Slightly Married

Left alone at the table with temporarily abandoned Yvonne’s coat and purse and Latisha, I hastily add, “You, too. Will you be my bridesmaid?”

“Hell, yes,” she says, and hugs me hard.

I catch her checking her watch as she releases my shoulders.

“You should go,” I say, checking my own. “It’s getting late. Go tuck your kids in.”

“Ha, you think Keera lets me do that these days?” She shakes her head. “I’ve been hangin’ out here until it’s safe to go home. Which it isn’t until I know Bernie’s in bed and sound asleep. Because if he’s still awake and he hears me come in, he gets all wound up and he’s awake for another two hours, wanting to climb all over me.”

“Jack is kind of the same way,” I say with a sly smirk.

“Yeah, that won’t last.”

“What do you mean?”

“Once you’re married, everything gets to be old hat. And I mean everything. Trust me on that.”

“You mean…?”

“I do.” Latisha shakes her head. “Me and Derek used to have some big ol’ sparks goin’ on, morning, noon and especially night. Now all I want to do when I get into bed at night is sleep.”

She reaches out and pats my engagement ring. “But don’t worry, those days are way down the road for you. You just have fun planning your wedding.”

With that, she’s gone, and I’m left wondering when the fun is going to begin.

4

My cell phone rings as I’m striding down Lexington Avenue on Wednesday afternoon, headed to Sushi Lucy’s for lunch.

I bet my next paycheck that it’s Carol, wondering where I am. Everyone’s going crazy getting ready to present to McMurray-White again tomorrow.

I snuck away while Carol was on the phone with the Client, who have made it abundantly clear that they don’t believe we Account people need meals, sleep or natural light.

Checking caller ID, I see that it’s not Carol; it’s Will McCraw.

I was just kidding about my next paycheck—you knew that, right?

“Tracey, how’s it going?”

Yes, I answer the call. I’ve been waiting for this moment for years now.

“Funny you should ask that, Will, because it’s going particularly well, as a matter of fact. I—”

“That’s great. I just wanted to call and thank you for the Valentine—”

Yes, I sent him a Valentine, but it’s not what you think. It was a funny Shoebox one and I only sent it as an excuse to tuck in my new Tracey Spadolini, Account Executive, business card. Which apparently he didn’t notice, because he says nothing about the promotion.

“—and I couldn’t wait to tell you I got a lead in a European touring-company production of La Cage Aux Folles!”

Will starring as a gay man?

“Wow, I’d love to see that,” I say truthfully. “Listen, I have news—”

But he’s talking over me—“Yeah, it’s going to be great”—at least, that’s what I think he said. It might have actually been “I’m going to be great,” knowing Will, but I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt.

“I’m sure it will be,” I say, “and I’ve got something to—”

“I leave for Transylvania next week—”

“Will, I have to tell—wait, did you say Transylvania?”

“Right.”

Huh. I didn’t even realize Transylvania is a real place. Had I known it was a real place, I would imagine it filled with dark, brooding types and, yes, vampires—not musical-theater buffs. You learn something new every day.

“Will,” I jump in, realizing there’s been a lull, “I’m engaged.”

Dead silence.

“Hello?” That explains the lull; we must have gotten disconnected.

Nope. He’s still on the line.

“That’s great,” he says slowly, for once having been struck momentarily speechless. Ah, life is good. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks.” I beam.

“When’s the wedding?”

“October, I think. We have to—”

“October, I should be back by then.”

Okay, back?

Does he actually think he’s going to be invited to my wedding?

I really want to say, “You don’t know Jack.”

How I longed to tell Will McCraw, after he pretty much threw me away, that he was utterly clueless. About me. About life.

But now, strangely, I don’t feel as though I have anything to prove to him.

My work here is done.

“Well,” he says, “good luck with the planning and everything.”

“Thanks. Good luck to you, too.”