Up & Out - Ariella Papa [96]
I shouldn’t be affected by this anymore. I have to learn to separate myself. Every time someone from Explore! calls me they always ask me if I mind hearing the gossip before they tell me. I never do, but maybe I should start minding. We’ll always be linked by those experiences, but maybe I should stop having them pull me back into the thick of it.
I accomplished a lot for an unemployed person. I have planned Kathy’s bachelorette dinner to the satisfaction of her sister. I have a feeling that this weekend is more about her sister who just had a baby getting a “ladies’ night” than it is Kathy.
First, we are going to the Royalton. It’s a great white swanky space with strong, overpriced drinks. Then I made reservations at Blue Fin for nine-thirty. From there, I think I will take whoever is still standing (because I have a feeling these ladies are going to do a lot of early damage) to O’Flaherty’s Ale House. After all the chichi, I am going to need a bit of the laid-back pub.
But I haven’t just been planning social engagements, I also looked at a couple of trade Web sites on kids’ TV. The only articles are about violent boys’ shows. I hope that isn’t becoming a trend. Although, maybe I can pump Tommy’s new charges with info.
It’s almost eleven o’clock and I’m watching an Iron Chef marathon when Tommy comes in. He looks a little funny. For the past week he’s been spending a lot of time with the recovering Jordan trying to cheer him up, I guess.
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” he says. I go back to watching my show. He is antsy. He keeps getting up off the couch and going into his room and coming back out.
“What’s tonight’s ingredient?” he asks.
“Pig intestine.”
“Ugh.”
“Yeah, and the competition is trying to make a dessert out of it. Apparently it lends itself well to pastry crust.”
“Ugh.”
“Did you see Jordan?” I ask, not taking my eyes away from the screen.
“No, not tonight.”
“Wow, you were mannying late. Don’t those parents ever come home to their kids?”
“I wasn’t there, either.” I look at him. He looks sort of weird.
“What’s wrong? Where were you? Why are you acting so funny?”
“Nothing. On a date. Because I don’t know what you are going to say.”
I don’t say anything. I listen to him tell me all about this nanny that he met in the park. Her name is Nancy and she is from California and she most likely has no hips (although he doesn’t say that). According to Tommy, she has no pop culture references, hates TV, never goes to the movies and only listens to classical music. She is a live-in nanny for twin toddlers on the Upper West Side. She’s also a music student studying the cello. She is twenty-three.
“I didn’t think we would have anything to talk about, but every day I see her in the park and we do.”
“How nice,” I say.
“We had lunch the other day and now we had dinner.”
“I guess breakfast is next,” I say, trying unsuccessfully not to sound bitter.
“I guess I shouldn’t talk to you about this, should I?” I shrug. This is kind of like those questions my old colleagues ask me. I don’t really want to know, but then of course I kind of do.
“We’re friends, right?” I say. Friends who slept together last week. “We should be able to tell each other things, right?”
“I’m glad you said that, Rebecca. No matter what happens, you’re my best friend.” He kisses my forehead and gets up and goes into his room.
I shouldn’t be surprised, right? I have no right to be upset, I know. I mean, he can’t be celibate for the rest of his life, can he? Could he?
I look back at the TV. The pig intestine pastry was not palatable to the judges. The Iron Chef is not defeated. Iron Chef—1. Rebecca—0.
I can’t resist stopping at Antropologie after going to the Union Square Market on Wednesday. I’ve been running for almost four weeks and I think it has shocked my body into changing. There is nothing drastic, but I feel a bit more solid. I am on a budget, but I have been so good and it’s been months since I saw the inside of Nobu. I need something, maybe just a shirt that