On the Verge (37 page)

“No, I find this more interesting than anything my research could tell me. I’m not a creative person, so it’s beneficial to hear this side.” When he says that I think of Todd.

“I’m not creative, either, that’s the problem. I can’t remember the last time I was creative. No, I can, it was probably a week before I graduated college. I’m learning a harsh reality, that creativity falls by the wayside once you get out of school. There’s no time to be creative anymore. No one cares. And you, you must be creative. Look at everything you own.”

“Creativity comes in different ways. I’m more of a creative thinker, that’s my secret.” Is Prescott really letting me in on his secret? “Eve, what is it you want to do?”

“I don’t know. I mean, I like to write, I like to go out, I like to believe there is more out there than what’s in my life. I would love to encompass that in a magazine.”

“What kind of magazine?”

“I don’t know. I always know when I’m drunk. Got any mar
garita mix?” He shakes his head. Maybe I’m getting too familiar. “I guess just something that was fun and cool and made you laugh as you realized that you were slowly becoming an adult. A magazine about people who take chances and have fun, but for people who are stuck in a rut. A magazine that shows you the possibilities. A magazine for people my age, not just women. People who are waiting for the better thing, you know. For people who are on the verge. Of what? I don’t know, neither will they. Does that sound totally naive?” He shakes his head.

“So why don’t you start it?”

“How am I going to start it? I don’t have capital. My parents aren’t rich. I’ve got no real connections—I went to a state school. It’s just something we talk about when we’re drunk. I think it’s easier to let my brain be sucked out while I sit at my computer inputting names or staring at the screen saver. I actually changed it, finally. I put the New York skyline. I don’t know why I am talking so much. I’m not making any sense. That’s the problem. I don’t know the first thing about starting a magazine. I totally lack discipline to do anything like that anyway.” Prescott nods at me.

“Sounds like a convenient excuse, Eve.” I feel super small. “If this is something you want, you have to go for it. It isn’t going to fall into your lap. Not in this town. There’s money to be made, Eve, and fun to be had, but you have to work for it. And I suggest you not work for me if that isn’t where your heart is.”

I look down at my hands. I can’t believe I’m admitting what a failure I am to the head of the company. I have lost all subtlety.

“Do you want it, Eve? Do you want to work for yourself and not for me? Do you want to not have your ‘brain sucked out of your head,’ as you say? Do you want to see what it is you’re on the verge of, even if it’s scary?

“When I bought this company I was running a few small printing presses in Chicago. Everyone told me not to do it. I didn’t listen. I believed in my vision, but I knew I was taking a risk. Ten years later…” He holds his hands up around him.

“It’s all about determination and discipline, Eve. Do you know what the most important thing is?” Sounds like it’s going to be another D-word. I shake my head.

“Um, just doing it?” He laughs.

“No, Eve. Courage. That’s the most important thing.”

“I see.” Maybe it’s his intent blue-eyed stare or just plain nerves, but I believe it.

“Well?” I wasn’t expecting to be put on the spot. I take a deep breath.

“Yes.” He nods and reaches into his desk. He opens up a large blue book and writes something down. Then he rips out a check and hands it to me. It’s a check for ten thousand dollars.

“You’re a temp so you can’t get severance pay, but you can cash this if—” and he looks at me hard “—and only if, you decide to take that leap. Consider it severance pay. Consider it capital. The rest you have to do on your own.”

“Can you do this?” I stare at the check, amazed. It looks real.

“I can do anything, I’m the president.”

“But, why? I mean I could be a loser. I could go quit and go shopping.”

“Well, I’ll take that risk. Also, you went to a state school. Everyone needs a little push. Consider it an investment. You don’t seem like you’d want to let me down and I like taking risks. These days, I can blame senility.”

“Thank you, I mean, wow, thanks.” He smiles.

“Besides, if the magazine ever does do so well it’s a threat, I will have the canceled check as proof that I invested.” He kind of lets that slide over my head, but I realize for all his claims of senility, he is still pretty sharp. “So anyway, my purpose in talking to you was also to find out about getting temps health care, but hopefully, you won’t be eligible for that soon. So I guess we’re done.”

“Done? Wow! I can’t believe it. I’ve been wanting to meet you for so long and now, well, now you gave me money.” He laughs again.

