Yes, of course, she is still hoping to meet the right breeder. That hope will kill her. You need hips for the mothering thing. She has body sculpted hers off. Besides, New York is not exactly a place for the unattached. Luckily, I’ve got age on my side. Nope, poor Lacey is lucky if she gets one of her homosexual friends to donate some sperm. But, I digress.
Herb has a nasty habit of wandering off and not telling me where he is going. Since I am supposed to keep his schedule I wind up looking like a big ass when people ask me where he is. Tabitha has a homing device on the Big C, but I have no idea where Herb is until he comes back—usually all sweaty and smelly, having just taken an eight-mile jaunt around the city “to get my blood flowing.” Apparently deodorant inhibits his creativity somehow.
I kind of wish he was returning from a bike ride right now, because I think I would enjoy watching Lacey pretend Herb’s creative man scent didn’t bother her. Instead, Lacey is sitting in his office listening to his stupid sitar music while I track him down.
Herb is two floors down talking with Jarvis Mitchell, one of the big guys. Jarvis handles all the sporty type magazines Uncle Pres owns. He gives me this weird look when he sees me as if he is surprised that he would have someone like me who has to keep track of him.
“Sorry to interrupt.” I always say that when I interrupt him and I wait for him to accept it like most people would, but he never does. “Lacey Matthews is in your office.”
“Lacey?” It is obviously too much for Herb to keep all of his expanding creativity in his head along with the name of the person he asked me to call.
“Mike Greaney’s friend,” Jarvis Mitchell reminds him. So that’s how Lacey gets to write for us. Mike Greaney is another big guy.
“Oh, right,” says our fearless leader. “I guess I better go be an interrogator.” Now, I stand awkwardly as Jarvis and Herb say their goodbyes. I’m not sure if it would be rude to leave, so I wait. I say goodbye to Jarvis as Herb is walking out, but he doesn’t acknowledge me. Herb and I walk up the stairs (he wouldn’t dream of taking the elevator).
“So I left Lacey in your office with—” I imitate Lacey’s long pause “—Max.” I’m setting this up to wow him with a witty comment about dogs now that I know Lacey isn’t a friend of his.
“Oh,” says Herb so that I know he isn’t paying attention to me at all. When we get to his office Lacey is all smiles and I leave them to their introductions and their cooing over Max. Whatever.
When I get back to my desk, there are three messages waiting for me. The first: “What’s up, it’s me.” (Tabitha) “Guess who is going to be reviewed in the Times this weekend? If you guessed your lost love elizabeth, you are right. Aggh, what could have been, had you only had one more drink.”
I delete that one, sending it to the message graveyard, never to be heard from again. The second: “Eve, hey, it’s Zeke. I know I haven’t talked to you in a while. I was out of the city but I’m back now. Wanted to take you out for some tapas.” (Yes, he says it with the correct Spanish accent just like a newscaster.) “Give me a call.”
I forward it to Tabitha’s voice mail. Finally: “Eve, where are you? I am so sick of sitting in Bryant Park between interviews and telephone calls. I talked to a Realtor about that place in the alphabet section.” (City, she means, this is a girl who loves Rent.) “It sounds really good. She gave me the name of a bar to meet at, it’s called Bar on A and it’s on Avenue A. Ooh, I guess that’s easy. Can you try to meet us there at 6:30?” My other line beeps. It’s Tabitha.
“Want to meet me and Adrian for dinner in Chelsea tonight?”
“I can’t, I have to meet Rosie to see an apartment in Alphabet City.”
“Oh, how Bohemian.” Tabitha knows Ro likes Rent. It’s come out in the past two weeks that among other things Roseanne thinks the soundtrack to Rent is really “real.” I would have liked to keep that quiet for a while; Tabitha still hasn’t gotten over the celebrity sighting.
“What time are you going to be there?”
“Probably not till eight.”
“We’ll try to meet you there.”
“Don’t forget to give her Valium in case Regis Philbin walks down the street.”
“Let me ask you this, Tabitha, what happens to Adrian if he leaves Chelsea? Is there some kind of electromagnetic field that electrocutes him?”
“Meow! Remember that Mexican place on Eighth.”
“How could I forget the twenty-dollar margaritas?”
“You are going to be no fun until this whole apartment thing is settled, aren’t you?”
“Yes, and I appreciate you being so supportive.”
“Mother of God. So will I see you later or what?”
“If you can behave yourself.”
“I’ll certainly try.”
“Great,” I say and hang up.
I meet Roseanne at the bar. She looks a little red. It must be all the sun she’s getting pounding the pavement. She’s been here since 4:15. It’s quarter of seven.
“Are you drunk?”
“No.” Okay. That’s reassuring.
“How was the interview?”
“I’m not going to get it.”
“How do you know?”
“No chemistry.”
“Where is the Realtor?”
“She is talking to someone at the table over there. We were waiting for you. The bartender bought me a drink.” I order a gin and tonic. Rosie gets me back to my bad college habits.
“Do you want to meet Tabitha and Adrian for dinner after this? Mexican.”
“I guess.”
“We don’t have to.”
“I’m concerned about money. I have a feeling it’s going to take me a while to find a job. Also, I haven’t seen an apartment for under $1600. That doesn’t even include all the stuff we’ll have to get or the darned Realtor’s fee.”
“Well, I know you’ve had a lot of time to think about this, but honestly, you’ve only been looking for two weeks. That’s eleven business days. No one could get a job that quick.”
The Realtor interrupts us, a woman named Kate who has a really husky voice. She can’t stop raving about the area—she lives here, it’s changing, it’s safe enough to raise her daughter. She talks so much in the short walk over that I feel dizzy when we get into the apartment. Maybe it’s the walk up four stories. The moment we get into the apartment, Roseanne leans against the wall in the kitchen and refuses to look at anything else. I think she may be a little drunk.
“Why is the shower in the kitchen?” Roseanne asks.
As
