Up & Out (17 page)

“Okay, why? Did he say something?”

“No,” I say. One of her friends makes a face. I’m not sure I believe her. Maybe she’ll think Don was talking about her and that will boost her confidence with him. “I was just wondering.”

“Nothing happened.” She is still suspicious. “Say hi to those guys.”

When I get back to the blanket, John is there.

“I had to get out of there,” he says, referring to Explore! “I could have stayed all night and it would have sucked the life out of me.”

I try not to be jealous that he was just working on
Esme’s Enlightenments.
I bend to kiss him hello and I tell them I saw Sarah, but don’t mention anything about Don. According to them, relations between Production and Programming are at an all-time high now that they all share a hatred of Delores. Still standing, I take a low bow and camp it up.

“I’m just glad my livelihood was sacrificed for the good of network relations.”

“When do we get to eat this yummy-smelling thing?” John asks, holding up my party-size sandwich. I’m pretty hungry and I open it up, passing everyone a piece along with a napkin.

The pesto and olive oil have soaked into the bread and tomato, and all the flavors are working really well together. I look around to see if it’s just because I’m hungry. Apparently not, everyone is scarfing up their sandwiches.

“This is delicious,” Kathy says between bites.

“Mmm, perfect,” Jen says.

“You can really make a sandwich,” Janice says.

“Is there more?” John asks, eyeing the bag behind me. We all have seconds and John has thirds.

“Maybe Rebecca will do the race,” Janice says, looking at Kathy. Have my friends been making plans behind my back? People with jobs have things to say. It must be nice to be employed and have things to say to people.

“What?”

“That’s a good idea,” Kathy says.

“What?” I repeat. Now they have secrets and good ideas. Wasn’t I the one who pulled Kathy out of her funk?

“There’s a 10-K at the end of the summer over Labor Day,” Kathy explains. “I’ve been running a lot. I’m going to do it and so is Janice. It’ll be wonderful, two weeks before the wedding.”

“I don’t run,” I say.

“It’s only 10-K. That’s like six miles. It’s nothing,” says Janice.

“That’s six more miles than I run,” I say.

“That’s what I said at first, Rebecca. Fight the power,” Jen says.

“You’ve got almost two months,” Kathy says. “I thought you might want to start training.” I think I see her eye my stomach. Okay, I
am
a little bloated from the sandwich.

“Is this about a race or how I’m going to look in my bridesmaid dress?” I can tell my question makes everyone feel awkward. It wasn’t what I intended.

“She wants you to
run it
in your bridesmaid dress,” John says, trying to break the ice. Jen changes the subject to her weekend visit to her sister’s timeshare on the Jersey shore. I don’t look at Kathy for a little while.

After what has been hours, the sun is finally down. Someone announces the movie is going to start and people cheer. I think we must all be drunk on beer or sun or long, hot summer days. I glance at Kathy to see if she minds that the movie is wedding-related, but she smiles at me. I think she is worried that I’m upset that she thinks I’m chubby.

A promo for the sponsors of the movie comes on the big screen. All the people who come here every Monday night get up and do a funny hand-clapping dance at the opener. Kathy, who has never been to a Monday-night movie, gets up and sways as Janice and John get goofy. Jen and I look at each other and laugh.

“Nice job,” I say to them when they sit down. I realize it isn’t so hot anymore. The movie opens with an old
Bugs Bunny
cartoon. Everyone cheers about this, also. There is all this pent-up energy from waiting around so long.

I try to get as comfortable as possible on the blanket that I’m sharing with four other people. I notice the way my stomach sort of bulges out more than usual.

“Maybe I will start running,” I whisper to Kathy. She smiles and nods.

I wake up in the morning feeling hot and fat. I take a long look at myself in the full-length mirror and try to decide if
Kathy was hinting that I’d gained weight. I have certainly been going out less since I lost my job, but I think the damage was done from the past year of expensive meals, eating at my desk and being office bound.

