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LISA AND I MET FOR lunch in the Pool Room at the Four Seasons. Traffic was ridiculous due to the light bit of snow we’d received, so I was a full ten minutes late. I’d sent Lisa a text on the drive over, so at least she was expecting me to be late.
“Ms. Ward is sitting right over there, Mrs. Wenn,” the maître d’ said as he led me into the lavish space after checking my coat.
“Thank you, Stephen.”
“Always my pleasure. You two do tend to lift the room. In fact, I’d say that right now that you alone are attracting your share of attention.”
Since I could see heads turning toward me as I followed him deeper into the restaurant, I knew what he meant, not that I commented on it. I couldn’t care less about how well known I was in this city. And so we just carried on, stepping past the square pool at our left, which was illumined from within and giving off a warm glow of light. Lisa was sitting at a table along the wall of windows at the opposite end of the room. Her face brightened when she saw me.
“Finally,” she said, standing up to give me a hug.
“It’s been a full week,” I said. “And by the way, enough of this. We should be seeing each other twice a week. Certainly we can manage that.”
“The undead shall see to it,” she said.
When we parted and sat down, Stephen asked us if we’d like something to drink.
“Martini,” I said. “Three olives. Same for that one.”
“Belvedere?”
“Perfect,” Lisa said. “Just make sure it’s as smooth as silk and as cold as January.”
“You remember that?” I said to her.
“Are you joking? That’s one of the most elegant lines I’ve ever heard. I remember the day that Ann said that to you. It was when you first met Alex. And look at how that turned out.”
“I’d say pretty damned well. How are you, lovecat? You look fresh!”
“If I do, it’s nothing short of a goddamned zombie miracle. The new book is killing me, but we’ll talk about that later—because I might have something to share with you that’s funny and scandalous, but that could get me into a bit of trouble. It involves my new book—and it involves Blackwell.”
“You’ve put Blackwell into your book?”
“Not getting into specifics quite yet.”
“What? How can this even be? You’re going to tease me with that and leave me hanging?”
“It’s called a hook,” Lisa said. “It’s what we writers do. But it’ll be worth it. Hell, it might even be dessert!”
“Now I totally need to know.”
“Later. First thing’s first—did Blackwell cave in? Are she and the girls going to go to Maine with you for the holidays?”
“I think the Chanel ski-suit stunt worked, but she still needs to get buy-in from Alexa and Daniella, who are nothing if not difficult. So I’ll know by the end of the day or tomorrow morning.”
“Good luck with those two if they do decide to go.”
“It can’t be as bad as last year,” I said.
“Really? From what you told me, Cutter is going to be there. Daniella’s hormones are going to circle around him like a blizzard of buzzards. Good for you for trying to enjoy some Christmas cheer and all that, but I think that you’re in for it.”
“Look, it is what it is—they’re family to me at this point. They need to be there. The only thing that will be missing are Tank and you. I wish you were coming, but I understand why you aren’t. Do you realize that this will be the first Christmas we haven’t spent together?”
“I’m still trying to process it.”
“It’s just not going to be the same.”
“It’s not, but it’s time for me to meet the family!” she said in a completely false yet light-hearted voice. “And we’ll see if those Midwesterners take a liking to me or not.”
“They’ll love you.”
“I write about zombies, Jennifer. They’ll probably think that they need to serve me a raw steak or something.”
“I have a feeling that Tank’s family is far more sensitive and advanced than that.”
“I’m just joking. I actually can’t wait to meet them—I mean, they produced Tank. How bad can they be? That said, we have to spend the entire week at their house! And Tank said that it isn’t a large house. And all of us know what that means. If he even tries to have sex with me, his parents will hear my every moan and groan!”
“Oh, dear. Well, my best advice is to exhaust him before you leave.”
“Seriously? Tank has conditioned himself to the point that he’s essentially a machine. We might have to do what you and Alex pulled last Christmas. You know—escape to a no-tell motel, just to have some sort of privacy together. Hopefully, there’s a motel nearby. In fact, I need to Google that shit STAT. If there is one close to us, we’ll just say, ‘Hey, look at us, we’re just going to do some shopping! See you soon! And by the way, don’t mind me if I return looking as if your son has just banged the hell out of me, because he will have. Pay no attention!’”
“You’re killing me.”
