See Jane Date (20 page)

“My mom died,” I said, staring at my teacup. “A long time ago now. My sophomore year in college.”

I heard her gasp; it so surprised me that I glanced at her, and our eyes met for a moment. “I am so sorry,” she said. “I didn't know.”

“You'll be a good mom,” I told her quickly, so she couldn't ask me how or when or why about my mother. “I'm sure of it.”

She regarded me, and I got the sense she knew I didn't want to talk about my mother. She sipped her tea, then smiled weakly at me. “Do you really think so?”

“Yeah,” I said. But I wasn't. I had no idea if she'd be a good mother or not. Although I figured that if you were worried about your maternal qualities in the first place, your chances were pretty good.

“So what's your boyfriend's name?” she asked.

“Timothy.”

“Timothy,” she repeated. “I've always liked that name. Think he's the one?”

“Maybe.” And that was true.

“I'm sorry I didn't call you back yesterday or today,” Natasha said. She stood and placed her cup on the bam
boo tray. Then she walked to the window and peered through the faux Venetian blinds. “I was freaking out about the news about the baby, so…”

“That's okay, Natasha. I understand.”

“I worked today, though. I polished my draft of Chapter Two. I'll fax it tomorrow. I read your notes on the outline for Chapter Three, and I completely agree with you. Focusing that chapter on my romantic history is perfect. Give readers a sense of where I come from emotionally, why I ended up selling my soul. I think that'll be interesting.”

Sordid
was more the right word. “You can start with Jimmy Alfonzo.”

Natasha sat down. “Jimmy Alfonzo. You remember him?”

“Of course,” I said. “He was Homecoming King. Well, the only Homecoming King who refused the crown. He was your boyfriend forever. From, like, the sixth grade through graduation, right?”

“On and off,” she said, reaching for her tea. “Off when he was cheating on me and on when I was stupid enough to forgive him.”

I almost spit out my mouthful of tea. “He cheated on you?” It was hard to imagine a guy cheating on Natasha Nutley. Why would he? What girl could possibly be more attractive than she was? Especially back in high school.

“All the time,” she replied.

Huh. “So why'd you keep going back with him? You could have had any guy you wanted in high school.”

“I loved Jimmy,” she said. “Simple as that. Looking back, I guess I'd ask myself how I could love someone who treated me like shit. But he was everything to me, and he knew it. So he took advantage of that.”

Huh. Whodathunk?

“Did you have a boyfriend in high school?” Natasha asked.

Robby Evers's face flashed before my eyes. “No.” I leaned my head against the wall and pressed my knees to my chest.

“'Cause you were always studying, probably,” she said. “Weren't you buddies with Robby Evers? I remember you guys were always walking around together. Did you know I almost went to the junior prom with him?”

Yeah, I knew.

“I thought it would be something if a guy like Robby liked me, you know?”

I stared at her. “What do you mean?
Every
guy liked you.”

“Every guy wanted to screw me,” Natasha corrected. “But Robby was different. You probably knew that better than anyone since you were such good friends. He was so smart and poetic. And nice-looking, to boot. He really cared about things. I figured if Robby liked me and wanted to go out with me, I was probably okay, you know? Because he was Mr. Integrity. He wouldn't date a girl just because she was pretty or had big tits.”

Huh again. But I wasn't so sure about that. Robby was Mr. Integrity, yes. But he wasn't attracted to Natasha because she was a good person. Who knew if she was? It wasn't as though the Gnat was famous for saving the whales or selling more magazines for the school newspaper than any other kid in school. Robby had fallen in love with her because she was gorgeous and had huge breasts. Whether the Gnat wanted to believe it or not. She was fantasy girl, and for a second, he'd had her.

“So why didn't you go with him to the dance?” I asked. “Why'd you get back together with Jimmy?”

“Because Jimmy said he was sorry and whispered a
bunch of sweet junk in my ear and told me I couldn't possibly go to the junior prom with anyone but him, and I fell for it again.”

“You broke Robby's heart,” I told her.

And that was when it hit me. She
had
broken his heart. So he must have liked her for more than just her face and body. He hadn't been mourning a hot date with Miss Popularity. He'd been mourning a lost dream.

“I was so sorry about that,” Natasha said. “I wrote him a letter and tried to explain the hold Jimmy had on me, had on me since the sixth grade. But Robby wouldn't talk to me after that.”