I belonged to a gym once. I have the expensive sneakers to prove it. I’m more of a spinning-class girl. Okay, so it’s been a long time since I sat on a bike. It’s been a long time since I exerted
any
energy.

I’m not a small girl, and I never expect to be. I usually like my butt, but staring into this mirror, I think I’m a lot rounder than is healthy.

I eat a container of yogurt and turn the TV on. I’m going to get out and do something, but first I’ll watch a little TV. The prospect of going out into the heat is not very appealing and I certainly can’t go joining another gym, so I’m just going to eat my yogurt one spoonful at a time.

I’m flipping through the channels when I see it. Esme—the new Esme—episode number eleven. This is animation that I worked on, but I was obviously gone when they did the sound design. Esme has no glasses and a completely different voice. She sounds like a dimwit. My voice-over talent—the voice I gave her—was husky with a constant edge of sarcasm; this voice is saccharine sweet.

I pick up the phone to kvetch at Janice, but then I hang it up. Of course she knew, she just didn’t tell me. I don’t blame her. At this point, what could I have done except get as upset as I’m getting now?

I consider calling Tommy, but I’ve got to try to stop running to him with everything that goes wrong. I have to wean myself off relying on him if I’m really sure I don’t want to be his girlfriend anymore. And I’m positive I don’t. Okay, almost positive.

I watch the entire episode of
Esme’s Enlightenments
with a sinking feeling in my stomach. It’s clear that Esme really isn’t mine anymore. If only I had been smarter when I developed the series, maybe I would still have some control. If only everything…

I watch the credits roll. I see mine, “Based on a character and
story concept by Rebecca Cole.” At least that will be there for as long as the show airs, but without my vision for her, I’m not sure I want the credit.

I dig my sneakers out of the closet and find some bike shorts and try on a variety of T-shirts. None of the ones in my drawers cover enough of my butt. I go into Tommy’s room. This is a total violation, but I’m not going to go out into the steamy city with my butt on display for every construction worker and delivery guy to critique.

Tommy has an extra-large Incredible Hulk T-shirt and I put it on and put my hair up. I’ve been neglecting to have my hair cut and I have to bobby-pin some of the longer layers back up into my ponytail. I also take my Walkman. The batteries are dead, but if I am going to get the catcalls that increase ten-fold during the summer, I want to give the impression that I can’t hear them. I’m not saying I’m hot, mind you, the New York machismo factor is strong no matter what you look like or what you wear.

I walk fast over to the Hudson River. It’s hot, but not as hot as it has been, and once I get over to the pier, I feel a slight breeze. Then I just start jogging.

I run really slow, but it is kind of nice. I look up at the Intrepid and pass the Circle Line Depot. A few other people are out and they kind of smile when they run or bike past me. We are a community of people trying to attain better health.

I am startled each time a biker whizzes by and even more jumpy when they ring their little bells. It’s hot and the rest of the runners appear to be okay with this. Of course, they are mostly wearing less clothes than I am—men run by shirtless and most of the women have color-coordinated Nike outfits with half tank tops and tight shorts that show off their flabless asses. I’m never going to look like this.

Everyone is going faster than me, even though I am starting to get a stomach cramp. I try to just breathe. In and out. It should be easy, but I can’t seem to regulate it. No one else is having these problems. Everyone is able to pick up their feet in a way I can’t. Everyone who goes by has a different way of
doing it. Some people look like they’re running hard, like it’s a struggle they are battling against, and some people kind of glide. I shuffle.

I take a walking break when I get down to Chelsea Piers, but then I start running again and jog to Chelsea Market. It’s a lot cooler inside and instead of buying a bunch of delicious cheeses from the Italian market, I get a juice from the juice stand. It hits the spot. I’m refreshed and energized and I manage to run and walk back up to my apartment.

