Sounds Like Crazy (26 page)

A muffled ringing interrupted my smoking.
Where’s my cell phone?
I scanned the room and spotted it on the floor by the desk. I dropped the cigarette in the ashtray and retrieved the phone. I didn’t recognize the number on the faceplate. I stared at the phone as if doing this would magically tell me who was on the other end.

Answer it. Don’t answer it.
I hated this indecision. I pressed answer. “Hello?”

“Holly, it’s Pam,” her voice gushed.
Fuck.
I shouldn’t have answered.With all her buoyancy, I always imagined Pam bouncing like a ball through life. On a good day I wanted to hurl Pam the ball against the wall.Anything to mute that cheer. On a good day.Today was not a good day.

“Pam. Hi. How—”

“Listen, I ran into Peter yesterday and he told me you’re feeling down.”

I felt a knife plunge into my heart. I took the last drag on my cigarette and stubbed it out. “Well—”

“So, I have the most fabulous way to cheer you up!” Pam the ball hit one of her high notes on this sentence. I rolled my eyes and coughed out the inhale. “Sounds like someone has been smoking too much,” Pam said in that mother-knows-best tone. I could see her in my mind’s eye wagging her index finger at me.

“Pam,” I said wearily, “I really don’t—”

“Peter said it was the perfect plan.” Peter knew that any plan involving Pam was far from perfect. I wondered if his telling Pam to call was meant to provoke me. Before I considered it further, though, Pam bounced on.“So, you know I run an evening theater group for kids between the ages of ten and fourteen?”

Oh, God. I told him no a long time ago. I told him no.
Cradling the phone between my ear and my shoulder, I picked up the ashtray and walked it into the kitchen for emptying.

“Holly?”

“Uh-huh.” I said it quietly, hoping not to give her an opening.

“Well, we are just starting production on a new play that will run for three nights after the first of the year,” Pam enthused.“The auditions are next week.”Another high note.
She’s in the wrong line of work. I’m sure the Met has an opening for their next opera.

Relieved, I sucked in the remainder of my pride and said slowly, “The thing is, Pam, I’m not really talking to my contacts over at the studio. So I am not really sure how I can—”

“I don’t need your contacts, Holly; I need you!”

Okay, now I’d welcome the humiliating position of explaining why I couldn’t toss her my contacts. “Me?”

“You!”
It came out like an excited shriek and attacked me through the phone like a jolt of electricity. A pack of grasping, bossy, messy, needy short people skittered across my mind. My hands around Peter’s throat trailed right behind. He had told Pam to rope me into doing this. “So?” Pam said.

No way.
No way.
The knife I had felt earlier twisted. God, how I hated Peter at that moment. “Pam. I can’t. I mean. I . . . I hate kids.Well, I don’t hate them. They scare me. I don’t connect with kids. I can’t . . .” I raked my hair with my fingers as I scanned the room for my lost pack of cigarettes. “I can’t . . . I mean . . .” I saw the cigarettes on the table and grabbed them. “I can’t . . . actually . . . work with kids.” I lit a cigarette. Inhaled and on the exhale said,“It can’t be legal to have someone like me work with kids. I—”

“Come on!” exclaimed Pam. “You’ll be a natural.Your show is so popular with kids. How could you not be great with them?”

I wished she would stop interrupting me. I hated to be interrupted. And all her cheer was racing around in my head like a dizzying Hot Wheels car. I steadied myself with a hand on the kitchen counter. “I am not, really. I mean, at the moment—”

“Working with kids will do you good. Get you out of your head.”

“What do you mean by that?” I snapped. I didn’t know what rankled more—the interruptions or the reference to my head.

“I just meant that . . .” Pam paused here.“Well, Peter said you have been spending a lot of time . . .” Another pause.

“Yes?” I said impatiently.

I waited for her to say,
in a hollow head
. But from my perspective this was better than being out and seeing things like Peter and some string-bean blonde, because if I saw them together again, reality would collide with my perception of the reality of Peter and me.

“Well, kind of feeling sorry for yourself,” she finished hesitantly.

“How nice of Peter to think of me,” I said.

“Holly, don’t take it like that. He was really trying to help.”

