by Karyn Bosnak
“No.”
Nate was Daniel’s best friend in high school. He was the boy I went to the Santana concert to chase. He was the one I was trying to make jealous by sleeping with Daniel. Nate was my first, my #1.
As Daniel walks me to the door, he asks if he’ll see me at mass tomorrow.
“Yeah, maybe . . .” I say, clearly lying.
“You should come, really. You need Jesus in your life, Del.”
“I need a lot more than Jesus.”
bubble gum and puppy dogs
My apartment is on the fourth floor of a brownstone in Noho, a neighborhood in the East Village. As I climb (crawl?) the three flights of stairs, I try to be as quiet as I can. I don’t want to Michelle to know I’m home yet. I haven’t yet decided if I’m going to tell her about Roger.
By the time I get to my floor, I feel like I’ve climbed Mount Everest and collapse on the floor. I lay there for a moment and catch my breath when suddenly my neighbor’s door flies open, scaring the bejesus out of me. Before I have a chance to stand, four men who appear to be in their fifties walk out, three of them uniformed New York City policemen. When they see me, they smile.
“I guess Colin wasn’t the only one gettin’ into trouble last night,” one of them says.
As I struggle to my feet, my neighbor Colin appears in the doorway wearing nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs and a thin, white T-shirt. Running his hands through his short, dark, messy hair, he smirks when he sees me.
“Ah, don’t listen to him,” he says in a thick lyrical Irish brogue. “He’s just kidding.”
I smile and nod. I don’t know Colin very well. All I know is that he moved here a few months ago from Dublin and is gorgeous. He’s got big, brown puppy dog eyes with the kind of devilish twinkle in them that makes women melt and husbands worry. He’s kind of edgy looking, a little bit Johnny Depp in his younger days. My guess is we’re around the same age.
“Delilah, this is my dad,” he says, gesturing to the man standing next to him, the one not wearing the police uniform. He pronounces my name like me, which I think is cool. (Little things always amaze me when I’m hungover.)
Rather than say hello to me, Colin’s dad turns to him and hits him on shoulder. “Jaysus Christ, don’t be such a fecking disgrace, son! Go put your trousers on before talking to the lady, will ya?” He also has an Irish brogue.
“Ah, quit having a conniption,” Colin says, looking down at what he’s wearing. “I’m covered up, for Christ’s sake.” He then looks over at me. “Delilah, does my outfit bother ya?”
Does it bother me? His boxer briefs are actually the highlight of my last two days. “No, it’s fine,” I say, trying not to stare.
Colin turns to his dad and smiles. “See?”
Colin’s dad shakes his head, then walks over and takes my hand. “Jimmy Brody,” he says, introducing himself. “Nice to meet ya. Delilah, was it?”
“It was,” I say, nodding.
Jimmy smiles and turns to his friends. “Delilah, these are my friends. They’re all Jimmys too.” Starting with the one on the left, he goes down the line. “This is Jimmy Callahan, this is Jimmy Murphy, and this is Jimmy O’Shaughnessy.” He then addresses them as a group. “Jimmys, say hello to Delilah.”
All the Jimmys say hello. They’re obviously Irish, but unlike Colin and his dad, they have New York accents, so I’m guessing they’re not from Dublin. After shaking everyone’s hand, I turn to Colin. “I guess I know who to call next time I’m in trouble.”
Everyone laughs.
“Please,” bellows Jimmy Murphy. “As if our hands aren’t full enough with this one.” He hits Colin on the shoulder.
“Hey, I’ve never done nothin’ wrong,” Colin says, defending himself. The guilty smirk on his face, however, suggests otherwise.
“Oh right,” Jimmy O’Shaughnessy says loudly. “Do I have to remind you about public intoxication and disturbing the peace?” He turns to me. “He’s had two run-ins already since he’s been here, Delilah.”
“Yeah, you’ve got a criminal living next door to you,” Jimmy Callahan adds, winking.
“Oh, don’t go scaring the girl,” Colin says. “I’m no criminal. The first disturbance it was my birthday.”
“And ’twas it the second time, son?” Colin’s dad asks, even though it’s obvious he knows.
