Up & Out (14 page)

“Can I send you a check or something?” I’m always awkward when it comes to money for things I don’t normally purchase. I wonder how many plates of tempura he bills an hour….

“For a ten-minute conversation? For a friend of Don’s? No, that’s okay. But, listen, give me a call when you develop your next series. I can help you negotiate a better deal from the get-go.”

“Thank you,” I say. I have a new respect for lawyers.

When I hang up with him, I take a deep breath and exhale. I don’t want to think about how much I screwed myself by not working some kind of deal for the rights to Esme. How could I have been so stupid?

Okay, I won’t think about it. My one recourse will be that I will not send my signed severance in until the very last day it has to be postmarked. This is a small victory, but it’s mine.

Finally I call my parents in Pennsylvania. I have been dreading this because I know to them getting fired is devastating. In their world things like severance don’t matter. Firing means a ruined reputation and failure. This isn’t too far from the way I’m feeling, but I have to put on a brave face.

As I suspect, my mother is home and my dad is at work. My dad and I don’t have much of a phone rapport, so I’m glad that I can tell my mother and she can break the news to my father and I’ll be spared the awkwardness of having to tell him myself.

“Oh, sweetheart, that’s horrible. Was it because you were always so late?”

“No, Mom, it was because we got taken over by a bank.” So this is a lie—but it’s sure to be more palatable to my mother. I made the mistake once of telling my mom that my day started at ten o’clock; I don’t think she ever believed me, but rather tried to justify my irresponsibility.

“Remember when you worked at the bank, sweetie?”

“Yes.” What was she getting at? I worked there in high school and the summer after my freshman year. I was a teller. The only benefits of that job were that I was able to make car payments and that I realized I didn’t want to ever do anything that involved money. Ever.

“Well, maybe you should think about getting into a field like that. You know, one that’s more secure.”

I count to ten before I speak again. I stare down at my painted toenails, remembering that the first pedicure my mother ever had was last summer when she came to visit me. She giggled the entire time.

She is never going to change. She thinks of working in a bank as a “good job.” On the other hand, whatever she imagines I do is flaky—and therefore always cause for concern. I haven’t told her that I moved back in with Tommy.

“Mother, I’m not going to change careers. And I don’t want you to worry or to make Dad worry. I’m going to be fine. I have two months’ severance. It’s as if I’m working but I’m not. Get it? I’ll be getting money, but I won’t have to work.” Saying this to her makes me feel slightly better about the whole thing. If I keep having to convince people that it isn’t so bad, I might be able to convince myself.

“Okay, honey. So, when are you going to start looking for another job?” I haven’t developed a plan, but the one I come up with on the spot sounds pretty good.

“I’m going to enjoy two weeks doing stuff that I never get to do, like errands and hanging out in the city. Then, I’m going to visit Lauryn in Martha’s Vineyard, then—”

“Is she still separated from her husband?”

“Actually, they’re divorced. It was final a couple of weeks ago.”

“Oh.” Victory. I may be twenty-seven and washed-up career-wise, but I’m sure my mom is grateful that I haven’t gotten a divorce. I’ve got some things working on my side. “So what is happening with the apartment?”

“Nothing, I’m still here.” More lies, but I think sometimes you have to lie to your parents to keep them calm.

“Well, I tried calling your apartment and the line was disconnected.” Now I have Sherlock Mommy all of a sudden. Next thing I know, she’ll be telling me that Esme is based on her. Luckily, I am ready.

“That’s because I figured I could save some money by just using my cell phone. I get free nights and weekends and cheap long distance. In this day and age there’s little need for a land line.” I’ll confuse her by talking technology.

“Oh, okay. Well, let us know if you need anything or if you want to visit at all now that you have time.”

“Okay, I will. Bye, Mom.”

“Take care, honey.”

I love my parents and I miss them, but at times like this I’m glad I don’t live near home anymore. I think their concern would make me crazy.

