The View From Penthouse B

28





Hopes Up


I DIDN’T RETURN HOME immediately, but went to an unfortunate, scenery-driven indie at the Angelika. Back in penthouse B, I found Margot watching television, sharing our mother’s afghan with Charles, long past his usual one-hour dinner allowance.

I averted their inquisition by saying that there were no particulars to share. The date was terrible. The chance of my ever seeing Mitchell again was zero.

Margot confessed that she’d gotten her hopes up.

“Because?”

“Am I the only one who noticed that Mitchell’s last name began with a D?”

“So?”

“The clairvoyant! About the next man in your life? I thought he was fulfilling her prophecy.”

“How scientific,” said Charles.

“Not this D,” I said. “Any leftovers?”

“I didn’t cook,” said Margot.

“Both of us had big lunches,” said Charles. “We watched a movie instead.”

The cable box said seven-forty-five. The Tuesday/Thursday visitor’s schedule was dinner at six-thirty sharp.

“Anthony?”

“Out.”

Were they looking a little rumpled? And had they just shimmied apart on the couch when they heard my key in the lock? I asked what movie they’d been watching. Margot looked to Charles. He said, “I forget the title, but it was one of those Tuscany ones. British woman goes abroad to find a lost love.”

“Was it good?”

“It was excellent,” he said. “Very evocative.”

I said, “Good. I’m starved. Are either of you interested in ordering a pizza?”

“As soon as you mentioned leftovers, I realized I was starved, too,” said Charles. “And you know what I have a sudden craving for? Lobster-salad sliders.”

I said, “Lobster salad . . . Wow. It’s been ages.”

“With a delicious Sancerre,” said Charles. “I have a beauty downstairs on ice.”

“You’d better have some lobster on ice, too,” said Margot, “because that is way above our pay grade.”

He rose from the couch, but not before he folded the afghan into a mathematically perfect rectangle. “May I propose that we all go out to the closest seafood restaurant, whether it’s for lobster rolls or whatever other cravings you ladies might be experiencing?”

“Give me ten minutes,” Margot said. “I’m going to put on a dress, too. Doesn’t she look nice? In the meantime, think of a place where we can get a table.”

“I already know exactly where to go,” said Charles. “It’s on MacDougal.” He patted two pockets until he found his phone, then typed something into it. Within seconds, he announced, “Got it! Mermaid Oyster Bar.”

As soon as Margot left the study, Charles sat back down. “Seriously, Gwen,” he began. “One shouldn’t judge a person too quickly. I learned that in prison. My time there was filled with surprises about people’s characters and IQs. What I’m trying to say is if this man asks you for a second date, I think you should go.”

“And you know where he wanted to go on our second date? To bed.”

“And that has no appeal?”

“Not with him.”

“No chemistry?” he asked, earning a groan from me. “Is that not a fair question?” he persisted.

I said, “I’m sick of chemistry. ‘Chemistry’ is code for ‘I did not find him or her attractive enough to want to touch or be touched by this person I’ve known for ten minutes.’”

That triggered his explanation about attraction being so very hard to understand or discern—how one man’s dream girl can be another man’s maiden aunt.

“You’ve already forgotten: He liked me. Every sentence had a sexual accent.”

“For example?”

“Okay, how about this. An example of his good parenting was not letting his live-in daughter find a scantily clad stranger at the breakfast table.”

When Charles looked perplexed, I asked, “You don’t think that’s inappropriate and unwarranted?”

Still not looking convinced, he asked, “What is your idea of an inoffensive or even welcome come-on?”

I said, “Okay. You want to hear a really nice, sincere compliment? Edwin said it on our first real date, or maybe our second. It was this, almost word for word: ‘You remind me of Teri Black.’ So, of course, I asked, ‘Who’s Teri Black?’ And he said, ‘This girl I had a big crush on in high school, but never had the nerve to ask out.’”

“That worked?”

I said yes, obviously.

Charles asked if he could come across as such a guy—as sincere and harmless with unrequited crushes.

“Maybe. With a little practice.”

“Isn’t it a matter of taste, though? You’d like a sweet, modest guy. Dare I say another Edwin? Your sister, on the other hand . . . Wasn’t she the girl in high school who sneaked out at night and had a fake ID?”

This required my admitting that yes, different overtures appealed to different women.

“And tonight’s deal breaker was . . . ?”

“Bedroom this, bedroom that, do you have roommates? Do you have privacy? On and on.”

Charles said, “That’s not a come-on. That’s a real estate inquiry.”

“Not this time.”

Margot called from down the hall, “Get your shoes on. I’m ready . . . Just looking for my keys. And shut off the lights behind you.”

I said to him, “You two go alone. I’ll make myself an omelet and get some work done. Besides, I think I interrupted something.”

I noticed a slightly more complicated expression than I was used to seeing on Charles’s face, possibly a layer of compassion and delicacy over his usual unwavering confidence. “We may, Margot and I, have reached a new—how do I say this?—understanding.”

“Are you back together?”

“Unfortunately not.”

“But something’s changed.”

“Certain things have, shall we say, fallen into place . . .” He patted my knee in a brotherly fashion. “I’ll let Margot explain. And until she does, you’re not to worry.”

Were we New Yorkers unusually alert to real-estate nuances? Suddenly I was worried where I would go if Charles and Margot reconciled. My first thought was perhaps Anthony and I could be roommates elsewhere, until I remembered what a two-bedroom apartment without our friends-and-family discount would cost. I’d have to return to my own place, sublet for so many months that I’d almost forgotten its zip code.

Charles said, “Gwen? I lost you there. Where’d you go?”

I said, “Nowhere.” A lie. I’d just been to West End Avenue and had watched myself entering my old apartment. And despite the reality of a possessive sublettor and belongings in storage, I was walking through the rooms alone, past our furniture, our bed, our books, our paintings, our dishes; seeing Edwin’s Quaker Oats in the cupboard and his Chunky Monkey in the freezer.

Margot called, “C’mon! I’m starved.”

I pointed the remote at the TV and said, “Really. You two go.”

Charles asked, “Can we bring you back a slider?”

Margot, now in the doorway, dancing into her high heels, said, “No, because she’s coming with us. I haven’t heard word one about this alleged flop of a date. We’ve got work to do.”

I promised we would go over everything at breakfast. Until then, I told her, I’d use my time wisely, studying the classifieds, online and on paper. I didn’t say which kind.





From HugUkissU to MiddleSister: i would like a partner who is Inteligent, self-confident, romantic, affectionate, kind, athletic. i want a person to love me for whats on the in-side.. i like to travel, will love to meet a woman who will join me in sensual intimacy and a real disire to be communicative. i like going to exercise on weekends, and also i love playing golf. i’m self Employed.