Everyone Worth Knowing (65 page)

came out sounded like it resulted from a lack of oxygen.

"Bette, it's Sammy. Is this a bad time?"

Well, that depends,
I wanted to say.
Are you calling to apologize

for last night, or at the very least to offer some explanation of

why you never came by? Because if that's the case, then this is the

best time imaginable
—
come on in so I can whip you up a fluffy

omelet and nib your sore shoulders and kiss you all over. However,

if you 're calling with even the slightest implication that something

might be wrong
—
with you, with me, or worst of all, with us
—
then

perhaps you should know that I'm very, ve>y busy right now.

"No, of course not. What's up?" That sounded laid-back and

unconcerned, right?

"I wanted to see how it all worked out last night. I was so wor-

ried about you—you just left in the middle of everything." He

made no mention of my invitation for him to come over, but the

concern in his voice more than made up for it. Just knowing he

was interested started me talking, and once I started, I couldn't

seem to stop.

"It was a shitty thing for me to just walk out of there in the

middle of everything—really immature and so unprofessional. I

should've stayed and seen the night through no matter how bad it

was. But it was like I wasn't even in my own body. I just left. And

I'm glad I did. Do you have any idea what happened last night?" I

asked.

"Not really, but I do know that I seriously dislike those people,

Bette. Why did that kid Avery have his hands all over you? What

was going on?"

And so I explained everything. I told him how I'd found Philip

and Leo together in Istanbul. I described the situation with

Abby/Ellie, and how she'd gotten all her information from Elisa. I

said that Elisa had seemed particularly competitive lately, and that I

knew she wanted Philip, but I was shocked that she would do that

to me. I told him all about Penelope and Avery, from their first

meeting until the day they got engaged, and then I told him I'd

found Avery making out with Abby. I confessed that I'd been skipping

dinners at Will and Simon's and canceling a fair number of

Sunday brunches because there always seemed to be something

more pressing to do. I told him that I hadn't returned even one of

Michael's phone calls asking to meet for a drink because I'd been

too busy and didn't really know what to say. I admitted that my

parents were so disappointed they could barely talk to me anymore,

and that I had virtually no idea what was going on in my

best friend's life. And I apologized to him for trying to hide or

deny that we had been together because I was thrilled about it, not

ashamed.

He listened and asked a few questions, but when I mentioned

him, he sighed. Bad sign. "Bette, I know you're not ashamed—I

know it has nothing to do with that. We both agreed it would be

best to keep this quiet considering our current situations. Don't be

so hard on yourself. You did the right thing last night. I'm the one

who should be apologizing."

I untied a plastic bag of Red Hots and poured some into my

hand. "What are you talking about? You were great last night."

"I should've punched that kid's face in," he said. "Plain and

simple."

"Which one? Avery?"

"Avery, Philip, what does it matter? It took every ounce of

willpower not to kill him."

This was the right thing for him to say, so why did my stomach

still feel like it was on the floor? Was it because I wondered how

worried he could have been that he didn't call for ten hours? Or

that I still hadn't heard him mention a word about us getting together?

Or maybe it was simpler, and I was just stressed about my

unexpected unemployment—the reality of looking for yet another

job was beginning to set in. I'd always known that banking wasn't

for me, but it was disconcerting to try an entirely different industry—

one that was undeniably more fun—and realize that 1 wasn't

cut out for that, either. As if on cue, Sammy asked what I might do

next, and I told him that Kelly had graciously offered me a few

freelance projects when I'd called to apologize that morning, but

she'd accepted my resignation without argument. I added that

maybe it was time to suck up my pride and join Will. As my mind

wandered, I realized I hadn't even asked what was happening with

his restaurant.

When I pointed this out, he was quiet for a moment before he

said, "I have some good news."

"You got it!" I shouted without thinking. Then I prayed for a

second before adding, much more tentatively, "Did you get it?"

"Yeah, I got it," he said, and I could hear his smile. "I turned in

the pitch and the menu proposals in under two weeks. The lawyer

said his clients were impressed. They chose me as their head chef,

and they bought a little space in the East Village."

I could barely speak from excitement, but he didn't seem to

notice.

"Yeah, it's all going to happen very quickly. Apparently, some

restaurant was all set to open, but the investors pulled out at the

last second. Some sort of corporate scandal that trickled down, I

think. Anyway, these silent investors stepped in and bought the

place on the cheap. They began looking for a chef immediately,

and they want to open as soon as possible. Can you believe it?"

