were a showgirl in Vegas?” Brenda asks incredulously. “I thought you were a showgirl in New York. A Rockette.”
“Well, I was a showgirl in Vegas, too. Just for a few months,” she adds ominously, and I gather that stint didn’t have a happy ending.
“Well, you were also in Nevada more than once,” Latisha informs her, “because that’s where Lake Tahoe is.”
“Maybe it’s in both states,” Brenda interjects. “Like the Grand Canyon.”
“The Grand Canyon isn’t in California and Nevada!” I protest, wondering why we’re talking about western geography in the first place. I use it to segue neatly into eastern geography with, “Getting back to Lake Erie, though—”
“No, I know, the Grand Canyon’s in Arizona and Utah,” Brenda cuts in. “Jeez, I’m not as dumb as I look. What I meant was, it’s in two states, and maybe Lake Tahoe—”
“I don’t know…is the Grand Canyon really in Utah?” Latisha asks. “I’m trying to picture it on the map. I don’t think it’s in Utah.”
“Paulie went out there to hike the canyon a few years ago with his buddies right before we got married,” Brenda says, “and I know he said they were going to Utah because I remember I told him not to let those polygamists out there give him any ideas.”
“Oh, for the love of God.” Yvonne pulls out a cigarette and her lighter and heads for the door.
“What?” Brenda asks with an innocent little frown.
“Come on, baby girl…” Latisha shakes her head. “Do you really think Utah is swarming with polygamists who want to brainwash a bunch of hiking cops from New York?”
Who cares about any of this? is what I want to scream.
“Speaking of New York cops, Paulie’s on the night shift, so I’ve got to get home.” Brenda throws down a couple of twenties and pushes her chair back. “That covers me and my share of Tracey’s.”
“Thanks,” I say, “but you don’t have to—”
“I want to.” Brenda stands over me and gives me a big squeeze. “This is your engagement celebration, remember?”
Yeah.
Only I forgot.
“Hey, wait, Brenda—”
She turns around, en route to the door. “Yeah?”
“I want you to be a bridesmaid. Will you?”
She grins broadly. “Of co-awse. It would be an hon-ah.”
Left alone at the table with temporarily abandoned Yvonne’s coat and purse and Latisha, I hastily add, “You, too. Will you be my bridesmaid?”
“Hell, yes,” she says, and hugs me hard.
I catch her checking her watch as she releases my shoulders.
“You should go,” I say, checking my own. “It’s getting late. Go tuck your kids in.”
“Ha, you think Keera lets me do that these days?” She shakes her head. “I’ve been hangin’ out here until it’s safe to go home. Which it isn’t until I know Bernie’s in bed and sound asleep. Because if he’s still awake and he hears me come in, he gets all wound up and he’s awake for another two hours, wanting to climb all over me.”
“Jack is kind of the same way,” I say with a sly smirk.
“Yeah, that won’t last.”
“What do you mean?”
“Once you’re married, everything gets to be old hat. And I mean everything. Trust me on that.”
“You mean…?”
“I do.” Latisha shakes her head. “Me and Derek used to have some big ol’ sparks goin’ on, morning, noon and especially night. Now all I want to do when I get into bed at night is sleep.”
She reaches out and pats my engagement ring. “But don’t worry, those days are way down the road for you. You just have fun planning your wedding.”
With that, she’s gone, and I’m left wondering when the fun is going to begin.
4
My cell phone rings as I’m striding down Lexington Avenue on Wednesday afternoon, headed to Sushi Lucy’s for lunch.
I bet my next paycheck that it’s Carol, wondering where I am. Everyone’s going crazy getting ready to present to McMurray-White again tomorrow.
I snuck away while Carol was on the phone with the Client, who have made it abundantly clear that they don’t believe we Account people need meals, sleep or natural light.
Checking caller ID, I see that it’s not Carol; it’s Will McCraw.
I was just kidding about my next paycheck—you knew that, right?
“Tracey, how’s it going?”
Yes, I answer the call. I’ve been waiting for this moment for years now.
“Funny you should ask that, Will, because it’s going particularly well, as a matter of fact. I—”
“That’s great. I just wanted to call and thank you for the Valentine—”
Yes, I sent him a Valentine, but it’s not what you think. It was a funny Shoebox one and I only sent it as an excuse to tuck in my new Tracey Spadolini, Account Executive, business card. Which apparently he didn’t notice, because he says nothing about the promotion.
“—and I couldn’t wait to tell you I got a lead in a European touring-company production of La Cage Aux Folles!”
Will starring as a gay man?
“Wow, I’d love to see that,” I say truthfully. “Listen, I have news—”
But he’s talking over me—“Yeah, it’s going to be great”—at least, that’s what I think he said. It might have actually been “I’m going to be great,” knowing Will, but I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt.
“I’m sure it will be,” I say, “and I’ve got something to—”
“I leave for Transylvania next week—”
“Will, I have to tell—wait, did you say Transylvania?”
“Right.”
Huh. I didn’t even realize Transylvania is a real place. Had I known it was a real place, I would imagine it filled with dark, brooding types and, yes, vampires—not musical-theater buffs. You learn something new every day.
“Will,” I jump in, realizing there’s been a lull, “I’m