There didn't seem any need to tell the Gnat I'd been in love with Robby. That she'd stolen him out of my fragile grasp. Not because she'd already won. But because it turned out that she hadn't. She hadn't won much at all. In fact, she'd lost. Lost knowing what a great boyfriend she could have had in Robby. And lost so much by loving an asshole like Jimmy Alfonzo.

“So what happened to Jimmy?” I asked. “Do you two still keep in touch?”

Natasha shook her head and smiled. “After high school, he moved to Las Vegas to work in the casinos. I got a postcard from him saying he'd married a showgirl. Never heard from him again, which was fine by me, and—”

“Oh! Oh, yes! Oh, Ohhhhhh!”

Natasha looked at me, her green eyes wide.

“Yes! Yes! Ohhhhhhh!”

She giggled and covered her mouth.

“Give it to me. Yeah! Oh! Oh! Oh!”
Squeak. Squeak. Squeak.
“Ohhhhhhh!”

Natasha Nutley and I doubled over in laughter.

“You can't stay here with that going on,” she said,
catching her breath. “Wanna stay at my place? I have a really comfy pullout sofa and central air-conditioning.”

She was inviting me to a two-person slumber party? I wasn't sure I could handle that. I wasn't sure I liked this new friendly thing happening here.

Opera Man turned up the volume. I didn't recognize the opera.

“Come on, Jane,” Natasha said, smiling. “It'll be fun. Plus, it's really nice to have someone to talk to. Someone who knows me from back when, you know? Your life is so together and mine is such a mess—”

“Oh yeah! Oh! Oh! Ohhhhhhhh!”

“Let's get out of here,” I told her. And we both burst into giggles as the wall started to vibrate.

H
ow could I have resisted an invitation to check out the Gnat's lair? I'd never been in an apartment between Lexington Avenue and Central Park, and I wouldn't have been surprised to find the walls encrusted with diamonds. Turned out that the Gnat's small but gorgeous apartment was built originally as servants' quarters in a town house. No diamonds in the walls. In fact, her apartment was belowground, which meant she had decorative black iron bars on her windows and a view of people's feet. My pathetic studio had a better view—and sunlight.

“Jane, do you want pecan pancakes or regular?” Natasha called from the kitchen.

I glanced at my watch. It was eight in the morning. I had enough time to wolf down a homemade breakfast I didn't have to make myself before leaving for work. “Um, pecan would be great,” I called back. It was trendy to cook and take too-expensive cooking classes, so it was
no shocker that the Gnat knew her way around a spatula and some Bisquick. I finished folding up the sofa bed and put the cushions in place. “Can I help with anything?”

“Nope,” she yelled. A minute later she appeared with a platter stacked with pancakes. They smelled amazing. She set down the platter on the tiny dining room table in the tiny dining nook by a window. She'd laid out a whole feast. A carafe of hazelnut coffee, orange juice, fruit salad and now the pecan pancakes.

“Ooh, so we might as well work over breakfast,” she said, hopping up from her seat. “Oh, and I'll do those final revisions on Chapter One today and fax the revised version to you by three. Is that okay?”

I nodded. “That'll give me today to condense it, tomorrow to polish it and then I'll have it on Jeremy's desk first thing Friday morning.”

“Jeremy's a hottie, isn't he?” Natasha asked, refilling my coffee cup. “Don't you think he looks like James Bond? What's that actor's name again?”

“Pierce Brosnan,” I said through a suddenly cardboard tasting mouthful of pecan pancake. Then I realized I had nothing to worry about. Natasha couldn't make a play for Jeremy: she was already taken. Whew.

“Right! Pierce Brosnan! Mmm—what a dreamboat. It's a good thing I'm practically married,” she trilled. “Or I'd go after him in two seconds.”

Yes, it was a very good thing she was taken. Timothy Rommely in my life or not, I'd die if Gnatasha Nutley ended up with Jeremy Black. Could you imagine if she got her hands on the only other man I'd fantasized about for years?

“Did you want cream for your coffee?” Natasha asked. “Or is milk okay? I have both.”

“Milk's fine,” I said.

“I'll just go get my draft of Chapter Three,” she said. “Be right back.” She disappeared into her bedroom.

Even at eight in the morning she looked incredible. She had on no makeup, and her hair was pulled back in a low bun, some delicate strands of ringlets falling free around her face. She wore an ice-blue microfiber tank top and perfect-fitting Levi's. She was barefoot and had a silver ring around one of her toes. If I bought every single thing she was wearing and put it on, I'd never look the way she did.

