Who You Know (11 page)

Why did Jen get all the exciting guys with interesting pasts?

“So me and my two partners immediately go to work, and the guy revives within seconds. He never knew that he had died, he only knew that suddenly three big guys are holding him down, shoving tubes down his throat and needles into his arms. He starts fighting us off, he pulls the IV out of his arm as he reaches up to get the tube out of his mouth. Obviously if you've just died, you don't want to engage in heavy exercise, like wrestling three people, for example. I need to inject him with some Valium, but I also need to get the IV back in and the tube back down his throat. I'm practically sitting on the man's face. My partners Ken and Jim are holding his arms down, and I get the IV in in record time, then we inject him with some Valium. But get this: while all this whole big struggle was happening, the guy's daughter had driven by and recognized her dad's car and she gets out of the car screaming, oh my god, oh my god, that's my dad—she's just wigging out. We tell her he's going to be okay, we're taking him to the hospital. I guess she had a cell phone to call the rest of the family and they must have lived like right there, because by the time we'd stabilized him and gotten to the hospital, this guy's whole family is there. That's really rare for us, too. Usually the family doesn't show up until long after we've come and gone. We never get any credit for keeping people alive. But here we could see what we'd done. All these teary-eyed family members, the wife, the daughter, the teenage son, it was pretty cool.”

“That's amazing,” I said.

Jen beamed proudly.

“Yeah, that was pretty cool. We got a few interesting cases a year, but mostly it was just really grueling work. A lot of crazed drug addicts, a few grotesque car accident victims, and zillions of heart attacks.”

Greg came up to us and gave Jen a hug and Tom an enthusiastic, “Hey! How's it going? I'm Greg, Rette's fiancé. Nice to meet you.” They shook hands and Tom agreed it was nice to meet him, too. For a moment there was a lot of awkward nodding, then Tom asked if Greg had caught the Broncos game, and off they were, rambling on about such and such a play and who was going to win some upcoming game. Greg never watched football on TV, but somehow he managed to be conversant on the subject. He never talked sports with me so it was strange to see him be able to suddenly discuss it with such enthusiasm.

I was instantly bored out of my mind, but Jen looked enthralled by their conversation. Jen moved as though she expected to be caught on film at any moment, as if she felt watched and admired. She ate neatly, taking small, ladylike bites, and her eyes were always animated. She was captivating. Did she ever shut it off? Did she ever tire of performing? She could pretend to be fascinated by the most boring person. It was a skill that served her well.

Greg and I went up to our own apartment at two in the morning. The party had been fun, but I was exhausted. Even though I'd taken a Pepcid before drinking, my stomach rumbled irritably. It was bloated and distended and I felt like a woman nine months pregnant with twins. I did not feel at all sexy, so when Greg put his hand on my breast and tried to kiss my neck, I found his touch repulsive.

“My friends warned me this would happen. They warned me not to move in with you,” he said.

“Don't be a jerk. I'm tired and my stomach hurts. We never have sex anymore because you're always busy with school. We'll make a sex date for tomorrow night. Wait, what time is it? Tonight I mean.”

I wanted to talk more, but he just grumbled and turned away, slamming his head down into his pillow.

AVERY

I
'd forgotten how much work it was to throw a party, but the turnout was good, and my costume turned out well. Even so, I wondered what it would have been like if Art had done my makeup. I imagined his gentle hands lovingly painting whimsical spatters on my face, neck, and arms.

I was pouring myself a beer when I saw them. Marc, Mark, and Mary had actually come. I'd invited them thinking I could get on their good side by pretending I wanted the honor of their presence when I knew they'd have a hipper party to go to. But they didn't. They were at my party with their stunning significant others in tow.

Mary was dressed as a genie, wearing a bikini that displayed her ample bust and small waist, and sheer baggy pants that exposed every leg muscle she'd earned from jogging. On her head she wore a square hat in the same shimmery pink as her bikini. Sheer material flowed out from the hat over her thick honey-colored hair. Her husband stood beside her wearing a pirate's uniform. Mark was with his live-in girlfriend (it wasn't enough that she was astonishingly good-looking, she was also a surgeon) and Marc and his wife, who smiled a practiced smile of a former high school prom queen. All four wore '70s disco attire, the kind of tight clothes in unforgiving fabrics that only a brave few could pull off. I thanked them for coming. Mark patted me on the shoulder and said it was good to see me as he walked past me to talk to someone more important. Marc, his wife, and Mark's girlfriend followed, leaving me alone with Mary and her husband, Todd.

“Wow, a ton of people came,” Mary said beaming. “Quite a shindig you've got going. I'm sorry we're late. I could
not
decide what to wear. The only thing I could think of was my cheerleading uniform, the one I wore in college—I still fit into it, thank god!—but I wore that last year. Mark was just about to pick us up when Todd came home with this costume. He knows my taste so well. It's perfect.” She put her hand on his chest and gazed at him admiringly.