When a waiter returned with our martinis and asked us if we would like to order, I declined. “If you don’t mind, we’d first like to enjoy our drinks and catch up, and then we’ll order.”
“Absolutely, Mrs. Wenn. Just catch my eye when you’re ready, and I’ll be right over.”
“Thank you.”
When he walked away, Lisa said, “People fucking revere you.”
“Oh, they do not.”
“Like hell they don’t.”
“You’ve had two number-one bestsellers in a row. As if people don’t revere you as well.”
“My peeps just want to eat my brains. And other body parts. That’s the crowd I’m selling to. You, on the other hand, have become New York royalty. And by the way,” she said, leaning into me. “How are things going with the pregnancy thing? Is New York any closer to having its newest prince or princess?”
My shoulders slumped. “Alex and I are trying like a couple of type-A overachievers to get pregnant, but nothing has happened yet. In fact, I took a test this morning, because I knew that we’d be having our usual martinis and there was no way in hell I wasn’t going to have one if the results were negative, which they were. I’m starting to become desperate. I don’t understand why I’m not pregnant yet. My doctor continues to tell me that I’m fine. That it will happen. But it’s been seven months, Lisa, and I’m starting to wonder if there’s a problem.”
“Seven months is fine,” she said. “I’ve already done my research on the sly. There might be an issue when it takes you longer than a year to conceive. At that point, you might want to seek out some sort of assistance. But I’m not concerned. You’ll get that bun in your oven soon enough, and you’ll bake it to perfection. The time will choose itself, Jennifer. But I hear you. And I’m just as frustrated for you as you are. I know that, since your miscarriage, you and Alex have become more committed than ever to having a child. So, let’s lift our glasses and give cheer to the day when that happens,” she said. “Because it’s going to come soon.”
We touched glasses and sipped our martinis.
“Damn that’s good,” Lisa said.
“It’s nothing like the rotgut we used to drink when we first arrived in the city, that’s for sure.”
“I don’t even want to remember those days.”
“Actually, I do. It makes me appreciate everything I have now—and I’m not talking about material things. I could give a damn about those. I’m talking about my husband, you and Tank, Blackwell, and my other new friends. They’re the ones who mean the most to me.”
“Well, when you put it like that, I’m just as grateful. Next to you, Tank is one of the best things that has ever happened to me. Thank you for introducing me to him—even if I did look like a slut when we first met. But whatever—wearing no bra in a white tank top did the trick!”
“To say the least. So, I have to ask, it’s been nearly a year since you two became engaged. When are you going to marry?”
“Actually—and this is on the low down, so keep your lips sealed—discussions are underway.”
“And you’ve told me nothing about this?”
“He only brought it up to me a few days ago. I wanted to tell you in person.”
“Tank brought it up?”
“In fact, he did!”
“Shit’s about to get real.”
“I know! He said that we should set a date because he wants to start calling me his ‘wife.’ And how romantic is that?”
“I love him.”
“Everyone loves Tank—he’s the best. How lucky am I?”
“You’re both lucky. So, when’s the date?”
“I’ve always wanted to be a June bride, and I think that’s going to happen. If, you know, I pass the parent test. Because if I don’t? What are we to do then?”
“Get married,” I said. “To hell with them if they don’t like you, not that I see that happening. In fact, I think they’re going to fall in love with you. Despite your zombies.”
“Here’s the catch,” she said. “From what Tank has told me, I’m pretty sure that they’re totally religious, so we’re going to have to wait and see about that. Who knows how they’ll react to me? And what I do for work? I’m taking their only child for God’s sake. And I write best-selling novels about the undead. What will the peeps in Prairie Home, Nebraska think of that?”
“Yeah, there’s that,” I said. “So! I think we need another drink!”
“I agree.”
And so we drank.
* * *
LATER, AFTER WE’D ORDERED, I turned the conversation back to Lisa’s new book. “All right,” I said. “Spill it about the new book. What does Blackwell have to do with it?”
“I totally need you to have my back when it comes to this one,” she said.
“What does that mean?”
“Because my veiled reference to her in the new book isn’t really that, well, veiled at all...”
“Sweet Jesus!”
“So, here’s what I’ve done. I’ve got this minor character named Bertha. She just has a small part, but she kind of steals the show.”
