Steph has had the same spiky black hair since we met, is almost six feet tall, and perfectly angular. Men stare at her everywhere we go, and even now, as we drink gin and tonics, the three men at the bar keep sneaking a look at her. As she takes a big sip of her drink, she nods at the two women working the bar and says, “We were hotter.”
“Are hotter,” I tell her. “Especially you. You, like, reverse-aged since you left this place.”
“I don’t want to be that hot anymore,” she says. Then she gives me a wicked smile. “And your little houseguest? Is he that age?”
“He’s twenty-eight,” I say, feeling defensive for some reason. “And he moved out a while ago.”
“So that makes it okay to be lusting after him.”
“Shut up,” I say, smacking her. Those were not the words I used. I told her I might have a crush.
“This is so sick,” she says, slamming her glass against the bar for emphasis. “I love it.”
“What am I supposed to do?”
“Nothing,” she says. Then she narrows her eyes and moves her head closer to mine. “That is what you’re doing, right?”
“Of course. I’m not completely nuts,” I say, though I am completely nuts, though I stayed up all night, thinking about that kiss. But I’m not going to tell her that. A full day has gone by and I haven’t heard a peep from him either.
“Stay away from him.”
“It’s a bit hard when he’s like a kid brother to my husband.”
“Do your best. Just keep it in your pants, Natty.”
“I am. I told you, I am.”
“When I got pregnant, I didn’t feel any of the bloating or fatigue or nausea or whatever. I was just so fucking horny all the time, I was like a teenager. I wanted to fuck everything—any man who spoke to me, any woman, anything that moved,” she says, tucking a tiny strand of hair behind her ear.
“And it went away?”
“Basically.”
I take another sip of my drink and ask for another round. “You miss working here?”
“Not one bit. I know you think I’m boring as fuck but I can tell you, I’m much happier now. You know what I liked? I liked being the star of my high school plays. I liked being the star of the plays at Mason Gross, that was a real ego boost too. But then I moved out here and saw that I was up against a city of sluts who were the stars of their high school plays, and while most of them weren’t as talented as me, a number of them were, and so many of them were hotter. And I just didn’t want to prove myself against the hotter ones, or hustle to keep up with the talented ones. I hated it. I hated bartending. I hated taking a cab home at four in the morning because I got mugged twice taking the subway back to Bushwick, just me and a bunch of homeless people and a few businessmen who thought I was a prostitute—I got solicited once. I hated all of it. I just wanted to have a nice warm bed and a reasonable schedule and reasonable goals, and now I do, I’ve got my kid, I’ve got my night classes, and yes, having a rich-as-fuck husband does not hurt, but it’s a good life. I fucking love it. There’s nothing I want, you see? I just want to keep my universe from exploding. And as long as I do that, I’m good.”
“Really and truly?”
“Ninety-eight percent of the time, and I’m okay with that.”
“And the other two percent?”
“The other two percent, I’ll see a few people from college here and there on TV or on Broadway and I’m like, I’m better than them. Why didn’t I do that? Why am I spending all this time having playdates? But I’m actually not better than them, I remind myself, because I didn’t stick it out and they did—like you’re doing,” she says, squeezing my hand. “Do you really miss this place?”
“I do, actually.”
“So tell Yuri you want to work again.”
I say, “Ha! He wants me to go back to school.”
“And what do you want?”
“To book shit again? And to work at the Lair, at least a few nights a month. Tally’s sleeping through the night now. Why the fuck not?”
“You’ll be completely exhausted.”
“I already am,” I say. I finish my drink and signal for another. My fucking milk finally dried up, which I must admit was a relief, not just because I don’t have to be paranoid about having more than one drink but because I feel less chained to Tally. “I mean,” I go on, “I definitely feel better than I did at the beginning, but how long did it take you to feel like yourself again?”
She smiles. “You won’t ever feel like yourself again. At least, I didn’t. But how long did it take me to feel okay as this new person I became after having a kid? I don’t know, about a year? A little while after I got the job at the theater. That helped a lot.”
“You always seemed like yourself.”
“I’m an actress, remember? I just knew how to fake it,” she says, raising a glass. “You will figure it out, because you are a goddess. Really, you will.”
I suck my drink down. “I fucking hated those long commutes home after a night at the bar. But the Lair is just down the street….I don’t know, I both hated it more than anything and miss it more than anything. I just really hope I’m not done.”
“You’re not done. You just keep auditioning. There’s always a lull, you know that. Plus, you’ve got your show coming up. Are you all set?”
“Pretty much.”
“Great. You focus on that, and then you make your next move.”
“I’m trying.”
“And in the meantime, Natty, just try to keep your universe from exploding, all right?”
“I’m doing my best.”
“You always are, baby girl,” she says.
As we get the check, one of the guys at the bar finally approaches us, and I’m flattered but too tired to discourage him without being a bitch. “It’s as easy as being a woman?” he says with a sly smile. “That’s you, right?”
“Damn right it is,” I say, cheersing him when he raises his glass, relieved that this was all he wanted.
Stephanie cracks up as he walks away. “What happened to that company anyway?”
“Lady Planet?” I say. “They went under. It turned out eco-friendly tampons were too expensive.”
“Of course they were,” she says.
Then old Scotty comes by with tequila shots, and neither of us can turn them down. I let the booze slide down my throat and it feels warm and welcoming, though I know I shouldn’t get too trashed. But I need the break, need some time away from Tally and the men in my life. And when the liquor settles in me and I stare straight ahead, it’s Stas’s fucking face I see, Stas in the boxcar, his arm around me, quiet.
I’m more than tipsy by the time I get home. Yuri’s on the couch watching the Red Sox and when he sees me struggling to get my heel off, he smiles like he knows I overdid it and is okay with it, good man that he is. And maybe it’s because of that goodness, because he comes up to me and strokes my hair and genuinely seems pleased that I got to have a wild night out with my friend, that I feel like I just can’t hold anything in anymore.