“Bullshit. He knows how much I can’t stand kids. And he certainly knows I’d never agree to help you, because you drive me nuts.What an asshole.”The words exploded from my mouth like scattershot out of a hunting rifle. I wanted to grab them and swallow them whole.

“Wow, well, somebody just popped her cork,” said Pam.“Anyway, I think it would be perfect, Holly. I really do.We could even get to know each other. Maybe I could change your opinion, at least about kids.”

“I . . . uh . . .” My fingers went slack and the burning cigarette they held dropped in the sink. I flipped on the faucet to drown it. “I just can’t do it,” I said. The noise from the running water washed through my body like a wave of regret. The cigarette became a sodden mess.

“Well, think about it.” There was starkness to Pam’s voice. It was even and flat. I didn’t know what to make of this.

“Okay,” I said, “I’ll think about it.”

“Just don’t forget we start auditions next week.”
There’s that old familiar bounce.

I held the phone away from my ear. “Now I won’t.”

Pam laughed.

“Okay, here’s one thing you don’t know about me,” I said.“I never say good-bye.”

“Well—”

“Hanging up now.” I clicked the end button, cutting off her buoyant reply.

 

I walked over to the NYU building on Washington Square to surprise Peter after his class. Our table of proverbial “elephants in the room” had expanded to seating for at least twenty, but that didn’t stop me from an impromptu act. Why not throw caution to the wind? Look what happened earlier in the day when I smoked off schedule. Besides, Peter had said once that he’d like it if I were more spontaneous. I knew I hadn’t imagined it.

When I reached the entrance of the school, I glanced at the watch on the person standing in the doorway. Peter’s class should be letting out any moment. I leaned back against the railing in front of the glass entrance and waited.That vantage point offered a view through the window into the lobby.This way if I saw him with someone, I would have time to make a run for it.

Peter’s familiar frame and dark blond hair appeared from around the corner. I held my breath and waited to see if anyone followed.
He’s alone.
I exhaled. Peter pushed through the first glass door. I stepped in front of the second one, smiled a so-happy-to-see-you smile, and raised my hand in a halfhearted greeting. Peter smiled back but his countenance was questioning.

“Hey,” he said, catching my neck in the crook of his arm and pulling me close. He kissed me on the nose and said, “This is a surprise.What are you doing here?” So far, so good.

“I was restless, so I thought I’d meet you.Take a chance that you were free.”

He checked his watch. The turn of his wrist further twisted the knife he’d stuck via Pam. We usually didn’t meet on week-nights because I had early calls. Peter and I also hadn’t talked about the demise of my career. Either he didn’t know, or he did and filed it under Do Not Discuss and Wait for Holly to Raise It.”

“Sure,” said Peter. “Let’s go back to your place? I don’t want your boss peeved at me ’cause you overslept.” His voice sounded sweet, but his eyes were hard and the comment felt baiting. I brushed back my hair and tried to smile.

Peter looked around. I scanned the park myself, looking for blonde hair. He must not have seen her.
Maybe I’m paranoid.
The unseasonably humid October air oozed with tension.

Peter took my hand and we started walking.After about three blocks he said, “You’re not saying much.”

“No? I guess I don’t have much to say.” I squeezed his hand.

We were quiet again all the way to my apartment.When we got inside, I poured myself a glass of wine, then walked into the living room where Peter sat on the couch.

“Thanks.” He stood up and walked to the fridge.

“I got a call from Pam today,” I said to Peter’s back.

Holding the refrigerator door open, he turned and said accusingly, “Now I know why you picked me up. You’re pissed, aren’t you?”

Maintaining eye contact, I tucked my foot underneath me and sipped my wine.

“If you weren’t pissed, you’d have said something right when I saw you.” He slammed the refrigerator door and savagely twisted the cap off a beer bottle. I stared at him with my mouth in a straight line. “You and your ‘we cannot cause a scene’ way of thinking held you back until you got me into your apartment.
You are a real piece of work, you know that?” He threw the bottle cap into the sink. It pinged against the porcelain.

“A piece of work?” I said with an even voice. I didn’t want the neighbors to hear us. “I can’t believe you gave her my number!” Tinges of anger hemmed in my voice.

