Engaging Men (21 page)

I think she might have been trying on almost as many rings as I was. There’s nothing like the feeling of a diamond on your hand. I realized I could become a Diamond District addict, too. Yet despite all my eagerness, none of the styles stood out as something I could see myself wearing every day. Something I would cherish forever.

Until I moved on to my third tray and my eye fell upon a round stone set in platinum, horizontal baguettes on either side.

“That’s it,” I breathed, leaning over the ring like a bee drawn to honey. Without hesitation, I pulled it from the tray and slid it on my hand.

“That’s a classy ring,” Rudy said, eyeing my choice with satisfaction. “And a helluva stone, too. Almost a carat and a half. Tiffany setting,” he continued. Then, when he saw the confused look on my face, he explained, “Four prongs, round stone, two baguettes. It’s a classic.”

A classic. Yes, that was what I wanted to wear for the rest of my days, I thought, gazing at the ring once more.

“You sure you like that one, Ange?” Michelle said, as I held my hand out to relish the splendor of it. looks kinda…plain.“

“No,” I protested, still staring at my hand. “It’s…perfect.”

“I think it’s love!” Rudy said with another chuckle. “Ain’t nothing like the sight of a beautiful woman in love,” he continued, gazing on me with what looked like genuine fondness, despite the fact that I had known him all of a half an hour.

I decided now might be an ideal moment to get a price quote from good old Rudy. “How much?” I asked.

“For you?” he said without batting an eye. “I’ll give it to you for ten thousand.” Then he winked. “Nine thousand if he’s a good guy.”

Well, I thought, that seemed reasonable enough. But then, I realized, as a woman who had once spent two hundred bucks on a pair of strappy sandals I’d only gotten one season out of, I was not the best judge of reasonable. Maybe nine thousand dollars was too much to spend for a…a piece of jewelry.

“I’m not sure what Kirk’s budget is,” I said finally, wondering if Kirk had even budgeted in a ring yet. Because he did budget everything, efficient boyfriend that he was.

“Don’t tell me Bill Gates, Junior, has got you on a budget!” Michelle exclaimed.

“He’s not Bill Gates, Junior—he’s just starting out,” I said, glancing quickly at Rudy with embarrassment.

“Sweetheart, sweetheart,” Rudy said, touching my cheek gently with one chubby hand. “Doesn’t matter if he’s as poor as Mother Teresa. The man loves you, he’s gotta do the right thing.”

I smiled uncomfortably, looking down at that ring once more. And I got that feeling again. Meant-to-be.

“I tell you what,” Rudy said, grabbing a notepad and pen from behind the counter. “I’ll put all the information here about the cut, the clarity and the weight,” he continued, “and you look around, see if you get a better price. All my diamonds are certified—you won’t find a better deal.”

I felt better as I took the paper. Maybe I just needed to research it a little. I mean, I didn’t even know what those figures he’d scratched out meant. And Kirk always liked to know what he was investing in before he put down his money.

Me, on the other hand, I thought, glancing down at that ring again…1 didn’t need to know anything more. This was the ring I wanted.

Of course, I had to take it off eventually. And I did, with great reluctance.

Then we moved on to tennis bracelets, and I watched as Michelle began to try them on and Rudy chattered merrily about how he had just gotten one for Vicky to celebrate their first grandchild together. Maybe it was the obvious love in Rudy’s voice as he spoke of sharing new grandparenthood with his wife, or maybe it was the cheerful confidence with which Michelle finally settled on the bracelet Rudy might suggest Frankie buy on his next trip in, but suddenly I felt good again. Strong. Satisfied. And I realized I hadn’t felt that way since this whole engagement plot began.

“See? Didn’t I tell you Rudy was great?” Michelle said after we said our goodbyes and headed out the door.

I smiled as a fresh wave of satisfaction washed over me. Yes, everything was great.

I was starting to believe I could have everything I wanted.

What I wanted, more than anything, as I headed home from work that night, was to be with Kirk. To revel in the romance my little ring-shopping expedition had induced.

To feel as loved as a woman should when she was contemplating her life with a man.

But I was not granted this wish. Kirk, it seemed, had other things on his mind. Like his latest software design, which he swore had a glitch that prevented him from seeing me that night. Or the night after that. In fact, the week flew by with barely more than a few brief good-night phone calls.

Now I am not a superstitious person (though Justin will tell you I am), but I am prone to believe in signs. Like the way my father’s tomato plants didn’t bear any fruit the summer he died (Sonny said it was the new fertilizer he’d used, but I knew otherwise) or how I blew an audition for a pain-reliever commercial right after Justin accidentally put my Nikes on the kitchen table. Okay, okay, so I’m a little superstitious. Can you blame me? I grew up with a mother who honestly believed a pair of shoes on the table could bring bad luck. I suppose her belief might have some basis in reality. ‘Cause if you think about it, a pair of shoes on the table isn’t such a good thing, especially if you’ve spent half the day wandering around New York City in them. Think about how easily some parasite can find its way into your take-out Chinese. You could be dead before you even unwrapped the fortune cookie.

