The Job (18 page)
“Keep
it together, Jessica,” I whisper to myself.
“I’m
almost done!” some woman, apparently in one of the stalls, calls out.
I
just grab a paper towel and clean myself up as best I can before going back out
to the restaurant.
My
phone beeps.
The
message says, “I’m not saying we should move in together or anything. I just
thought it’d be nice to have a conversation with you face to face.”
This
might not feel like such a momentous decision if it weren’t for the fact that I
felt a bit of a spark with Eric in the store the other day.
We
didn’t talk about it or anything, but I know he felt something, too. Maybe
that’s just wishful thinking, though.
“Can
I bring my sister?” I write.
The
only problem with taking Kristin is that I’m going to have to think of some
plausible reason why Jed can’t possibly join us.
I
would just go with the truth and tell Kristin that her boyfriend or whatever
the hell he is to her is a whiny know-it-all and that he annoys the crap out of
me, but that didn’t go over so well the last time I said something similar to
her.
The
phone beeps.
The
message reads, “That seems only fair.”
I
give myself one more look in the mirror and take a deep breath, steeling for
myself for the train wreck that is dining with my sister and Jed.
Placing
Bets
Eric
“It’s
the fucking boss lady?” Alec asks.
“Will
you keep your fucking voice down, she might be here already,” I tell him. “She
doesn’t know it’s me, but yeah, I’m sure it’s her.”
“What
are the odds on that one?”
“I
have no idea,” I tell him. “What do you know about the sister?”
“Sister?”
he asks. “Whose sister?”
“Jessica’s,”
I tell him. “She’s bringing her sister. You know, the one who gave
her
my number?”
“Oh
right,” Alec says, “the sister. I really don’t know, man. I know she’s a little
high-strung, but get a drink or two in her, and yeah, I don’t really pay that
much attention to Irene’s friends.”
“What
do you think I should do?” I ask. “Do I tell her that it’s me on the phone or
do I try to pull some Cyrano de Bergerac shit and go all covert about it?”
“I
think I understood about half the words there,” Alec says. “What the hell are
you talking about?”
“I
don’t know,” I start. “Things are starting to thaw between her and I in the
real world, and I’m not sure that I want to try to mix the two relationships
this quickly by telling her that I’m the guy she’s been texting all her dreams
and aspirations for the last however long.”
“You
don’t have the nose for it,” Alec says.
“What?”
I ask.
“I
was just fucking with you on the Cyrano thing. I’ve seen Evita.”
“What
the hell are you talking about?” I ask. “What does Evita have to do with—look,
I don’t know what to do here, and I’d really appreciate some advice.”
“Eric?”
a familiar voice calls.
I
grit my teeth, grin and turn around.
“Jessica,”
I say. “What are the chances of us ending up at the same party?”
“I’d
say they’re pretty high,” Alec mumbles, and I elbow him in the ribs.
“I
know,” she says. “You’re Alec, aren’t you?”
“Yes,”
my friend, the one who knows enough about the story of Cyrano to remember the
nose, but still somehow thinks he was a character in Evita, answers. “This is
actually my party,” he says.
“You
two know each other?” the woman standing next to Jessica, I can only assume her
sister, asks.
“Yeah,”
Jessica says. “These two did some work in the store for me.”
“So,
where’s your friend?” the sister asks.
“Friend?”
Alec responds, not straining any muscles by acting stupid. “
Oh
,” he answers, “the one with the phone
number.”
“…yeah,”
the sister says. “He invited us. I think he really wants to meet Jessica. Do
you know where he is?”
“No,”
Alec answers. “He just called and said he might not be able to make it.
Something about bad clams, I don’t know.”
While
Jessica and her sister are looking at each other, I sneak another elbow into
Alec’s ribs.
“He
might show up later, though,” Alec adds, not helping in the slightest.
“All
right,” the sister says. “We’ll hang around for a bit.”
The
two walk off and Alec and I smile and wave.
“What
the hell are you doing to me?” I ask him. “Bad clams?”
“I
thought it would give you the option of ‘showing up’ later if you decide you
want to come clean with her,” he says.
“Could
you do a favor for me and think about that for just a moment?” I ask.
“What?”
he asks. Then it hits him. “Right,” he says. “You can’t ‘show up’ because she’s
already seen you.”
“That’s
right,” I tell him. “Now, I’m either the guy who just stood there and didn’t
bother telling her I’m the one she’s trying to meet, or I’m the guy on her
phone with food poisoning from eating fucking bad clams!”
That
last part comes out a bit louder than I meant, but the music and general
cacophony cover it well enough.
“What
are you going to do?” he asks.
“Before
or after I bury you in the desert with only your head above the sand so the
vultures can pluck your eyes out while the rest of you turns into a raisin?” I
ask.
“After,”
he answers, not missing a beat.
I
sigh.
“What
can
I do?” I ask. “I can’t just go
over there and tell her that I’m the one on the phone. Although I’m pretty sure
she’d buy the fact that you’re an idiot, I have no way to account for the fact
that I didn’t say something at the time.”
“You’re
right man,” he says. “You really should have said something.”
“Do
you have anything to drink?” I ask.
“Sure,”
he says, “keg’s in the back, just like when we were kids.”
“When
I come back, I’m going to explain to you everything that’s wrong with what you
just said,” I tell him and walk toward the back.
Beer.
I’ve
never really understood beer.
It
seems to me that if you’re going to drink something with alcohol in it, you’d
either want something that tastes good or something that gets you fucked up,
maybe both. Beer always seemed to me to be neither.
