NAT
When I get to work Tuesday afternoon, Jessie takes one look at my hand and yelps as though it’s her hand in bandages, “Jesus! Look at you! You should go home.”
“I’m fine.”
“But look at what I did to you!” she exclaims. “If I hadn’t dropped my phone, and you hadn’t tried to catch it, your hand would be fine. Seriously, you should go home. No one would be mad at you if you needed a few more days’ rest.”
I glance over at Holly, to silently check if it’s just me noticing Jess’s jumpy behavior. Holly gives a shrug—meaning she sees it but has no idea what’s causing it.
I assure Jessie, “I’m good. It was an accident. Don’t give it another thought.”
I think we’ll get back to normal, but fifteen minutes later, she charges out of the office looking like a cheetah who has just escaped confinement. “Did you want to order two cases of the Ice Wine you liked from upstate New York?” she asks, while nearing hyperventilation. “Because I will order whatever you want.”
“I think half a case should be more than adequate,” I tell her as I take down wineglasses, one by one, with my good hand. “It’s a dessert wine. I don’t see us having a huge call for it, but we should have some on hand.”
“Okay,” she says. Then she puts a hand on each of my arms and faces me, telling me in all kinds of seriousness, “But you promise me you’ll let me know if you want to order anything else. I am just the paper pusher. You are the brains behind this whole shebang.”
I furrow my brow and ask, “Thank you?”
Then she hugs me so hard, I look past her to Holly, who openly throws up her arms as if to say, No fucking clue. She’s mental.
At five fifteen, the bar has a few customers indulging in happy hour. Holly’s friend Joe sits at one corner of the bar hanging out while Chris sits at his usual Norm seat in the other corner, working on his laptop, a pint of beer by his side. Joe seems to have clawed his way out of the friend zone, judging by the postcoital glow he and Holly both have every time they make eye contact.
A thin, blonde woman wearing large Tom Ford sunglasses nervously walks in. She takes off her glasses and quickly scans the room. Not seeing a familiar face, she takes a seat at the bar two seats away from Chris. “May I have a Chardonnay, please?” she asks me in a quiet British accent.
“Sure thing,” I say happily. “Do you have a preference in terms of region? We have one from California, of course, but also…”
“Anything that’s not from California will be fine,” she tells me in a clipped voice.
Chris and I exchange a look. Who is this broad? As I pour her a glass, I say, “This is a very good one from the Willamette Valley in Oregon. It has won several gold medals, and—”
She shuts me down with, “Thank you.”
I decide not to push. “Would you like to start a tab?”
The woman looks around the bar again and debates. “No … Yes. I’m sorry. Yes.” She pulls out a black AmEx card and hands it to me. I smile and take it.
As I head to the cash register, I read the card and see the name: Elizabeth Winslow.
Marc’s wife.
Holy crap.
Jessie walks up to me, still as energized as a puppy right out of the Christmas box. “Would you like me to order you a pizza? You need food with your antibiotics, and I’d be happy to—”
I hold up the AmEx card for Jessie to read. Her eyes bug out. She leans in and whispers, “Should I ask her to leave?”
“Don’t do anything. Act normal.”
“No, but I will take her,” Jessie whispers threateningly. “I love you. And if anyone tries to hurt you…”
“Seriously, what is wrong with you today?” I whisper back. “You’re as nervous as a virgin on prom night. Chill.”
Chris eyes Jessie and me, and decides something’s up. He closes his laptop and smiles pleasantly at Elizabeth. “So, not a big fan of California wines, huh?”
“Not a big fan of California in general. No,” she tells him.
I stand at the register, frozen. I can’t move. Jessie slowly pours some wine, and we both watch Elizabeth.
“So what brings you to our fair city, then?” Chris asks. No, Chris. Please, no. Don’t engage.
Elizabeth looks right at me when she answers. “I’m here with my husband.”
I try not to give away any reaction. But inside I’m thinking, Did she follow him to the restaurant last night? Does he know she’s here now? Did she bring a butcher knife?
“Really. What does he do?” Chris asks her pleasantly.
Elizabeth turns to Chris, gives him an enigmatic look (or at least one I can’t read), then says, “He’s a game show producer.”
Jessie freezes midpour.
Chris, on the other hand, doesn’t miss a beat. “What a coincidence. My fiancée used to write for game shows. Which show?”
His face is open, happy, curious.
Elizabeth, on the other hand, might throw up on him. “Genius!” she answers.
And at that point I realize she’s here to find me, but she has no idea who I am. I’ll rephrase—she doesn’t know what I look like. She knows exactly who I am.