On Wednesday, I actually go out of the house and walk down to the Union Square farmer’s market. I usually go on the weekends when it’s packed, so it’s cool to get there when I can actually move around and sample cheese and bread. I get a bunch of chili peppers and decide to make Tommy some white bean chili when he gets home.

Foolishly I touch my eyes after I cut up the chili. I am trying to flush my eyes out under the sink when my cell phone rings. For some reason I answer it even though my eye is stinging out of control.

“Rebecca, it’s your father.” He is screaming into the phone.

“Hey, Dad, what’s up?” I try to wipe my eye with the back of my hand.

“Your mother told me to call you on this phone because you don’t have a real one.”

“This is a real one.”

“I heard you got fired.”

“That’s right—um, laid off.” Why, why, why did I forget not to touch my eye?

“Well, I just want you to know that if you need anything, your mother and I are here to help. We can help you with your phone bill, groceries, whatever.”

“Well, thanks, Dad. I think I’ll be okay. Like I told Mom, I got a severance package.”

“Yeah, okay. Your mother says hello. Let us know. We’re here. Bye.” I’m certain my dad is glad to be done with this conversation. My father, who has been in debt forever and who drives a twelve-year-old car, is offering me help. They took out a second loan on their house when I got into college, and now I can’t even hold down a job.

“Have you been crying again?” Tommy asks when he comes home. He holds up a DVD. “I got
Mad Max.
”

“No,” I lie, sniffling. “It’s just the chili.”

I don’t go out on Thursday, just watch
The View,
cable and eat leftover chili. Veg-ing with TV and food is becoming a dangerous pattern.

On Friday, I sign my severance package and put it in the mailbox. I consider spitting on the mailbox, but that wouldn’t be ladylike, now would it? I call for unemployment. I’ll have to call every week to collect about $415. That’s about twenty-five rock shrimp tempura dishes and almost a third of what I used to make every week.

On Saturday Tommy and I go to the movies and it distracts me for a little while. Maybe I’ll spend the summer going to all the blockbusters….

I can’t fall asleep Saturday wondering if Tommy and I should just get back together and what that would mean exactly because we already live together and have been hanging out nonstop. He hasn’t had any of his friends over lately and I’m not sure if that’s out of respect for me and my constantly changing mood or if maybe he is thinking that we should get back together, too.

As far as I know, he hasn’t seen any other girls. Maybe I’ve ruined him for other women. Of course, I didn’t exactly tell him about Seamus, so maybe there are things I don’t know. But I
did
spend nights at Seamus’s apartment. Tommy hasn’t spent nights anywhere else. He is always around when I need him.

Maybe, I’m just a needy person. I know I’m not in any condition to be making decisions about our relationship and I’m thankful that Tommy is a decent-enough guy that he doesn’t manipulate the situation to get fabulous and confusing sex for himself.

I dream of Esme when I sleep. She doesn’t have glasses on and her eyes are red. She walks over to me and her sneakers fall off. I keep saying hi to her, but she doesn’t answer. John and Janice are behind her, shaking their heads, and Jen is hopping on one foot.

When Esme gets to me, she throws a bunch of money at me. I wake up.

What is she trying to tell me? That I shouldn’t have signed my severance agreement? That I should have initially gotten a better deal? What did I know? Back then, I would have paid to have my show on television. Maybe Esme thinks I only care about money.

I created her and now she was confusing me.

R
estaurant Week comes to the city twice a year. I think of it like the first day of school. (Exciting, with an opportunity to wear some new clothes.) In theory, I am supposed to be able to go to many of the top restaurants in the city and pay a fraction of the price to sample the food and enjoy the ambience. It should be the best time of my life.

I think it’s all a conspiracy.

First of all, now that I’m unemployed, I can call to book a reservation often and immediately. At like nine o’clock on the day the listings come out I’m on the phone trying to procure lunch and dinner reservations that I can hand out to my friends like favors. They shouldn’t be booked so soon, but they are.