“It's a beautiful costume,” I said. I was now completely out of ideas for conversation. “So, how did you two meet?” I asked.

“We both went to school at Hartwick College,” Mary said.

“I've never heard of that.”

“It's a small college in New York.”

“Interesting. Why did you decide to go there?”

“I literally just threw a college guidebook in the air and it landed on the page describing Hartwick, so I sent off an application just for the heck of it. I know now that I went there to meet Todd.”

They were young, successful, gorgeous, and dazzlingly in love. Surely I'd spent enough time with them by now, hadn't I?

“Well, help yourself to a beer. They're in the cooler. I should refill the snack trays.”

I watched them go, hand in hand. I picked up a mostly empty tray of crackers and cheese and went to the kitchen. I was arranging the crackers when Lydia cornered me.

“Did you get a chance to meet my cousin?” she asked.

“Cousin?”

“He's straight. He's single. He just got transferred here from Iowa. He works in a hospital.”

“Lydia, you are not trying to set me up.”

She peeked out the kitchen door and we both covertly looked at Ben, who was sitting on the couch next to some guy.

“Admit it, he's cute,” Lydia said.

He was kind of cute, though he had a beard. I wasn't a big fan of beards. He had nice brown eyes. His hair was thinning, but it didn't look bad on him. He wore a Renaissance-era costume.

“He's okay. You didn't say anything to him about me, did you?”

“I may have mentioned that I had a gorgeous, blonde, single friend, I'm not sure, I can't remember.”

“You realize I'm never going to speak to you again.”

“I'm going to remind you that you said that when you ask me to be a bridesmaid in your wedding. Come on, I'll introduce you.”

“That's not necessary—” It was too late. She dragged me into the living room and introduced us. Ben and I smiled dumbly at each other and Lydia made an entirely unsubtle getaway.

“Are you supposed to be a character from Shakespeare?” I asked.

“I'm just an average Renaissance man,” he said with a smile. “I'm a member in a Renaissance revival group. We meet on alternate weekends and reenact life in the Renaissance. We do things like build our own bows and arrows. We do archery and have feasts and generally celebrate Renaissance times.”

“Oh how interesting,” I said. “How did you get interested in that?”

“I minored in history in college and focused on the Renaissance. I think it was such an important and intriguing era in terms of art and literature and culture. I have to admit, I'm not a fan of modern artists like Pollock.”

“He's made some important contributions to modern art and, anyway, he's the only artist whose work I could reasonably reproduce.”

“You actually make it look really cool. Are you an artist?”

“No, I got my degree in fine arts in New York. I majored in dance, but I took a lot of art and writing classes, some photography. Anything that I couldn't possibly make a living at in real life.”

He laughed and I felt myself warming to him. So he was a little eccentric. Originality was interesting. We talked for a few more minutes until I saw newly arriving guests to greet, and I told him I needed to circulate.

I was so exhausted by the end of the night, I'd forgotten about Lydia's plot to get me together with Ben until he was leaving. I walked him to the door.

“It was a wonderful party,” he said.

“I'm glad you could make it.”

“Would you maybe like to go out sometime?” he asked.

“Sure.”

“I'll get your number from Lydia.”

“Great. It was nice to meet you.”

“It was nice to meet you.”

I waved to him as he walked to his car. A date! My first date in five years. I wasn't sure how attracted I was to Ben, but it would be good practice for meeting Art. When we finally met, I wanted it to be flawless.

JEN

I
wanted Tom desperately, and God knows Kitty needed some attention after months of deprivation (surely that little incident with Les didn't count. In fact, I'd nearly managed to forget about it entirely), but before Avery's Halloween party I'd masturbated rigorously and explained to Kitty that that would be all she was getting tonight. We had to be on our best behavior lest Tom think us absolute sluts.

Even so, after a few drinks, I was ready to tear off his clothes. Instead, I opted to get to know him a little better, and I took him aside to ask him why he'd broken up with his ex.

“She cheated on me. With my coworker.”

“Really? That's so awful.”

“It's going to be a while before I can trust women again.”

“Sure, I understand,” I said. I waited for him to ask me about my ex. I wanted him to know that I had only recently broken up with my boyfriend. I didn't want him to think I'd been dumped, which I had, or that I'd been single for god-forsaken amounts of time, which, compared to Avery, I hadn't, but he didn't ask, and anyway, if I told him the truth about Dave driving me nuts with his alcoholic, partying, titty-bar-going ways, I would sound un-understanding, and if I told Tom I was ready to commit but Dave wasn't, that would scare him off for sure. So maybe it was a good thing the topic never came up after all.

Even so, it seemed I messed up at some point, though certainly I have no idea how. I laughed at his jokes and asked him question after question about himself, but at the end of the night, not only did Kitty not get any action (a little teensy bit of action would hardly be slutty, it would be merely advertising what I had to offer), I myself didn't get so much as a kiss. He gave me a polite hug good-bye and said he'd see me at work Monday. He didn't even promise to call!