Covering Colin’s mouth, Jimmy Callahan answers for him. “I remember. It was the first snowfall of the season, and after making a snow angel in the middle of Park Avenue, your son started going on about how important it is to love the Mother Earth, and woke the whole block in the process.”
As all the Jimmys erupt in laughter, Colin’s face turns slightly red. “Yeah, yeah—laugh all you want,” he says, smiling. “I’m thankful to be here and don’t take this world for granted, what can I say?”
“Jimmys, we need to get going,” Jimmy Brody looking at his watch. “It was nice to meet you though, Delilah. I look forward to the next time.”
“Yeah, me too,” I say.
As the Jimmys head down the stairs, I say good-bye to Colin and unlock the door to my apartment. Just as I’m inside, Colin calls out to me, so I turn around. He’s still standing in his doorway. In his underwear. “Yeah?” I ask.
“I mean this in the nicest way,” he says, peering at me closely. “But you look a bit green.”
“Green?” I let out a laugh. “Since you’re Irish, I’m going to assume that’s some sort of compliment and let you off easy.”
“I’m sorry,” he says, letting out a chuckle. “What were you drinking last night?”
I hesitate for a second, afraid to say it. “Tequila,” I finally whisper. Colin shudders when I do. “I lost my job yesterday.”
“Ah . . . sorry ’bout that.” he says, looking at me with pity. “’Tis a good reason to get drunk out of your head though. Well, good luck gettin’ through the day.”
“Thanks.” After closing my door, I lean against the wall for a second to catch my breath. Gosh, he’s cute. Even though we have the only two apartments on this floor, I rarely see him and forgot what a looker he was. I hear him—he’s always coming and going late at night, always having people over at three o’clock in the morning—but never see him. I think he’s a bartender or something. We share a very thin wall, so I can pretty much hear every move he makes. The other day I caught a glimpse of him carrying a hula hoop up the stairs, and then later that night, around three in the morning or so, I heard people laughing in his apartment along with an occasional “Boing!” of the hoop hitting the wall. I think he was having some kind of late-night hula hoop party.
After gathering the strength to walk to the kitchen, I pour myself a glass of water and then plop down on the couch. Grabbing a pen and piece of paper off a side table, I decide to do what Daniel suggested and make a list of the twenty guys. On the left side of the sheet I write numbers one through twenty and then begin filling in some names. The first guy I ever slept with was my high school boyfriend, Nate. The second was his best friend, Daniel, Daniel the priest.
Oh, God. I can’t believe I had sex with a priest.
Roger was the most recent, #20. Greg the East Village Idiot was #19 and—
Suddenly there’s a knock at the door. Thinking it’s Michelle wanting to hear the scoop on last night, I walk over to the door and look through the peephole. Hmm. It’s Colin. And he’s still in his underwear. I wonder what he wants. I open the door.
“’Twill take the bite away,” he says, holding out a shot glass to me. It’s filled with some kind of amber-colored liquid. Whiskey, maybe?
“Thanks, but I can’t drink that,” I say shaking my head. Although I’m touched by his thoughtfulness (if bringing alcohol to someone who’s hungover could be considered thoughtful), my mouth waters just looking at it. I think I might get sick. “In fact, I’m not sure I’m ever gonna drink again.”
“First, you can drink it, and second, sobriety’s a deplorable affliction, so no going on the wa
gon.”
I let out a slight giggle. “Honestly, I don’t think I’ll be able to keep it down. Besides, doing shots when you’re hungover is a guy-thing, not a girl-thing.”
Colin waves his free hand in the air. “Ah—guy-thing, girl-thing—I’ll hear none of it. C’mon, just close your eyes, hold your nose, and you’ll be fine.”
When I don’t respond or move, Colin reaches over and wraps my hand around the shot glass himself. “It’ll make you feel better, I promise. And if you think it’s a guy-thing, I’ll close my eyes while you drink it.”
I think about it for a second. Maybe it will make me feel better. People I know are always doing this—having a beer or doing a shot the morning after a crazy night—and they swear it works. “Okay, fine,” I say giving in. “But don’t watch.”
Colin smiles and closes his eyes. “I promise, I won’t.”
