Uptown Girl (4 page)

Kate sighed. When it came to Brooklyn, Bina remembered what day of the month each of her friends had their periods, but outside Brooklyn …

‘Elliot's partner.'

‘Elliot who?'

‘You remember, Elliot Winston. My friend from Brown. The guy I teach with.'

‘Oh yeah. So if he's a teacher, how does he have a partner?'

‘His
life
partner, Bina,' Kate said, exasperated. Bina might live in a small world but she watched television and saw movies.

Bina paused then dropped her voice. ‘Are those guys gay?'

Yeah, and so is your unmarried Uncle Kenny, Kate thought, but all she did was smile tolerantly. So what if Bina's gender politics were way behind the times. She'd change the subject. ‘So what color are you going to go with? Remember, every shade goes with a diamond!'

‘I don't know. What have
you
picked?'

Of course the question was completely irrelevant but Bina was like that. Before she selected anything from a menu she had to know what you were having. Kate shrugged, picked up her selection and tossed it over to Bina. ‘Just for my toes, I think.'

‘God, Kate,' Bina said as she looked down at the bottle of nail polish that had landed in her lap. ‘That looks like black. You aren't going Goth, are you?'

Kate shook her head. ‘It is not black, it's a very deep aubergine.'

‘Is that what it's called?' asked Bina.

‘No,' said Kate. ‘Actually, it's called Chanel's Despair.'

‘Well, no wonder,' replied Bina. ‘If my toes were that color I'd despair, too.'

‘There's no excuse for you,' Kate admitted aloud.

‘That is so funny I forgot to laugh,' Bina responded. ‘But not as funny as your face.'

‘Okay, Bina,' Kate began. ‘You're …'

‘I'm rubber. You're glue. Whatever you say bounces off me and sticks to you,' Bina taunted.

Kate took a sip of her champagne. ‘Why do I feel like I am back in a session with a very troubled eight-year-old?' she asked.

Bina didn't say a thing. Kate looked at her and realized her face had changed. It looked … hurt or self-protective.

‘I'm sorry,' Kate apologized. ‘It's just I am around kids all day and … well, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings.'

‘Oh, no. I'm not hurt,' Bina assured her. ‘I'm just a little scared. And I can't think of any more old insults,' she admitted. ‘Wasn't there something about a screen door on a submarine?'

‘Same old Bina,' Kate said, smiling at her irrepressible friend.

‘Same old Katie,' Bina slurred. The champagne was clearly starting to get to Bina, and, looking at her friend, ready to take such a big yet inevitable step, Kate shivered, though the salon air conditioning was just pleasantly cool rather than cold. Jack had never been her cup of tea – and he certainly was no glass of champagne – but he seemed loving to Bina, her family liked him and … well, looking across at Bina, sweet pedestrian Bina, Kate had to admit that Jack was probably a good match. Kate was torn between bursting into tears and laughing out loud. Bina smiled at her, slightly cross-eyed. ‘I love you, Katie,' she said.

‘I love you, too, Bina,' Kate assured her, and it was true. ‘But no more drinks for you. You've got a big night ahead of you.'

Bina took a last sip of champagne. Then she leaned over, close to her friend. ‘Kate,' she whispered. ‘There's something I'm dying to ask you.'

Kate steeled herself. ‘Yes?'

‘What's a toe waxing?' Bina inquired.

Bina's tone made it sound obscene. Kate laughed. ‘You know how sometimes there is a little bit of hair on the knuckle of your big toe?' she asked.

Bina pulled her foot out of the Jacuzzi and
studied it. ‘Wow,' she said. ‘Look at it. Eeuuyew.' One of the Asian women turned to look at the other and both started to giggle. Bina's face turned a bright pink. ‘It's kind of icky,' she admitted. ‘Like Big Foot. God, Katie, you're making me feel like a freak. But I never noticed it before.'

‘Well,' Kate continued, ‘after it's waxed off, Jack won't either. You can let him kiss all your little piggies with pride.'

For a while they chatted about Bina's plans for the wedding, places to go on the honeymoon and a little bit about Michael. Then, after cuticle cutting, more foot massage, filing and the mysterious toe waxing, they were painted and prepared for their manicures. ‘Get your ring finger ready,' Kate told Bina. ‘So, what color have you decided on?'

