The Pink Ghetto Page 7

  It was time to interrupt his soliloquy. “My dog?”

  “Of course. He’s a gift.”

  The dog was having a hard time balancing on my lap, so I put him on the ground. He proceeded to try to crawl up my leg. I had to admit he was awfully cute. His fur was short and bristly in appearance but soft to the touch, and his little face was like something you’d see in a Puppy Chow ad. The tips of his ears folded downward, giving him a look that was goofily rakish.

  “He’s a purebred Norfolk terrier,” Fleishman said. “He’s even got papers.”

  It was hard to believe something so small and silly looking had a pedigree. Also, pedigree was usually accompanied by a healthy price tag. Last I heard, Fleishman was supposed to be broke. “What did you do, rob a pet store?”

  Fleishman laughed. “I put him on American Express.”

  “Since when do you have one of those?”

  He looked offended. “I’ve been a proud member since ten AM this morning.”

  “You know AmEx makes you pay off in full at the end of the month, don’t you?”

  “Okay, so at the end of the month I’ll find some money.”

  Shame he couldn’t have found some when we were scrambling for the rent.

  He laughed. “Rebecca, will you lighten up? I charged the pizza, too—and you don’t mind that.”

  Speaking of pizza, I grabbed a piece and chewed as I stared at Maxwell. At the first whiff of food, he plopped down on his rump and started to wag his stubby little tale. His big brown eyes melted me. They could have melted the polar ice cap, what was left of it. “Hey Maxwell, you want some pizza?”

  “No—no pizza. I got some Science Diet puppy formula.”

  He said it with such paternal sternness, I drew back in surprise. “I can’t believe you got a dog. Dogs are a lot of work, you know. They’re a responsibility. They have to be fed regularly, and walked, and housetrained…”

  Not to mention, I started thinking about Ann and her Maltese. No life. Pathetic. Would that be me soon?

  “Yeah, but puppies are so cute,” Fleishman said. “How can you resist?”

  Maxwell was chewing on my shoestring. The truth was, I couldn’t resist. Outside of a goldfish, I hadn’t had a pet since I was a little kid. I had always wanted a dog.

  “I felt it was time,” Fleishman said. “We’re getting older, you know. Besides, won’t it be nice to have a warm body to come home to?”

  I glanced into Fleishman’s eyes and felt the pizza like a lump in my throat. I looked back down at Maxwell, who was still gazing at me adoringly. Or maybe it was just hungrily. It would be nice to have a warm body waiting for me, I supposed, even if it was canine. And as long as I kept food in my hand, I would always have his undivided attention. How many relationships could you say that about?

  “So what do you say…” Fleishman looked at me. “Can we keep him, ma?”

  I laughed. “Did you really think I could get rid of that?”

  As if knowing his cue, Maxwell barked. Which reminded me. “Did you check this out with the landlord?”

  “It’s okay. I bribed the super when I got home.”

  “How did you do that?”

  “Cash advance.”

  I would have loved to lecture on the fact that he would regret being so financially reckless someday, but the fact was that he probably wouldn’t. Fleishman lived in a parallel universe where the chickens never came home to roost. Or when they did come home to roost, they ended up laying golden eggs.

  “So how was your day?” he asked. “I mean, up to now. I know you’re blissfully happy now.”

  “Half okay and half awful.” I told him about what had happened with Cassie after I talked to him on the phone. “I think she has it in for me, I really do. If you could have seen the look in her eye when she was sitting there with those tip sheets…”

  “Some people are just like that.”

  “Right.” And some people were just psychopaths. I was pretty sure I had put my finger on our office psycho, but I didn’t have the evidence. “Plus I have all this work to do now.”

  “Homework?” He looked alarmed at the idea of work being brought into the house, and eyed my tote bag suspiciously.

  “Just till I’m caught up.”

  “When will that be?”

  I thought for a moment. “Somewhere in the year 2010.”

  “Did you bring any more books home?” he asked.

  “Just the one I’m editing.”

