hurt. Phil had rarely shown her any of his work. “What did you think?”
“I think it could have been improved by characters and a plot,” Laura opined. “Otherwise, it was great.”
“Thanks,” Phil said, as if he hadn’t just been insulted. “It’s a collective unconscious kind of thing.” Well, Tracie thought, he probably didn’t care about what Laura felt about writing. But why had he even shown her anything? “Anyway, even if you wanted to write crap like that, you couldn’t make it happen,” Phil added. “Making him cool would be like trying to refrigerate the Amazon. Too big a job. Impossible.”
“Wanna bet I could?” Tracie asked.
“Bet what?” He reached out a finger to wipe the edge of her mouth, but Tracie dodged away. None of that stuff now, and certainly not in front of lonely Laura.
But there was a wager here. A legitimate way to address her gripes, teach Phil a lesson, and maybe move their relationship forward—or end it. “Bet you household money,” Tracie said, inspired.
“Whoa. I don’t pay household money.” He almost dropped the latest cookie he was conveying to his mouth.
“Exactly my point, Phil. You eat here and sleep here most of the time, but you don’t pay rent, or even chip in on the groceries.”
“You know I can’t, baby.” He looked over at Laura then put his arm around Tracie and walked her over to the screen. He lowered his voice. “I’m still paying off the amplifier, and right now I’m even behind on my share of the apartment rent,” he told her, gently pushing her toward Laura’s bed.
“Not here!” she said sharply. What was he thinking of? “Anyway, if you gave up your place …”
“I think this is the point in the conversation where I diplomatically withdraw to provide you with the privacy you so obviously require,” Laura said as she wiped her hands on the pathetic excuse for a dishcloth that Tracie had dug up somewhere. “I need a good, long, loud shower,” she told them, and disappeared into the bathroom.
Phil took Tracie by the arm, went into the bedroom, pulled off his boots, and pulled her onto the bed. “Come over here,” he said, and reached out to her.
“Phil. Stop. Seriously! Listen to me for a minute,” Tracie insisted as he took her by the shoulders and pulled her to him. “If you moved in …”
Phil removed his arm from her shoulder and slid it under the pillow. All at once the emotional temperature dropped fifty degrees. “Hey, I have to have my own space,” he told her, and turned to the wall, obviously wanting her to end the subject, or, better yet, fall asleep.
“But you were so sure about Jon. You afraid to bet?” Tracie egged him on. “If I can turn Jon into someone cool, would you give up your place and pay half the rent here?”
“It’s not going to happen,” he insisted.
“But if it did?”
He turned around, looked at her, and then grinned wolfishly. “I’d do whatever you wanted. But what if you can’t?”
Tracie thought about it some more. “Then you can use this place as a free hotel where you drop your laundry and eat your meals but never have to make the bed.” She paused again. “Oh, wait. You’re already doing that.”
Phil sat up. “Look, I told you, relationships are tough for a musician. You knew that going in. Right?” She nodded. “Relationships are like baths: At first they’re okay, but after a while they’re not so hot.”
“Is that what you think about us? That we’re not so hot?” she asked, getting off the bed. She didn’t want him if that’s what he thought.
“No, baby,” he said soothingly. “How can you ask that after this afternoon?” His voice got husky. He pulled her back to him, though she kept her body stiff and resistant. “Hey, I was just raggin’ on you. Look. I brought you something.” Phil held out his hand and opened his fist. In his palm was a black velvet ring box. Her heart jumped and she threw her arms around his neck. “Oh, Phil!” she breathed.
Tracie was in front of the mirror in the ladies’ room of the Seattle Times. She was applying Great Lash mascara while Beth looked on. She had dark circles under her eyes. She and Phil had been up till four, fighting, making love, and then fighting again. God, I need a haircut, she thought. She’d have to call and beg Stefan for an appointment.
“Then what?” Beth asked.
“So he’s like, ‘I need my own space.’”
Beth sighed. “My mother told me she would rent a warehouse for all the guys in Seattle I’ve dated who needed their own space.”
The ladies’ room door opened. Allison, the tall blonde who’d been at Cosmo and who could easily win a young Sharon Stone look-alike contest, entered the ladies’ lounge. Beth and Tracie eyed her hostilely. She joined them at the mirror.
“Hi,” Allison said as she needlessly fluffed her already-perfect hair.
“Hi,” Tracie and Beth said simultaneously, and with precisely the same lack of enthusiasm.
There was a moment of silence. Allison kept playing with her hair. “So,” Tracie continued, “Phil said he wanted to get married, but I’m like, ‘I don’t really know you well enough. I’m not even sure you’re right for me.’ But I took the ring anyway,” Tracie told the reflection of herself and Beth.
Beth stopped putting on her lipstick and almost dropped the tube. “He asked you?” she asked. “I mean, he popped the big one?” Tracie covertly eyed Allison in the mirror. She finished her hair.
“Bye,” Allison said.
“Bye,” Beth and Tracie echoed at the same time as Allison exited the bathroom.
“Phil gave you a ring?” Beth asked after the door closed completely. “For real?”
“No, for Allison. Phil gave me a ring box. With a guitar pick inside.”
“A guitar pick?”
Tracie imitated Phil’s voice from the night before to make a joke out of her disappointment. “‘It’s my first one. I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to use one with a bass.’” She paused the way he had when he’d seen her lack of enthusiasm. “‘Hey. It means a lot to me.’” She went back to her normal tone of voice. “Well, it does mean a lot to him. You know, he lives for his music and his writing. He just doesn’t think about material things like rings.” Beth didn’t say a word. “Well, he doesn’t,” Tracie insisted, then showed Beth the pick, which Phil had had a jeweler drill a hole through, now on a chain around her neck. “Doesn’t Allison just get on your nerves?”
Beth became animated again. “You have no idea. Last week, she started dating this new guy. He was calling the office about six hundred times a day. By Thursday, he was waiting outside for her at lunch and after work. On Friday, she actually got a restraining order.”
“No shit,” Tracie said as she slipped the mascara wand back into its base.
“No