Bina turned her attention to the gift bottles from Kate, and the others arranged beautifully along the wall shelf at her elbow. ‘They don't have most of these colors in Brooklyn,' she admitted.

‘Just one more reason why I live in Manhattan,' Kate declared. ‘Step up to the plate. What's it going to be?'

Bina looked down at the Asian girl already working her left hand. ‘Do you do French manicures?' she asked her.

Kate's Manhattan apartment was undeniably small, but a delightful haven. She had been lucky to find it: it was in a brownstone on West 19th Street, on a tree-lined block close to the seminary, a very desirable location. The apartment was on the first floor, above street level, and consisted of a large room that had once been a parlor, a small bathroom and smaller kitchen behind it, and then a cozy bedroom.

Because it was on the first floor of the brownstone, Kate had all the advantages of beautiful moldings, mahogany pocket doors, a parquet floor and a marble fireplace which, though it had been bricked up years ago, still looked lovely even if it no longer served any functional purpose. Kate, with her neighbor Max's help and Brice's input, had painted the room a color that could almost be called yellow, but was just a little bit lighter than that. Benjamin Moore had called it ‘sunlight' and the name on the paint chip may have affected
her selection as much as the color itself. But it was a happy choice, and even on overcast days like today, the room had a cheery brightness.

The main room faced the back garden – which, unfortunately, belonged to the apartment below – so she had quiet and a green view in summer and a chance to watch the snow in winter. She hadn't had much money to spend on furniture, but she had splurged on a blue-and-white Chinese rug. Elliot, always alert for bargains, had helped her find and carry home the sofa – a small one with down cushions that she had slip-covered in a blue-and-white awning stripe. Someday she would buy an armchair but in the meantime an old wicker rocker which she had bought in a thrift store and sprayed blue made a comfortable, if slightly rickety, seat. And the yellow cushion on it made a cheerful spot of color.

Max, who lived upstairs, had also helped her put up bookshelves that filled in the recesses on either side of the fireplace. Max was a friend of Bina's brother and, it turned out, a cousin of Jack's from Brooklyn and worked on Wall Street. When Kate had heard about the apartment through him they hadn't known each other well. Kate had rushed over on the day the old tenants moved out and had signed a lease the next afternoon. Max, to whom she would forever be grateful, had been interested in her, but Kate wasn't
that
grateful. He was nice and good-looking but they had nothing to talk about, although Max didn't
seem to mind that. And though her father had given her precious little advice about life, he had expressed his philosophy to ‘never crap where you eat'. Kate had interpreted that to mean it was best not to sleep with anyone you worked with, but to paraphrase and extend her father's concept, she also knew it was best not to crap where you slept, either. While Max was attractive, he didn't attract her, and she couldn't be less interested in his Wall Street work. She had managed to handle it all diplomatically, though, and they were good friends as well as good neighbors. Though Max would never need to stop by to borrow a cup of sugar, he might well ask for a cup of coffee, a shot of vodka or, less frequently, a fix-up with some girl Kate knew.

Kate opened the curtains. It looked like rain. She threw her purse down on the sofa and hurried across to her bedroom. The beauty treatment with Bina had taken more time than she expected and she only had a half-hour before Michael came over. Although she had been cavalier about it with Elliot earlier in the day, Kate was actually a little nervous about bringing Michael over. Introducing a boyfriend to Elliot was like taking him home to meet her family, and she wanted everything to go smoothly.

Kate's bedroom was really just a part of the larger room that had been partitioned off. Its biggest disadvantage was the smallness of its closet. Each spring and fall Kate had to pack up the
previous season's clothes and store them in boxes under the bed to make room for the next.

Kate decided she didn't have the time to shower, so she selected the Madonna blue sleeveless dress she'd just bought and ran into the bathroom. She had enough time to wash her face, take her hair down, brush the cascades of wavy red that fell below her shoulders and pull out her makeup bag for a quick fix.

She never wore much makeup. Her skin was pale and she'd finally outgrown the tiny freckles, no bigger than pinpoints, that used to dance across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose – a sort of Irish trail. Now, her face was simply creamy, and most of the time she only bothered with lipstick so that her hair didn't overpower her oval countenance.