I can’t believe that I’ve probably jogged about two and a half miles! Yes, I’m dripping with sweat, but I have a sense of accomplishment. Maybe I actually will do the race. What else am I going to do with all of this free time? I sit on the stoop of my building and take many labored breaths. I didn’t think about Esme or Tommy or my friends or food or anything the entire time I was running. I just looked around me and tried not to hyperventilate.

I can’t believe how clear my mind is. Although when I stand up from the stoop, my knees buckle a little, but I grab hold of the railing in time to greet the postman coming out of the building.

“Stay cool,” he says.

“You, too,” I whisper, unable to raise my voice over a pant.

I check the mail. I got my unemployment check, my severance payment and my credit card bill. I only open up the checks when I stop on the third-floor landing.

Back in the apartment I take a shower but still feel over-heated when I get out. I lie down on the couch in a towel and turn on the Food Network. I deserve a little reward, and now that I’m here I don’t ever want to move.

Lauryn calls during
The Naked Chef,
just as I am getting slightly excited as Jamie Oliver stuffs a chicken.

“Did somebody say sweat?” she asks.

“How’s it going? Is it that hot up there, too?” I flex and unflex my sore legs.

“Hotter, and this town is full of hot men in the summer. The
only problem is I’m living in the dry part so I always have to drive to the alcohol. Then I can’t drive back.”

“Be careful,” I warn.

“Oh, I am—they don’t fuck around with drunk driving here, which is good.”

“They are protecting and serving. It sounds like you are back in the saddle again.”

“Kinda.”

“Anything newsworthy?”

“Well, I kissed this bartender the other night. There’s nothing like a first kiss.”

“I wouldn’t know. What’s with you and bartenders?”

“They’ve got what I need, plus I have to talk to them. It helps me get over my shyness.”

“Because you’re really quite shy.”

“Yes.” Right.

“Did anything else happen?”

“Well he brought me back to his place and all his roommates checked me out. Then he told me all about the girl he was in the process of breaking up with.”

“Did you tell him about Jordan?”

“Of course not. We weren’t on a talk show. I just wanted some fun—some good clean no-strings-attached sex.”

“You’re back!”

“A girl’s gotta eat.”

“Tell me about it,” I say, feeling a bit peckish as Jamie, the Naked Chef, pours olive oil over some potatoes. “So what happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Not a thing?”

“He had issues. All this talk of his dead relationship stifled him.”

“Wow!”

“I know. What happened to guys who just want to get laid? All of a sudden they’ve grown up and decided to have feelings?”

I started laughing and felt better. It’s amazing how a friend can do that for you.

I tell her about my jog and she is truly shocked. I feel like she called at the perfect time. There is nothing I would rather be doing than lying on the couch talking to Lauryn. She’s listening to everything I say and it’s like we’re talking the way we used to in high school.

It’s been a long time since we were able to communicate and laugh like this and I’ve missed it. I tell her that I’m going to come up and visit from Thursday to Monday. She has to do some fieldwork in the early mornings, but she is really happy for me to visit.

“I just need some girl time,” she says. “And wait till you see the beach.”

“I can’t wait,” I say. “It’s going to be fun.”

L
auryn is waving to me from the dock when the ferry pulls into the harbor on Martha’s Vineyard. It’s been a long train, bus and ferry ride to get here, but it’s all worth it when I smell the sea and see Lauryn.

I file off the boat and hurry over to her. We hug. She looks so happy and tanned. She takes my duffel bag.

“Did somebody say long weekend?” she asks in her old happy-Lauryn way.

“Did somebody say tan?”

“Oh, look,” she says, pointing to some birds skimming along the surface of the water. “Piping plovers. Aren’t they beautiful?”

“Did somebody say crunchy bird girl?” She elbows me and looks at them for a minute, shielding her eyes from the strong sun. I can tell by the way she looks at them that it is more than a hobby.

“We ought to get going,” she says. “Traffic gets brutal and I want to stop at the Net Result and pick up some lobsters.”