Since Colin isn’t looking at me, I realize it’s the perfect opportunity to check out his legs. I didn’t want to stare earlier, but I caught a glimpse of them and they looked really nice. Looking down, I’m impressed at what I see. They’re tan but not too tan, muscular but not bulky, and hairy but not too hairy. They’re more than really nice; they’re perfect, actually. His toes are nice too. They’re not all gangly like some guys’—
“Whatcha doin’?” Colin suddenly asks, startling me. When I quickly look up, I’m relieved to find his eyes still closed. Thank God.
“Oh, uh . . . I’m just thinking, that’s all.”
Okay, enough with the legs—it’s time to get down to business. I hold up the shot glass. Although I’m tempted to toss its contents over my shoulder, I decide not to, so I close my eyes and think of happy things. Bubble gum and puppy dogs, bubble gum and puppy dogs, bubble gum and puppy dogs, bubble gum and—
Down the hatch it goes!
Just as I suspected it would, my mouth begins to water, so I shake my head or a few seconds to make it stop. When it finally does, I open my eyes and see Colin standing back a few feet from where he originally was, with a pained look on his face.
“You said you wouldn’t look!” I exclaim.
“I’m sorry, but when I heard ya shakin’, I got worried,” he explains. “Are ya gonna get sick?”
I shake my head. “No, I don’t think so.”
“At a girl,” he says, smiling big. He looks proud and, you know, he should.
For the next few seconds, the two of us stand in awkward silence, not sure what to say. “So, is your dad a policeman?” I eventually ask, after racking my brain.
“My dad? Oh, no,” Colin says, once again running a hand through his messy hair. “He works with them a lot though. He’s a private investigator, owns a big company here in New York, has for years. They find cheating spouses, bust people for ripping off insurance companies, stuff like that.”
“Oh, he’s not from Dublin? His accent is as heavy as yours.”
“Well, yeah, he is from Dublin, but he’s lived here in New York for the last twenty years or so. Divorced parents. He should’ve lost the accent long ago, but hasn’t. I joke with him about it all the time, accuse him of faking it to charm the ladies and stuff. You know?”
“Yeah, I get it,” I smile. “So is he why you moved here?”
Colin shakes his head. “No, I’m an actor.”
“An actor? Really?” I’m intrigued. “What kind of stuff do you . . . act in?”
“Well I had a small part on Law & Order last month, but other than that, I can usually be seen playing a bartender at the new vodka bar on Rivington.”
I laugh.
“Law & Order—that’s exciting.”
“Yeah, I s’pose,” he says modestly. Just then my phone rings, startling us both.
“I should get that,” I say. I then look at the shot glass in my hand and hand it back to him. “Oh, but here. Thanks.”
“Anytime. The color’s already coming back in your face.” Colin turns to walk away, but then quickly stops and turns back around. “Oh, Delilah?”
“Yes?”
“So, what’d you think?”
I’m confused. “Think of what?”
“Think of my legs?”
His legs? Oh my . . . As a smirk appears across his face, I realize he was peeking. I feel my face flush. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, trying to cover.
“Oh, sorry. My mistake,” Colin says, still smirking. He totally doesn’t believe me. “Well, have a nice day.”
“Yes, you too,” I say, trying to keep my cool.
After closing the door, I shake my head. The nerve of him! To peek is one thing. To call me out on it is another. It’s kind of . . . well, arrogant, to be honest. But whatever.
Hurrying over to the phone, I look at the caller ID and see that it’s my grandpa. After taking a deep breath, I raise my voice an octave, hoping to sound chipper, not hungover, and answer. “Hi, Grandpa!”
“Hey, Darlin’!” he exclaims. “Sorry I missed you at Daisy’s party last night, but by the time I got there, they said you left.”
“Oh!” I shout, disappointed. “I didn’t think you were coming.”
“Yeah, well, I got off work a little early.”
“Well, sorry I missed you.” I plop down on the couch. “Hey, what’d you think of Edward?”
“Oh, I liked him. He’s good man. And you know what they say, you choose your friends by their character and your socks by their color.”
I smile. I love that my seventy-five-year-old grandpa is so open-minded. Suddenly I realize there’s a spark in his voice. He’s usually pretty chipper, but this spark is different. Something’s up. “Grandpa, what’s going on? Why do you sound so happy?”