“What’s the problem with that?” Peter waved his hands, spilling beer on the floor.

I put my wineglass on the coffee table and got up for a towel.

“You know I can’t stand her,” I said, mopping up the mess.

“I was trying to help.” Peter sat down in the chair opposite the couch.

I stopped cleaning and sat back on my heels. “Help? Help with what?” I fought to keep my voice low. “Why were you discussing me with Pam?” I shrieked her name, trying to imitate her exuberance. It came out waspish.

“Not discussing—”

“Oh, no, not discussing.” I punctuated the last word by throwing the towel onto the coffee table, where it landed with a thud. “You told her something because she thinks her stupid little theater thing is going to cheer me up.” My voice was now churlish and rising.

“Try she told me something,” Peter said with disgust. “All I said to her is that you have been more off than usual. Kind of lost in your fucking head.”

“You . . .” I couldn’t say it. I wanted to. I wanted to tell him straight to his face that he was an asshole. I couldn’t. If I did, I might have to back it up.

“What?” Peter shot back as if reading my mind. “Say it,” he dared me.

Instead, I flashed at him my withering gorgon stare, guaranteed
to incinerate.This was a look perfected and passed down like a recipe from each generation of females in my family. It had scorched countless boyfriends, lovers, and husbands. I waited for Peter to spontaneously combust. He didn’t.

“I cannot believe you gave her my number!” I yelled, the neighbors forgotten.The cats scratched a Flintstones retreat to the bedroom.

“Oh, come on, what is the big deal?” Peter challenged. “I thought it might be easier for you to talk to a girl.”

“
Pam?
” I roared. “It’s a violation.”

“What?” He sipped his beer.“You are acting crazy. I’ve never seen you like this.”

“It is a violation.” I saw spots. My throat was raw.“Taking her to my bookstore. It’s a fucking violation. That was mine.” I was breathing heavily now.

Peter held his beer midway to his mouth.“What are you talking about?” he said, putting the bottle back down without taking a sip.

“I saw you with her,” I whispered. “That blonde.” I spit out the last word.

Peter stood up. I recoiled as if he were going to hit me. The backs of my knees caught on the couch. I lost my balance and landed in an unceremonious flop on the cushions.

“That’s it.” Peter slammed his beer down on the coffee table. “This is bullshit. I can’t handle you right now. The semester’s in full swing, I’m teaching two classes—”

“Wait!” I cried.

“I need a break,” he said.

“A break. Why?” I said.

“I don’t have time for this shit.”

“Wait,” I pleaded. “Can we just reset?”

“No,” Peter snapped, “there is no reset.”

“What do you mean?” I started to cry. “Don’t do this. I’m just stressed.”

“Whatever,” Peter said coldly.

“I lost my job.”

“Pam told me yesterday. After the Emmy awards, right?”

I nodded my head.

“That was six fucking weeks ago, Holly.”

“I know, I meant to tell you, I just . . . There wasn’t a right moment. A lot’s been going on.”

“Well, you should have found the right moment instead of turning into such a crazy, lying, needy bitch.”

“I was going to tell you, and then I saw you walking out of the library with your other girlfriend.”

“What the hell?”The changes in Peter’s face told me what I needed to know.They weren’t friends, like I’d been telling myself these past four weeks. Peter shook his head. “I need a break. I’ll call you.”

“When? When I get my job back? You want to know why I didn’t tell you I lost my job? Because I always knew you were only staying with me because of it.”

“I met you when you were waiting tables.”

“And you’re telling me if I was still serving eggs and bacon, we’d be together? I don’t believe that, because all I know is when I lose my job your first response is to get yourself a new girlfriend without doing me the courtesy of telling me it’s over.”

“You are a piece of work, Holly.” Peter shook his head.“And I don’t have a new girlfriend, but you’re right—it’s over.”

“Wait. You said break,” I cried. “Please.” I stretched out my arms.

“Whatever,” said Peter. He grabbed his backpack off the table
and knocked my wineglass to the floor, where it shattered, splashing red liquid across the white wall.

“Wait,” I yelled, running after him. I slipped on the pool of wine and landed in the broken glass right as I heard the door slam.