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 had 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
