18
It’s just as I always thought.
By mistakenly acting like someone with confidence, I found the real personality I always hoped was buried beneath the other one, the one I used to have, full of doubt and unattractively low self-esteem. By accidentally acting like the me I wanted to be, I’ve convinced someone I’m actually that person, and I’ve even nearly convinced myself. James and I have seen each other almost every night since the night we rehearsed our scene for the first time, and the thrill of it almost takes away the gnawing in my stomach that’s been a constant since the day I got fired from the club. Money. Where’s the money going to come from?
“So, you’re pretending to be someone else?” Jane asks, shaking her head in confusion. We’re having frozen margaritas at the Mexican place on Seventh Avenue the way we’ve done a hundred times before. But it’s one of the first nights I’ve been anywhere but James’s apartment and it feels strange here now, as if I’m visiting my old high school after having been away at college.
“No, it’s not like that,” I say, crushing a chunk of ice with my plastic straw. “I mean, yes, initially, I didn’t realize James was doing a line from the play we were working on, so I was bold by accident, but I actually feel like I found my real self in the process. I’m more me than ever before. I feel like I’m finally becoming the person I was always supposed to be.”
“So you are pretending to be someone else.”
“Jane. Seriously. I think this could be the beginning of something.”
“So what happened to the girlfriend?”
“Penelope? They broke up,” I say, waving a tortilla chip dismissively. “She got that soap and changed her name. Can you believe it?”
Jane nods solemnly, but fixes her gaze just over my head and furrows her brow.
“Jane. Are you listening?”
“I’m just wondering. If, for some reason, you—the new you, that is—changed your name, would that somehow reverse the process you’ve recently undergone, making you less of the you you were always supposed to become, or would that make you somehow even more you?”
“Jane.”
“It’s very confusing.”
“Get this. She’s changed her name to Penny De Palma.”
“As in Brian De Palma?”
“See? That’s exactly what you’re supposed to think. She changed her name, which, fine, but she changed it so you associate her with a famous director. Isn’t that insane?”
“It’s either insane or really smart, I guess. Who knows? Maybe she’s actually related to Brian De Palma.”
“Why are you defending her?”
“I’m not defending her. I just said, who knows? And who cares? I don’t get why she bothers you so much.”
“It’s not that she—I’m not bothered. She’s just so fake, and it’s—she bugs me, that’s all.”
“So you’re not at all bothered. You’re just bugged.”
“That’s right.”
“You’re bugged more than bothered.”
“Yes.”
Jane nods gravely. “Well, she got your part, but you seem to have gotten her boyfriend. Seems like an even exchange.”
I can feel my whole body flush in a mixture of shame over my petty remarks about Penny and flashes from last night with James. Over the past few weeks, we’ve hardly been anywhere but his one-room apartment, but that seems to be the only room we need, at least for now. I try to stifle a giggle, but one rises to the surface and idiotically slips out.
“Oh, Good Lord,” Jane says. “Can we order, please? It’s making me queasy just looking at you.” But she smiles as she picks up her menu, and I know she’s happy for me, too.
“Jane,” I say, leaning in and lowering my voice. “Seriously. I know it’s new, but honestly, I’ve never felt this way before.”
She leans in, too, and studies my face. “Really? You’ve never felt this way before? Not ever? Not even with Velcro Man?”
I smile and roll my eyes, remembering the guy I dated for a month or so, a comic I met at the club who admittedly had an impressive array of Velcro items: shoes, wallet, his nylon book bag, the red hat with the black racing stripe, the light blue jacket with the tab collar he always wore.
“How I miss the familiar phwisht of his arrival!” Jane says sadly.
“Yes, Jane, it’s very different from Velcro Man.”
“I really thought you guys were going to stick.”
“Jane.”
“And so,” Jane says. “You like this hunky actor dude even better than Purpolo?”
Phil was an actor from class who took me out a few times, but Jane insisted she couldn’t be expected to learn the name of someone who always wore the same purple polo shirt.
“He must’ve forgotten he wore it the last time he came to pick me up,” I’d tried to explain. “Anyway, I’m pretty sure he owns more than one. He told me purple is his favorite color.”
“You’re going out with a guy whose favorite color is purple?”
“Yes.”
“And that’s okay with you?”
I smile at the memory of those minor players and give Jane a nod. “Yes, Jane, I’m fairly certain I like James better than Purpolo. He has a wider variety of shirts.”
Jane lays her menu down and looks at me more seriously now. “Franny, do you think he’s—well, what about Clark?”
Of course it’s occurred to me that James is the first person I’ve met in the last couple of years who might be in a different category than the likes of Velcro Man or Purpolo. And of course I’ve wondered what to do in the event that our relationship gets really serious. “Clark, I’ve met someone,” I try to imagine saying to him over the phone in a grave tone, eliminating any joyful note from my voice as a gesture of respect. We never really made plans about how to handle things in the event either of us met someone else. I’m not sure what the right thing to do would be, and I’m not sure I want to think about it yet. Anyway, it’s too early to tell if there’s something I need to tell him.
