Welcome to Envy Park (10 page)

He smiled and approached me, and I was suddenly
aware of how small the space was. It was actually him, his body was
larger than most, so imposing, and suddenly glaringly obvious to me
now. I became aware of it exactly when Ethan became an
impossibility. The body, clever, it adjusted based on need, never
mind what the brain said.

"You want to get lunch or
something?"

Not Shakespearean, but who was I to nitpick.

"Sure," I said.

"Great."

He smelled great, I thought at the time. His breath
didn’t seem like a smoker’s at all.

-/\/\/\-

So JM was on a strange diet and could only eat meat
for lunch. But he didn’t like any other preparation of meat that
would usually require rice eaten with it, so we could only really
eat at a burger place. But not just any kind of burger place,
because the regular fast food joints didn’t serve big enough
patties. It was a good thing we found the small gourmet burger
place beside the frozen yogurt chain, because by then we had gone
around the park twice and I was ready to eat my hand.

"You should just say
Do you want to get a giant burger with me?
all the time when you invite people to eat with
you," I said.

"Sorry," he said. "Usually my
meals are sent to me. But not today."

"Why are your meals sent to
you?"

"So the portions are
right."

"Someone sends you big burgers
every meal, every day?" It was like something from a dream, or at
least one of the dreams I had as a child, before I learned about
cardiac disease.

I ordered a wasabi burger, and he
ordered a plain giant Wagyu burger. No ketchup or any other
seasoning. As he ate it without any discernible joy, he told me
what the deal was—he was a TV host, for one of those lifestyle
entertainment shows on cable, and he had to maintain a certain
look. Beefy, I guessed.

"I’m very new," JM said. "I
haven’t actually started yet. We’re still in rehearsal and they
just want me to focus on my upper body right now. It’s TV hosting,
so the upper body’s really important."

"Actual hosting is important too,"
I muttered into my own beef.

"I was hoping you could help me
with that, actually," JM said. "I notice that you speak really
well. Did you host professionally before, or something?"

"No, never," I said. "Thanks
though. What do you mean, speak well?"

"You kind of sound what they want
us hosts to, except in real life. They keep telling me I sound like
I’m reading something."

I laughed. "Because you’re usually
really reading something, right?"

"Can you help me?"

"With what?"

"Help me sound like
you."

"But I don’t know what I sound
like."

"I think if I just keep talking to
you, I’ll pick it up. Like foreign accents."

Was he for real? He was by far the
closest I’d come to knowing a
pretty
boy
, and he was very nearly a celebrity,
two types of people I knew nothing about. Was this code? How
exactly did you get asked out by an almost-celebrity? Was this what
they talked about?

But then I could almost already
hear Roxie yelling "
Him
him!
" and I shrugged. "Sure," I said,
figuring I had nothing to lose.

Throughout our relatively short
lunch I was aware that people kept stealing glances at him. A few
openly gawked, pointed, smiled to their companions and nudged their
heads in our direction. JM was doing his best with acting as if he
didn’t see it happening, but that just meant he could look at an
entire room and not look anyone in the eye. And ended up just
looking at me the entire time, to be safe.

He was nice to look at, though. A
cutie. Twenty-three but could pass for a college student, with hair
sculpted to stand up just so, muscles bulging in a shirt that would
be a poncho on me. He was on the right side of bulky though—it was
still hot, and not human growth hormone icky.

The not-looking-people-in-the-eye
thing was contagious; by the time I finished my burger I was doing
it too. I started to assume that everyone in the small restaurant,
from the occupants of the three other tables to the two people in
line at the counter, were just looking at us (including me) and I
tried not to look back.

So my gaze went up and out, toward sidewalk and the
tables outside, and I saw Ethan walking right by us. On his way
from lunch? Probably. I just realized that we never hung out here
in the daytime, and watching him in natural light was kind of
nice.

I waved. It seemed like the thing to do. The moving
fingers caught his attention, and he saw me. Stopped and walked on
over.

"Hey," I said.

He glanced from me to JM and back
again. "I’m seeing you tomorrow, right?"

"Yes. I’ll be ready. You can quiz
me if you want. Oh, Ethan, this is JM. He lives in Tower 3
too."

They shook hands. Ethan was nearly six feet and not
exactly skinny, but next to JM he was a frail thing. I wondered
what guys thought about when they shook hands with someone who was
just more massive. Because my thing was lipstick; whenever I shook
hands with a girl who was wearing the perfect shade of lipstick I
always felt a stab of envy, but I would immediately convert it to a
productive thing by complimenting her and asking her where she got
it.

I would ask Ethan about that, I thought.

"See you tomorrow," I said,
because they hadn’t said anything else.

"I’ll pick you up," Ethan replied.
"I have to go back to work."

Chapter 13

"...under, definitely."

"Really?"

"Most likely."

"I can’t negotiate on the basis of
international experience or something?"

Ethan didn’t like his meal (curry
at a Japanese fusion place) very much, so maybe that was why he was
a bit off already. That was my official answer—deep down I wished
he were a tiny bit jealous from seeing me hanging out with another
neighbor.

Because that was all we were, right? Neighbors.

"They don’t need someone with
international experience for the event support team, sorry. If you
bring that up too much, they’re just going to move on to someone
else."

