really pushed you over the edge, right?”
She scowled. “Don’t laugh!”
“I’m sorry, but it’s kind of funny.”
Her scowl deepened.
“Okay, Tess, it’s not funny, but it’s great! You love being a mom, and you’re awesome at it. You and Tim will be great with this one, too.”
She smiled a little. “I suppose you’re right. But Tim is getting snipped after this one.” She made a sadistic scissoring motion with her hand.
I sipped a white Bordeaux while we talked about her kids, Joy and Sammy, and the fact that Tess was depressed at the thought of getting “as big as a house.” Tess stared at my wine with undisguised greed. When our salads were delivered, Tess said, “Enough about me. Tell me what’s up with you.”
“I got the vice presidency.”
“What? And you let me sit here for twenty minutes talking about Sammy’s poops and my water weight? Congrats! When did it happen?”
“That’s the strange thing.” I told her about Blinda and the frog and about how, on Tuesday morning, I’d woken up to Chris’s affections and gone to work to find out I was a VP.
“It’s just a coincidence,” Tess said. “Your husband wanted some sex, good for you. And there just wasn’t an official announcement. That happens sometimes.”
“It was more than that. It was like everyone just assumed I’d been VP for a while, and I would always be a VP, even if I screwed up.”
“That’s just how you perceived it.”
“I don’t think so. And there’s more.” I told her about my mom’s postcard from Milan and how I seemed to have inexplicably gotten over my father’s abandonment.
“Well, thank God,” Tess said. “I mean really. You’ve been carrying that baggage around way, way too long, and let me tell you it wasn’t a pretty Hermès bag. It was a nasty nylon backpack that didn’t suit you. This is all good news, so why don’t you seem pleased?”
“No, I am, I am.” I took another bite of my salad greens. “There’s one more thing that’s happened.” I swallowed. “Evan.”
“Meow.” Tess had met Evan on numerous occasions and had found him as delicious as I did. “How is the Everlasting Crush?”
“He’s been flirting with me,” I said.
Her eyes widened. “What?”
“Yeah. You see what I mean? Everything happened in the span of twenty-four hours. I got everything I wanted.”
“I still think it’s a coincidence, but either way, you’ve got to tell me what’s been going on with Evan.”
“Well, last night…”
“What? What happened last night?”
I looked around the restaurant, at the soft light from the wall sconces and the patrons tucked into banquette tables. I turned back to Tess. “I almost kissed him.”
“Holy shit. Waiter!” She gestured frantically with one arm. When he reached us, she said, “I’ll need a glass of wine. Whatever she’s having.” She looked back at me. “I can have one glass, and my God, this story sounds like I’m going to need it.”
I laughed. “You won’t get flack from me.”
I’d always thought the pregnancy ban on even a drop of alcohol a tad too strict. My mother, for instance, didn’t realize she was pregnant with Dustin until she was almost four months along, having spent those months smoking and drinking Campari with my father in jazz clubs around Chicago. She drank while carrying Hadley, too. It wasn’t until she was carrying me that doctors cautioned pregnant women against alcohol. Her abstinence during the pregnancy with me was a problem, as I saw it. Dustin and Hadley were clearly smarter than I was, more ambitious and accomplished. Would I have been the same if my mother had stopped teetotaling and kept boozing?
Tess made me wait until her wine arrived before I could tell her about the Hello Dave show. I left nothing out, giving the tiniest of details, just like we used to when we were in high school and didn’t have jobs or husbands or kids to take our time away.
“And so that’s it,” I said. “I took off like the place was on fire. I had to walk five blocks to find a cab, and when I got home…Oh, you won’t believe it.”
“What?” Tess took the last sip of her wine. She glared at the glass, as if angered at it for holding such a small amount.
“Chris was waiting up for me. With champagne.”
“No.”
“And caviar.”
“No!” she said again. “God, Billy, did you tell him about Evan?”
I shook my head. “I started to, but I couldn’t. The picnic was so sweet of Chris. So seductive. I don’t think I’ve ever been turned on by two men within the same hour. And there really wasn’t anything to tell.”
She raised her eyebrows as if to say, maybe, maybe not. “You know me. I usually don’t give advice, but I’ve got to say something.” She reached across the table and squeezed my hand. “I’m not sure what’s going on with you, or why all these things have happened, but I do know something. You’ve got to be careful here, Billy. Real careful.”