"Congratulations!" I said with genuine enthusiasm. "That's so

amazing. I knew you could do it!" I meant it, of course, but the

moment the words were out of my mouth, my gut switched tracks

entirely. I hated myself for even thinking it, but this didn't sound

like good news for us.

"Thanks, Bette. That means a lot to me. I couldn't wait to tell

you."

Before I could even consider editing my words, I blurted, "But

what does this mean for us?"

There was a moment of awful, hideous, all-pervasive silence,

and yet I still didn't get it entirely. I knew we were meant to be together.

The obstacles were not insurmountable, just steppingstones

to a stronger relationship.

When he finally did speak, Sammy sounded defeated, and not

a little sad. "I'm going to be married to this project" was all he

managed to say, and the moment he uttered those words, I knew it

wasn't happening. "It" meaning "us."

"Of course," I said automatically. "This is the opportunity of a

lifetime."

It was at that point that a romance hero would say, "And so are

you, which is why I'm going to do everything in my power to

make this work," but Sammy didn't say that. Instead he spoke quietly.

"So much is timing, Bette. I have too much respect for you to

ask you to wait for me, although of course part of me hopes you

will."

Damn you!
I thought.
Just ask me to wait and I will, ask me to

understand that things will he difficult but that when this period is

over, we'll be happy and in love and together. Please stop with the

dreaded respect line
—/
don't want you to respect me, I want you to

want
me.

But I said none of this. Instead I wiped away the tears that

dropped to my chin and concentrated on keeping my voice steady.

When I finally did speak, I was proud of my composure and my

articulateness. "Sammy, I understand what an amazing chance this

is for you, and I couldn't be any more excited for you than I am

right now. You need to concentrate all your time and energy on

making this restaurant fantastic. I promise that I'm not mad or

upset or anything, just so incredibly happy for you. Go. Do what

you need to do. I just hope you'll invite me to dinner when your

place is inevitably the hottest restaurant in New York. Keep in

touch, okay? I'll miss you."

I placed the phone quietly on the receiver and stared at it for

nearly five full minutes before I really started to cry. He didn't call

back.

347

32

"Tell me again how my life will improve one day?" I said to

Penelope as we sat in my living room. I was stretched out on my

couch in full sweatpant mode, as I had been for nearly three and a

half months, with no genuine desire to ever again put on street

clothes.

"Oh, Bette, honey, of course it will. Just look how fabulously

my own life is shaping up!" she sang sarcastically.

"What's on tonight? Did you remember to TiVo last week's
Desperate

Housewives?"
I asked listlessly.

She threw down her copy of
Marie Claire
and glared at me.

"Bette, we watched it when it was on the actual television last Sunday.

Why would we need to TiVo it?"

"I wanna watch it again," I whined. "Come on, there's got to be

something decent to watch. What about
Going Down in the Valley,

that porn documentary on HBO? Do we have that saved?"

Penelope just sighed.

"What about
Real World?'
I pulled myself upright and began

punching keys on the TiVo remote. "We've got to have at least one

shitty episode, even an old one. How can we not have any
Real

Worlds?"
I was nearly in tears by that point.

"Christ, Bette, you've got to get ahold of yourself. This is just

not okay anymore."

She was right, of course. I'd been wallowing for so long that it

had become standard. This period of unemployment didn't much

resemble my first one; there were no blissful mornings spent sleeping

in or exhilarating trips to the candy store or long walks exploring

new neighborhoods. I wasn't trying to find a job)—either

enthusiastically or halfheartedly—and I was currently supporting

myself (barely) by taking on some sympathy freelance factchecking

work from Will and a few of his associates. I tore through

it in my flannel bathrobe on my couch each morning, and then felt

perfectly justified in rotting the rest of the day. The fact that Penelope—

who had every reason to be in far worse shape than I—was

becoming more functional every day had begun to alarm me.

I hadn't heard from Sammy since our last conversation, the

morning after the
Playboy
party, which had been three months,

two weeks, and four days ago. Penelope had called minutes after

I'd hung up with Sammy to tell me that she'd just spoken to Avery

and "knew everything." Avery had called her during the party to

admit that he'd been really, really drunk and had "accidentally"

kissed a random girl. That morning she was upset but still making

excuses for him. Finally I'd worked up my nerve and told her the

full story. When she confronted him, Avery admitted he'd been

sleeping with Abby for some time, and that there'd been others as