“Already I can’t stand it.”
“Then buckle up, lady. Because before Bertha was turned, she was a total fashionista. A big corporate powerhouse who loved her some Chanel.”
“Please, God, no.”
“Oh, please, God, yes! Anyway, Bertha gets bitten by some poor infected beast and becomes a zombie. Then, because some part of her remembers that she loves couture, she starts raiding all of the Chanel stores in Manhattan.”
“On, no, she doesn’t!”
“Oh, yes, she does! She goes to the Chanel on East 57th Street, and then to the one on Madison Avenue, and finally she marches her bony, rotting ass to the one on Spring Street. And in between, there’s Bergdorf and Saks! It’s pure satire, but I think that it’s just funny and subversive enough for my readership to enjoy. Here is a zombie who has somehow remembered what she loved most when she was alive—fashion. And also the need to look her best, regardless of the fact that she’s been reduced to a decaying corpse. Blackwell has always wanted to be as thin as a needle, so I’ve given Bertha the same traits. She’s a knot of bones with not a lick of meat on them. As she goes from store to store, she tries on this Chanel suit, this Chanel jacket, that Chanel dress, those Chanel shoes. She actually goes from a size zero to a minus two. To top it off, she decides which tailors live or die—if only so that her clothes can be fitted properly to her.”
“Why do I feel like cackling?” I said.
“Because we both know that if this was indeed Blackwell, it is the zombie she’d turn out to be.”
“Iris is going to have your ass.”
“Are you kidding me? You know how Iris and Blackwell are together. Iris isn’t just an excellent editor, but she also has one serious sense of humor. I think she’s going to have a gas when she reads that passage. It’s only a few pages, but it does make a social statement about our must-have-everything culture. I’m just grateful to Blackwell for the inspiration.”
“Well,” I said. “As horrified and as delighted as I am, cheers to you, my friend. Because that shit is funny.”
“Just don’t say a word of it to anyone.”
“Like I would—I’m a vault. So, when do you and Tank leave?”
“Two days,” she said.
“So you’ll be back before New Year’s?”
“We will.”
“Then the four of us will need to spend New Year’s Eve together,” I said. “I’ll nail down a restaurant for us. If you have any ideas, shoot them my way. As for the men in our lives, they could give a rat’s ass about where we go. But I want to play dress up with you, so it needs to be somewhere super fancy.”
“I’m totally on board with that. And since you are absolutely revered in this town, you can make that happen.”
“I’m not even going to respond to that, because you’re just baiting me. Here’s what I say—the day before the big night, we’ll go shopping for new dresses.”
“Maybe Bertha won't mind helping us out with that,” Lisa said.
“You’re terrible—and I love you for it,” I said. “And look, try to have a good time with Tank and his parents. They’ll fall in love with you—I know they will. And do your best to find a nearby no-tell motel so that you and Tank can have some alone time. And then come back to me and Alex so we can end this ruinous year on one mother of a positive note.”
When I said that, my cell phone dinged in my purse.
“Who’s that?” Lisa asked. “Oh, I know—likely a love note from Alex.”
“He’s having a business lunch, so it can’t be him. Let me check.” I removed the phone and looked at the screen. “It’s a text from Blackwell,” I said.
“Here comes your answer, so gird your loins, lovey.”
When I read the text, I felt a sense of relief as well as a sense of foreboding. “They’re in,” I said to Lisa. “Though apparently there are provisions.”
“Here’s my guess—they want to know where they’re staying, and if each girl gets their own bedroom and bathroom.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because I know those girls.”
“Well, if that’s the issue, the good news is that they will get both this year. Alex secured a huge house for us that overlooks Big Bear Lake. You remember going to the Loaf when we were in college—that spot is beautiful. Bars and restaurants are within walking distance, and the mountain itself is just minutes away by car. We’re smack in the middle of everything.”
Lisa lifted her martini to her lips. “Then it looks to me like this is happening,” she said. “And hopefully it won’t age you. As much as I wish that Tank and I could be with you, there are now two concrete reasons why I’m very happy that we won’t be—Alexa and Daniella. Oh, and lest I forget, there’s also Cutter, whom Daniella threw herself at in ways that none of us will ever forget. So, honey, girlfriend, chica—you know. When Daniella starts to go gaga over him? Good luck with all that!”