“Well you should’ve come up here sooner.”

I don’t tell anyone about the check. It’s too weird, too much pressure. I put the check in my room under my computer, which is gathering a lot of dust. I tell Tabitha that Prescott only cared about temp health care and that he was a sly old fox. I describe the office to her, relieved that we are on the phone, because I don’t want to see her drool.

It’s my birthday before I know it. I wake up with a little gift from Mother Nature—my period (I bet you thought I was going to wind up pregnant or something. Sorry, not that kind of story). I go home to my parents’ house for the night. My mom makes a big dinner and my dad actually helps. My mom seems happy about everything. She tells me she is optimistic about not losing her
breast and makes some kind of sex joke about my father that I block from my mind immediately. My parents are acting like people I don’t even know, but it’s sort of good in a way. I should be glad that they can pick up the pieces without their children.

My sister calls during dinner. She always has to get in on everything. My mom chats with her for a little while and then calls me over to talk to her

“Well, Eve—” she’s going to have an attitude, I can tell “—I just wanted to say happy birthday, you know. Hope you’re having a good day. I’ll be home in a couple of weeks to bring you your present. I just want to say also that I’m sorry about the fact that we haven’t talked in a couple of months. I hope to make up for that when we come home.”

“We?”

“Chuck is coming home with me. I think we should have a little announcement by the end of the summer.”

“What? Are you guys getting married? I thought you didn’t believe in that.”

“Eve, don’t say it too loud. I don’t want them to get too excited. We’ll probably just have a commitment ceremony.” I look over at my parents, who are holding hands and cuddling. I don’t know how much of this I can take.

“Monica, believe me, that’s the last thing you have to worry about. Besides, I’m surprised you don’t just announce it today so you can attempt to ruin my birthday.”

“Eve! Look, we really need to repair our relationship. This can be healed.”

“Repair our what?
You
look, Monica, we just have to hang out, okay? Let’s not get crazy. It doesn’t have to be a big deal!”

“Eve! You have anger issues!” I’m going to try not to raise my voice at her so my parents won’t get involved. At this point I think I could hop up on the table and do my “Lord of the Dance” impression without them taking their eyes off each other.

“Monica, I don’t want to fight with you now, okay? Let’s not write your master’s thesis on this. We’ll just hang out when you get back.”

“Okay, Eve, I hope so, because I value you and respect you.” Oh, the drama! “I want you to know I love you, honey.”

“Yeah, me, too, honey.” Help! Finally, I get her off the phone.

After dinner, my mom brings out a big cake. She and my dad sing “Happy Birthday” to me off key. It’s sort of cute. We all laugh. I hate to say this and I never thought I would, but seeing
my parents all lovey-dovey makes me kind of wish I had a man. I hate feeling lonely, especially on my birthday. It’s not even like I want to call Rob or anything. I guess I sort of wish he would have remembered it was my birthday, but I honestly don’t miss him as much as I thought I would. I’d just like to have someone to crawl into bed with on my birthday and get a good nasty present from.

Instead, I’m stuck in the den with the TV really loud, so I won’t have to imagine what the noises are from my parents’ bedroom.

Tabitha and Roseanne pretty much told me to make no plans for the weekend of my birthday. They claim to have something “fabulous” planned. I can’t wait.

I didn’t get a cake at work. That was the old regime. A cake for every birthday. Now, we’re lucky we get a happy birthday e-mail. I started in this department just after my birthday last year, so I missed out then. Always a bridesmaid, never a bride.

The first event of my fabulous weekend is a downtown spa. We are all led to separate rooms. A large Eastern European woman starts giving me a relaxing facial. She puts all kinds of heat on my face and I feel like I’m going to fall into the best sleep.

It doesn’t last. She takes off the warm wonderful stuff and is torturing the hell out of my face. It lasts an eternity. Is this the same thing happening to Tabitha and Roseanne? When it’s finally over the woman slathers moisturizer on me. Finally, she leaves, and she’s gone for a long amount of time. Is this a joke? Maybe I should get up and go. Just as I am about to get up, another woman comes in. She is Asian. She smiles at me sweetly, but now I’m really scared. I look at the woman, helplessly.

