Bicoastal Babe (34 page)

Down the sidewalk I see a pay phone. I drag my bags over, pick up the receiver and ask to place a credit card call. After a moment it rings, but all I get is a machine.

“Danny, it’s Lindsey. Are you there?” Nothing. “Listen, I wanted to say… Well, I just wanted to… Boy, I’m not so good at finishing sentences lately.” I sigh. “But if you’re there, I wanted you to know that I think maybe I was wrong. Because I’m stupid. And I’m flailing. And I’m just trying to… Well, forget it. Anyway, you probably don’t ever want to… but I… well… I was hoping that you’d maybe call me back. You have my cell phone number. Well, it’s dead at the moment, but…” I sound like an ass. “But please give me a call. I’d like to hear your voice.”

I hang up.
I’d like to hear your voice?
I don’t just sound like an ass.

“Hey, lady. What are you doing?” a gruff, gravelly voice asks. “Airport don’t open until four.”

I turn to see one of the janitors, out on his smoke break. He’s an old black guy with gray hair and a bit of gray stubble on his chin.

“I know. I’m a little early,” I say sadly. “I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

“You homeless?”

I look down at my Louis Vuitton travel bag in confusion. Is he serious?

“No, of course not. I’m just… I’m just a little early.”

“Want one?” he offers me a cigarette.

“Um… yeah, what the hell.” I take the cigarette and he offers a light. For a moment we smoke together in silence. Two lonely people together on a cold night.

“So you live here in New York?” he asks.

I look down at the ground. “No. Not really. I don’t know.” I sigh. “Maybe I am homeless.”

“Well, where’s all your stuff?”

“My stuff’s in Chicago.”

“You on your way back there?”

I nod.

“That’s good.” He nods. “Always nice to get home.”

He pitches his cigarette onto the sidewalk and looks me up and down. I pitch mine too and offer up the best puppy-dog eyes I can possibly muster. Then I sniffle for good measure and give a little shiver.

“Oh, all right,” he says. “Come with me.”

He unlocks the door and points me toward a group of chairs over by the window. “You can wait it out over there. But don’t call attention to yourself.”

I nod obediently.

“And if anyone sees you, don’t tell ’em I let you in.”

“Got it. Thank you.”

He picks up his mop and starts to lumber away, but I call out to him.

“Hey, mister. I mean it. Thanks a lot.” I give him a warm smile from my warm heart, which is a lot easier now that I’m warm.

“No worries, girlie. Just reaching out.” He waves over his shoulder. “Only way to live, you know.”

His words jab me and I can feel my brow darken. That’s strange, I think. I’ve heard those words before.

•   •   •

I must have fallen into a pretty deep sleep slumped over in my chair, because when I wake up there are feet all around me, hustling and bustling between the check-in and the security lines. I sit up, yawn, and rub my eyes. I’m groggy from sleeping only a couple hours, and it takes me a minute to focus.

“I was wondering if I should wake you up for a Bloody Mary, or just steal your Louis Vuitton and call it a day.”

My head snaps around to see Liz Gordon wheeling a gorgeous Prada travel bag toward my chair. “Liz!”

“And what, pray tell, are you doing in New York? I never authorized another trip out here, did I?”

“No. I paid for it myself. I wanted to… well, I thought…”

“Never mind, darling. Tell me later. I can’t miss this flight. I assume you’re on your way back to Chicago?”

I nod.

“Then come with me.”

“But I don’t even know if I can get on the flight.”

“Remember who you’re talking to, Lindsey. There’s no such thing as can’t!” she trills, then motions me along.

I smile as I scramble to gather my bags. This feels like the old Liz.

“Come on, dear. Push, push.” Ten minutes later Liz shoves me into a first-class seat, then hands her coat to a flight attendant and slides in alongside me.

“So, Liz. What are you doing in New York?”

“I had some matters to clear up. Long story. But by the way, the newsletter looked spectacular. Well done, Lindsey. See, you didn’t need that little smarty-pants twit after all.”

“Liz,” I say excitedly. “Did you see
DayLine NBC
yesterday morning?”

“Of course not. Do I look like I sit around in my PJs, eating Cap’n Crunch and watching daytime TV?”