I scoffed at the idea of traffic on the tiny island, but at almost six o’clock in the evening the one-lane highway around
the island is packed with Jeeps. We are one of them since Lauryn has rented a Jeep for the summer. Her whole mood is brighter; she beats her tanned hands on the steering wheel along with the radio. Her laid-back chill is contagious.

“Beach crowd,” she says, by way of explanation. “I figured you might be tired so we could hang in tonight and see if we felt like going out. It’s a bit of a walk to the bars, or we can take a cab. Whatever you are in the mood for.”

“I don’t mind just catching up and seeing how we feel.” In truth, I’m kind of tired and just chilling with Lauryn is all I feel like doing after my six-hour journey.

We park at a shack and get two two-pound lobsters that Lauryn called in for earlier. They have steamed them for us. The place smells of fish. My stomach groans and Lauryn laughs.

“Within a half hour you will be eating the best lobster of your life.”

Back at Lauryn’s rented condo, she makes a salad and I open a bottle of white wine. She heats up some butter for the lobsters. We set the table outside on her balcony. She is alone in a two-bedroom apartment. The two floors beneath her are full of college kids.

“Are they loud?” I ask as we sit down for dinner. I watch her expertly crack open her lobster.

“No, I hang out with them sometimes. I know, I feel so old, but everyone is pretty friendly on the island. I keep such weird hours. I mean, I get up so early and then at like one o’clock I’m back taking a nap until dinner.” She is already getting a stipend for her studies.

“This seems like a nice little scam you’ve got going,” I say as I delicately dip some lobster tail into the butter. It’s delicious.

“I know,” Lauryn says, smiling, “I feel so lucky. Wait till you see the beach tomorrow. I’m gonna go into the field pretty early, but then I figure we can go to South Beach for some sun and swimming.”

“Sounds good. I’ve only been to the beach once this year.” I don’t mention it was the beach party I went to with Jordan. She hasn’t brought him up in a while and I’m not going to. I
am getting less dainty with my lobster as I crack the claws. It’s so damn good, I hardly want to be sidetracked by salad.

“Remember when we used to go to Jones Beach every weekend?” I nod. “That seems like forever ago.”

“I know. Is it real crowded here?”

“Sometimes. Tomorrow will be a great day. This weekend will be touristy, but I figure Friday we’ll go out.”

“Yeah, I’ve got no problem hanging in tonight,” I say.

“And getting crazy tomorrow night,” she says.

“Are you getting crazy, bird girl?”

“Just a bit. You’re not done with that, are you?” She gestures toward my lobster carcass.

“What? Should I suck the bones?” She shakes her head at me as if I am some sort of amateur eater. She proceeds to scrape another quarter pound out of my lobster through some kind of strange lobster surgery she must have learned on this island.

“Who would have thunk a girl from PA…” I say.

“Ms. Gordon would be so proud.”

We watch the sun go down and open another bottle of wine. For dessert we eat Ben & Jerry’s Cherry Garcia and listen to music. We stay up until midnight talking with our legs folded up close to us on the chaise longues and I tell her in detail about everything that happened with work and Seamus. She tells me all about her fieldwork. I can’t really understand it all, but I know enough to see that it fascinates her. She has smiled more tonight than in the entire past year. I yawn involuntarily and Lauryn goes inside to set up the AeroBed.

“Sorry I’m so lame tonight,” I say.

“Don’t worry about it, I have to get up in like four hours. I’m glad you’re here. We have plenty of time.”

I wake up around ten-thirty. I vaguely remember Lauryn coming in here to grab her laptop early this morning and relishing the fact that I could still sleep. And it’s nice and cool in the guest room. I never do this, but I brought my sneakers. I’ve been running pretty consistently all week and I know that if I don’t keep at it, I’ll never get stronger.