  He seemed disappointed.

  “I’d better get to work,” I said, reluctantly. It would have been so nice to play with the puppy and then just conk out.

  Fleishman got up. “I’ll take Max around the block.”

  I looked doubtfully at that unruly lump of fur. “Does he walk on a leash yet?”

  “No, but he enjoys gnawing on it. I’ll just carry him down and set him on a patch of grass, if I can find any.”

  He left and I got out the book. I was already so tired, I wondered how I would be able to stay awake long enough to get anything done. I spent ten minutes just getting myself situated—sharpening pencils, brewing a pot of coffee, doodling on a pad of Post-it notes.

  When Fleishman and Max came back, I hadn’t even started yet.

  “I’ll just sit here and read,” Fleishman said. “I won’t bother you at all.”

  He settled on the couch with a copy of Forgotten Nights by Joy Silver, an amnesia book I think he had already read. Max proceeded to chew on the cover. The next time I looked up, the book had dropped to the floor next to the futon, and Fleishman was asleep with the puppy on his chest.

  I wished I had a camera.

  Then I shook my head. I was entertaining thoughts I shouldn’t. Like how sweet it was of Fleishman to bring Max home, even though the thought of taking care of a dog for the next fifteen years made me a little panicky. It was hard not to feel, there in that little room with just the three of us, that it had been a rather couply gesture. Not that we were a couple in the real sense…but still. It made me wonder if he still ever thought of me as girlfriend material.

  I shouldn’t have cared. Fleishman was my friend, and he was more friendly as a friend-friend than a boyfriend. In the past, every time it seemed that something was starting to brew between us, it seemed he would simultaneously start slipping away. That he would avoid my eyes and suddenly develop a fondness for going with his guy buddies to see loud movies with lots of explosions and sexy girls in tank tops carrying machine guns.

  But when we were just friends, like now, he was so something else. We were so comfortable together, like an old married couple.

  It was so irritating. Why couldn’t the person you want just fall in love with you? That would solve everything.

  I forced myself to focus on my work rather than the enigma that was my roommate. Gradually I became more involved in the story, and before I knew it, it was after midnight and Wendy was coming through the door.

  She glanced at Fleishman on the futon, and then me camped out on the table. Then she did a double-take back to Fleishman. Fleishman and Max.

  I winced. Fleishman and I hadn’t discussed what Wendy would say about the dog. But now that I considered it, there might be trouble…

  “Do you know what month a woman’s supposed to have an amniocentesis?” I asked, hoping to distract her.

  Wendy wasn’t looking at me. “What’s that?”

  “It’s the test pregnant women take to…well, I’m not sure why, exactly. But the woman in this book is going for an amnio in her second month. Isn’t that a little early?”

  She put her arms akimbo and affected a Bones from Star Trek voice. “Damn it, Rebecca, I’m a lighting designer, not an obstetrician.”

  I laughed.

  “But that’s not what I was asking you about.” She pointed to Fleishman’s snoozing form. “What is that?”

  “Oh, that’s Maxwell Perkins. Fleishman brought him home today.”

  Wendy sank into a chair. Lately she h
ad seemed to chafe about stuff going on in the apartment. “Isn’t this the sort of thing we’re supposed to have roommate conferences about?”

  “When have we ever had a roommate conference?”

  “You’re right. It’s not a democracy, it’s a dictatorship…and from now on it’s going to be a dictatorship run by that little ball of fur there.” She seemed genuinely worried. “This is no joke. Dogs are a lot of trouble.”

  “That’s what I was telling Fleishman. But he was being so sweet—he bought the puppy for me for my first day of work.”

  She crossed her arms. “You don’t think that’s kind of odd?”

  “Why?”

  “It’s sort of…cozy. Giving a person a puppy. Don’t you think?”

  “Well…yeah, it seemed kind of domestic.”

  “Right. Like Fleishman wants to play house.” Her brows arched meaningfully.