“Well . . . I’m moving to Las Vegas!” he gleefully exclaims.
“Las Vegas?” I sit up, slightly stunned. Like I said, my grandpa rarely leaves the East Coast. “What? Why?”
“I met someone. Or I should say I re-met someone. Do you remember Gloria from when you and Daisy were kids? We took you to the Bronx Zoo once, the time you cried because a llama peed on you in the petting zoo.” I remember Gloria, I remember the zoo, but I tried to bury the memory of that evil llama long ago. The thing practically attacked me.”
“Yeah, I remember.”
“She lives in Las Vegas now, in a retirement community, but has been in town for the last few weeks visiting her family. I ran into her at the Holiday Inn Lounge—I go there dancing sometimes—and we got to talking. I don’t know, we went to dinner, one thing led to another and now I’m gonna move in with her!”
Move in with her? Move away with her is more like it. This is not good, not good at all. From what I remember, this Gloria woman hung hippie beads all over her house, always burned incense and had carpet on the walls. When I point this out to my grandpa, that she might be a stoner, all he says is, “Oh, Delilah, settle down. They give marijuana to people with glaucoma. It’s not that bad for you.”
I’m truly dumbfounded. For a moment I feel like Carol Brady in that Brady Bunch episode where Greg becomes a hippie and moves into Mike’s den. Except in this case it’s not my son, it’s my grandpa, and he’s not moving into the den, he’s moving to Vegas. Suddenly I hear background music through the phone. “We built this city! We built this city on Rock and Roll—built this city. We built this city on Roccckkk aaand Rolllll!”
“Grandpa, are you listening to Jefferson Starship?”
“Yeah,” he says gleefully. “They play it at the lounge sometimes. It’s good, huh?”
“No!” I shout. I mean, is he kidding? “It’s horrible and so is this idea of you moving! You belong in Connecticut with your family, not in Las Vegas with some stoner hippie lady you re-met while dancing to Jefferson Starship!”
My grandpa is silent. My negative reaction is obviously not what he was expecting. After a few seconds he takes a deep breath and speaks.
“Delilah,” he says softly. “Connecticut gets cold in the winter; it makes my joints hurt. It’s warm year-
round where she lives—people drive around in golf carts for crying out loud. I don’t even need a car. I wanna hang out with people my own age. I need a change in my life.”
I interrupt. “Yeah, but—”
“Yeah but nothing,” my grandpa says, refusing to listen to what I have to say. “I’m doing this whether you like it or not, and I’m not calling for your permission but your blessing.”
I’m silent for a minute. My grandpa’s moving away? What a shitty ending to an already crappy day. “Are you sure you wanna do this?” I ask.
“Positive.”
Ever since Daisy and I were little, my grandpa has always told us that you know you’re in love when your heart goes “boom.” The way he explained this “boom” is that it’s not the giddy feeling you get when you first meet someone; it’s deeper than that. It’s more of a low, bellowing boom that resonates in your body the moment you realize you need someone, you love someone. It’s more a booooooom than a boom! I have yet to feel it, Daisy says she felt it with Edward, and my mom thinks my grandpa’s crazy.
“So did you feel—”
“Not yet,” he says, cutting me off. “But I’m hoping I will. We really clicked.”
My grandpa sounds happy when he says this, more happy than I’ve ever heard him sound. I don’t want him to leave, but it’s silly to expect that he’d stay just for me. If I re-met some old flame and fell in love, I’d probably move to wherever he lived to be with him. I want Grandpa to be happy, I do.
“Okay, fine,” I say reluctantly. “You have my blessing, but don’t let this Gloria woman boss you around because you’re gonna be living in her house.”
“I won’t. People change, Delilah.”
After getting the details of when he’s leaving and making farewell dinner plans, I hang up the phone and stare at the ceiling for a while. Thinking back to that day at the zoo, I never thought Gloria would be the one to convince my grandpa to leave the East Coast. He’s left before, yes, but only when my grandma was alive, which was way before my time. I never would’ve guessed she’d be the one he’d click with, but people change, I guess.
People change, I guess? Hmm. Suddenly getting an idea, I sit up.