On the Verge (42 page)

“Is it tragic?” she asks.

“No, I’m doing okay.”

“Want to have a final smoke break?” I look up at Jennifer, who is biting her lip and staring intently at the computer screen.

“Tabitha, I can’t, I’m teaching Jennifer something. I’ll call you tonight when I get home.”

“Are we going out for drinks?”

“Maybe later on—I’m going to need a little time to decompress.”

“Whatever. Call me when you’re over it.”

Jennifer has messed up and seems as if she is about to hyperventilate. I put my hand over hers on the mouse and lead her through the entry. We do it a couple of times and then I take my hand away and she does it herself. She smiles at me, calm now. I smile back. “You see, Jennifer, it’s all going to be okay.”

Later I’m ready to leave the building. I swear I’m not being dramatic, but my heart is racing as I ride down the elevator. I almost feel like I can’t walk out through the revolving doors. I stop for a second and watch the other people do it. Is this it? Is this what I want to do? Leave? Forever? I look at the expressions of the people who walk by. Some are a little annoyed that I have stopped right in their path, but the rest are smiling, thrilled that they have been released for a weekend. How will I ever appreciate anything without having a job that reminds me of how boring life can be? People are meant to hate their jobs, aren’t they? Isn’t that part of life? The part that makes everything else so sweet?

“Miss, can I help you?” The uniform guard is looking in my face.

“No, I was just standing.”

“Do you work here?” I open my mouth and take a deep breath. He is waiting for an answer.

“No, not anymore.”

When I leave the building I feel light and free. It isn’t like the last day of school or an awful class, it is even more intense. I turn and look up at the massive building. It won’t be the last time I see it, I’m sure, but it will be the last time it means this much. Eventually, it will just represent all the things that I group into “my first job.” I start walking home. I am floating even happier than those around me. I haven’t just been released for the weekend, I have been released.

When I get home, Roseanne is grilling tuna in the kitchen.
“Hey, Eve. I want you to taste this in a sec and tell me if it needs more lemon. So, the last day, how was it?”

“Well, weird. It’s over.”

“No, Eve,” she says, feeding me a lemony delicious piece of tuna, “it’s only just begun.”

A
nd then it’s summer, and much like the days of my school career, I’m off. I’m taking a magazine publishing class one night a week; most other times, I’m sitting in front of my computer in our hot apartment. Tabitha set up a Web site and we’ve already had all these hits from people who want to contribute to or advertise in our magazine.

We are calling it
On the Verge.
It’ll be a magazine about “holding on to your youth and creativity post-college without sacrificing the dream of what you want to be.” It will have a “very New York sensibility but still appeal to young people all over.” We developed this to tell all the people who are trying to invest in us. We have these meetings where Roseanne gets all decked out in her cool new summer suits and talks numbers and percentages with other guys in suits who are fascinated by the buying power of our demographic.

I sit around looking urban and young (as dressed by Tabitha) and being as aloof as possible. Tabitha thinks the less I say, the better—“we don’t want to be boxed in creatively.” (I mostly just support Roseanne and enjoy the air-conditioning.) I keep feeling like someone is going to figure out that we have no idea what we are doing, that we are just winging it, but they seem to enjoy how naive we are. They describe us as thinking “out of the box.” Roseanne likes to quote that a lot. She refuses to put money in the jar now, claiming that we are a business and thus, we can use those terms. I think she’s scared I’ll spend the money on snacks or smokes during the day.

Roseanne got Yakimoto to invest with us. Her husband wasn’t too jazzed about it, but she worked some great deal with Roseanne where we don’t have to pay rent for six months or something. Our relationship has changed from landlord-tenant to something more business related.

It’s a lot of pressure.

Somedays I sit staring at the blinking cursor and switch back to
the Web site, noticing no hits. Some days, I can’t stop writing articles and thinking of ideas and calling people and imagining a cover for our first issue.

When I was at Prescott, I would pick up the phone and call whoever I wanted to, now I can’t believe the phone bill. Roseanne keeps telling me not to worry, it’s a business expense, but it seems like a real expensive business expense.

Also, it seems like my days don’t ever end. Roseanne and Tabitha both do their other jobs and sometimes make calls and have meetings during the day. For me, it’s my whole life now. But, it’s what I wanted. I’m in control for now. We’re projecting that the magazine will hit newsstands in November and I guess that will be the true test. We’re all about expectation.

