Brooklyn Girls (22 page)

That’s the perfect way of putting it, I think to myself. He gets it, he really gets it.

Glancing out the window, I’m dismayed to see that we’re already on the Brooklyn Bridge. The journey is practically over. I wonder if I can jump on him and start kissing him between here and Rookhaven without looking like a psychoslut. Probably not.

I glance over at Aidan and catch his eye. For a second, I think he’s about to come out with another smart-ass remark, but instead, he just smirks at me, his eyes warm and steady and kind, and now I can feel my heart beating and my stomach squirming, oh, God, I can’t talk, this is agony.…

As we turn off the bridge, he clears his throat. “Are you hungry?”

“Almost always.”

“Okay, we’re making a pit stop.” He leans forward and talks politely to the driver. “Sorry, sir, change of plans—we’re headed to Park Slope, Fifth Avenue and Ninth Street, please.”

“Park Slope?” I repeat. “Seriously?”

“Daisy’s Diner,” he says, grinning at me.

I want to lick his teeth.

“They serve disco fries.”

“Disco fries?”

“Fries with cheese and gravy. I always get that, plus a grilled cheese sandwich and a banana and strawberry milkshake with double banana.”

“Double banana?” I love the way he says banana.
Boh-nuh-nuh.

“A plain banana and strawberry milkshake isn’t bananary enough for me, so I ask them to put two bananas in.” He pauses for a second. “Or double the ersatz banana flavoring. Whatever it is.”

“Sounds totally disgusting. I’m in.”

“Are you one of those girls who eats only sushi? Please say no.”

“No, I’m one of those girls who pretends to eat like a man in order to impress one.”

“I’m one of those girls, too!”

“I guess you and I are going to be BFFs.”

“I guess so,” he says, and for a second our eyes meet and my chest goes
thumpetythumpthump
.

I’m just about to open my mouth, to say God knows what, when his phone rings. He looks at it and answers immediately.

“Em?”

I freeze, a ball of fear slamming into my stomach. A girl! The same girl from the street? The girlfriend? Ex-girlfriend? Wife? Ex-wife? I check quickly. He’s not wearing a wedding ring, but—

“Okay, Emma, calm down, sweetheart.”

Oh, God, he
does
have a girlfriend.… I can hear a woman’s slightly hysterical voice on the other end of the line.

“Right, fine, I’ll come now,” he says. He looks out the window. We’re almost at Park Slope. “Yes, yes, I’ll come now. Right now. I’ll be there in ten minutes. Yes, yes, yes, I love you, too.”

Aidan hangs up and leans forward to the driver. “Would you mind pulling over? It’s an emergency.…” He turns to me. “I’m so sorry, you must think I’m very rude.”

No I don’t, I think you’re gorgeous and taken and out of my league and not interested in me at all, I have never felt this right about someone before, and I don’t know what to do, I think numbly. But I don’t say that. Obviously.

Instead, I try to look calm, and say: “I understand. Another bridge-surfer, huh?”

He grins, then immediately looks distracted again.

“Please take her to Union Street, mate,” he says, quickly jumping out and closing the door after him. I slide over to the window, staring out at him as he quickly texts on his phone.

Is that it? Isn’t he going to ask for my number? Should I ask for his? For a split second I contemplate the fact that he’s about to disappear from my life again and a feeling of utter dread clutches at my stomach.

But he has a girlfriend. I need to get a grip!

Aidan leans in and hands the driver a twenty.

“No, no, I can pay!” I protest.

Aidan shakes his head. “Not a chance, Pia. This is my shot to make up for bailing on you … but what are you doing next Thursday?”

“I—” What do I say? He’s going to meet another girl but he’s asking me out on a date? That’s the first time he’s said my name. It sounds so lovely.

“Meet me at Minibar at eight,” he says. “Please.”

“Um…”

“C’mon. You owe me for two cab rides now!”

“Um, let me think about it, give me your number.”

“No. No numbers, no e-mails, no texts, no excruciating pre-date Googling and Facebook repartee. Just … show up. And see what happens.”

We meet eyes. And I know there’s only one answer.

“I’d love to.”

Then the cab takes off, and he’s gone. Again.

Did I really just make a plan to meet up with a guy who’s currently on his way to see another woman? That’s like Stupid Chick 101! Okay, so I was paralyzed by nerves and excitement and good old-fashioned sexual attraction. But that’s no excuse.… Is he just some cockmonkey who thought I’d be happy to have a cheap and meaningless hookup over disco fries? It didn’t feel like that.