Second of all, I wind up spending more money on lunches and dinners for a week than I ever would if I just went out for a couple of nice dinners during the week at regular prices. I realize I can’t blame Restaurant Week for this, rather my own lack of self-control.

Third of all, many of the restaurants I want to go to for dinner only have lunch options.

“Actually, we are booked for the whole week,” says the hostess at Felidia when I ask to book lunch there on Wednesday.

“Sorry, I’m booked that night and to be quite honest for the whole week,” says the woman at One If by Land Two If by Sea. I know I shouldn’t even be trying to get a reservation at what is supposed to be the most romantic restaurant in the city without having a date, but the prospect of their beef Wellington makes me act a little crazy.

“I can only get you into the dining room for lunch at two-thirty,” says the woman at Acquavit, trying to call my bluff.

“What about the day before?”

“All of my seats for two at lunch are at two-thirty.” Oh, right, because that is an obvious time for the Western world to eat lunch. I will not be defeated, though. I am determined to get into that place. My money is good and I plan on spending twenty bucks for a superb experience.

“I’ll take it.” Now, if I could just find a date it would be perfect. I fear I will have to sacrifice my reservation because all of my friends have jobs.

It’s pretty much the same sad story at the next few places I call. No reservations, dinner at eleven o’clock. I even wind up getting the fax number for one of the places. This city wants to thwart me.

The only place I don’t call is Nobu. They only offer a Restaurant Week lunch and I’m still having flashbacks to my dinner there with Seamus. I hope he hasn’t spoiled it for me. I am going to have to go to exorcise my demons soon, but I swear I will never, under any circumstances, forgive Jewel Bako for being the place he took one of the myriad of his other girlfriends.

I imagine the hostess at Nobu mocking me for trying to make a restaurant reservation at a time when it is certain to be packed.
We are booked for the entire week and the entire week after that and, oh yeah, way into August. And you know what? Those people are willing to pay full price because they have actual paying jobs. And by the way, they also have boyfriends who don’t have handfuls of other girlfriends. Those people are good friends with Nobu. They call
him “No.” And, by the way, I eat rock shrimp tempura whenever I want it and sometimes I even leave some on my plate, because I get to gorge on it all the time. Of course I don’t gorge because I’m a tall, thin, beautiful person—the only kind who is supposed to come to this place. Buh-bye.

I don’t think I could handle it.

My phone rings. I think about screening it, but quickly rule that out. Everyone knows I’m unemployed and what else would I be doing on this beautiful summer day but sitting in my apartment imagining that the hosts at the major restaurants are out to get me? I take a deep breath and answer the phone.

“Hey, it’s Kathy. You’re home.” She did just call me.

“Yeah.”

“Are you sitting on your couch?”

“Um.” I look around for a camera. I think I might be getting paranoid-contact highs from Tommy. “Yeah.”

“I am so jealous—I would give anything to get out of here. I hate work. You are so lucky.” It’s all about perspective.

“Thanks.”

“Did you check your e-mail?”

“Um, no.”

“Well, I sent you some ideas for the flower arrangements and I wanted to know what you think.”

“For what?”

“For the tables.” Oh,
right.
The wedding. How could I forget?

“Okay, I’ll check it out.”

“Are you okay? You sound down.” Because I’m not squealing with joy about the chance to decide between lilacs and Easter lilies?

“No, no. I’m fine.”

“Have you talked to Beth lately? She hasn’t returned my calls.”

“Join the club.”

“She’s getting just as bad as you were when you were working on your pilot.” I’m not sure what to say to that. Is she trying to remind me that I used to have a life? I suspect she regrets
it from the little noise she makes in her throat. “So next week is Restaurant Week.”

“Really?” Duh.

“Yeah, and I know that money is tight right now and that you and Tommy really aren’t together or anything.” She is tripping all over her words and I feel bad for being bitter at her. “Anyway, Ron and I were thinking maybe you two would like to go out to dinner. Ron got reservations at some Italian place downtown.”

