‘Bette, stop! I’m not leaving Avery, I’m leaving this job!’ she hissed, trying not to be overheard by her cubicle mates.
Serious one-eighty – and a major disappointment.
‘You’re leaving UBS? Really? What happened?’
‘Well, I kind of had no choice. Avery got accepted to UCLA for law school, so we’re moving there. He doesn’t start until January, but we figured we’d go now to get settled and learn our way around.’
‘UCLA?’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘So you’re not leaving Avery, you’re leaving me?’ I wail-whispered. The juicy story of my best friend cheating on her fiancé had become the story of my best friend moving to another coast.
‘I’m not leaving you,’ she said, sighing. ‘I’m leaving this job and this city and going to California. Probably just for the three years, and then I’ll be back. And we’ll visit, of course. You’ll love coming out there when it’s February and you haven’t left your apartment in twelve days because the temperature hasn’t hit the double digits.’
‘There aren’t law schools on the East Coast? Avery really has to be so selfish as to drag you all the way out, out, there?’
‘Oh, Bette, shut up and be happy for me. UCLA is a great school, and besides, I could use a change. I’ve lived in the city for five years since graduation, and eighteen before it. I’ll be back, there’s no getting around that. But for now I think it could be nice to do something different.’
It occurred to me right then that as a friend, I was required to express some sort of support, however lame it might come across.
‘Honey, I’m sorry, this is just all so surprising – you didn’t even mention he was applying out west. If this is what you want to do, then I’m excited for you. And I promise to try very, very hard to stop only thinking about how it will affect me, okay?’
‘Yeah, he did the UCLA application at the last second, and I never thought he’d want to go there. But seriously, I’m not too worried about you. You’ve got a whole new crew now, and I have a feeling you’ll be just fine without me. …’ She let the words trail off, trying to sound casual, but we both knew this was the closest she’d ever get to saying something more important.
‘Well, we’ll have to have a great big going-away dinner for you guys,’ I said with forced cheer, not quite acknowledging my opportunity to disagree.
‘As you can imagine, our mothers are already on that. We’re leaving sort of soon, so they planned a joint dinner at the Four Seasons on Saturday. You’ll be there, right? It’ll be dreadful, but you’re obligated to attend nonetheless.’ She cleared her throat. ‘And, of course, Philip is always invited.’
‘Pen! Of course I’ll be there. And I’ll certainly spare all of you Philip’s company.’
My call waiting beeped with a 917 number I didn’t recognize. I decided to answer it in case it was related to the BlackBerry party.
‘I’m sorry, Pen, I’ve got to take this call. Can I call you later?’
‘Sure, no worries.’
‘Okay, I’ll talk to you in a few. And congratulations! If you’re happy, then so am I. Grudgingly, of course. But happy for you.’
We hung up and I clicked over right before the phone went to voice mail. ‘May I speak with Bette?’ I heard a gravelly male voice ask.
‘Speaking.’
‘Bette, this is Sammy calling from Amy Sacco’s office. You called about a date you wanted to reserve the club?’
Sammy? Wasn’t that the name of the Bungalow 8 bouncer? Could there be more than one Sammy in her employ? I didn’t know that bouncers did office work.
‘Yes, hi, how are you?’ I said as professionally as possible, although he certainly didn’t know my name or remember me as the cranky girl with no umbrella.
‘Great. We got your message, and Amy asked me to call you back because she’s tied up all afternoon.’ The rest was drowned out by the screech of sirens.
‘Sorry, I missed that. It’s just the loudest siren I’ve ever heard. It must be eight fire trucks or something,’ I screamed, trying to be heard over the wails.
‘I hear it, too, only not just through the phone. Where are you now?’
‘I’m at the Starbucks near Eighth and Broadway. Why?’
‘That’s weird. I’m literally across the street. I was just leaving class when I got the message from Amy to call you back. Hold on, I’m coming over.’ He hung up, and I stared at the phone for a second before frantically yanking a lip gloss and brush out of my bag and sprinting for the bathroom, which, naturally, was occupied. I watched as he approached the front door and then bolted back to my table in a side nook, falling back into my seat before he even saw me.
There was no subtle way to fix anything right now since I needed to focus my energy on pretending to look both busy and indifferent, which was impossible. I knew I’d choke if I tried to drink or drop my phone if I pretended to be talking, and so I just sat, staring at my Filofax with such determined interest that I briefly wondered if it might just up and ignite from the intensity of my gaze. A quick mental survey of my physical state revealed a list of clichéd reactions – shaking hands, pounding heart, dry mouth – that could indicate only one thing: my body was telling me that I liked Sammy or, quite possibly, that I worshipped him. Which, if one cared to draw a parallel, was exactly how Lucinda felt right before her first one-on-one meeting with Marcello in The Magnate’s Tender Touch. This was the first time I could ever remember feeling all tingly with nervous anticipation, just like the women in my books always did.
I felt him standing over me before I saw him, a sort of amorphous figure in all black. And he smelled good! Like freshly baked bread or sugar cookies or something equally as wholesome. He probably stood there for thirty seconds, staring at me stare at my Filofax, before I finally mustered the nerve to look up, just as he cleared his throat.
‘Hey,’ I said.
‘Hey,’ he said right back. He was unconsciously rubbing at what appeared to be a flour stain on his black pants, but he stopped when he noticed me watching.
‘Uh, would you like to sit down?’ I stammered, wondering why it was utterly impossible for me to make one intelligible or coherent statement.
‘Sure. I, uh, I just thought it might be easier to do this in person since I was, uh, right across the street, you know?’ It was comforting that he didn’t sound much better.
‘Yeah, definitely, it makes perfect sense. Did you say you were just coming from class? Are you taking a bartending course? I’ve always wanted to do that!’ I was rambling now, but I couldn’t help it. ‘It just seems like it’d be the most useful thing, whether or not you actually work in a bar. I don’t know. It’d be nice to know how to mix a decent drink or something. You know?’
He smiled for the first time, a megawatt ear-to-ear shiner, and I thought I might just cease living if he ever stopped. ‘No, it’s not for bartending, it’s for pastry-making,’ he said.
It didn’t make much sense that the bouncer was into pastries, but I thought it was nice that he had outside interests. After all, aside from the nightly ego rush of rejecting people based on appearance alone, I imagined it got pretty boring.
‘Oh, really? Interesting. Do you cook a lot in your free time?’ I was only asking to be polite, which, unfortunately, came across loud and clear in my voice. I rushed on. ‘I mean, is that a particular passion of yours?’
‘Passion?’ He grinned again. ‘I’m not sure I would call it a