Then again, I bet it never feels like that. I bet every girl who accidentally becomes the other woman to a cockmonkey says it didn’t feel cheap and meaningless. I should ask Angie. She has the most experience in that kind of thing (I’m not insulting her, but you know, she kinda does).

Do I meet up with him next Thursday at Minibar or not? The idea of seeing him again in a formal date scenario makes me feel unbearably squirmy, my stomach buckling in … what? Excitement? Fear? Both. It almost makes me want to run away.

Flight risk.

Eddie.

But I’m
not
a flight risk. I can stick things out. And I am a new, improved Pia, so goddamnit, shouldn’t that mean that I should explore this thing with Aidan when it feels so different than anything I’ve ever had before?

Oh, God, I don’t know. Sometimes I think I can convince myself of anything if I try hard enough.

I pay the driver, and then turn and walk toward Rookhaven. I can’t help but smile at little Toto parked so happily in the darkness outside. I usually park her in the commissary on Saturday nights, but I’m painting SkinnyWheels Twitter and Facebook details on her sides tomorrow morning, so thought I’d keep her out.

Then I notice it: something’s wrong.

She’s not pink anymore. Blood-red paint is slashed across her sides, her tires are slashed, her headlights destroyed, her windows broken, her windshield wipers ripped off at the base.

My poor darling Toto has been battered to a bloody pulp.

CHAPTER 18

The next day begins unexpectedly early, when Coco knocks on my door.

“Pia? Pia? Pia? Are you awake?”

“Yes … No. Yes.”

“I need your help. I … need to get that pill.”

“Advil? Look on my shelf in the bathroom,” I mumble. What was I dreaming about? Aidan. Lying in bed with Aidan, giggling, and I felt so warm and honeyish and happy … but something bad happened last night. Oh, God, my truck. Toto. Someone has destroyed Toto. It must be Bianca, right? Or the Banh Mi Up dude? Or Madeleine and Mike? Why does it seem like so many people have a reason to hurt me? And oh, God, Aidan asked me out! He’s so delicious, but—

Then Coco pipes up again.

“No … the other pill. The one for sex. Unprotected sex.”

My eyes open. “What? Get in here.”

Coco creeps in, still wearing her clothes from karaoke last night, and has the telltale signs of a good night being bad: chapped lips and a red, raw chin.

“You couldn’t ask him to shave?”

“I’m so sorry,” she says, her voice all high and wavy. “I don’t know who else to turn to, Julia would never understand, and—”

“It’s fine, it’s fine!” I say. Oh, God, poor Coco. “Tell me everything. I am completely, one hundred percent awake.”

Coco laughs, but it comes out as a choked cry. “I feel so awful. I was so drunk, I don’t even remember how it started, but then I sort of sobered up really fast. He didn’t even look at me during, um, it. Not once. Then I just lay there while he passed out and then I got dressed. I saw his eyes open in the reflection in the mirror, but when I turned around, he pretended to be asleep.”

“What a cockmonkey,” I say, shuffling over on my bed so there’s a spare pillow next to me. “Come here.”

She lies down next to me and stares at the ceiling. “And I had to leave, and I didn’t know where I was, and—”

“Whose apartment was it?” I say.

She shrugs. “I don’t know, he said it was a friend’s who was out of town. I can’t believe we did that in a stranger’s bed. I mean the sheets weren’t even clean, there wasn’t any toilet paper or soap in the bathroom, it was such a—a—a fucking dump.…” Tears are falling down her cheeks. I don’t think I’ve ever heard Coco swear before.

“Oh, honey, I am so sorry.” I lean over, grab a box of tissues, and hand her one. “Okay, well, was it nice, at least? I mean, the sex?” I ask. Yes. Try to focus on the positives.

“I haven’t—” she starts, then corrects herself. “Well it was, up to a point, it was very, uh, nice, and then it wasn’t.” She takes a deep, shaky breath. “He didn’t even treat me like … I don’t know, I thought we were friends. I know that’s stupid. Oh, Pia, I have never felt so sick, I have a pain in my stomach—” Silent tears run down her cheeks.

“It’s okay, this stuff happens all the time and it’s nothing to get upset about,” I say, trying to sound experienced and reassuring. “We all hook up with the wrong person and wake up wishing we hadn’t, it’s a horrible feeling but it doesn’t matter. In the end, it just doesn’t matter.”