When we'd arrived last night, she'd fussed over me the same way Aunt Ina always did when I came to visit.
Are you comfortable, do you need anything, are you sure, is that blanket warm enough, do you want to borrow socks?
Maybe the Gnat was being so nice to me because she thought I held the fate of her memoir in my hands. If only she knew it was the other way around—her memoir held the fate of my life in its hands. We'd talked a bit last night in her living room, mostly about how well Dana had turned out, how exciting it was that she was getting married, that her bridal shower was this Saturday, blah, blah, blah. Talking about Dana and her wedding was as good as a sleeping pill; I'd started yawning like crazy. So the Gnat had set up my bed in her living room, which was more folksy than I'd expected. By the time my head hit the pillow, it was close to two o'clock. I'd fallen asleep right away. The next thing I knew, the Gnat was mixing pancake batter.

Maybe she was being so nice because she'd told me more than she wanted to. Did she regret her midnight breakdown? Her pregnancy confession? The admission that Jimmy Alfonzo had cheated on her?

Her phone rang and she reappeared in the living room, the chapter in one hand and a cordless phone in the other.
“Hi, Mom!” she said in a super cheery voice. “I'm glad you called back. No, that's not what I meant. I know you and Dad are really busy, too. I was just saying thanks for returning the call, that's all. So, the reason I called was that I thought I'd come over on Saturday and visit with you and Dad. I have a gift for you guys. Oh, well, that's okay. I could come later on, around three-thirty, then. No, I don't mind. A couple of hours is fine. No, it's no big deal. It's just a short train ride.”

I poured maple syrup on my pancakes and pretended not to notice the Gnat's voice was catching in her throat. It was easy to ascertain that her parents did not want her to visit them. So she had been telling the truth. Her parents didn't like her. I wondered why. Her outline didn't get into the details, just that she and the Nutleys didn't speak or see each other very often.

“Hey, so guess who's here right now?” she exclaimed overbrightly into the phone. “Janey Gregg. Remember her? Yes, that's right, Dana Dreer's cousin. Right, you were friendly with Jane's mom. Maybe. I don't know. I guess I could ask. Will you hold on?”

Ask me what?

“Jane, my mom wants to know if you'd like to come visit with me on Saturday. I know you have Dana's shower, so maybe afterward you could join us?”

I suddenly wanted a cigarette. No. Not just one. A whole pack. I'd been fine for days, and now the desire to smoke hit me so hard that my knees almost buckled. I was supposed to visit the Gnat's parents with her? After suffering through Dana's shower? All I wanted to do on Saturday afternoon was zone out and wonder what I would wear that night on my date with Timothy.

But Natasha was waiting for an answer. I couldn't tell
much from her expression, but I sensed it was important that I say yes. “Um, okay.”

She beamed and took her hand away from the mouthpiece. “Jane can come, Mom. Yeah. Okay. So four o'clock. Can I bring anything? Are you sure. Okay. See you then. Bye.” She clicked off the phone and tossed it onto the sofa. “My mom's really excited to see you,” Natasha said. “She just adored your mom.”

I smiled. “You know, I'd better get going or Remke will have my head. We have a meeting this morning, so…” That was a lie. But I had to get out of there. Had to get away from her. Suddenly I was going on family visits with her and listening to her tell me that her mom adored my mom? Who did she think she was? My new best friend?

Why had I agreed to go to her parents' with her? Why had I agreed to the slumber party? Was it curiosity? Morbid curiosity? A teeny part of me did sort of like my sudden status. Not only was I Natasha's editor, I was also her confidante. Being the editor of her memoirs already made me her confidante, but this was different. This was almost like friendship. And that wasn't happening. No siree. I'd help her out with her parents in the name of keeping her sane enough to write her ridiculous life story, and then she was on her own.

Ha. How on her own could she ever be with a baby on the way and a proposing houseboat-dwelling boyfriend?

 

At exactly 9:00 a.m. on Friday morning, I placed the excerpt of Chapter One of
The Stopped Starlet
on Jeremy's desk. That title had not been one of my suggestions. Remke came up with it himself.
S
was a sensual letter, he'd insisted, and you couldn't beat alliteration or the word
starlet.
Plus,
Stopped
would elicit sympathy
from consumers and make them want to know what it meant. It hinted at conspiracies, Remke had said. Natasha had the surprising good sense to think the title was silly but super-marketable, and she gave it her blessing. Morgan had been shocked that her title suggestion hadn't been chosen:
Gag Order: I'm Talking Now.
Very sexy, Morgan. Anyway, Remke wanted to keep the title short so that a provocative full-body photo of the Gnat could take up most of the cover. Daisy, the art director, suggested placing a sophisticated-looking man next to Natasha and blanking out his face to represent the Mystery Actor and add to the cover's salability. I thought that was a great idea. Remke was mulling it over.