Admittedly, as a kid, she had hated her freckles and the shape of her head – when her hair was pulled into pigtails, the kids called her egg-head – but with maturity her cheekbones showed, setting off her eyes, and the frame of her hair around her face pleased her. Because she was seeing Michael, she took out her mascara. She couldn't wear black because it made her blue eyes stand out like marbles in a plate of milk, so she applied the brown wand carefully to her upper and lower lashes. She blinked in the mirror to make sure she wouldn't smudge and, because it was a special night, she added a little lip gloss.

She now had only ten minutes before Michael
was supposed to arrive, though he was often a little late. That, she'd come to understand, wasn't because he was disrespectful – Kate hated lateness as a pattern and thought it was a narcissistic trait – but Michael was often so wrapped up in his work and thoughts of his research that he occasionally forgot to get off the subway or overshot the bus stop.

She smiled at the thought of him. He had a good mind, good hands, and a strong jaw. She liked his silver-rimmed glasses, his earnest peering through them and his dedication to his work.

She had only just recently slept with him: she wasn't usually so prim but her affair with Steven had left her more cautious than she had been before. They had met at her friend Tina's; Tina and Michael worked at the same university. Tina hadn't ‘fixed them up' because she hadn't thought that Michael was Kate's type, but since Steven Kate wasn't sure what her ‘type' ought to be. Michael's courtship had been slow but steady and when they had finally taken the plunge, she'd been delighted to find he was caring and generous in bed. It seemed as if he was just as taken with her. But this was the point of the relationship where things could go on for a long time without actually moving forward. Kate had spent two years with Steven, a writer, before they'd broken up eight months ago. She'd been shocked and hurt when she realized that he would never want to marry her or possibly anyone else. She had gone slowly with
Michael because she didn't want to spend another year only to let that happen again.

She sat down on her bed and looked down at her painted toes. For a moment she could even imagine herself envious of Bina, who had her life settled. But she reminded herself that Bina had put in her time with Jack. Kate couldn't imagine waiting six years for anyone. She knew she wanted children, and would marry just for that. Her life was focused on kids and making their lives better. The work she did with Brian, Clara, Jennifer and the others at Andrew Country Day was satisfying, but, growing up, she'd been denied a normal family of her own and she wanted one. At thirty-one, she wasn't so old that she had to be frightened of the biological clock, but she had made the decision that she couldn't afford any more two-year dalliances that merely left her feeling bereft, disappointed and foolish.

Michael seemed solid. They had not yet discussed exclusivity, but as he called her almost every night and since they saw each other regularly, Kate thought the talk would only be a formality. She wasn't in a rush and wouldn't make ultimatums. Still, deep down, she wanted to know her goals were shared.

Kate slipped into the silk dress and scrambled under the bed for her high-heeled sandals. Black and strappy, they would show off her newly painted toenails. They were killers to walk in, but she didn't have to walk far to Elliot's.

When there was a knock at the door a couple of moments later, Kate was ready. She clicked across the floor and opened the door. But it wasn't Michael. Max was there holding a bouquet of snapdragons and statice. ‘Hey,' he said. ‘You look great.'

Max's smile was adorable, as one of his incisors showed because it had moved up on the tooth next to it. Max was a bit like his incisor: he often tried to push in where he didn't belong. There was no harm in him, though.

‘Thanks.' Kate smiled briefly, trying to show she didn't have the time to chat. Max held the flowers without moving.

‘Are those for me?' Kate asked.

‘You betcha,' Max said. ‘The Green Market was open when I walked by. The snapdragons reminded me of your hair. You can't say no.'

Kate didn't and took the bouquet. But sometimes she worried that Max still had a crush on her. She didn't want to encourage him, nor did she want to be rude. She tapped across the living-room floor to the tiny excuse for a kitchen and fumbled for a vase. Max followed her and stood in the doorway. Kate filled the vase and couldn't help but smile when she saw the red snaps with the orange centers. ‘I wish I could wear two of these as earrings,' she joked.

‘You don't need any earrings,' Max said. ‘You look perfect. And as cool as a cucumber.'

Kate took the flowers and set them on her small
dining table. They did make a pretty spot of color. ‘Thanks, Max,' she said and kissed him on the cheek, leaving a small imprint of lip gloss.

Before she could tell him, he asked, ‘Where you off to?'

‘Oh, just dinner at Elliot's.' Max, an accountant and actuary, occasionally enjoyed talking higher math with Elliot. She hadn't yet told Max about Michael.