“But he … he came inside me,” says Coco, looking like she might throw up. “He didn’t even look me in the eyes and I was trying to imagine how I should be feeling and instead just felt—oh, God, I can’t bear it, I want to be sick.…”

“Shhh,” I say, stroking her hair. “You don’t need to feel bad. He’s your friend, you liked him for so long, you had no way of knowing that it wouldn’t be like you wanted. You did nothing wrong. He’s an idiot, Coco.”

“What if I get AIDS? Or one of the other ones?”

“You don’t have AIDS.” And I doubt he’s getting enough action to be unknowingly carrying an STD around.

Coco is crying too hard to respond. I lie next to her, stroking her hair as she cries the remnants of her makeup into my pillow.

Eric turned up last night for one reason: to get laid.

What a cockmonkey.

I look over at sweet, trusting Coco weeping silently next to me, and suddenly feel so furious that I want to track Eric down and scream at him. Maybe slap him a few times. It is just not acceptable to take advantage of someone who can’t protect themselves.

But all I can do is help Coco.

“And I didn’t have any money for a cab, so I had to get the subway home, and we were in Washington Heights, so it took forever, and everyone was looking at me, and there was this lady with dogs who just kept muttering
slut
…”

“Okay,” I say, cutting her off before she can start crying again. “What time is it?”

“It’s, like, nine,” she says, looking at her watch. “I can’t handle this feeling, Pia. I can’t—”

“Coco, stop torturing yourself,” I say. “Right this second. Everything is going to be fine.” Kind but firm is the only way to handle this. “Go shower. Put this on afterward.” I hand her my Lancôme Hydra-Intense mask. “It was invented specifically for morning-after-stubble-rash issues. And then we’ll go and get breakfast and talk about it. Everything will be fine.”

“And get that pill thing,” she adds.

“And get that pill thing.” I nod. “Remember, this feeling won’t last forever. We all feel bad sometimes, but it goes away. It always goes away. Just tough it out and you’ll be a better and stronger person because of it.”

“But I really … I thought I loved him.”

“This isn’t love,” I say to her. “Love is easy. If it’s hard, you’re not doing it right.”

Do I believe that? What the hell do I know? The only man I’ve ever loved dumped me and told me I should have expected it, that it was practically my fault, in fact. Oh, God, don’t think about Eddie right now.

“I know.” Coco is finally calming down. “Okay. I’ll go shower.”

“And remember, you have to kiss a lot of frogs before you find your prince. And Coco, there have been a lot of frogs in my life.”

Giggling, Coco hurries out of my room, and I lie back on the pillow.

Poor Coco.

And poor Toto. I really need to fix my battered truck today. Who would do that to her? I need time to figure it out.

But Coco needs me, too.

Okay: Toto can wait. After I’ve helped Coco, I’ll call one of the body shops on the other end of Union Street, and see if they can fix Toto.

I wonder who did it? The Banh Mi Up dude doesn’t know where I live. Madeleine and Mike couldn’t have had the time. (Urgh, I am
so
not looking forward to seeing Madeleine after last night’s not-quite showdown.) And that leaves Bianca.

Hmm.

*   *   *

Coco and I
are on our way to CVS on Court Street within an hour. It’s unusually warm, and I’m wearing a short, flippy coral skirt, my favorite white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and some tan leather sandals I bought in Greece a few years ago. I’m telling you this because in contrast, Coco is wearing jeans and several layers of long-sleeved tops that she’s pulled over her hands, as though trying to hide from the world.

“I’m so nervous. How do I ask for it? What will they think?”

“I guarantee eighteen girls have already bought it this morning, sweetie,” I say. “It’s not a big deal, okay? It’s fine.”

But as we near the CVS, Coco is actually shaking. “I can’t ask for it. I can’t.”

“No problem,” I say. “I’ll do it. Just wait here and I’ll be back in five minutes. Okay, honey?”

I am so damn motherly today, huh?

I remember the first time I got the morning-after pill. The condom broke. Condoms often break when the guy doesn’t know what he’s doing. A little tip from me to you. Not because their penis is too damn big, whatever the guy might like to think.

Flashing my most confident smile at the pharmacist, I ask, “Can I get Plan B, please?”

He hands it over without batting an eyelid. Thank God. One time Angie bought Plan B from a pharmacist wearing a Jesus fish pin, who then started an abstinence lecture, so Angie accidentally-on-purpose knocked over a jar of lip balms.