On The Verge. Ariella Papa

      “Even the hair?”

      “No, that was very—real. Next thing you know, some of my clothes are off—”

      “Of course you had the decency to get your unsightly hairs removed.”

      “Right. And the condom comes out—”

      “Where does it come from?”

      “Well, unfortunately it’s in another room.”

      “At least he wasn’t too prepared.”

      “Right, but I’m hoping that I don’t pass out while I’m waiting— I’m pretty drunk.”

      “I can imagine.”

      “Right. So he gets back and you know we continued from where we were—”

      “How’s the hair playing into all this?”

      “Not bad, it’s actually sort of something to hold on to.”

      “In the absence of a headboard or say, a car seat.”

      “Right. Well, sort of. And I must say, he’s a great kisser, great with his hands, not shy about the things that matter.” We smile and nod at each other knowingly.

      “And the act?”

      “Not exactly memorable.”

      “Ick.”

      “Exactly, and I’m kind of surprised when he’s done.”

      “Because you’re not, um, satisfied?”

      “Precisely. So he looks at me and says ‘That was beautiful.”’

      “He did not?”

      “He did. You have to understand, he’s been saying stuff like this all night.”

      “Mother of God.”

      “So I realize that means he’s done, and in spite of myself I say, ‘Oh’.”

      “Just like that?” She giggles.

      “Yes, and I feel sort of bad because even in the dark, I can see he’s crushed, but you know, we’ve come so far and all, it seems a shame not to actually get it right.”

      “Of course, you were hoping to go on the journey with him.”

      “Right. So, I tell him what he can do and he does it and he does it well, and it works and we conk out on the floor and it’s a little awkward in the morning, but not too bad because he had to rush out, because he was late and we were both sort of rushing around and I couldn’t find my bra. But, it was fine.”

      “Did you kiss goodbye?”

      “Um.” I have to think about this one. “I think so, probably just on the cheek, it was all so rushed.”

      “How did you leave things?”

      “Give me a call.”

      “Do you want him to call?”

      “I’m not sure.”

      After giving it a lot of thought, I decide I don’t want him to call. I mean, I don’t need a dead-end relationship right now. At least I got my fix. It had been a long drought, but I just don’t know if I could stand to listen to him refer to himself all the time and watch me eat. Every time the phone rings, I take a moment to prepare my Zeke speech, but it’s never him.

      “Eve Vitali.” I answer my phone a week later. This time it’s Roseanne, one of my best friends from college.

      “Hey, Eve. What’s going on?”

      “Not too much. Just hanging out. Dodging phone calls from some guy.” Roseanne will appreciate this, as she is known for having sketchy encounters with what I like to think is a lower-caliber guy. I give her the details.

      “Oh, my God.” She is laughing over the hairy shoulders. “But at least he’s got a cool job. I’ve been meeting a bunch of convenience store workers up here.” Roseanne lives just outside of Hartford. She got a job in some random finance department right out of school. She’s been there for a year. She finished school in four years.

      “So how’s work, Ro?”

      “Well, it’s kind of boring.”

      “What? Finance? I can’t believe it.”

      “No, I’ve been giving some thought to what we talked about.”

      “Oh,” I say, trying to remember. Roseanne has an even better tolerance than I have. She’s Irish. “What do you mean?”

      “You know, about living together. Remember?”

      “Well, I don’t really want to move to Hartford.”

      “No, kookhead—” a classic Ro term of endearment “—I’m moving to New York.”

      “Really? Do you have a job?”

      “No, but I’m a woman in finance. I’ll get a job. Besides, I’ve got savings.”

      “Rent is pretty expensive.” I’m not sure why I’m not thrilled about this. I don’t know why I’m being held to a drunk promise I can’t even remember. I love Ro, really I do, but she’s from some cheesy town in Connecticut and besides, finance.

      “I know that I’m prepared, besides, aren’t you dying to move out? Isn’t this what you want?” She makes a good point, it is time to move out of Victor and Janet’s house.

      “When were you thinking of moving down?”

      “Two weeks.” I swallow my iced cappuccino. “I can look for a job and an apartment at the same time. We can move in by November first.” It’s almost October.

      “It might take a while to get something.”

      “C’mon, didn’t you tell me that night that it’s all about being ready to just jump off the cliff and decide that you’re ready on the way down?” Did I say that? “Well, I’m ready. I want to go to movie premieres, hobnob with celebrities, make the big bucks.”

      “Ro, I think you need to be realistic.”

      “Yeah, yeah, I know. I will be, but if I don’t do this now, I may never do it and I want to. It’s good for you, too, it’ll light a fire under your tail.” My tail? How can Roseanne expect to move to New York when she can’t even say the word ass?

      “Well, okay.”

      “So do you think I can stay with you for a couple of weeks?”

      With that, it’s basically settled. Roseanne has made up her mind. She is moving down and I am moving out. I suppose I should see this as a good thing. Roseanne can be a lot of fun. She likes to party hard. While her taste in men can be a little, shall we say, juvenile, she’s a good person.

      There would be definite advantages to moving out. Commuting was taking a lot out of me. Once I move to the city, everything will be different. As it is, I spend an hour on New Jersey Transit. I live in Oradell, quaint but sickeningly suburban. My parents have a four-bedroom, two-and-a-half bathroom house and three-car garage. My father owns a plumbing business and my mom is a part-time travel agent.

      I wish I could hate my parents, but they aren’t all that bad. I mean they seem perfectly contented with their suburban life. Although my mom gets great deals on airfares all over the world, they usually take their vacations to Florida. Their biggest concern about my job is that I don’t get benefits. I wish I had a worse childhood, sometimes, I think my childhood was too average to ever have the type of life I would want. Plus, I’m from Jersey. The stigma is unbelievably harsh. When I move into the city I will never again admit my roots. I will be rootless. Rootless is cooler.

      “How was work today?” My mother asks me this every day during dinner as she passes over whatever vegetable