‘Well, that dress is wasted on him,' Max said and, to Kate's dismay, he sat down. It wasn't that she had any reason to feel guilty, but she didn't want Michael to arrive and find another man in her apartment, and to have to introduce them to one another. Michael didn't seem overly possessive. On the contrary, he seemed a little nervous. But Kate wanted him to feel secure so she also wanted Max to get up and go, although she didn't want to have to ask him. Michael was already five minutes late but he was sure to be there soon.

Max shifted position on the striped sofa and pulled some envelopes and a rolled-up magazine from his back pocket.

‘Oh, here. I picked up your mail.'

Kate sighed. There were no separate mailboxes for the four tenants of their brownstone and mail was left on a radiator in the vestibule. She had been in such a hurry she had forgotten to check for hers, and punishment for this tiny sin was a
New Yorker Magazine
completely ruined and the requirement to show fake gratitude to Max. ‘Thanks again,'
Kate said. ‘Are you being so nice to me because you wanted to borrow a bottle of Absolut?'

‘No, I try not to rustle booze until it's Absolut necessary.'

Kate gave him an obligatory smile. ‘Well, hey, I've got to go. Elliot and Brice won't wait.' Max shrugged, got up and ambled over to the door. Perhaps he had only been fishing for an invite to join them. Brice's cooking was legendary. Whatever. At last she saw his back and closed the door. She took the mail he had brought over to the wastepaper basket beside her desk. She tried to smooth out the
New Yorker
, picked up a catalogue from Sak's, tore it in half and threw it into the basket before it could tempt her, filed a bill from Con Ed next to her checkbook and threw away junk mail that informed her that Ket Jemson had just won One Million Dollars! More junk mail into the basket. Then, at the bottom of the small pile, she found an almost square envelope addressed to her in gold calligraphy. Oh my God, she thought, has Bina jumped the gun and sent out wedding invitations before the proposal?

She turned the ominous communiqué over and saw Mr and Mrs Tromboli's address written across the back. Kate's hands began to tremble. She tore open the envelope and accidentally tore off the corner of the enclosed pasteboard. She pulled out the inevitable: an invitation to the wedding of Patricia (Bunny) Marie Tromboli to Arnold S. Beckmen. For a moment, Kate felt dizzy. How
could this have happened? What had Bina been saying earlier about that Brooklyn bartender who had broken Bunny's heart? Now Kate felt her own heart quiver. With Bina engaged and Bunny about to get married, she would be the very last of her old friends to be single. When they started having children, she would really be alone. And Bev was already pregnant. Inevitably, young mothers got involved with playground, preschools, play-dates, and pregnancies – the four ‘P's. Four peas in a pod, the ‘B's would be busy reproducing and Kate would finally be completely closed out of the circle.

Kate put the invitation down, feeling a little dizzy. Then the buzzer rang. She and Michael had no time for a drink now and she had no desire for one either. She hit the intercom as hard as the wedding invitation had hit her and when he said ‘hello', instead of inviting him upstairs she told him she'd be down in a minute. Stuffing the stiff square of card into her purse, she told herself she wouldn't think about the Bunny situation, but on her way down the stairs, careful not to trip in the sandals, the idea of Bunny reproducing like a rabbit came to her. As much as she loved the children at school, and as dedicated as she was to them, Kate felt mournful. She knew she always would do if she didn't have a child of her own to raise and love.

Michael was standing in the vestibule. He was wearing pressed chinos, a white Oxford shirt and a tweed sports coat. It was a little heavy for the season, but Kate had noticed that he was always
careful to dress conservatively and just a little ‘scholarly'. He was both a good-looking and nice-looking man, just slightly taller than Kate was in her heels, and she liked his abundant curly brown hair.

‘Hi,' she greeted him, trying to put away her concerns the way she had stuffed Bunny's wedding invitation into her bag. They kissed, just a peck on the lips. ‘You've had a haircut,' she said.

‘Nope, just had my ears lowered,' he replied. Kate wished he hadn't cut his hair, especially just before meeting Elliot and Brice. It made him the tiniest bit geeky-looking, but she put that thought out of her mind as well. Michael looked fine and was a fine person. He had put himself through undergrad and graduate school on scholarships and his own work. He'd already published papers in important journals and was poised for a brilliant career in academia. He was well read, well informed, and well intentioned, as far as she could tell. The fact that he'd been married – but only for one year, when he was too young to know any better – made him even more attractive in her eyes. He knew how to commit, even if it had been to the wrong woman.