He was also basically telling me that the pay for
this was going to be really low. Way below what I used to get in my
last job, and lower than the kind of jobs I could get if I decided
to make my career again here.

"Okay, so I won’t mention it," I
said. "But you think they’ll be okay with my resume? It’s all over
the place."

He nodded. "I saw it. You
highlighted the right stuff. As long as they know you can do
certain things, you’ll get it."

I shrugged. "Better than
nothing."

Ethan was looking down at his
food. He had been doing that the whole time, regarding it like a
chore, like he was dreading the next spoonful and was psyching
himself up for it. Then he looked up at me. "What other choices do
you have right now?"

"A few... my Hong Kong and
Thailand applications are moving along."

"So soon?"

"They’re referrals by friends.
It’s how I got my Singapore lead in the first place. It’s usually
faster that way. How long did your California reassignment
take?"

He paused to think about it.
"Three years of working with someone who was eventually assigned
there, and wanted me in the team. And then eight months of working
everything out, once they brought up the possibility."

"Hmm."

"Hmm what?"

"Ashley told me that your ex only
found out you were moving when you were really about to
go."

"She knew that I was being
considered for a lot of things."

"Yes, but." And then I shoved a
deep fried tempura and tuna maki in my mouth before I could
complete that thought.

He wanted to go there, though.
"But what?" he insisted, as I chewed.

"It just didn’t seem like she had
eight months to prepare for you leaving," I said.

"It was complicated. I wasn’t sure
if it was ever going to happen. And the US move wasn’t the only
thing that was on the table."

"What else was on the
table?"

"Same team but Manila-based, lower
position. Same position but based in Shanghai. And a headhunter was
trying to get me to move to a competitor. Eventually the best
scenario won."

"When did any of that become a
sure thing?"

"None of them were."

"When did it feel like it
anyway?"

He poked at his dish again. "When
I handed in my resignation to the local office and they accepted
it. I had to do that to accept the transfer."

"So the months of you filling out
paperwork, submitting documents, getting the proper health checks
and shots, none of that was a sure thing to you?"

"I’m still
here
. Even my sure thing wasn’t a
sure thing. Circumstances just changed, it happens."

Was he getting tense at me, or his horrible dinner?
I wasn’t sure. Because he was taking it out on the poor curry.

"Do you regret breaking up with
her then?" I had to ask. Since his appetite was ruined anyway.
"Because you wouldn’t have done it if you weren’t planning to move,
right?"

"No." He said that quickly, with
conviction. No? No regrets or no he wouldn’t have broken up with
her?

"No," he said again, almost to
himself, and it was like he was articulating this for the first
time. "No, I should have broken up with her even
before."

I tapped his arm, supportive, like
a buddy. "I understand. Hindsight. What made you know that you
wanted out?"

"I’d rather not answer
that."

"You’re very polite. It’s nice.
You remember my ex George?"

"Yes."

"I just woke up one morning and
realized that it was going to be another weekend of asking him what
his plans were. After
two
years
. Shouldn’t I have been automatically
part of his weekend plans at some point? But he never made me feel
that. And it was over."

He sullenly chewed. "Did you ever
tell him that that’s what you wanted?"

Ugh. I had a sudden flashback to that exact weekend,
because George said something very similar.

And I said,
no I don’t have to ask, because I don’t want to be with
someone who lives his own life and think I’m an optional accessory.
Who the hell makes his girlfriend feel like this?

And he said,
So you’re calling yourself my girlfriend now? I thought you
didn’t want that.

And then I said,
Get out of my flat.

"No," I said, struggling to keep
the tension out of my voice. "I don’t like begging for something
that other people get free."

He knew he struck a nerve, but he
was in his own little bubble. "Anyway. Your interview
tomorrow."

"Yes."

"I remembered the advice I wanted
to give you. From that night when you had your other interview, but
I didn’t want to tell you then, while you were still
disappointed."

"What is it then?"

"Even though you want something
temporary, and maybe they’re looking for something temporary, don’t
give the impression that temporary is all you’re good for," Ethan
said. "Show them that maybe, given the right circumstances, you can
commit to something. That it’ll be up to them to make sure they
keep you."

It made sense. I really was
rubbing my "get out of here" plans too much in other people’s
faces.

"Fine. Will do it your way for
now. Will hide my intentions to bail, for as long as
possible."

"I didn’t
hide
my intentions—"

"No, you prolonged making an
actual decision even though you kind of already
decided."

His eyes turned sharp almost, and
that was definitely not the curry. "I don’t rock the boat if it’s
not worth rocking just yet. As opposed to what, declaring to the
universe things that haven’t happened yet? I’m not like
you."

"What’s wrong with asking for it?
It’s always worked for me."

"I’m careful about what I ask
for."

That sounded vaguely insulting,
but I pretended not to notice. "It’s easy for you to say, San
Francisco. But I get why you don’t feel the need to ask the
universe for things. You just take what you get, right?"

Ethan shrugged, like the physical
act would jolt this in another direction. "I’m just telling you
what Kylene from HR would want to hear."

"Noted," I told him. "I won’t
declare my intentions to your HR friend so I get the job. But on
that salary though? Why would I even want to stay longer? It’ll
hold me down here way after Megan arrives, and the pay’s not enough
to get me a place of my own."