Slightly Single (14 page)

“How’d it go?” Brenda asks, sticking her head out of her cubicle as I walk by.

How’d it go? How does she know?

“Did he like you?”

I must be giving her a blank look, because she prompts, “Milos.”

“Oh!”

“What’d you think I meant?”

Buckley.

“I knew what you meant. I just…I think I’m having heatstroke,” I say, holding the cold, slippery Snapple bottle up to my burning forehead.

“You look flushed,” Brenda agrees. “Did you walk back in this heat?”

I nod. “I need the exercise. I’ve been trying to walk every day.”

“You’re crazy. You can’t keep that up in this
weather. You’re going to collapse on a sidewalk somewhere.”

“I’m fine, Brenda,” I say, grinning at her worried expression.

“If you want to exercise, do an aerobics video,” Brenda suggests.

“Aerobics? Me? I’m the least coordinated person you’ll ever meet, Brenda.”

“Anyone can do aerobics,” she says. “I’ll bring you one of my Jane Fonda tapes tomorrow. You’ve got a VCR at home, right?”

I nod. It was a going-away present from my family last May.

“I’ll bring you a tape tomorrow. How’s the cabbage soup thing working out?”

“Great,” I say, not in the mood to tell her that woman cannot live by cabbage soup alone.

“Really? I went off it the first day,” she tells me. “I’ve gained two pounds since last week.”

“You don’t look it,” I say truthfully. Brenda is one of those people whose figure is hard to gauge. She wears a lot of baggy clothes and blazers, and it’s hard to know just what’s under them. But she doesn’t look overweight to me, in her loosely fitted, poppy-colored cotton summer dress. Plus, that big pile of hair of hers tends to call attention away from the rest of her.

“Paulie wanted me to make him a lasagne yesterday,” she tells me. “He ate half of it. I ate almost all the rest.”

My mouth waters immediately. Lasagne. My God, I haven’t had lasagne since…

That reminds me. “Brenda, do you think Jake would let me leave work early on the Friday before the long Fourth of July weekend?”

“Maybe. Why?”

“Because I want to take a bus back home. It’s my parents’ anniversary. We’re supposed to have a party for them.”

“You should go.” She lowers her voice and leans toward me. “Just call in sick that Friday.”

“I don’t think I should do that. What if Jake found out I wasn’t really sick?”

“How would he?”

“What if he calls me at home?”

She shrugs. “You’re too sick to answer the phone.”

“I think I’d better just ask him if I can leave early. I think there’s a three o’clock bus from the Port Authority.”

“Can you take a later one?”

I shake my head. “It’s a nine-hour trip, Brenda.”

“I thought you were from upstate!”

“I am. It’s a big state.”

“Wow. That big?”

“Nine hours’ worth,” I say solemnly.

It never ceases to amaze me how oblivious some people are to the rest of New York State. To them, upstate means Westchester county.

“Tracey? Is that you?” Jake calls from down the hall.

“Sounds like you’re being summoned,” Brenda says, rolling her eyes. “Love the way he expects to sit at his desk and yell for you instead of coming to get you like a normal human being.”

“It’s okay,” I say, heading for Jake’s office.

But maybe she’s right. I never noticed how demeaning it was until she pointed it out.

I find Jake lounging in his chair, feet on the desk as usual. “I need you to run an errand for me,” he says. “It’s my mother’s birthday, and I forgot to have Laurie get her something over the weekend. Go down to the chocolatier on the corner of Forty-third and buy her a few pounds of Belgian truffles. Here’s some cash.”

He reaches into his pocket and hands me a fistful of tens and twenties. I take the money. What else can I do? Refuse to do a personal errand for him?

Maybe Brenda would.

I know Latisha and Yvonne would. They’re always telling me not to put up with Jake’s crap. But I can’t figure out how to say no.

Besides, is it so bad? He’s just asking me for a favor. And I get to get out of the office for a little while, too.

I can have a cigarette.

And get more exercise…

Although I can just imagine how tempted I’ll be in a chocolate shop on an empty stomach.

“How much should I spend?” I ask him.

“See if you can keep it under a hundred. Oh, and
when you walk by Hallmark on your way back up, pick up a card for her, too, okay?” he adds. “One that says Happy Birthday, Mother, from your Loving Son, or some bullshit like that.”

“Okay.” I clear my throat as he picks up his phone, poised to dial. “Listen, Jake, I’ve got a list of possible product names for you.”

He obviously doesn’t know what I’m talking about, because he looks vaguely up from the phone and says, “What?”

“For the all-week deodorant?” I remind him.

“Oh! Right. Great.” He starts dialing.

“Do you, uh, want to discuss them?”

“Sure. Get me the list.”

“Now?”

“No, just put it in my in-box, and I’ll check it out later.”

“Sure.” There’s nothing for me to do but go back to my desk and put the list in his in-box before grabbing my cigarettes and sunglasses.

“Where are you going?” Yvonne asks as I pass her in the corridor on the way to the elevators.

“I have to run an errand for Jake.”

“Really?” She rolls her eyes. “Where is he sending you this time?”

I pretend not to hear her as I press the button for the elevator.

Why do I care if my friends think Jake takes advantage of me? He’s my boss. I’m supposed to do whatever he asks me to do, right?

Right.

Even if it’s personal business on company time?

I guess.

As I walk across the lobby, I find myself scanning the place for Buckley O’Hanlon. No sign of him.

That’s a relief, I tell myself. The last thing I need is to run into him again.