  I lifted my arms, and suddenly realized how stiff my shoulders felt from being hunched over that book. I had to stretch like Cassie had in her office this afternoon. I couldn’t believe I had been working for almost four hours, and I still wasn’t anywhere close to done. Maybe I wasn’t doing this right.

  “How did your day go?” I asked.

  “Okay, except I got my next project. I’m going to have to design the lights for Death of a Salesman. Another dreary one. My professors must think I should specialize in tragedy and angst, but I tell you what. It’s made me want to graduate and go light roller-skating tourist musicals and revivals of Annie.”

  I nodded. I knew just how she felt. Back when I was an undergraduate studying English lit, I spent semesters slogging through James Joyce and William Faulkner when I would dream of getting out and reading fun stuff again. Pure fluff.

  I stared down at my marked-up copy of The Baby Doctor and the Bodyguard. As wish fulfillment went, this seemed a little over the top.

  Renata told me that the catalyst for her weight loss, the event that drove her into the arms of Jenny Craig, was losing her virginity on graduation night.

  Her older brother, who was just home from college and working at a country club for the summer giving tennis lessons, had let it drop that Jake Caddell, a boy in her class she’d had a crush on since third grade, was going to be working at the same club as a golf caddy. Not that her brother knew about this unrequited love of hers, or even suspected it. Jake wasn’t the best looking guy in her class, and he certainly wasn’t the smartest. He was one of the cut-ups, though he was one of the rare boys she’d known since third grade who had never used her appearance as the butt of his humor.

  That alone would have made him a dreamboat. But because of his comparative kindness to her, she’d also endowed him with all sorts of attributes over the years: gorgeous brown eyes, wit, incredible aim with a spitball…

  Right before graduation night, the talk of the school was that Jake’s girlfriend, Courtney Rogers, had dumped him for Rance Dumars. Jake was free, wide open, and on graduation night, fortified by two Mickey’s Big Mouths, Renata made her move. She waited until the band played a slow number, and then—boldly, bravely, tipsily—she asked him to dance.

  The element of surprise worked in her favor. Jake blinked a few times, then said, “Sure, why not?”

  Two dances, one long drive, and five cans of Old Milwaukee later, the two of them were huffing away in the back of the Caddell family’s Chrysler minivan. Which, even in Renata’s state of inebriation, was not all that comfortable. About the time her taffeta skirt was pushed up to her chin, she began to have doubts.

  When she felt his erection pressing against her—urgently—she raised an alarm.

  “What’s the matter?” he panted. He sounded a little annoyed, but she could understand. They had reached a critical juncture. She could feel his sweat dripping down her neck.

  “This is my first time.”

  “So?”

  She bit her lip…not sure she should take a chance. “So…won’t it hurt?”

  “Nah—and anyway, it’ll be over in like, five seconds.”

  “Really?”

  In the movies, sex scenes seemed to go on forever.

  He pressed against her again, and she felt a surge of heat between her thighs.

  “Trust me,” he murmured.

  She did.

  He was such a liar. He thrust into her, and for a moment it felt like a steak knife going into her vagina. She bit her lip so hard she tasted blood.

  But he was right about one thing. He chuffed against her for about five seconds, fast, like a fornicating bunny, then he stopped, groaned, and collapsed on top of her.

  “Goddamn!” he moaned.

  Renata winced. She could feel something dribbling down her leg and toward the beige upholstery beneath them. She hoped it wasn’t blood.

  Jake sat up, hitched his pants up from his ankles, and began zipping and buttoning. Following his lead, Renata sat up, too, and tried to pull herself together. Her dress was a wrinkled mess, but she didn’t care. Despite the pain, and the curious brevity, she felt lit from within.

  I am a woman now, she thought, not entirely humorlessly.

  When they crawled into the front seat, where Jake chugged the remains of a beer before firing up the van again, she decided to toss out a hint concerning her future availability. She knew he was a sought-after guy, but look where a little initiative had gotten her so far.

  “This could be a great summer,” she said.

  “Oh yeah?” He sounded distracted. “How come?”