“We’ll see, I guess.”
“Okay,” Jane says with an understanding nod, picking up her menu again. “So, Fran, you know I’m honestly the last person to care about this, and may I say again, you look great already, but what, uh, what exactly are you eating these days, if I might ask? Are we splitting that cheesy thing, or are you ordering a bowl of ice cubes for dinner, or what?”
“I don’t know. I’m too hungry to think straight. I haven’t eaten anything at all today.”
“What? It’s nine o’clock at night. How are you still standing?”
“No, it’s—I’m fine. I have a new thing I’m doing.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I’ve figured out a new way to view eating—it’s like, if you think about it, calories are like money, you know?”
“Umm. Nooo.”
“I mean, you get, or, I get, I’m allowed, let’s say, a certain number of calories a day, right? So, let’s say it’s a hundred—obviously it’s not, but what if you think of it as cash, and in cash, for the sake of this explanation, it’s a hundred dollars. Let’s say I’m rich, okay, and I’m in France or somewhere, and someone’s given me a hundred dollars a day to spend.”
“I’m so confused …”
“Stick with me. Let’s say I’m in France and I get one hundred dollars a day to spend on anything I want. Well, at first I might think the best thing to do is use it in little amounts throughout the day, a coffee here, a pack of gum there …”
“Why’d you go to France for gum?”
“But then, I figure out that if I save my money, I’ll have it all left over at the end of each day, and then instead of a hundred packs of gum, I can use it all at once for something bigger and better, like on a really cute hat or something. Doesn’t that make more sense?”
“But, then,” Jane says, shaking her head. “What do you eat in France all day? Your hat?”
“Anyway, if I was in France, I would’ve saved up all my packs of gum today.” I fold my hands and rest them on the table in triumph.
“So we are getting the cheesy thing.”
“Exactly.”
Jane exhales in relief and lays the menu on the corner of the table, and our usual, terminally deadpan waitress comes by and takes our order.
“She seems happier today,” says Jane. “Don’t you think?”
“Positively buoyant.”
Jane looks around the room, full of young couples and families with small babies in tow. “I feel like everyone in this neighborhood agreed to start having babies at the same time.”
“Remember when we first moved here?”
“It was just scholarly lesbians in sensible shoes,” Jane sighs. “And the elderly.”
“You don’t think it’ll ever get hip, do you?”
“You mean turn into a neighborhood with actual good restaurants?”
“Or places that sell jewelry that isn’t handmade?”
“God, I hope not. I can’t imagine. Have you and James come here yet?”
“No … not yet.”
“Upstairs Chinese place?”
“Nope.”
“Where do you guys like to go?”
It occurs to me we haven’t actually been anywhere, not for dinner, anyway. We mostly go to the Cuban coffee place with the gritty espresso, and the diner near his corner that smells like old grease. And to bed.
“We mostly order food in. Sushi,” I add, as though he should get points for that. “He’s going to be my date for Katie’s wedding, though.”
“He is? That’s great!”
I’m only slightly exaggerating the exchange I had with James after I asked him to be my date for Katie Finnegan’s wedding:
JAMES. (studying script, distracted) Aww, that’s so sweet.
FRANNY. (hopeful) So … yes?
JAMES. Well, I’ll try. I’ll check the schedule.
FRANNY. These are my favorite cousins. We’re really close. And they’re really fun.
JAMES. Oh yeah?
FRANNY. Yeah, they’re just—crazy—and—heh, heh (laughing as if remembering something really fun), really fun. There was this one time … well … nothing’s coming to me … it’s hard to describe. But take my word for it.
JAMES. Well, like I said (gets up, pats her on head), if it works with the schedule.
FRANNY. So, maybe then?
JAMES. (wandering off, perhaps to smoke cigarette) You got it, babe.
“He’s coming—probably—yes. If he isn’t working.”
“He’s coming, or he’s probably coming?” Jane says, narrowing her eyes.
“Jane. He’s a working actor.”
“They don’t go to weddings?”
“Working actors work.”
“Well, I’ll go with you if something comes up for old Scarfy. I always have a blast at those Finnegan things.”
“Jane, no, please. He doesn’t always wear a scarf.”
“Yes he does. I saw him.”
“Once. You only saw him that one time we rehearsed at the apartment.”
“It’s a gut feeling.”
“You can’t nickname him. He’s a real person, not a joke person.”
“You don’t have to tell me. Only a real person would try to shake hands with my best friend’s foot.”
“Jane, you’re not explaining it right. It was very romantic, and—”
Thankfully, our steaming bowl of bright yellow melted cheese with flecks of green chiles arrives.
“Listen,” she says, dipping a chip into the creamy depths. “You’re the one with the brand-new personality. I’m still the same old Jane.”
“Here’s to that,” I say. And our salt-rimmed margarita glasses meet in the middle with a clink.