Up & Out - Ariella Papa [112]
When I lay in bed, I imagined the room would stop spinning if I could just close my eyes.
Eventually, it did, but now the Aleves are doing little to help my hangover as I sit here with Lauryn and her luggage at the Edison Café. We called Dina’s hotel room to try and see if Kathy was still around to join us, but they had checked out.
“Breakfast or lunch?” Lauryn asks. I was thinking eggs, but it is close to three.
“That’s the question.” When the waiter comes I order a BLT. Lauryn gets a bagel with cream cheese, fries and pancakes. I can tell the older Russian waiter is impressed that someone her size would eat this much.
“Wow!” I say when he leaves.
“Yes, did somebody say carbo load?”
“It’s the perfect hangover treat.” She sips more coffee and we quickly get refilled. “So, nice job planning last night.”
“Thanks,” I say. “I hope Dina was happy.”
“Well,” Lauryn says, laughing. “If it matters, I think Kathy was.”
“Did you have a good time?”
“It was okay. I think I’m going to turn into a big reclusive bird woman. I feel very out of touch with people these days.”
“We didn’t really get to talk to anyone.”
“Not anyone we considered a friend beforehand, no.”
“What’s happening?” Lauryn shrugs. I wasn’t expecting her to have the answers, but there is relief in knowing I’m not the only one to feel this way. Maybe if I had the courage to bring it up to Beth and Kathy, I’d find that they felt the same way, too. “Is it a phase?”
“I don’t know,” Lauryn says. Then our food comes and we don’t talk about it anymore.
Later that night, I fall asleep on the couch early and move into my bed by ten. I am sleeping when I hear Tommy come in. I can tell that he is alone, but once again he is whistling.
I jog over to the Union Square Market early Monday. I want to get to the fresh fish before it’s all gone. I buy a two-pound whole trout from a bearded man who convinces me I’m getting the freshest fish in the city.
“I was cleaning it at eight o’clock last night.”
“Sold,” I say, and hand over my money. I head over to the tomato guy I like. Maybe I’ll make some gazpacho.
“How you doing today?”
“I’m wonderful.”
“Not too hot,” he says. “How did that salad come?”
“It was terrific. Really fresh. Thanks for the recipe.” He doesn’t need to know that I passed it along to Tommy to wow his new girlfriend. I’m getting to know the vendors. I never want to have a job.
I buy a pound of potatoes. I go over to the herb people for some cilantro. Someone touches my shoulder as I’m smelling the purple basil. I turn around. It’s Ben.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hi.” He smiles, and his eyes are smiling, too. I feel like a dick. “How’s it going?”
“Good. I’m sorry I didn’t come by.”
“Yeah, I missed you,” he says. “I missed you all day and then I missed you not coming by.”
How can he be saying this? I don’t even know him. I look down at the dirt on my hands from the basil.
“Are you getting stuff at the market?” I ask.
“No, I was just looking for you. I remember you said you came here and I wanted to find you.”
“Oh.” Are those a bunch of lines? Is he stalking me?
“Do you wish I hadn’t? I just thought—”
“We don’t even know each other,” I say.
“I just thought that the other night was really fun.”
“It was, but I mean, it seems unreal.”
“But it wasn’t.” Even though I am wearing sunglasses, I look away. I must look like shit, still sweaty from the run. I probably smell.
“I don’t even know your last name.”
“It’s Rosette, but what difference does it make?” Ben Rosette is a beautiful name.
“We don’t know each other.”
“You said that. You also said I felt familiar to you, but that was the other night after many beers. Maybe you didn’t mean it.”
“No, I did.”
“But, now…”
“I just…” I don’t know what to say. “I don’t know. I mean, how do I even know who you are? I read Kitchen Confidential—I know that chefs have the life. Maybe the other night was just a fluke.”
“A fluke? This doesn’t seem like you at all.” He feels confident about who I am, even though I am doubting him. He shakes his head. “Have