Still,
I’ve watched enough television to know that when people are stressed and don’t
know what to do, they drink.
I
can’t say that it’s ever really worked for me, but maybe I’m just not getting
drunk enough.
“Hey
there, cutie,” Irene, Alec’s wife coos drunkenly as she stands in line for the
keg. She leans against me with what I can only assume is supposed to be a hug
and says, “I’m going to do a keg stand in a second. Would you like to hold my
legs? You’re the only one I trust.”
“How
did you know I was coming over here?” I ask.
“What?”
“Well,”
I tell her, “if you were already planning on doing a keg stand and I’m the only
one you trust to hold your legs—you know what? Never mind,” I tell her as she
attempts to stand up straight, but only managing what I can only describe as
stumbling without moving her feet.
“You’re
so good to me,” Irene says, taking a long drink from her plastic cup.
“Hey,
I’m actually glad you’re here,” I start, but she thinks that’s the whole
thought.
“Oh,”
she says, putting her arm around me again, “I’m really glad that you’re here,
too. I’ve always liked you, you know. I don’t know what Alec tells you that
makes it so seldom that we see each other places,” she slurs, “but I like it
when you’re around with us here.”
“Thanks,”
I smile, “but I was wondering if I could get your advice on something.”
“Anything
you need,
Errc
,” she answers, spitting as she talks.
“You
know your friend, the one whose sister you gave my number to?” I ask.
“Yeah,”
Irene says. “Her name is Jessica. She’s a very
prerrty
girl.” Irene leans toward me and, putting her hand to one side of her mouth,
she says, “I think the two of you would make
beautiffful
babies together, mmm hmm.”
She
nods agreement with her own statement.
“…thanks,”
I tell her. “Well, I actually know her from somewhere else, only she doesn’t
know that I’m the one that’s been texting her and that husband of yours—”
“Alec!”
Irene shouts and, while my little outburst earlier went largely unnoticed,
Irene and her famous set of pipes bring everyone’s attention to our attention.
Alec
makes his way over and Irene immediately slaps him across the face.
“What
did you do?”
“Jesus!”
Alec exclaims. “What was that for?”
“
Errerric
here says that you did something, now what
wasssit
?” she asks. “
J’accuse
!”
“Oh
god,” Alec moans. “Don’t tell me we’re back to that again.”
“What
did you do?” Irene asks.
“I
told Miss Davis—”
“Miss
Davis?” Irene interrupts. “Is that some sort of
sexxx
thing? Have you been
stickin
’ it in other people,
‘
cause
you know my rule about
that.”
“I
know,” Alec says, “only if you’re there. But no, we’ve never done anything.
Miss Davis, Jessica, she’s the one we were doing that store remodel for and
Eric’s concerned that she’s not going to take him seriously.”
“That’s
not really my concern—”
“Oh,
Errerriac’s
a good man,” Irene says. She turns in the
direction of the greatest amount of people and loudly announces, “This right
herrre’s
a
gooood
man!”
“I
really appreciate that,” I tell her quietly, “but what we’re trying to tell you
is that she doesn’t know that I’m the guy who’s been texting with her, and I
don’t know if it would be such a good idea if she did now that your husband—”
“I’m
sorry I slapped you,” Irene interrupts, rubbing her husband’s face.
At
this point, I no longer have any impression that Irene’s going to be able to
give me any usable advice here. All I can hope for now is that I can somehow
convince her that telling Jessica who I am is a bad idea.
“Just
tell her how you feel,” Irene says. “I bet she’d be thrilled to know it’s you.”
“Well,
we’ve kind of had some problems in the past,” I tell Irene. “Things are getting
better, but—”
“Do
you want me to talk to
herrr
for you?” Irene asks.
“I’ll totally talk you up—I know! I’ll just tell her that you’ve got a huge
dick. Women love that. You have a huge dick, don’t you
Errkrr
?”
“I
really don’t know how to answer that question,” I say, looking to Alec for
guidance.
He
has none to offer.
“Jessica!”
Irene shouts.
“Don’t,”
I tell Irene. “I really don’t think that particular line of communication is
going to do me any favors.”
“Oh,
you’d be surprised,” Irene says.
I’m
furiously trying to think of some way to convince Irene not to drunkenly
announce to Jessica anything about what I’ve got in my pants. Don’t get me
wrong, I’m quite comfortable with what I’m packing, but it’s really not my idea
of small talk.
“Hey
Irene!” Jessica says and gives her a hug. “This is a great party.”
“Isn’t
it?” Irene asks. “I hear that you know my friend Eric, here.”
Oh
god.
“You
know,” Irene continues, “there’s something about Eric that I think you should—”
“Keg’s
free!” I interrupt and praise whatever deity made Irene an alcoholic because
she turns on her heel, quickly hands Alec her cup of beer and, without
prompting of any kind, two guys that I’ve never met in my life lift her into
position over the keg.
Irene
drinks like a champ for ten solid seconds and when she’s the right kind of
vertical again, she lifts her arms above her head and lets out a loud, “Woo!”
to the cheers of the partygoers.
“Damn,
girl,” Jessica says. “You’ve got an iron gullet.”
“
Yerr
dammn
skippity
I do,” Irene says. The smile drains from her face quickly, though, and Alec
grabs his wife’s hand.
“Come
on, sweetheart,” he says, “let’s get you to the bathroom.”
“Do
you think she’s going to be okay?” Jessica laughs.