Engaging Men (35 page)

Nothing at all.

Of course, I still said my prayers, just in case. But they felt more like a mind-numbing chant. And when I was done, I put in my requests.

Please, God, let us land safely. At LaGuardia. On the tarmac.

But as I glanced at Kirk, who was engrossed in a software magazine, I suddenly didn’t care where I landed.

Just kidding. I care, God, I care. Yes, I wanted to live and I wanted…

I closed my eyes, putting in another request.

I just want to be happy.

As a request, it was bit vague for me. What was happiness, anyway? I wondered now, watching as Kirk put down the magazine and pulled out his laptop, probably with the intent of diving right back into his work.

Now that was happiness, I thought, watching as the screen lit up before him and he typed in his password. He was so focused. I mean, any minute now he would be asked to shut down his computer for takeoff, yet there he was, using whatever time he had available to him to grab all he could get.

That was exactly what I loved about him. And it was also what I wanted for myself.

I reached over, ran the back of my palm over the stubble on his cheek, as if I could somehow capture some of that glow. He glanced up at me and smiled. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” I said, my voice strangled with a strange emotion I didn’t understand.

Or didn’t want to understand.

I‘m in a New York state of…mania.

When we stepped off the plane at LaGuardia, I could have kissed the ground. And I would have, if it weren’t a dirty breeding ground for disease. Still, I would take the dirty varnished floor of LaGuardia any day over the clean sterility of Logan Airport. I even felt a tickle of joy when, after we had gathered my suitcase from the baggage claim and headed for the taxi stand, I saw two businessmen fighting for a cab. “Listen, nimrod, I was waiting here first,” said the taller, clearly stronger of the two. That’s it, I thought. Tell him like it is. Now that’s a New Yorker for you—no pussyfooting around with that passive-aggressive politeness New Englanders prided themselves on.

These are my people, I thought, gazing around happily as we stepped into the taxi line.

I’ll admit I felt a twinge of guilt when I remembered that Kirk was New England born and bred.

Well, he was a New Yorker now. Just like me and Grace and even Justin, I thought happily, linking my arm in Kirk’s. Hell, Justin might even be more of a New Yorker than any of us, based on the purity of his love for this fine city.

Justin. I couldn’t wait to get home and see him. Or even Grace, for that matter, despite the newfangled version of my best friend I’d so recently been treated to. I missed my friends desperately. Which was probably why, when we finally did step into a cab, I found myself interrupting Kirk as he rattled off his address to the driver.

“Make that two stops. The second being Ninth Street and Avenue A.”

“You’re going home?” he said with surprise.

“Um, yeah. I have…stuff to do, and then there’s my big bag to lug home…”

Maybe it was the thought of that bag cluttering up his pristine apartment, but Kirk seemed satisfied to get out of the cab alone when we pulled up in front of his building. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said, grabbing his duffel and kissing my cheek clumsily as he scrambled out of the back seat.

As the cab rolled down Second Avenue toward the East Village, I felt reborn. Everything was possible here, I thought, as we turned down 10th Street and passed the Theatre for the New City, where I’d had one of my finer theatrical moments as Fefu, in Fefu and Her Friends.

This was New York Fucking City, after all.

Once I’d dragged my suitcase up the three flights, with assistance from David in three-B, whom I ran into in the lobby and who was more than happy to help a neighbor in need, I slipped my key into the lock. I couldn’t wait to tell Justin about my freaky weekend with the New Englandahs, as they called themselves.

But when I got through the door, the apartment was surprisingly quiet. No NPR. murmuring in the background. No clatter in the kitchen as Justin whipped together some new culinary delight. No Justin, I realized with keen disappointment.

Just me, three sofas, four TVs, six lamps, a tree swing…

And the azalea.

I sighed, pulled my bag into the middle of the living room and found a note on the coffee table in Justin’s loopy scrawl.

Welcome home, Angie! Off to Florida to surprise Lauren. Back next week. Don’t forget to water Bernadette!

Bernadette must be the azalea, I realized. Apparently our little tree had a name now.

I crumpled the note in a ball, aimed for the wastebasket in the kitchen and missed, my disappointment deepening. Must be nice to be Justin, able to run off to Florida whenever the mood struck.

Must be even nicer to be Lauren, was my next thought, and have a guy like Justin flying off at the drop of a hat, just to see you.

Ah well, I thought, grabbing the watering can and going to the kitchen to fill it. At least I had good old Bernadette.

And Grace, I remembered, once I’d watered the azalea.