I throw on my shorts and a T-shirt and grab my Walkman and go outside. I have no idea where I’m going, but I figure that I can stay off the main roads and keep turning left. I run about fifteen minutes and then turn around and start heading back. It’s much cooler on the island than in muggy Manhattan and I think I feel stronger because I’m not fighting the oppressive heat. I run by lots of little houses, and realize how much I would enjoy a more quiet summer off. If I ever work again, maybe I’ll get a summer house…but then I’ll have less time to spend there. There is more than one downside of working.

I see Lauryn’s Jeep in the driveway and jog around back and up the stairs to the deck. She is sitting out on a lounge chair in shorts and a bikini top and drinking an iced coffee. She smiles at me.

“Look at you, marathon runner. I never thought I’d see the day when you ran for anything but your supper.” She pulls her sunglasses down her nose.

“I’m still running short distances. I foolishly agreed to do a 10-K with Kathy. I think it’s a ploy so she can have a more attractive bridal party.” Lauryn rolls her eyes.

“There’s an iced coffee for you in the fridge. Do you need to take a shower? I figured we would just go to the beach and get sweaty, anyway.”

“That’s cool, lemme just change.”

The beach is not crowded like Jones Beach on Long Island but there are plenty of people on it, mostly families and college kids. Lauryn and I set up our blankets and break out the giant sandwiches we bought. I bought this mile-high veggie sandwich called the Tree Hugger and Lauryn got a Cuban with meat and pickles. It’s big enough to rival the Carnegie Deli’s. I only get through half of mine and then wrap up the rest.

We put sunscreen on each other and lay back on the blankets with books and magazines. Lauryn says she canceled all her subscriptions, finally. She looks a lot better in her bikini than I do, even with my week of running. Will these giant thighs ever
be lean? After about forty-five minutes I’m really hot, so I get up to go in the water.

“Are you sure you don’t want to digest a little longer?” Lauryn says like a mom. She takes out a cigarette and lights it. She holds the pack out to me and I shake my head.

“I’ll wait until you are done and then we’ll go.”

“Here, why don’t you read this.” She tosses me a magazine article about getting over your ex by changing your hair.

“Thanks, I tried this already.”

“With amazing results,” she says, exhaling smoke.

“Tell me, guru, how you did it,” I shoot back at her. It’s a testament to how far she has come that she can laugh at that.

“I’m ready,” she says. She stubs her cigarette out in the sand and puts it in her empty water bottle. She is certainly concerned for her environment, if not her lungs.

I follow her down to the water. The waves are huge. We stand for a minute, letting the water lap our toes. It’s cold. It’s now or never, so I run and dive in. Lauryn follows me in, screaming. My body freezes, then numbs, then starts to feel okay. We play and body surf in the waves.

After almost an hour we get out and I start to shiver. Lauryn hands me a towel and we wrap ourselves up and huddle close together on the blanket. My feet are covered in sand, but I don’t mind.

“I could stay here all day,” Lauryn says.

“I know, you must be psyched to have the summer off.”

“It’s sort of cool. Are you happy to be out of the city?”

“Yeah, I really am. How are you doing?” I ask tentatively. “You know, with everything?”

“I’m doing good,” she smiles. “With everything.”

“Are you still taking the pills?”

“Yeah. They help. You know, they really help. Do you want to talk about this?”

“Only if you do.”

“I actually do, I mean I wish people would ask me more. I don’t mind talking about it. The more I can talk about being depressed I think the better I am. I remember the day when I
told you I was taking them. I felt like you were really uncomfortable.”

“I guess I was.”

“I know I wasn’t easy to put up with during the whole Jordan thing.”

“I guess I just never knew what to expect.” I can’t believe I am saying this to her.

“Things were pretty intense for a while. You know, did you ever just not feel like yourself or even know what that meant? It’s like I couldn’t get out of my own way. I used to be happy, you know. I used to be funny.”

“You
are
funny,” I say, touching her arm. “You seem back to the way you used to be. Even the last time we talked.”