I quickly switched topics, and Tess and I talked for another hour about this and that, everything and nothing. But in the back of my head, I couldn’t seem to shake her words. Be careful here, Billy. Real careful.
chapter seven
T he next day, at exactly eleven o’clock, my office phone rang.
“Hi, baby doll,” my mother s
aid.
My heart bounced like a tennis ball. My mother was back from Milan and calling me at eleven on a Monday, just as she always did. It was like normal! “Mom, I miss you.”
“You too, sweetie.” But she sounded distracted. There was static behind her words, as if she was in a windy tunnel. “I’m on the plane coming home. We land in an hour or two.”
“Do you want me to pick you up? I could get out early.” The airport pickup was something my mother always desired, something I rarely did, but I wanted to see her badly.
“Oh, no. You keep working.”
“Well, I could come out tonight, and we could make dinner.” There was nothing that made my mother happier than the thought of having one of her girls home with a pot simmering on the stove. The sad fact was this dream rarely became a reality.
“How about tomorrow night, sweetie? We can go out.”
“Out?” I said.
“I’ll meet you at Milrose. That way it’ll be right off the highway for you.”
I was shocked into momentary silence. Milrose was a restaurant and brewery in Barrington, and it was, just as my mother had said, right off the highway I would take from Chicago. I had suggested dinner there numerous times before, but my mother said the bar was too crowded and the food too pricey, so we always got together at her house.
“Do you want me to pick you up?” I said.
“No, no. I’ll see you there tomorrow. 7:00?”
“Okay. I won’t bring Chris, so we can have some girl time.”
The static grew louder, and then she was gone.
Later that morning, Evan stuck his head in my office. “How’d you feel yesterday?” His eyes twinkled mischievously.
“I assume you’re referring to the vodka, but I can hold my own.” I said this in a pompous voice, while I fiddled with a few pens, sticking them in the mug on my desktop.
“Since when?”
“You haven’t gone out with me for a while. You’re really too much of an amateur, so I had to move onto different pastures.”
“Oh, different pastures, huh?” He stepped into the office and leaned against the wall, one leg crossed, toe on the ground. He wore gray pants and a light blue shirt. “I thought your other pasture was at home in front of the TV with your husband.”
“Nope, that’s not the case.” And it wasn’t. Although he was right about the TV, he wasn’t right about Chris. Until the last week, we hadn’t spent much time together at all.
Evan made another joke about my “pastures,” and we bantered, just like we’d done many times before, but I noticed his words were more flirty than usual, his jaunty lean against the wall more practiced. And Evan was giving me “the eyes”-a pointed stare I’d seen him give other women when the conversation was light but he was imagining something much heavier.
“How about lunch?” Evan said. “I was thinking RL.”
Although Evan and I frequently had lunch together, it was usually at Subway or the salad place downstairs. RL, on the other hand, the very chic Ralph Lauren café, was Evan’s official first date spot.
“We don’t need anything fancy,” I said.
“I want to treat you.”
“Why?”
He uncrossed the leg and moved until he was standing in front of my desk. He leaned forward, hands on the desk, and a lock of blond hair fell across his eyes. “Why do you think, Billy?”
The sound of my name coming from his mouth made me shiver. I could remember vividly the feel of his breath in my ear Saturday night. “I’m not sure. Why don’t you spell it out for me?” I couldn’t help it. I leaned forward too, and now our faces were only a few inches apart.
We stared into each other’s eyes. I found it hard to get air in my chest. I had a crazy desire to press into his lips.
Finally, he spoke. “Because of your promotion. We never got to celebrate.” His words were mundane, but his voice husky, as if imparting an erotic secret.
“Uh-huh,” I said, my lungs still struggling to work.
“Well?” Evan said. He smiled with one side of his face, the dimple there denting his skin adorably.
I made myself sit back in my chair. Once the nearness of him was gone, I was left feeling cold and silly. “I think I’d better pass.”
“Why?”
I murmured excuses about meetings and projects, but the truth was plain-I couldn’t trust myself around Evan.
As I ate a carry-out Caesar salad, Lizbeth came into my office. She was more comfortable around me since our talk last week, yet still not truly relaxed. As a result, I tried hard to be engaging and kind, but managerial and bosslike. This attitude also helped to convince myself that I really was a VP.
“What’s up today?” I said through a bite of salad.
“Some papers for you to sign. Oh, and the HR department wants to know if you got the signed severance agreement from Alexa.”