I didn’t tell my parents that I quit right away. My mother got sort of sick of her chemo at one point and it just didn’t seem like the best time. Unfortunately, my dad called me at work soon after and discovered my big lie. He wasn’t too pleased. When my mother was feeling better he told her, because this therapist they are working with said they have to be completely honest and supportive with each other. My mom was surprisingly mellow about it. She’s taking everything in stride. I think it’s got a lot to do with these survivors meetings she’s going to. She’s all about self-actualization now.

My sister thinks it’s great, too. She believes I am making some kind of anti-corporate statement and wants to have a “discourse” with me about making the “publication truly subversive.” She was calling me up every day with ideas. Lucky for me she and Chuck mutually agreed (meaning no one proposed) to have a commitment ceremony Labor Day weekend. They want to have it at my parents’ place and make it (get this) a potluck party. Can you believe it? I begged my sister to not let any of her friends bring bongo drums. Also, to my father’s dismay, not only will they not be married in a church, they are not having any kind of officiator. I can’t imagine what this party is going to be like, but I do know that the potluck is going to have a whole new meaning for a lot of her friends. And I secretly think that my mom might be all about “medicinal purpose marijuana,” which will be even more scandalous to some of the relatives. Anyway, it’s a long way away.

Stuff at Prescott Nelson seems to be moving right along. I have yet to cash his check. I am waiting until I’m absolutely down and out. I haven’t told anyone about it, but I think it would be a mistake to cash it. I probably shouldn’t even have accepted. Prescott’s
no fool; I’m sure it could be considered an investment and then he could have some say in our magazine. Maybe he was just a test to see if I could stand on my own. I won’t cash it, but having it reassures me that I can never be too impoverished—I’ll always have a little money for a rainy day. I know it’s weird that even though I feel so far from that office world, Prescott still manages to be my security blanket. But I don’t miss my job at all.

Gary was indicted by a grand jury and his trial is set for early next year. His lawyer has contacted me about being a character witness. Lorraine is back working at Prescott Nelson for the animal magazine,
Bark!,
which I think is perfect for her. We are supposed to have lunch any day now. I suspect it will never happen. Jennifer, to my annoyance, has not only mastered Excel, but been promoted in less than two months to coordinator. It seems the magazines re’orged again and she was at the right place at the right time. It makes me sick in a way, but I guess it should just tell me that fate didn’t want me there or something. I don’t know.

Herb won some kind of journalist award and Tabitha got a copy of his acceptance speech. It was all about being a mentor and encouraging youth to meet their potential.

Lacey Matthews continues to wreak havoc, but this time on Tabitha. I have to console her on a daily basis and urge her not to poison Lacey’s decaf cappuccino. In retaliation she makes fla-grant non-business-related phone calls and steals Lacey’s supplies whenever she gets a chance.

The Big C has actually become kind of a resource for us. She advises us on the magazine and makes an attempt to introduce us to the right people. I tend to call her the Big C now more as a term of endearment (although, not to her face). She is never pushy about her ideas, but having her name attached in any way to our magazine has been an asset to us, created a buzz, if you will.

Tabitha and Roseanne never neglect the magazine, but they spend every other minute with their respective others. It’s sort of good for me as I don’t have all the disposable cash I used to. The boys help me out a lot in my pauper stage. There’s always Krispy Kremes around to nourish me from Elliot and I always go to the bar Pete works at to get a few stiffies on the house. Otherwise, I tend to feel like I’m on allowance from Roseanne or Tabitha. Even though we are all in this together, it’s hard not making any money anymore.

Things with Todd are as good as they can be with him jetting all over the place. He stops over in New York after each trip and
buys me dinner and denies me sex. It’s an interesting take on a relationship for me, but I sort of like being the pursuer. We are taking our time with it, because there is residual weirdness from being friends for so long. It’s working, though, in its own little funny celibate way. I am heading down to Atlanta soon for a weekend. Maybe I’ll get some booty then.

That’s it. I wish I could tell you it worked, that the magazine was a success, but I’m not sure if it will. You’ll have to pick up a copy in November or whenever it comes out. Keep your fingers crossed.

In a lot of ways it’s been a lonely summer, but also the hardest I’ve worked in a while. While I’m not completely productive every day, I never feel like my brain is seeping out of my head. That’s good, right?

Some nights, the girls’s boys have work to do and the three of us throw on our black dresses and go to a club or a bar with mega-air-conditioning. We grab big fruity drinks and dance around the bar till it closes. We smile at each other and accept that we don’t know what lies ahead. We could be wasting our time and our energy, but if we are, we know that now is the best time to do it. Youth is on our side and our brains are sharp. We have no responsibilities and we let the concerns go as we shake our hips and giggle. We laugh at the lack of certainty. We are still confident and won’t be discouraged. We wink at each other knowing what no one else in the bar knows.

We are on the verge.