“I know, but like, why did I have to go through all that shit? Why did I take it? Was I that scared of being without him? Was I that scared of being alone?”

“It’s where we come from. I mean, back home we would be married with kids. You know, my mother thinks I’m an old maid at twenty-seven.”

“But there’s got to be some resentment in that. I mean, here you are with all these things going for you.”

“What? Unemployment?”

“You’re unemployed now, but you had a show. Your thing, you know—not everyone gets to do that.”

“But, in the end, did it help anything? Was it meaningful?”

“Yeah, I think it was. There are a ton of little girls out there who don’t mind wearing glasses now.”

“Um, now they
do.
She isn’t wearing them anymore. Now she’s just like all the other girls on shows. Glasses weren’t sexy.”

“It’s bullshit. I wish there was a way you could still be in charge of Esme. With the next show, you have to be in charge.”

“What next show?” I shake my head and bury my feet in the sand. I tell her about Kathy calling me during her mini breakdown, saying she felt like there were too many choices.

“She’s going to be so let down after the wedding. When all the gifts are opened and the dress is shrink-wrapped it will just be them. Alone together and in debt.”

“Well, Ron’s got money.”

“But what does she see in him?”

“I don’t know. I have to think when they’re alone together something happens.”

“What’s Beth up to?”

“I don’t know. She’s the one I worry about the most. She is still partying as much as we ever did.”

“With who?” I shrug. I know Lauryn well enough to see her study me, but also well enough to lie.

“I guess, work people. I don’t know how she does it.” I decide to change the subject. “I can’t party like I used to—the body just doesn’t recover. But I will tonight.”

After showers and a nap, we walk to a pub in town. We sit in one of the high booths and order pints and mussels and a small pizza with fig, roasted tomatoes and feta. I smoke cigarettes with Lauryn and we chat.

On the way to the next bar, we stop in an upscale beach shop and I buy a toe ring and a sarong. I may be working out, but I still need the coverage. At the next bar, peanut shells cover the floor and we order pints of their home brew. We find two bar stools and drink and smoke until a few college kids come to sit with us and all their names go by me in a blur, but I’m drunk enough to revel in the fact that they think we’re their age.

I wind up talking to two beefy nameless guys about college basketball. Yesterday, I would have said I knew nothing about this subject, but the home brew has given me a lot of knowledge on the subject.

I smile over at Lauryn. She is standing particularly close to another guy who is wearing a Block Island sweatshirt. Perhaps he is an island Lothario who hops from island to island wooing young divorced women. His biggest dilemma is trying to decide between going to Nantucket or Shelter Island next. I am smiling to myself and feeling carefree.

“I want you to know that I really did love Jordan,” I hear Lauryn say to me as one of the boys tells me he’s premed. By
the time I turn around to talk to her she is making out with sweatshirt guy.

I don’t bring up what she said about Jordan during our walk back home. We slipped away from the college kids. It was clear that Lauryn’s Casanova liked her and wanted more, but she gave him her number and firmly told him we were going home. This is the benefit of being a little bit older; we no longer behave like floozies, we are firm. (Truth be told, I missed out on some floozy time by starting to date Tommy junior year, so maybe I have one minor indiscretion left before becoming absolutely firm….)

We sing one of the songs from the bar, “Come on Eileen,” all the way home. Lauryn raises her voice high and holds my hand as we cut through alleys and walk along the road single file.

On Saturday, we go back to the beach. The water is calmer today, and for some reason, I decide to wear less sunscreen. I feel a tightness around my eyes at the end of the day. We decide the best remedy would be to hit one of the pubs along the pier. We sit out on the open wood patio and drink frozen drinks and eat steamers.

“These are delicious,” I say as butter rolls down my chin.

We watch the sun dip down along the sea and feel the faintest wind. To think some people are able to live like this. The corporate world seems a million miles away.

“Are you spacing out?” Lauryn asks.

“I should have come up here with you as soon as I got laid off.”