“Well, no, but –”

“But I did have it sent over from the network. Right after I kicked Jen’s bony ass out of the New York apartment and padlocked the door.”

“That was you? I thought the apartment was long gone.”

“Well, it went back on the market yesterday.”

I look down at my lap sadly.

“And, of course, I rented it again this morning.”

My head snaps back up. “What? Why?”

“You’re going to need it, Lindsey.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, come on. You didn’t think I was down for the count, did you? I just sold the Gordon half of Gordon-Taylor to Ashford Marketing Corp. They’re the biggest personal products marketing agency in Chicago. They want to integrate most of our departments into their expansion, and they’ve incorporated an outside investor to take over
The Pulse
. That’s you, by the way, in case you weren’t following.”

“Just me?”

“It’ll be a bit bigger than you. But you’ll be second in command under the new management. I’ll have my eye on it too, don’t worry.”

Wow. I feel glued to the chair.

“But believe you me: This time there will be contracts. Liz Gordon doesn’t make the same mistake twice. Well, usually she doesn’t even make it once. But live and learn, Lindsey. This is for real, and it’s going to be a lot bigger and better than it was before. So you might want to think about packing up and getting serious.”

“So… I’ll be moving to New York then.”

Liz gives me a funny look. “Is that a problem?”

I bite my lip and glance out the window. I don’t know quite how to say this to Liz, who appears to be, once again, offering me the opportunity of a lifetime.

“The only thing, Liz, is that I… well, it’s just that I…”

“Spit it out, Lindsey.”

“It’s just that I… I mean, I… well, I…” I look up at Liz. “I care about the grass.”

“You care about the grass.”

“Yeah. I do. I really do. I care about the grass.” And it’s true. I really do.

Liz laughs. “So you’ll have plenty of grass when you’re in L.A. Your life isn’t changing, darling. You’re still my little bicoastal babe.”

And with that, we fly to Chicago.

“L
indsey that’s fantastic!” Carmen squeals into the phone. “I couldn’t be happier. Will you keep the apartment in our building?”

“I think so, if Liz can renew the lease. I’m giving up my apartment here in Chicago and splitting the rent with Liz on both the New York place and the L.A. place.”

“Wow. So it’s really real, huh?”

“Yeah. It’s really real. And it’s freaking me out. What if the same thing happens again?”

“It won’t,” she reassures me.

“What if I mess it all up?”

“You won’t.”

“But what if I hate it? Or I burn out? Or run into Jen in a dark alley and then get thrown into jail for murder with a blunt object?”

“Okay, Lindsey. Here’s what you do. Go to the airport and buy an open-dated, one-way ticket to Chicago. Then tuck it away somewhere, just so you have the security of knowing it’s there.”

“You think?”

“It’s easier to launch into space if you know you have a cushion to land on in case the rocket sputters a little.”

“Maybe you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right. Now, another martini?” Through the phone I can hear the ice clinking in her shaker, and I pick up my own and give it a swirl.

“So… have you told Danny the news?”

“It’s kind of hard to tell news to someone who won’t pick up the phone or even call you back.”

“How many times have you called him?”

“Three. Well, three actual voice messages. But that’s not counting twelve hang-ups and thirty-nine psychic emissions of the ‘call me’ vibe that I’ve been sending telepathically. Do you think he’s getting those?”

“Well, don’t hate me, but can you blame him? You kind of treated him like your West Coast booty call. And you made the mistake of telling him about Victor.”

“I didn’t tell him about Victor. I told the truth when he asked – that I was dating in New York too. And why shouldn’t I? Danny never mentioned getting serious. Not once.”

There is a pause on the other end of the phone. Then I can hear Carmen lighting a cigarette. “Lindsey, can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“You were all set to move back to New York full-time and, I’m assuming, make Victor a bigger thing in your life. But after you walked in on him and Jen, you suddenly went running back to Danny. So, are you sure it’s Danny you want? Or are you just looking for a consolation prize?”

Her question hits me in the stomach, and a very long moment goes by where I don’t answer at all.