“Thank you, Kathy.” She means well, even though she’ll probably force me to talk about seating arrangements all night.

“Let me talk to Tommy. This feels suspiciously like the double dates we used to go on in the past.”

“Well, you could bring someone else….”

“I know, but Ron wants me to get back together with Tommy.”

“Just let me know. It’s Thursday night.”

“Okay.”

I have to admit, I’m not one of Ron’s biggest fans. I think he used to be a frat brother, the kind that usually wears a white baseball hat—a “white hatter,” and while there isn’t anything explicitly wrong with that, I worry that he has jerk tendencies he’s waiting to reveal. Kathy seems to be happy that she is settled down. I guess I expected Kathy to go for a long-haired, artistic type, the kind she always seemed to go for when we first moved to the city. Ron can be a little obnoxious to wait staff and I think that is a sure sign of a closet asshole.

Another thing about Ron is that he likes to talk during movies. He is also one of those people who announces what they think is going to happen, like they want everyone else in the living room or movie theater to be amazed at their deductive skills. I’ve watched enough videos at their place to know it’s a chronic thing. I don’t understand how Kathy can spend the rest of her life with a man who doesn’t take the moviegoing experience seriously. Luckily, I’ve only gone to the movies with him once.

In spite of what I think are shortcomings, Tommy and Ron always got along. They found common ground talking about sports and Batman. While I don’t think they would have chosen each other as friends if not for Kathy and me, they didn’t mind spending time together on double dates.

It’s important that friends’ boyfriends get along. I could tell that Kathy was secretly relieved when Lauryn and Jordan broke up because Ron and Jordan didn’t get along. Conversely, she was bummed when Tommy and I broke up because now she and Ron would have to invest their time getting to know someone else. I’m sure Seamus and Ron never would have liked each other. They both would have been trying to talk louder than the other. I can imagine them fighting over something like what ingredients were in the stew. So maybe in some ways it is for the best that it didn’t work out.

Tommy brings up the mail when he gets home. My mail has only just started to get forwarded and somehow that means that I have double bills. I’ve just missed the payment on my credit card. I stare at the bill from May, which includes all of my Nobu splurges, including the time I treated Seamus. He was so not worth it.

I am also going to pay for my stylish new glasses. I am never ever going to be out of debt. Now, more than ever, would be a good time to start job hunting. I know I should be placing those phone calls, but I just can’t motivate. This is not like me. I am (was!) a hardworking person, but I just feel exhausted. I just want some space, some something.

I write a check for the minimum payment on my credit card, knowing that I will see a late fee on my next statement. I feel completely helpless when it comes to paying my bills. If I could just put them in a drawer and forget them, I would. It almost seems like there’s nothing I can do to get out of debt. It seems insurmountable. It’s as if I’ve accepted debt and just continue to live the way I enjoy. But now I wonder if there will come a time when I will not even be able to afford the minimum payment. I suppose when the severance runs out.

Maybe I should get a sugar daddy….

“I thought you were unemployed,” Tommy says when I tell him about dinner. “It’s time to give up your vices.”

“Um, severance,” I say defiantly and a little bit snottily, but then realize I’m going to have to change my tactics if I want him to go with me. “I need to eat, you know.”

“Last time I checked there was plenty of food in the fridge.”

“It’s Restaurant Week. Dinner will be like thirty bucks.”

“Make it sixty at least with the wine Ron is going to insist on ordering. She’s your friend, why don’t you just go?”

“C’mon, you like Ron.”

“Rebecca,” he smiles. “I’m not your boyfriend anymore. I’m not required to like your friends’ boyfriends. I’m not required to spend time doing things I don’t want to do. I’m liberated.”

He thrusts his arms in the air and continues to shout “liberated” around the rooms of the apartment and into the bathroom, where he shuts the door and locks it. I crack up in spite of myself.