Lightning and thunder crackled outside Jeremy's window. Was that an omen? No. It was just rain. I'd spent the past two nights polishing and perfecting the excerpt of the Gnat's pornographic Chapter One, which was actually quite emotional and well-done, if I did say so myself. But Jeremy would be the judge of that.

I settled myself in my office and began reading the Gnat's revisions of Chapter Two. Or tried to. I could hear the unmistakable sound of a baby gurgling and cooing in the hallway. That could mean only one thing. Gwen had brought in O. Welle.

My computer let me know I had new e-mail. One was from Timothy, who wanted to make me dinner tomorrow night—his specialty. Or, if that wasn't okay, we could go out for Mexican instead. Hmm. Did that mean he was planning the Big Seduction tomorrow night? Date Number Three was often sex night. Was it too soon for sex? I wasn't sure. Timothy and I had clicked big time, and he'd called on Thursday afternoon to say hi. The third date was famous for creating relationships. But sex was
famous for killing relationships. Someone always expected more. And that someone was usually me.

The next e-mail was from Eloise to me and to Amanda. Tonight's Flirt Night Roundtable was suggested to be held in Bloomingdale's, so that Eloise could register for wedding gifts, and didn't I have to buy my cousin a shower present, anyway? Huh. So Eloise was serious. She was marrying Serge. You didn't register for gifts unless you were getting hitched. Eloise had told me yesterday that she'd called Amanda and told her she was engaged. According to Eloise, Amanda was as surprised as I'd been. But Amanda had turned on the congratulations. I knew Amanda Frank. If Eloise said she loved Serge and was getting married, that was all Amanda needed to know. She wasn't a buttinsky. She took what people said at face value. And besides, Amanda had an annoying habit of treating people like adults.

Amanda had already replied to the suggestion with an enthusiastic
cool.
I sent back a ditto. I'd had lunch with Eloise yesterday and today, but she'd been quiet and off in her own world. So off that she hadn't even registered surprise when I'd mentioned I'd slept over at the Gnat's Tuesday night. She still hadn't told her grandmother about the engagement. The only people who knew were me and Amanda. She kept the little diamond turned around on her finger at work, so none of the Poshes had noticed it. She'd taken off by herself the past couple of nights, and I'd had to focus on the excerpt, so I hadn't spent much time with Eloise. Yesterday I'd asked her if she was mad at me, for my reaction to her news, and she swore she wasn't. Considering all she'd said about Serge before he proposed, she understood my worries. I missed Eloise. But I figured I might as well get used to the lack of her in my life.

I hadn't heard much from the Gnat, either, except to receive her polished draft of Chapter Two and her first draft of Chapter Three, which I'd read this afternoon. I wondered if I should buy her a baby gift tonight in Bloomies. What did you buy for a baby-to-be if you didn't know the sex? Maybe I should go to Baby Gap and ask the salespeople for help.

“There you are!”

Double ugh. That was Gwen's phony voice.

“Say ha-woe to nice Jane-Jane,” baby-talked Gwen to Olivia, who was staring at me from her carriage. Olivia's eyes were bluer than seemed possible. She had long eyelashes and wisps of fine, blond hair. She truly was exquisite.

“Wow, she's getting so big!” I exclaimed in as interested a voice as I could fake.

“Livie smiled today, didn't she!” Gwen cooed to the baby. “I took her to her pediatrician today because I was worried about the color of her dark poopie, but the doc says everything seems okay. That's rightie, poopie-doopie, everything's okay,” she sing-songed to Olivia.

Was there a response to that? I didn't think so.

“So how's that cute new boyfriend of yours?” Gwen asked. “What was his name?”

Museum Asshole. “He was just a friend. I do have a boyfriend though. His name is Timothy.”

“Oh! Well, that's so great, Jane. It's so nice that you have friends and a boyfriend. Living it up in New York. You're really living the life. When I was your age, all I did was work, work, work! I'm amazed I got married at all!” She was looking at my desk, or trying to. My shoulders were blocking most of her view. What was her problem? And who was she trying to kid? Gwendolyn Welle had been with her icky husband since she was a sopho
more in college. What was amazing was that the two phoniest people in the United States of America had managed to find each other.

My intercom buzzed. “Jaaane,” Morgan whined. “Is Gwen with you?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Could you let her know that Williaaam and Jereeemy are ready for their meeting.”