I settled into sofa #3, which was swiftly becoming my favorite, probably due to its proximity to all technology of any importance in our apartment. Like the remote control. And the telephone. I picked up the receiver and was about to dial Grace, when I remembered there was someone I needed to inform right away that I was home (before she started calling all the hospitals in search of crash victims).

“Angela!” my mother cried with relief after I said hello. “Thank God, you’re home safe.”

I smiled. It was a relief to know that someone didn’t find my fears unfounded.

“Yes, I’m home.”

“So how was it?” she said, moving on to my emotional well-being now that she’d established I was in no physical danger.

“It was…fine,” I said. “Kirk’s family is…is nice.” I couldn’t tell her otherwise. Couldn’t allow her to try to force me to any conclusions about Kirk based on my weekend with his family. I wasn’t ready to draw any conclusions. I wasn’t even sure I had to. After all, I wasn’t engaged yet, right?

“Did they feed you good?” she asked now. My mother’s way of ascertaining goodness in other families is based solely on their ability to overfeed you.

“Yes.” Well, they had made an attempt, right? How did they know I didn’t like my steaks to moo back at me? Besides, the catered buffet at the christening had been good… if you liked that fresh from the aluminum tray, prefab taste.

“How’s Nonnie?” I asked.

“She’s fine. When I see her. Do you know that Artie Matarrazzo took her to the Labor Day dance at the Senior Citizens club on Avenue U tonight? Can you believe it? Your grandmother isn’t even a member!” she exclaimed, as if the fact that Nonnie hadn’t paid the yearly dues to join the senior club, yet still reaped the benefits, was what outraged her.

I had a feeling what was really bothering my mother was loneliness, as she went on to explain how Joey and Miranda had taken the kids and gone to Long Island for the holiday weekend and Sonny and Vanessa had gone to Vanessa’s parents‘ house. My mother was used to spending Labor Day with her family. But her family had grown up and we were going on with our lives. Something Ma needed to do herself.

“So what did you do today?” I asked.

“Oh, I went to see your father,” she said. What she meant was she went to see his grave, which was probably the most well-groomed plot in all of St. John’s Cemetery judging by how often she went there to plant flowers or tend to the ones currently there.

“Ma, you need a hobby,” I said. Or a man. Though that thought scared me. I couldn’t see anyone but my father with my mother. But my father was gone and my mother was only fifty-nine. She was going to be alone a long, long time.

“I don’t need anything,” she said, then sensing my sympathies, she immediately played on them. “So when are you coming here for dinner?”

“Soon,” I replied, but refrained from making definite plans. I didn’t want to risk going there right now. Not with Kirk. When suddenly things felt so…indefinite.

And maybe because my love life seemed indefinite, I found myself confessing to the definition my professional life had been taking on ever since Rena had announced the network was interested in Rise and Shine. I don’t know why I decided to share this bit of news with my mother tonight of all nights. Maybe I wanted to show her that my life was secure in some ways. That I might move on from this struggling actor role I’d been playing for so long to something that might have a future.

“Oh, Angela,” she said, clearly excited for me. “Your father would have been so proud.”

“Would he?” I blurted out.

“Well, why wouldn’t he be?” she responded. “He always wanted you to be happy, Angela.” Then she paused. “You are happy, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” I replied meekly, and then, because I didn’t want to explore the curl of unhappiness that had begun working its way through my system the moment I made this claim, I quickly wrapped up the call, saying I had to get to bed soon if I wanted to be my best for the happy little show that was to round out my happy little life.

Once I hung up with my mother, I immediately speed-dialed Grace, looking forward to what I hoped would be a more relaxing conversation.

“Hey,” I said when she picked up.

“HeyAngie,” she said, “hang on a sec.” I heard her speak to someone else—a male someone else—followed by the sound of a door shutting.

“Who was that?” I said, afraid to hope it might have been Drew. Maybe they’d had a big reconciliation over the weekend!

“That was Billy.”

“Oh,” I said, deflated. “I’ll let you go then, if you have company…” Far be it from me to keep Grace from great sex.

“No, I can talk,” she said. “He was on his way out the door when you called. You know he spent both Saturday and Sunday night here? At least he’s being a little more consistent this time,” she finished with a contented chuckle.

Consistent? Is that what Grace was hoping for nowadays? She’d had what looked to me like love, and now she was settling for a regular roll in the hay. But I didn’t have time to contemplate Grace’s new approach to men, because suddenly she had moved on to another man—mine.