Up & Out - Ariella Papa [45]
“Sounds like Delores might be worse than the UpFront deadline,” Lauryn says. “No, stick around tomorrow. It’ll be good to have someone else here. Maybe I’ll make dinner—one last trip to Whole Foods.” She licks her lips in mock seduction.
“Don’t go getting sentimental on me.” We sip our drinks and look around the cluttered living room floor. “Did you talk to the guys?”
“Kathy came over Wednesday night to help pack. We ordered Indian.”
“That’s sweet. What’s new with her?”
“Same old. She’s having a quasicoronary about the wedding. She is worried her diet isn’t helping her biceps. You should give her a call. I think she’s feeling a little out of touch with the whole Beth thing.”
“Is it a ‘thing’ now?” Lauryn shrugs. “Did she call?”
“Did you think she would?”
“Yes, I still do. What?”
“You’re so busy. You don’t have the time to realize what little effort she puts in.” She has a point. And what’s worse, I am almost relieved about Beth’s lack of effort because that lets me off the hook.
“She’ll call,” I say, though not as certain as I was before.
I spend Saturday on my company-issued laptop, listening to the occasional crash sounds coming from Lauryn’s room, followed by her yelling, “I’m fine!”
I break only to go get eggplant falafel sandwiches for more energy. I make sure to send Delores several e-mails. I want her to see that, I, too, am working on a weekend. I will never be ambushed into admitting having fun again.
For every e-mail I send her I get two back. She keeps confusing Esme details with those of the other shows. I politely point this out to her. I recognize a commiserating self-important tone in her e-mails. Perhaps I have finally expressed my dedication to the job to her.
But in the next e-mail, she elaborates on how difficult it is to be managing so many shows, and I know she is back on the condescending kick. It doesn’t matter that I am working like a dog. I could never justify my job as much as she could or be as busy as she was.
Thank God the gnome didn’t have my home number.
When I look at the clock it is close to seven. A fucking Saturday down the drain. I go into Lauryn’s bedroom. She is sitting on her windowsill, smoking. Her room is incredibly tidy, but also empty.
I feel like a shit. I should have been spending more time with her, but my stupid job is ruining my life. When had I become the person who let that happen? It was time I would never get back.
“Do birders smoke?” I ask.
“Why do you think I’m doing it so much now?”
“Are you excited?”
“Sort of,” she says, and rubs her eyes.
“Scared?”
“Sort of.”
I flop onto her bed and she flops the other way. We stare up at the ceiling. I turn and lean my cheek on her leg.
“I never realized you had those stars up there.”
“Jordan put them up.” I don’t say anything. “He cried on the phone yesterday. That’s his new thing.”
I peek up at her. She has her eyes closed. I rest my head again, look back up at the stars, and try to imagine them happy.
“Did he mention his job? Is it going okay?” I tread carefully.
“Yeah, he is scared shitless—you can hear it. That’s why he feels like he needs me again.”
“Well, it’s a little late for that, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” she sighs. “You know you’re lucky that Tommy and you are okay, you’re like adults about your breakup.”
“Whatever,” I say, lying on my back. “Who knows?”
Lauryn lets out a long sigh. “Let’s go to Whole Foods.”
I don’t want to leave this moment with her. I feel like we should talk more about everything. But my stomach growls and Lauryn laughs and gets off the bed. Once again, I have avoided finding out how she is feeling.
On Sunday, I couldn’t get in touch with Seamus. He wasn’t home or answering his cell. I didn’t expect him to be at my beck and call, but there was no way I was doing any work today.
Lauryn was mostly done with packing. The movers were supposed to arrive at noon. I decided to get out of the house, so I took a book down to the dog run in Madison Square Park. I had started this trashy novel a couple