“Waxy, waxy,” she says. Oh, my God! Is she going to wax me? They never told me! Why are they trying to torture me? Hasn’t anyone told them that it’s my birthday?

The woman peels back my blanket with force. Suddenly, the calming music that was once playing has turned into a samba. Why is the score of my life so devastating?

“Off, off,” she says insistently. How could my so-called friends put me through this kind of torture? I take off my underwear. She is staring at my crotch. This is awful.

“Oh,” she nods, “what is your father?”

“Italian?” Is this what she means? It must be, because she nods.

“Yes, yes, Italian fathers make very hairy.” Hello! It’s my fucking birthday present! Do I need to be insulted on this the most
wondrous of weekends? I can’t believe these beauty regimes are making me feel so inadequate.

She then proceeds to rip the hairs off my most sensitive areas with no rhyme, reason, or consideration. Now, it’s personal. In the middle of all of it, her friend comes in. They start speaking rapidly in another language as my beauty care “professional” continues to rip the hair off of my inner thigh. Hey, ladies! Guess who’s not wearing any underwear? Can we maybe have this conversation over a drink
after
work? The worst part is I feel like they are talking about how hairy I am. Maybe I am just being paranoid, but this experience is not exactly something I want to share with the world.

“Lot of hair, lot of hair, almost finish.” It’s killing me. She does my legs next. It isn’t as bad, but I have a feeling she is smirking at me the whole time for having an Italian father. I hate her. Finally she slaps me down with cream and powder.

“Finishy, finishy,” she says. Great, thanks a lot. Maybe it’s return karma. Maybe I should have been kinder to Zeke. Finally, I get my robe back on. Just as I leave Tabitha is coming out of her little room. We look at each other, then touch each other’s faces. We head into the lounge where Roseanne is already sitting in her robe with a glass of wine, smiling like a superstar with glowing skin. Sometimes I forget how pretty she is.

“Wasn’t it great?” We sit on the couch next to her and pour some wine. We both take a swipe at her skin. It’s even smoother than Tabitha’s or mine.

“It was great except for the torturing parts,” says Tabitha.

Roseanne looks at us blankly. “Torturing parts? She said I had really great skin.” I think Tabitha is going to pummel her. We sit around and drink a bottle of wine. When we get back into the locker room, Tabitha and Roseanne are putting on little black dresses. They hand me one, too. It’s one of my dresses that they got out of my closet. I try to gauge their bikini areas—have they been waxed, too? Were they made to feel like part of a zoo?

“Where are we going?” I ask in the cab, but they ignore me. I can tell we are going farther and farther west. It’s exciting. When we finally stop, it looks like we are in a dark, seedy part of the village. It smells like the meat-packing district.

It may seem like we are in the middle of nowhere, but they both head down a staircase and then, we are in a funky little restaurant with a long bar. Sitting at the bar are some of my favorite people. Adrian, Anthony, Todd and Pete.

I start giggling for no reason and feel embarrassed all of a sudden. Everyone is kissing me and saying happy birthday and of course, Tab orders us shots. It’s some kind of strong whiskey. “Happy birthday, girl,” Tabitha says. “We need to catch up with those guys.” I look at Todd. He puts his arm around me.

“Yep, I got in at eight o’clock, haven’t slept in two days. I’m still on Australian time, but it’s all good.” I hug him, I don’t know why. It’s so nice to see him. I look over at Pete and Roseanne, they are starting to look like a real couple.

We are seated at a big table in the back. I am sort of in the middle of everyone.

Todd is next to me. His eyes are already drunk and so is his smile. Before I know it there is wine on the table and appetizers. The food comes and I can’t really concentrate on anyone’s conversation. I keep smiling at Todd without really being able to hear what he is telling me. I feel like we are spectacles for all of the rest of the patrons and the restaurant staff, too. Are we being too loud?

Todd is feeding me some garlic mashed potatoes. I can feel my face is flushed. Everything is hitting me too fast. I get up to pee.

“Nice, Eve,” says Adrian, “get up, so we can order your dessert.” Everyone laughs except Roseanne. She follows me to the bathroom.

“Eve, it’s your birthday—you are the star. No one expects anything from you. Have a good time! Don’t worry about anything else.”