Janey was impressed, not just with Hugh’s business acumen, but by how much he seemed to truly enjoy his job. Hugh seemed to adore talking about the ins and outs of the companies he funded. “Am I boring you?” Hugh asked politely.
“Just the opposite.” Janey ran her finger along the rim of her glass and smiled. “I miss talking business.” Out of the corner of her eye she saw a man making a fuss on the other side of the room, waving his hands manically in the air, gesticulating with a glass of clear liquid. Of course Beau was here. Wasn’t Hell’s Kitchen the hot new gayborhood? Why couldn’t they have divided the city into his and hers quadrants? She never ran into Michael. It hadn’t happened once since their separation began. In hindsight that was likely a tribute to the fact that the two of them never really liked visiting the same places. But Janey and Beau liked all the same places. The alcohol had a warming effect on her and made her feel a little silly. Janey told Hugh to pause for a moment and signaled the waiter to come over to their table.
“What’s the fattiest thing on this menu?” Janey asked, scanning the piece of paper.
“Well, ma’am, we serve actual fat, pork lard, rendered and clarified of course, but we smother our crispy fries in it. I’d say that’s about as fatty as fatty things tend to come.”
“That’s perfect. Could you send two servings of that to the loud gentleman at the table in the back? You can tell him Janey sent it over. And maybe a bowl of the brownie sundae, with extra chocolate sauce. And we’ll have one of those here as well.” Janey smiled at Hugh. “It’s an inside joke with a friend.”
Hugh didn’t completely understand what she’d just done, but he had that twinkle back in his eye.
“Speaking of fat, there’s something else too. The pendulum is starting to swing a bit in the other direction. I’m starting to think about it.”
“What’s that?”
“The good kind of fat!”
“The good kind of fat?”
“Women have been depriving themselves for so long. I’m taking a look at the simple healthy indulgence. I’m making bets on olive oils, butters, cheese, and dark chocolate.”
“Oh, I can tell you some things about chocolate, Hugh.”
“Can I order you another drink?”
She didn’t want this evening with this beautiful and brilliant man to end.
“As long as you split this sundae with me.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“You don’t find it a little politically insensitive?” Janey asked CJ as the two women ascended from the L train to Williamsburg. “Something about it feels icky to me.”
CJ, still dragging her SoarBarre foot uselessly behind her, shrugged.
“I’m Indian and it doesn’t bother me.”
“I’m part Irish, and a boot-camp class claiming IRA members as founders might make me uncomfortable.”
The day before, they’d signed up for the latest SweatGood pass craze, Tamil Tiger Boot Camp, a military-style cardio and weight-training class led by former members of the militant separatist movement from Sri Lanka.
“Blast your metabolism with this mix of mental conditioning and physical training as you allow our highly trained military operatives to take your fitness to the next level,” read the class description.
“No one would take a class led by members of the IRA anyway,” CJ explained. “Who wants to work out with a bunch of pasty old white guys who drink beer all day? The Tigers were fierce. And don’t you think we’re doing a service to these people? They’re refugees and visitors to our country. We’re helping them live the American Dream.”
As usual, it was useless to argue with CJ about fitness or geopolitics. She grabbed her friend’s elbow to steady her as they stepped onto the curb, narrowly avoiding collision with a trim, determined woman power-walking a double stroller. The studio door was just a few down from where they were standing, and Janey could see a line forming outside on the sidewalk for the next class. As they approached, she spied a familiar vehicle, a bright blue Tesla with vanity plates reading SPRSTAR, idling at the end of the street.
“Shit! Beau’s here.” Janey paused and squeezed CJ’s arm. “Fugh! I can’t with him right now.”
“How do you know?” CJ squinted to make out the car. They’d had a big laugh when Beau shelled out a ridiculous amount of money for the custom-designed vehicle last year because he had a crush on the Tesla founder, Elon Musk.
“There it is! The car of the future. Ugh. You don’t think he’s here for this class, do you?” CJ steered Janey away from the line.
“I can’t think of any other reason he’d be in Brooklyn,” Janey said. “Beau doesn’t leave Manhattan unless he’s boarding a plane.”
CJ straightened to her full five feet two inches. “Then we confront him. You were going to have to run into him sometime.”
“I already did.” Janey told CJ how she’d sent Beau lard fries during her date with Hugh, causing her friend to erupt with laughter.
“I didn’t think you had that in you. That’s probably why he’s here. He has to work off a whole week’s calories after you sent him a bowl of fat. Let’s do this, mama. You don’t have to talk to him. I can call him a motherfucker, but you don’t have to say a word. And afterward maybe one of the Tigers could tie him to a chair and inflict some torture on the little bitch.”
She turned to CJ. “How do I look?”
“Gorgeous,” CJ said simply. “Stunning. The best you’ve ever looked.”
Janey glanced over her shoulder at the growing line. As far as she could tell, Beau wasn’t already standing in it, and no one had emerged from the car. Wasn’t it like him to let everyone else queue and cut in front at the very last second?
“Can we at least wait for everyone to go in so we don’t run into him?” Janey pleaded. “We can duck into this shop for a minute.” She pointed to the windows of the clothing store behind her, a place that sold children’s clothes made exclusively from baby alpaca wool. “I’ll buy something for the twins.” She grabbed CJ’s arm and pulled her into the warm little store that smelled faintly of wet goat. The door gave a little chime as they entered, but the bored salesgirl behind the counter didn’t even bother looking up from her iPhone.
CJ fingered the soft sweaters and mittens tied together with a string. “These won’t fit the twins. They’re getting bigger by the day. I don’t know if I should stop feeding them or what.”
Janey pinched her friend’s arm.
“I’m kidding,” she said. “I’m trying to get them to be more active. Steven thinks they’re fine the way they are. ‘They’re boys,’ he says. ‘They’re supposed to be a little beefy. We have little football players on our hands.’?”
Janey hardly heard what CJ was saying. “The line’s moving. Beau’s getting out of the car.”
The petite salesgirl with a conspicuous unibrow finally decided she should be cordial. “Can I show you the spring line? We just got these in from Peru.” She picked up a pair of furry child-sized leg warmers. “All of our wool is fair trade, and the sweaters are knit by a co-op of former prostitutes in Lima.”