I know he’s got a point. If I want this to be over I can’t expect him to be my backup date. I keep wishing I could be one of those people who just cuts off their exes, but I can’t. I would like to tell myself that the only reason I’m here is financial, but as fucked up as our relationship can be, Tommy is the only one of my friends that I still feel I can truly relate to. I go and wait outside the bathroom for him.

“Jesus,” he says, when he comes out. “Give a brother a break. Did you make any dinner?”

“Oh, I’m good for cooking, but not dinners out?”

“You’re good for a lot of things,” he says, raising his eyebrows. He’s not really flirting with me, just teasing.

“All right, a hand job.” I call his bluff. He isn’t ready to deal with certain aspects of our relationship, either.

“What is with you girls?” he asks, shaking his head and pulling a block of cheese out of the fridge.

“What do you mean?” I know I’m defensive and I’m not sure I want to hear what he is going to say.

“Do you ever, like, just chill anymore?” I hate to be analyzed, especially by the likes of Tommy.

“What do you mean?”

“Okay, calm down.” He cuts a hunk of cheese. “You never hang out anymore, you know, you girls.”

“Did Beth say something?”

“No.” He finally looks annoyed. “She hasn’t really talked to me lately. It just seems like there is something funky going on.”

“Well—” I take a piece of cheese “—Lauryn’s gone and we went through all this weirdness with her last year and now it’s almost like we sort of turned kind of catty about her problems. Not like, you know, malicious, but she gave us a lot to talk about. Now she’s gone and I don’t know what we have in common anymore. Any of us. I mean, I still really like hanging out with them, but there’s all this stuff that goes with it. I’m not sure if we hang because we feel like we owe one another or because we still want to find the good times we used to have. I think when we made the switch from all-night ragers in bars to calm little dinners in restaurants, we lost something.”

“I know what you mean,” he says. “I’ve been wondering lately what Jordan and I actually talk about. It’s like he’s always trying to impress me, but there’s nothing beneath the surface. It’s like he studies me to try to figure out who he should be, what he should like to do.”

I nod. I haven’t let myself articulate anything like that before and I’m glad to hear that Tommy has had these confusing feelings, too.

“Do you think Beth is okay?” I ask, and he shrugs.

“Do you think Jordan is?” he asks, and I shrug.

“How much do we get involved? And how shitty of a thing is that to ask?”

“I don’t know, but I wonder about the same kinds of things.”

“Will you please come with me to dinner? It’s only thirty bucks! I know your sister doesn’t want to go and I know I don’t want to be the lone witness to what is Kathy and Ron’s relationship.”

“Fine,” he says. “Just don’t sign me up for anything else.”

The restaurant is in SoHo. Osteria del something. I block it out as soon as the hostess insists on checking my light summer jacket.

“Your party has already checked in. They’re up having drinks.” We climb up a circular staircase to a bar area that looks down on the diners. The restaurant is dim with lots of dark curtains and high-backed chairs. I see Ron looking down at everyone with a smug expression. This is his kind of place. Kathy is talking to him, but he doesn’t really seem to be paying attention.

“Hey, guys,” Tommy says, and Kathy turns as soon as she hears him.

“Hello, you two. Isn’t this nice?” She pulls the both of us into a big hug and kisses us.

“Why don’t you get a drink?” Ron suggests, then summons over the waiter.

“I could just wait until we have dinner,” Tommy says, but the waiter is already there. “Okay what do you have for beer?”

“Peroni and Morretti,” the waiter says.

“No Bud Lite at this place,” Tommy comments.

“They have terrific bellinis,” Kathy says. Maybe she noticed me rolling my eyes.

“Do you want a bellini?” the waiter asks, looking at me.

“Um, sure,” I say. This is more pressure than I like to have at restaurants.

“I’ll get a Peroni,” Tommy adds. I smile at him, trying to convey my gratitude for what I fear is going to be an intense night, but he doesn’t meet my eyes.

Ron is a pharmaceutical salesman. He makes a lot of money and enjoys talking about everything that has to do with money. I once told him how I viewed money in terms of rock shrimp tempura and he didn’t get it.