“Well, just think about it,” she goes on. “But let me tell you what’s going on in L.A. You would not believe what happened with Baseball Cap Guy…”

•   •   •

Fate. What a concept. It can be so cruel, like when you make one teeny-tiny mistake in your love life and it steps right in, shits on your parade, and laughs in your face when you gently suggest that perhaps a second chance may be in order. Then on the other hand, it can be full of generous surprises, like when you lose a job but find a new one that is not only better, but comes with an entire month off in between. And then there are the times when you can’t quite determine whether fate likes you or hates you. Like when it decides that your month off from work will fall right before and during the Christmas holiday.

I actually had made plans with Danny for Christmas. For months we’d been talking about putting up a tree in his apartment, and having a wonderful evening adorning the whole place, playing Christmas music and drinking hot spiked cider while frosting and decorating cutout cookies.

But apparently fate had its own opinion about that plan too. The thing is, I’ve given a lot of thought to Carmen’s question about Danny. And I realized that when I called him that night from JFK, it wasn’t about claiming any consolation prizes. It was about feeling lost and alone, and about realizing that without him in my life, at least in some way or to some extent, I really am. Lost and alone.

So here I sit, back in the old suburban Chicago homestead, solo and lonely once again. But it’s really not so bad. I forgot how relaxing it was to sit out on my patio in my long underwear and big wool sweater, having nutmeg wine and cigarettes as I watch the falling snow. And the absence of male presence means I can eat as many of those frosted cookies as I like, and not care a bit about appearing like a puffy, cookie-mongering waste-disposal system with an emotional eating disorder and a bad hangover. Of course, in order to eat all those cookies, I’d have to get off my ass and actually make them.

But what’s the fucking point? As I just stated, I have no one to eat them with. Decorating cookies is a ritual of holiday joy. It goes hand in hand with love, laughter, and togetherness. It’s not meant to be done alone, in pajamas you haven’t taken off in three days, with Dr. Phil in the background droning on about the hidden dangers of silicone breast implants.

Okay,
I tell myself.
Stop. Just stop.
Something’s gotta give here. As I look around my apartment, I realize that if I don’t do something drastic, I’ll be right back where I started last summer: drowning in self-pity and ready to chuck it all for a life of misery and despair. And that’s not who I am anymore.

Oh, hell. I don’t even know who I am. I’m supposedly a bicoastal trend goddess who jet sets between the two coolest cities in the world, living a life of glamour and excitement. Yet being back in my old apartment, I feel like the same old boring Lindsey Miller who sits around in a mud mask all night, rereading her horoscope until she finds a way to interpret the message along the lines of whatever romantic mini-drama happens to be occurring in her life at the moment.

I pick up the phone, hold it in my hand for a minute, and then dial.

“I’m scared.”

“Oh, Lindsey,” Holly says sympathetically. “Scared of what?”

“Scared of this new job. Of being in charge of the department and screwing it all up. I don’t know. Mostly scared of giving up my apartment here.”

“It’s just an apartment. If things don’t work out, you can always find a new one.”

“Yeah, but it’s that feeling of not having a real home. Not having somewhere to come back to, just in case.”

“Did you take Carmen’s advice?” she asks. “Did you buy that one way ticket?”

“No, not yet,” I say sadly.

“Okay. It’s decided. You need to get dressed, because I’m coming over and we’re taking a little ride. I mean it, Lindsey. You’d better be in something other that those ratty pajamas when I get there.”

She hangs up.

An hour later we’re standing in line at O’Hare airport. I did put on a pair of jeans and a wool cardigan. But underneath I left on the pajama top, just to be defiant.

“Next!” the airline lady calls out.

We step up to the counter. “Hi. I’d like to purchase a ticket.”

“To where?”

“To here. Chicago.”

Holly gives me a poke in the ribs.

“And that’ll be open-ended. And one-way. An open-ended, one-way ticket to Chicago.”

•   •   •

“See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Holly and I are back home. And we’ve got Christmas music on, and we’re drinking hot spiked cider, and we are sitting at my kitchen table, frosting Santa-shaped cutout cookies. And I am having fun.

“I actually feel a little better about things,” I say with surprise. “Carmen was right.” I pop a cinnamon heart onto where Santa’s eye should be, then add an extra one for his belly button. “Can I give my next Santa a blue hat?”

“Lindsey, can I ask you something?”