  “Well…I’m not really doing much of anything. If you want to get together sometime.”

  She imagined going and hanging out at the country club every once in a while. Sharing a Coke.

  Maybe he would even give her a golf lesson.

  “Oh.”

  “For dinner, or a movie, or…”

  “You know what?” he said. “The truth is, I’m not even gonna be around much this summer.”

  She darted a look at him. “But—” She bit her lip.

  “No, see…I, uh, I’m going to be working on my uncle’s farm this summer. In Pennsylvania. I might be around occasionally, visiting…I mean, if you happen to run into me or something, that’s probably the explanation…”

  She faced forward. “I see.” He thinks I’m too fat to be his girlfriend. Her face burned.

  But maybe he wasn’t lying. Maybe he’d decided to turn down the country club job…

  Over the summer, her brother mentioned Jake in passing several times. He was a golf caddy at the country club all summer.

  Renata vowed that the next time a guy slept with her, he wouldn’t want to toss her away like an old tissue afterward. And the next time she saw Jake, she swore she’d knock him off of his feet.

  She waited until she had starved down thirty pounds, and then squeezed into a pair of shorts and went to the country club to see her brother. She happened to pass Jake, who walked right by her without recognizing her. He did a double-take, but by that time, she had noticed that he had a sunburn and a piggy nose. And she recalled that he wasn’t very bright.

  Besides, she’d spent a lot of time in the library in June, and after researching some back issues of Cosmo, she was fairly sure that sex was supposed to last longer than five seconds.

  Chapter 5

  Lesson One: Beware of the phone.

  I had never really worked in an office, and my social life and my credit history had always been orderly enough that a ringing phone was nearly always a welcome thing. God knows, sitting in my office, staring at that intimidating pile of manuscripts on my bookcase—which had managed to grow—talk seemed preferable to speechless angst.

  “Hello?” I said.

  “I got the cover!” The voice on the other end—a female voice with a pronounced drawl—sounded sniffly, congested. Either this woman had a doozy of a cold or she had been crying for a long time. “I’m sorry…I’ve just been so upset…I had to call you.”

  “Well, good. I’m glad you did. But, uh—”r />
  There was a clatter on the line, followed by the faraway sound of a nose being blown. A second later, she picked up the phone again. “Have you seen it? I mean, I know you did, but it seems strange since there was no note attached when you sent it…”

  Lesson Two: Beware of the phone, and always announce your name first thing.

  “I’m sorry, you might be a little confused. You see…uh…I’m not Julie.”

  There was a pause. A sniffle. “You aren’t? I asked for Julie’s extension and Muriel put me through to you.”

  “I know, but—”

  “Who are you?”

  “My name is Rebecca Abbot?”

  “Well, Rebecca, my name is Luanne Seligson. I write as Shanna Forrester. I’m from Venita, Oklahoma, and I’m looking for my editor.”

  I tried the best I could to clear things up for her, explaining that Julie had a baby—yes, wasn’t that wonderful…odd that she hadn’t heard—and that I was taking on her authors. “It’s so good to meet you,” I said.

  This announcement was met with stark silence. “Nobody told me!” she said in a distraught tone. “She left how many weeks ago?”

  I cleared my throat. “Just a few…”

  “A few! Did Julie call Dan?”

  “Who?” I asked.

  At my ignorance, the voice looped up another notch on the hysteria scale. “Dan Weatherby! My agent.”

  “Oh—well, possibly.” I realized from the rattling in Luanne’s throat that this was not a time for maybes and possiblies. I needed to project something more affirmative. More upbeat. “Well, I couldn’t say who Julie called, exactly, but I want to assure you—”

  “Dan never breathed a word of this to me!”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I’ll bet he’s as shocked as I am!” she declared. “Julie has always been my editor. Always. Going all the way back to Too Many Babies!”

  I spent the next five minutes assuring Luanne that I was every bit as eager as Julie was to promote her career.

  “Well I very much doubt I’ll have a career after this child molester book comes out!”