 

 

M
onday morning I went to work with a horrible hangover. I'd had a little too much wine during my festival of loneliness and feeling sorry for myself the night before. To add to my misery, in my stupid attempt to further my career, Sharon was treating me as her personal slave. I was already swamped with work on the stupid Expert account, but I pushed that aside and tried to keep my head from exploding as I typed in Sharon's ROI numbers for her report for her meeting later in the day.

Even though I felt like someone who'd taken a particularly harsh beating from Xena the Warrior Princess, I tried to look adorable and sexy for when Tom stopped by to tell me what a great time he'd had Saturday night and how he couldn't wait to see me again.

Except all the lip gloss I'd dutifully reapplied each hour went to waste—I didn't see Tom all day. Well, maybe the network had gone down and he was really busy. Or maybe he didn't want to seem overeager. That must be it.

I went to Tae Bo after work, and as I punched and kicked and sweated my ass off, I began to finally begin feeling like something close to human.

After class, I raced home to check my messages. Not a single person had called. Was it possible that Tom didn't like me?

I poured myself a tall glass of ice-cold Absolut Citron and wallowed in self-pity until I couldn't take myself anymore and called Avery.

“What's up?” I asked.

“Nothing. You?”

“I'm bored out of my mind. Tom hasn't called.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Me too. I wish I'd find a decent guy already. I want to have kids when I'm thirty, which means I'm going to have to find a guy really soon.”

“Thirty is five years away.”

“I know, but it takes so long to date and plan the wedding, I'm running out of time.” It occurred to me just then that Avery was thirty and single. Oops. “Do you want kids?”

“I'm not sure. I used to think I did, but now I just can't imagine doing it. I think too many women have kids because they think they're supposed to, like it's the accessory they need to finish off the picture of their perfect life: husband, career, kids, house, dog. Do you know Elaine in sales?”

“Yeah.”

“Her kid's daycare ends at six, but Elaine is constantly working until seven or eight. So she'll pick up her three-year-old from daycare, plunk him in front of the TV in her office, give him a granola bar for dinner, and ignore him completely until she's done with her work. She does this all the time. I'm not saying the mom has to take all the burden of raising a kid, but if neither the mom nor the dad pays any attention to the kid from seven in the morning to eight at night Monday through Friday, I don't know, I just don't think that's right. Why did they even have the kid if they had no intention of ever spending any time with him or giving him a balanced meal? My mom worked full time, but she made sure her evenings were for me. We'd cook a nice meal, talk over the dinner table, watch videos and eat popcorn together, just hang out. I don't know, I just think if you're going to be a parent, you should do it right, and I'm not sure I can do it right.”

“Our mom worked. She spent time with us, but I'm not sure how balanced our meals were. At least she cooked. If it were up to Dad, we'd have eaten frozen pizza every night of our lives. Everything Mom cooked involved hamburger meat: tacos, chili, sloppy joes, or plain old hamburgers, and every now and then for like a big-deal Sunday dinner she'd make meatloaf. The only vegetable we ever had was corn.”

“Corn's not a vegetable; it's a grain.”

“Really? Huh. Oh, and for fruit we'd have Jell-O.”

“Please tell me you're kidding.”

“You know, with like slices of real fruit in it.”

“Yeah congealed in it like samples of human brains at the science museum. Gross. Hold on a second, I've got another call.”

Moments later she clicked back. “Jen, it's Rette. I'm going to put us on three-way.”

“Sounds kinky.”

“Hello?” Avery said.

“Hey, Rette,” I said.

“What are you up to?” Rette asked.

“Drowning my sorrows in Absolut Citron. Stupid Tom hasn't called since our date Saturday.”

“Did you guys have fun?” Avery asked.

“I thought so.”

“Well, if it's meant to happen it will happen,” Avery said. “Speaking of things happening, or in my case not happening, do you think it's weird that Art hasn't asked me to meet him in person yet? He's hinted that we'll meet each other someday.”

“Why don't you suggest it?” Rette asked.

“I don't know. I guess maybe because I feel like if he did want to get together he would have said something already.”

“Maybe he's overweight and scrambling to get in shape before you actually meet him,” Rette said.

“Maybe he looks like the elephant man,” I offered. “Hey, do you guys have e-sex?”

“What's e-sex?”

“Electronic sex. Like phone sex only through e-mail.”

“How would you type and . . . do that?” Rette asked.

“No! Gosh no,” Avery said, at practically the same time. “We just talk about our days, the small little moments. We talk about our families and work and places we've traveled and movies we've seen.”

Hello, hadn't we started this conversation talking about Tom? How had we gotten so very off track?

“Everything will be fine, Ave. I should get to bed, it's getting late. Bye Rette, bye John-Boy.”

“See you tomorrow,” Avery said.

“'Night.”

I hung up the phone and poured myself a very large glass of Absolut and waited for it to knock me to sleep.