I swallowed hard on a rough piece of lettuce. The guilt of firing Alexa was still eating at me. I’d gotten a taste of power, and she was the first one in my line of fire. “You haven’t seen anything come through the mail?”
Lizbeth shook her head. “Let’s hope she doesn’t sue the company. Roslyn would be so pissed.”
“Is that a possibility?”
“That’s what HR said.”
I pushed my salad away, feeling queasy. I’d wrongfully fired a colleague-just because I could-I’d given her a pittance of a severance, and now I might have landed the company in litigation. “Maybe I can help her get a job,” I mused aloud. But even as I said it, I knew it would be tough. I’d been keeping an eye on the city’s PR firms for over a year, and the industry was as dry as ash.
“Whatever you want to do,” Lizbeth said. “Here’s her info if you want to call her.” She handed me a sheet listing Alexa’s name, address and other identifying information.
I looked it over, staring at Alexa’s address. She lived on West Division. Probably in one of those new loft condos. Of course, Alexa might have a hard time affording the new loft condo with her ten days of severance pay. The guilt rose higher in my chest.
“I’ll work on it,” I told Lizbeth.
I immediately called HR and asked if I could get Alexa a longer severance. No go, the HR director told me. It was the company’s policy not to change a severance once set, especially if the employee had been terminated for cause as Alexa had. She reminded me that we needed the signed severance agreement.
My guilt felt like it was scraping away my insides.
I sat silently at my desk until I knew what to do. After work, I’d stop by Alexa’s place, and bring her flowers or something suitably apologetic. I’d tell her I was sorry for the way things had gone down, and I’d tell her that I would help her in any way I could. And then I’d get her to put pen to paper.
I pulled my salad toward me and at the same time pushed Alexa from my mind. It would be all right, I told myself. For both of us.
At six o’clock, I sat in the back of a cab traveling west on Division. In my lap was an enormous fern. I’d spent an inordinate amount of time at the florist, debating hydrangeas versus orchids, tulips versus sunflowers. Nothing seemed right. Finally, I settled on a huge fern in a yellow ceramic holder. The flowers had seemed too romantic, but the fern, I’d decided, had a hail-fellow-well-met effect and said, I’m sorry I fired you and gave you a shitty severance, but you’ll be just fine.
I couldn’t see in front of me, due to the fern, but out the side window, I watched as the cab passed the entrance to the highway and continued west. Ashland went by in a blur, the hip shops and cafés of Wicker Park starting to show themselves. Of course, Alexa would live somewhere trendy. She was probably from a waspy family in Kenilworth but considered herself “slumming” in the now-posh confines of Wicker Park. She began to annoy me again, if only in my head. I saw those cashmere twinsets and her smug grin. I remembered her uncanny ability to get me to do her work.
Suddenly, the fern seemed obscene. She had deserved to be fired
, and she certainly didn’t need my help. She probably wouldn’t even want it.
I shoved the fern onto the seat next to me. It would look good in my house, next to Chris’s big chair. I wanted to tell the cabbie to turn around.
I had just leaned forward and angled my head through the fiberglass window to speak to the driver when I noticed that we’d passed Damen. The cab kept moving. The trendy stores of Wicker Park gave way to Hispanic grocery stores and rundown bars.
“Excuse me,” I said to the cabbie. “Have we gone too far?”
“Nope. Another eight blocks.”
I sat back and watched the neighborhood grow steadily more sketchy. The cars were no longer of the Lexus or Mercedes variety, but appeared to be taken from a Starsky & Hutch rerun. People ambled on the street and sat on front stoops as if there was nowhere in the world to go.
Finally, the cab pulled to the curb and pointed across the street. “There’s your address.”
I checked it with the one I’d written down at the office. It was right. But how could this be? The building was cement block. The yard was made of dirt, with not a green bush or tree in sight. Some of the windows were boarded up. Others had sheets hanging in front of them.
“Want me to wait?” the cabbie said. “This isn’t such a hot neighborhood.”
“Thank you,” I said distractedly, still staring at the building. “That would be great.”
I hefted the fern up the sidewalk, glancing around nervously. This had to be a massive mistake. There was no way Alexa lived here.
But there was her last name-Villa-right on the buzzer box for apartment 3A. I pushed it. Nothing. I pushed again, relief filling me. No one home! I should have had the damn fern delivered.
But then the door clicked, followed by a faint buzz. The box crackled and a voice said something that sounded like, “Come on,” but could have been, “Up yours.”
The Night I got Lucky Page 8