“Wow. Nat. Honey…” Chris says, projecting his voice as though to get my attention. “I just met the wife of someone you used to work for.”
“Really?” I say, walking back over to them and pretending not to have listened in. “I know everyone there,” I tell her brightly. “Who’s your husband?”
Clearly, Elizabeth doesn’t know what to make of this. She came here for a fight. Granted, a mousy fight, but a fight nonetheless. “Marc Winslow.”
“Love Marc,” I tell her. “You know, he offered me a job in London with his next show, but obviously I couldn’t do it. What with the bar opening and my wedding coming up and everything.”
“Wedding?” She repeats. “When are you getting married?”
I spout out, “Valentine’s Day. We’re having an intimate ceremony on Coronado Island…”
“We were going to elope,” Chris continues, “but both sets of parents insisted on coming…”
“His mother threatened to show up with a machete and a flashlight looking for us if we didn’t tell her when and where it was…”
“So now we’re doing it on the beach at the Hotel del Coronado. It’ll be a small luncheon, just twenty people…”
“It’s where I always dreamed of getting married…”
“And I agreed. Because, seriously, I’m a dude, why do I care where we get married? And then we’re throwing a party here the following Saturday night.”
“You and Marc should totally come,” I tell her. “I’ll send you an invitation. How is Marc, by the way?”
“He’s fine,” Elizabeth begins. Then she reconsiders. “Actually, he’s not fine. He’s cheating on me.” She turns to Chris, then back to me. “And I think I know with who. Where were you last night, Natasha?”
Crap, she knows my name. Well, of course she does—I was sleeping with her husband for God’s sake.
I try to appear confused. “I was with Chris at a Lakers game. Why?”
“My husband went out to dinner last night, with a dark-haired woman. I tried to spy on them. And you are the only woman from America he ever talks about.”
Okay, so now I’m going to throw up.
Chris saves me. “Well, I’m sorry to hear that. But it can’t be Nat. We were at a Lakers game.”
Clearly, he’s thrown her for a loop. “But that’s … no, you couldn’t have been.”
“Second row center,” Chris elucidates. “We were on TV and everything.”
I hold up my bandaged left hand. “Can’t miss me.”
Out of the corner of my eye I see Jess carry her tray of wines to table four, making a detour to lean in and whisper to Holly, who’s staring at us from table seven. Great, why don’t I just sell tickets to this show?
“I’m sorry to bother you,” Elizabeth says, quickly standing up. “Can I get my check, please?”
I quickly grab her AmEx card, thankful for the save. “No charge,” I say, handing her back her card. “And tell Marc I say hi.”
She eyes the card in my right hand, and hesitates. Finally, she plucks it out of my hand. “Thank you. I’m sorry to have troubled you.”
As she makes her way to our front door, Chris and I share a look that can only be described as Yikes!
But then.… I can’t help myself.
“Wait,” I call out to Elizabeth.
She turns around.
“I … I can’t have you feeling like you can’t trust your instincts. And if my husband were cheating on me, I’d want to know.” I look down at the shiny wood floor beneath me, beyond ashamed, then take a deep breath and admit, “I did sleep with your husband. Not in a while. But I did.”
She stares at me, eyes twitching. I don’t know if she’s going to throw a glass at me, or pull a gun out her purse, or what.
She slowly walks back over to me and doesn’t stop until her face is inches from mine. “How long?”
I swallow hard and answer, “Almost two years.”
She nods, almost to herself.
I brace, waiting for whatever explosion is justifiably coming my way.
But all I get is a very dignified, “Thank you for your honesty.”
Wow. She is so much more elegant than I am.
“No problem,” I tell her quietly.
More silence.
Elizabeth shakes her head slowly. “I utterly loathe you right now.”
“You should.” Then I ask, “Is there anything I can do to make it up to you in any way?”
Elizabeth looks at me, an idea percolating in her mind. “As a matter of fact, there is.” She pulls her phone from her purse and presses speed dial. “Marc, darling, I’m here with an old friend of yours. Natasha, say ‘Hello.’” She hands me the phone.
I slowly take it. “Hey, Marc.”
I hear a sigh on his end, followed by “Christ.”
“So I’m going to guess you didn’t really ask her for a divorce,” I say.
“I can explain…”
I hand Elizabeth back her phone. “He’s all yours.”
Elizabeth walks out of the bar, saying into her phone, “So you told her you were getting divorced? Well, I should think that won’t be a problem…”
We all stare in silence to see the front door close and Elizabeth step into a waiting black limousine.
I finally let out a breath, grab my stomach, and nearly fall over. Holly quickly walks up to me and rubs my back. “You did the right thing.”
