On The Verge

Roseanne starts talking to some long-haired guy who is a guitarist on tour with some woman who has just released a single. He says her name, but neither one of us has ever heard of her. He points over at an attractive Asian woman.

“Oh, yeah, I saw her picture in the Virgin Megastore.” Roseanne is all over knowing this obscure person.

“She spends a lot of time in Virgin.” I tell this guy whose name is Q (hey, he’s a musician).

“Yeah, it’s a cool waste of time. Shit, the rest of my band is leaving. Gotta run, too.” He shakes my hand and winks at Roseanne. When he’s gone Rosie looks pissed.

“He was so cute, I wish he asked for my number. And you? I can’t believe you told him all I do is hang out in Virgin. He is lost forever.”

“Can you really take a guy named Q seriously?” I say.

“Yes.” She’s miffed. She usually doesn’t go for these long-haired types. I look over at Tabitha who is smiling drunkenly as Jaques strokes her hair and whispers in her ear. I also see the Asian singer that Q (the horror!) works for.

“If you are that into him, why don’t you just give that woman your number?”

“You don’t think that would be—” she searches for a word “—too much?”

“No.”

“What should I say?”

“Here’s my number. Give it to your guitarist. Tell him to call me. I think your new single is great.”

“You always know the perfect thing to say.” She kisses me. I feel like Tabitha. She scribbles her number and bounds off, leaving me to stand with my proverbial dork in my hand, sort of wishing at least the bartender would ask me for my number, so I could refuse. He doesn’t. I can no longer feel my nose. Tabitha comes to my side.

“Bored?”

“A little.” She pulls out the car voucher.

“Not too many more of these. You’ll have to start taking cabs once you move to the city. Drunk?”

“Completely. How is Jaques?”

“Incohesive,” she says, but I know what she means.

“It’s kind of hard to hear anyway with all this Portishead playing.”

“Guess what? You have a ticket to the Fashion Awards after party. Well, we both do, but I also have an October hookup.”

“Awesome.” I hug her like she just won the peace prize.

“You know, Eve, I was so impressed with your little scheme today. Fabulous! You guys are definitely going to get the apartment.” We hug again, boozy floozies.

“It will be great, really we’ll have so much fun.” She nods almost tearfully. All this emotion makes perfect sense after six Kettel One and grapefruits. Roseanne comes back over to us and I swear that she and Tabitha might hug, but I’m just drunk and it doesn’t happen.

“So what are you wearing to the Fashion Awards?” Tabitha calls me first thing Monday morning. I am just about to call Mrs. Yakimoto.

“Tabitha, c’mon, didn’t we clear this outfit up last week?” She sighs.

“Yes, but I had trouble sleeping last night and I thought it over. I have a dress for you. It’s a BCBG, very stretchy, so it should fit you.” Not be too big, she means. “We have tix to the post party.” She’s been saying this for days.

“Are we going to hang out with a bunch of production assistants and talent people?”

“Well, aren’t you Ms. Savvy about these glam events. This is the Talent party. Jaques would never have me mixing with the techies. This dress is much better for this kind of event.”

“All right, I’ll borrow it.” End of conversation.

“Hi, Eve,” says Mrs. Yakimoto, not sounding very enthusiastic when I finally reach her.

“Did you have a nice weekend?”

“Yes, look Eve, I don’t think we can give you apartment.”

I am crushed, I have never wanted anything more than this apartment.

“Why not?”

“Well, I spoke to my husband and we really didn’t want to rent it to two people. What if you get into a fight? Who pays the rent?”

“Mrs. Yakimoto.” I take a deep breath. “Roseanne and I have lived together for almost four years. We are very good friends and we never fight, but if we did fight we would resolve it very quickly and not let it ruin our time in the apartment. We wouldn’t move out. Do you want me to call Mr. Yakimoto?”

“No. No. Eve, you seem very nice and I wanted to give it to you, but my husband thinks I will regret it.”

“You won’t, Mrs. Yakimoto, believe me, you won’t.” Slowly, I think I will lose every shred of dignity I possess solely to get an apartment that I have yet to see. “I think the fact that I haven’t even seen the apartment and I am fighting this hard based on what Roseanne says is a testament to how much I trust her.” Mrs. Yakimoto doesn’t say anything for a while. It’s creepy. Finally, I can no longer stand it.

“C’mon, Mrs. Yakimoto, don’t let Mr. Yakimoto tell you what to do. You’re the one that holds the family together. I know you are sick of this apartment thing. Has Mr. Yakimoto handled any of it? No, it’s been all you. So, c’mon, Mrs. Yakimoto, trust your instinct. Let us have the apartment.”

“Well,” she breathes again, “my kids would be happy.”

“They know—” I am triumphant! “—they know.”

“Oh, I guess.”

“Really?” I can’t believe it. Yakimoto might be toying with me.

“Why not?”

“Thank you, Mrs. Yakimoto, thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Just don’t make me regret it.”

I want to do a little dance, but at the same time, I’m in shock. I never thought we would find an apartment this quick. I can’t believe it. I call Roseanne, who is in the middle of an elaborate calisthenics routine, and she screams when I tell her. I wish I were away from this office, so I could celebrate. I still haven’t seen the apartment myself and I certainly hope I won’t regret it.

Thursday, Tabitha and I are putting our dresses (well, Tabitha’s dresses) on in the bathroom stalls on my floor. (She didn’t want the Big C to see her before the event.) I had been trying to hide my hands from Tabitha all day, but she finally saw them and had a hissy fit at my chipped nail polish. She ran right downstairs and over to the Duane Reade and bought nail polish remover.

She’s starting to calm down now, but I’m still reluctant to complain about anything. Putting stockings on in a stall has to be the most difficult thing ever. I suffer in silence. I have no idea how the dress Tabitha gave me ever fit her. It feels painted on. “Tabitha, I don’t know about this.”

“Let me see.” I step out of the bathroom, sort of smiling at the other women who are there for a reason. I hear a couple say “Wow.” Tabitha opens her door a crack and peeks out.