On The Verge

“Looks pretty good. Except lose the bra.”

“I don’t want droopy booby.”

“Eve, just take it off. You’ve got good boobs. Pull it down a little to show them off.” I do as she says and stare at myself in the mirror, clutching my breasts. I’m not so sure about this.

Tabitha fully emerges from her stall. She is wearing some shiny gray dress that’s almost sheer. She puts her hair up and reapplies her makeup. I compare our reflections in the mirror. Tabitha may be a lot bigger but she fills her space up well, while I think I’m sort of grasping for a “look.”

“You look fab, you’re really doing it, Mommy,” Tabitha says catching my eye in the mirror. She turns toward me her lip pencil poised. “I just want to redefine. Your lips are really your best attribute, Eve—well your lips and those perky boobs. We should go.”

I bounce all the way down 7th Avenue.

The Fashion Awards are kind of a snooze. I mean it’s cool to hobnob, but when there is no alcohol involved and the dialogue is this poor, it’s kind of a letdown. The nice thing is wherever I look there’s celebrities, but you really can’t want to interact with them without seeming like the biggest star-struck loser. It’s only fun to look at them for so long.

Being a seat filler is solely for the purpose of making an event appear to the viewing audience as if it is the most populated happening in history. Most of these award shows are attended by industry people, and if they manage to lure celebrities, the celebrities only want to stay for a little while. They are kind of like us, they just want to get to the party.

I know I get on TV a couple of times. That will make my mom happy.

The party is at some club I’ve never heard of. My presence doesn’t stop Jaques and Tabitha from being overly affectionate with each other. Just as I was afraid of, this party is more for production people. There are some low-level celebs and models, but no one to really freak out about. I am here to keep Tabitha company while Jaques schmoozes with the producers to insure that he will be styling the awards next year. We have the bartender make us something extra special, which turns out to be Absolut Currant and cranberry juice. We have three. Suddenly Tabitha starts quasi-hyperventilating. In fact (and she would hate for me to point this out), she looks a lot like Roseanne did at the fateful brunch.

“What? What? What?” I say, while motioning to the bartender for more.

“It’s him, it’s him.” I look around. Who could it be? “It’s Kevin. C’mon.” She pulls me with her, practically spilling my new drink. It’s Kevin, the stylist whose book is her bible.

We hover close to Kevin, who is talking to some TV actress. It’s hard for him to ignore us because Tabitha is breathing down his neck. He smiles at us.

“Hi,” says Tabitha—whom I have never seen like this—“I think you are great. I love your book. You are truly an artist. Oh, I’m sorry. I’m Tabitha.”

Kevin extends his hand, very humbly. “I’m Kevin.” Wow! Then, he turns to me and smiles warmly. He takes my hand.

“Eve,” I say, wishing Kevin could be my best friend.

“Nice eyebrows.”

“Thanks,” I say, but not being enough of a fan to gush I feel kind of stupid. Tabitha drags me away, although I know it’s difficult for her to remain calm.

“Isn’t he amazing? So nice. Introducing himself like we didn’t know who he is.” We sigh and have another drink to celebrate the glowing goodness of Kevin.

Eventually, Tabitha has to hang out with Jaques and I wind up talking to some production assistant who tells me that his name is Moose. Moose talks to me as if I am about five. Even though he has opted to wear sunglasses inside, I can still pretty much tell that he is staring at my breasts.

“Have you ever been here before, Eve?”

“No, have you?”

“No.” He enunciates every word like he’s my preschool teacher. Maybe he’s really stoned or just used to talking to four-year-olds. He is so repulsive, but I’m bored and I’m kind of enjoying just toying with him. I guess correctly that he is from Staten Island and I think he thinks I want to go home with him.

“You know it smells there. Do you know where the bathroom is?”

“No,” he tells my chest. “I said I was never here before. Why would I lie to you?”

“I don’t know,” I say, adding, “Moose.” And then he just stares, blatantly stares, at my boobs. I look around for Tab, but she is cuddling with Jaques. She is to blame for my lack of bra. But wait! No matter what, I don’t deserve this. Why should I be gawked at or talked to like a child, by the likes of Moose? I’ve had enough.