So forgive me if I got a little worried about the fact that now that Kirk had pledged to make me a real part of his life, he disappeared, quite literally, from mine.

“You think we could take the weekend off?” he said when Friday rolled around. “The CEO of Norwood just told me he’s got another designer putting in a proposal. Now that I’ve got competition, I need to make sure my design is even better.”

I had been looking forward to a little TLC (not to mention a little’s-e-x). So much for that idea.

“These are the things you have to accept about Kirk if you really want to spend your life with him,” Grace said when I called her to complain.

“What, that I’m never going to see him again? We used to hang out three or four times a week, and now suddenly he’s working all kinds of crazy hours for this new client he’s hoping to land. I just don’t get it.”

“He’s ambitious. That’s one of the things you love about him, as I recall,” she replied. Leave it to Grace to remind me of all the reasons I should be happy. And I was happy. I think.

“Isn’t that what you loved about Drew, too?” I asked, bringing up the forbidden subject of Grace’s recently-discarded-but-otherwise-perfect beau.

In typical Grace fashion, she changed the subject. “Look, maybe instead of sitting around waiting for Kirk, you ought to do something for yourself. You know you don’t really want to sign that network contract, so you need to start auditioning again. Why don’t you call that agent Josh hooked you up with last year? See if she’ll take you on now.”

She was right, as usual. But that didn’t mean I was ready to follow her advice. First of all, that would require a phone call to Josh to get the agent’s number, as Ms. Viveca Withers hadn’t exactly forked over her business card when Josh introduced me to her almost a year ago. And since I hadn’t spoken to Josh ever since I learned I wouldn’t be buying a dress to attend the two-hundred-dollar-a-head affair I’m sure Emily Fairbanks was planning, I wasn’t so inclined to call. But as luck would have it, Josh called me the following week.

“Hey, Ange, how’s it going?” he began, catching me at home (where I seemed to be all the time now that Kirk wasn’t around), and acting as if he hadn’t thrown me over as a friend at his future wife’s request.

“Sorry I haven’t been in touch,” he continued, taking control of the conversation by not acknowledging that I hadn’t exactly called him either. “I’ve been so busy with the wedding plans and all. You wouldn’t believe the number of decisions you gotta make. Tablecloths. Hors d’oeuvres…”

Guest list, I thought to myself but didn’t say. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how hurt I still was.

I decided to change the subject, because clearly the only reason Josh had called was to let me know how thrillingly his whole life was falling into place. So I let him know where I was at. “Hey, I’m thinking about auditioning again. Maybe even getting an agent. Do you still have Viveca’s phone number?”

“Didn’t Viveca decide not to take you on?” he asked.

“No,” I replied, defensive. “She just thought I should broaden my experience first. You know, get some work in TV on my resume. And now that I have six months’ worth—“

“On that kids’ show? Ange, I don’t think that’s what she meant—”

“Hey, it’s work in front of a camera, isn’t it? Besides, the show has a network interested in it,” I said, somewhat smugly, I’ll admit.

“Is that right?” he asked, surprised.

“Uh-huh. But you know, even though they’re probably going to offer me a big fat contract, I should keep my options open.”

“Well, to be honest, Ange, a contract with a network might just be your best option. u know what it’s like out there. And you’re not getting any younger…”

“Look, are you gonna give me the number or not?”

“Okay,” he said, but his tone implied it was useless. So much for supporting your fellow actor. Oh, that’s right. Josh wasn’t acting anymore. Or acting much like a friend either. It made me sad. After all, Josh had been the one to help me through my father’s death, encouraging me to keep working, to channel my grief into my acting. And he had been right, too. Two months after we had buried my father, I had been a finalist for an Obie award for my portrayal of a grieving widow in Nightfall, the hottest off-off-Broadway ticket that season. I don’t think I’ve done any finer work since. Which made me hesitate as I jotted down the phone number Josh rattled off to me a few moments later. Maybe he was right. Maybe I wasn’t ready to pursue a big-time agent like iveca Withers.

But if Josh’s phone call had left me discouraged, the call I put in to the Actors’ Forum, which was the name of the agency Viveca Withers headed up, made my spirits skyrocket. So much so, I felt stupid for spending the whole day avoiding the phone and angsting over what I would say. But when I finally did make the call—at four forty-five on Monday (I think I was half hoping she would be gone for the day), I was pleasantly surprised to find that she was not only in but eager to talk to me. The moment I told the secretary who answered the phone who I was (that is, Angela DiFranco, co-host of Rise and Shine), she put me on hold, to “see if Ms. Withers was available.” Not only was Ms. Withers available, but she picked up moments later, chatting me up as if I were some big box-office draw rather than the somewhat disenchanted host of a cable-access kiddie program.