Which is exactly what I tell Kate when I meet her after work for a drink. I’d really rather just go straight home, but she called this afternoon and begged me to have a glass of wine with her at a sidewalk café not far from my apartment. She said she needs advice.

But we’ve been sitting here almost fifteen minutes, and so far, she just wants to talk about me. Which is how Buckley came up in the first place.

Because Kate asked me how my day went, and after I told her about the upcoming job for Milos and the chocolate errand for Jake’s mother’s birthday, I couldn’t very well leave out the whole Buckley part.

Okay, maybe I could have.

Maybe I wanted to talk about him.

About how reluctant I was to see him, and how I hope I don’t see him again.

“Are you sure about that?” Kate asks slyly.

“Of course I’m sure. Why?”

“You kissed him—”

“He kissed me—”

“And Raphael says he’s a hottie.”

“Raphael says everyone’s a hottie. Buckley’s no big deal.”

And really, he isn’t. Not by Kate’s standards. Not by most standards. He just happens to be a very nice, friendly, middle-class, guy-next-door type. Everything about him is middle-class ordinary. Maybe that’s what’s so appealing about him. There aren’t many guys like him in New York.

But I left a generic town full of middle-class ordinary people. I never wanted to be one of them, or date one of them.

Not that I want to date Buckley, I hastily remind myself.

“Well, if you’re not interested in him romantically, can’t you just be friends with Buckley?” Kate asks. “The guy works in your building. It’s like some kind of sign.”

Kate is a big believer in signs. She claims that the way she decided to break up with her college boyfriend was when they were walking in the park one day, having an argument, and a bird flew overhead and pooped on his shoulder.

“I have enough friends,” I assure Kate, and take a sip of my merlot before asking her, “What was it you wanted to talk to me about?”

“My mother called me last night when I got home from the beach. She said Daddy took a hit the last time the stock market fell, and they want me to move into a cheaper place, or find a roommate.”

“Wow, really?”

I’m surprised.

For one thing, I was sure she had asked me to meet
her so that she could ask my advice about her new relationship with Billy.

For another, I’ve never heard Kate speak so candidly about the fact that her parents support her. I mean, it’s no secret, but she doesn’t usually come right out and admit it.

“What are you going to do?” I ask her.

“I don’t know. I love my apartment. And I do have two bedrooms. I thought maybe…” She trails off, spinning the stem of her wineglass between the palms of her hands.

“Maybe what?”

“Maybe you might want to move in with me. Not for July first,” she adds hastily. “That would be too soon. I know you’d have to give notice for your own place. But maybe on August first…”

My mind is whirling. Move in with Kate?

Her apartment is beautiful. It has a fireplace, and crown moldings, and a tiny terrace. It’s on one of the nicest blocks in the village.

But what about Will?

If I move in with Kate in August, I can’t talk to Will in September about us moving in together.

“How much is the rent?” I ask Kate.

“I couldn’t charge you half. That wouldn’t be fair, since I’d want to keep my bedroom, and it’s bigger than the other one.”

She’s hedging. I can tell.

“How much, Kate?”

“Fifteen hundred,” she offers.

So there’s no decision to be made.

“I can’t afford it,” I tell her.

Case closed.

“Fourteen hundred?” she amends. “I can kick in the extra hundred from my temping money.”

“Kate, that wouldn’t be fair. And actually, I think you can get more than fifteen hundred for the place. It’s a beautiful apartment.”

“I know, but I wanted you to live there with me.”

“I can’t,” I say, even though it’s tempting.

“You said you were going to be doing some catering jobs over the summer. You’ll make a fortune, Tracey. Enough to make up the difference in rent between your place and mine.”

Maybe.

But it’s not the money.

It’s Will.

I can’t tell Kate that I’m counting on us moving in together when he gets back in the fall. Either she’ll think it’s just a big fantasy on my part, or she’ll think it’s not a good idea.

“I really don’t want to ask a stranger to move in with me,” Kate says desolately. “Not after what you went through with Mercedes.”

“That was fine,” I tell her.

She raises an eyebrow at me. “Honey, the girl was a crack ho.”

“Okay, it wasn’t fine. But who says you’re going to end up with someone like her?”

“A stranger is a stranger, whether they’re like her or not.”

“Look, why don’t you ask Raphael? He’s making more money now that he’s working for
She.
Maybe he’ll want to move in with you.”

“I could never live with Raphael,” Kate says in a how-can-you-even-suggest-such-a-thing tone. “His lifestyle and mine would just never mesh. I mean, strange men—
sailors
—coming and going at all hours…Think about it, Tracey.”

I grin. “You’re right. Well then, maybe you should move into a smaller place.”

“But I love my place,” she wails. “What am I going to do?”

I shrug.

“Just think about it, will you, Tracey? Just give it some thought. Don’t say no right away. Okay?”

“But, Kate—”

“Wait and see how the catering job goes,” she insists. “You’re going to make a bundle. Why stay in your apartment when you can live in mine? We’d have so much fun.”

I nod.

We would have fun.

And if it doesn’t work out with Will and me moving in together…

Not that I think it won’t, but if it didn’t, I wouldn’t mind living with Kate. In fact, I would like that. Then I wouldn’t have to be lonely.

But I won’t be lonely when Will gets back and he and I move in together.

No, I can’t jeopardize my future with him.

“Will you think about it, Tracey?” Kate asks.

I say yes, to humor her, even though I have no intention of thinking about it.

I pick up take-out Chinese on the way home, and eat it in front of a rerun of
Ally McBeal.

And surprise, surprise, the phone never rings.