“Yeah. Finally,” I say, still ready to pass out from nerves. “For a moment there, I really thought she’d come after me. I’d’ve come after me. I’d’ve punched me dead in the face.”
“No…” Jessie says. “You wouldn’t have done that.”
“If some woman slept with my man? Are you kidding me?”
“No. You’re so sweet, though,” Jessie tells me, and she walks up to me and starts stroking my hair (!). “You of all people would understand that sometimes people make mistakes. And they would do anything they could to make up for their mistakes. I mean, you’re such a loving, good, forgiving person…”
I swat her hand away from my hair. “Okay, seriously, what is with you today? How many Diet Red Bulls have you had?”
Jess backs away from me very quickly, then heads behind the bar. “I slept with Giovanni,” she admits.
“What?” I exclaim.
Jessie puts up her hands in prayer. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Please don’t kill me. I did a horrible thing, and I want to fix it. How can I fix it?”
Somewhere near me I can hear Joe whisper to Holly, “Let me get this straight … you’re the one with the freak flag?”
Holly shushes him.
I begin pacing. “Are you?…” I can’t finish the sentence. I pace again, then stop. “How could…” Still at a loss. More pacing. “I can’t…”
Jessie begins vomiting words. “I thought you broke up with him. You left this really rambling message on his voice mail…”
“You listened to my messages on his voice mail?!”
“Not intentionally. Well, I mean, yes, intentionally. But only because he asked me to when he picked me up for the fund-raiser. And yes, I did listen to them again afterward, but only once he was asleep, because…”
“Oh! My! God!” I yell.
Jessie stutters a bit, “I swear it sounded like you were breaking up with him.”
“So even if I was, you’re supposed to be my friend. Couldn’t you at least wait for the body get cold?”
She winces. “Apparently not?” Then she tries to crack a joke. “You know, the whole warm body thing is kind of funny in this case because … I’m shutting up now.”
I take a deep breath to calm myself. “I need a minute,” I say, then point to Jessie. “I can’t even look at you right now. Holly, can you cover for me? I’m gonna go to the back room and take five.”
I storm over to the storage area, open the door, and slam it behind me.
I hear the door open and turn to see Chris’s hand in the doorway, waving a white cloth napkin as a flag of surrender.
I roll my eyes. “You can only come in if you don’t take her side.”
He pops his head in. “I would never.” Then he walks in and shuts the door. “Although, can you imagine the points you’ll get for the rest of your life if you just admit this wasn’t the guy you wanted anyway and let her have him? I mean, seriously, change-your-diaper-in-the-nursing-home kind of points.”
“You cheat on boyfriends. You don’t cheat on your girlfriends.”
“Yeah, we’re going to be circling back to that at some point,” he tells me. “But for now…”
“Hos before bros.”
“That will never catch on.”
“She…”
“Did you try to break up with Giovanni over voice mail?”
I cross my arms. “That’s not the point.”
“Have you been kissing me for the last forty-eight hours?”
“Wait. So now I’m the bad guy?”
“Of course not. But did you ever sleep with him? Or meet his parents? Or go away for the weekend together?”
Chris could go on, but he doesn’t need to. We stand face-to-face, neither of us moving. “Jessie’s still out there,” Chris says.
I sigh. Loudly. “But I don’t want to do the right thing twice in the same day.”
Chris gives me a kiss on the lips. “I promise to make it worth your while later.”
We hear a very quiet knock on the door. “Come in,” I tell Jessie.
She opens the door. “I swear I will find a way to make this up to you.”
I still want to tell her I feel betrayed. But I’m not exactly one to throw stones. “I know.”
She stands awkwardly in the doorway. “What can I do?”
Argh … I don’t want to be the grown-up. I have every reason in the world to feel betrayed and wronged right now. But I tell her, “You can go to Santa Barbara with him and have that twelve-course meal.”
Her face relaxes and she brightens. “Really?”
“Yeah,” I continue. “I’m not eating braised blood sausage, I don’t care what sauce it’s served with it. Food should be like men: Don’t eat it unless you really want it.”
Jess breaks out into a huge grin and she runs up to me, “Awwww…”
“Don’t…”
Too late. She hugs me so hard I yelp, “My hand!”
“Sorry.” And then she continues to hug, but not quite so hard. I hug back, but less enthusiastically.
“That’s another thing we’ll be circling back to,” Chris jokes.
“Shut up.”
I suppose if the worst thing your girlfriend ever does is date your ex, you should consider yourself lucky.
And at least I never have to go to the opera ever again.