“So, Moose—” I crouch down to crotch level and speak to his fly “—are you having fun?” I’m not quite sure Moose gets it. He would most likely swear I was seconds away from giving him a blow job. Tabitha must think the same, because she and Jaques rush over and decide to send me home in Jaques’s car. They are going to go to some party for a designer that will certainly be more star-studded. I protest that I want to go too, but Tabitha will not listen. I wave goodbye to the dickhead Moose, who is still trying to guess my tits’ address. I only hope Kevin didn’t see my display.

At work the next day, I don’t hear from Tabitha until she calls at noon (when she finally rolls in) thinking I am going to be a wreck, but, it is she who is moving slowly. I ask her about the rest of her night. Despite the presence of several “fabulous celebs,” she is really most excited about the Kevin meeting and his kind compliments. Of course, she has to take some credit.

“Remember when I told you how to shape them better?”

“Yes, Tabitha, I owe it all to you.”

“Well, it really all goes back to Kevin. I mean, I got the idea out of his book. But, you know I can’t help feeling a bit envious. First you meet Prescott and now this. Two of my personal heroes you manage to charm.”

“I didn’t exactly meet Prescott, or charm anyone. It’s really thanks to you that I know who both of them are.”

“Well, I guess you’re right.” Everyone feels a lot better now.

I was so undrunk last night that I had a long talk with Roseanne when I got home. She had waited up for me after her short-lived disaster date. Apparently her breasts also were in the spotlight. She had just sat down for a nice dinner with Brad (okay so the tipoff should have been when he took her to a midtown tourist trap) when, feeling a little hot, she slipped off her blazer.

“Wow,” he gasped. “What a set of jugs.” Needless to say, Roseanne considered getting a doggie bag for her dinner and bailing, but she stuck it out through Brad’s leerings and boring descriptions of his ad accounts, specifically a tartar control toothpaste and how they made the tartar look especially gross.

“Yuck,” I said.

“Worse, when I got back, I wanted to go for a run, but your mom was up and she forced me to discuss portobello mushrooms.”

“How bizarre. Poor you.”

Just as we were falling asleep, we realized that we only had four more days until we moved in and became true New Yorkers.

I have to deposit the check Roseanne gave me. She handed it over a little nervously; apparently she’s down to her last three hundred dollars after I cash it. We have to send in our first month’s rent and deposit. Somewhere along the line Mrs. Yakimoto raised the rent to fifteen hundred and in all the excitement, I agreed. I am keeping this from Roseanne until she gets a job. Not fun.

I head to the bank at lunch and hand the bank teller my money and the deposit slip. She’s a really attractive British woman. I wonder why she’s working in a bank.

“Eve Vitali?” She looks up at me, questioning.

“Yes, what?”

“That’s your name.” I nod. She smiles at me, a perfect tartar-controlled smile.

“Well, that’s a grand name—a telly name. I’m charmed by it. Absolutely.” Wow! I love British people.

I walk back to the office. It’s cool out, really perfect weather, and I just feel like everything is working. Ever have one of those days when you just feel perfect, unsinkable, nothing can touch you, because it’s just going to roll right off? It’s all going to fall into place finally. The apartment, my job, everything. I wanted the apartment and I got it. Didn’t Kevin say I had nice eyebrows? I feel like I’m floating. A telly name? Imagine that. Thanks, Mom and Dad, you’ve made me destined for greatness, just by choosing the perfect name.

When I get back to the office Lorraine looks at me strangely. I am so cheery, so far from being fake. I am a strong woman, I can do anything.

“Um.” She looks so uncomfortable. “Lacey Matthews got the job.”

“How wonderful,” I say. Not great, wonderful, and I mean it. We walk together to my desk. Good for Lacey Matthews. Nice name, not a telly name, but I wish her all the success in the world.

Lorraine still seems uncomfortable, she should just relax. She’s awkwardly holding a stack of napkins. “Herb took her out to lunch.” Lorraine takes my arm firmly before I get to my desk. “She brought Max in. You know, the dog?” She looks down and I follow her gaze.