Anybody Out There?
Page 105
I wanted to call you, too, but I thought it would be better if I wrote it all down. Least that way there’s no room for confusion.
This might be way, way too soon, but would you like to meet Jack? Whenever is good for you. I could bring him to New York if you didn’t want to come to Boston.
Once again I apologize for any distress I might have caused by telling you this. I felt you have a right to know and that seeing a part of Aidan living on might make your loss a little easier to bear.
Yours sincerely,
Janie
“So you see,” Rachel said. “He didn’t cheat on you, he wasn’t unfaithful.”
“I don’t care,” I said. “I still hate him.”
86
Rachel brought me up to speed on everything that had been happening in my life while I’d been absent without leave.
“You still have a job. I spoke to that Franklin guy. I told him you weren’t well.”
“Oh God.” The Devereaux execs and Professor Redfern himself were keen to meet with me to get the Formula Twelve campaign up and running. This was a terrible time for me to be “not well.” “Did he start hyperventilating?”
“Yeah, a bit. But then he took a Xanax. Actually we had quite a grown-up chat. He suggested that you take the rest of the week and all of next week off. Try to get it together, he said.”
“The milk of human kindness. Thank you, Rachel, thank you very much for dealing with it. For taking care of me.” My gratitude was immense. If she hadn’t spoken to Franklin, I’d probably never have dared to reappear at work; at least now I had the option if I wanted to. Then I thought of something else. “Christ! Kevin!” Was he still in his hotel, waiting for me to show up?
“It’s all taken care of. I spoke to him, told him the story. He’s gone back to Boston.”
“God, thank you, you’re so good to me.”
“Give him a ring.”
“What time is it?” I looked at the clock. “Twenty past eight. Is that too early?”
“No. I think he’s keen to hear from you. He was very worried.”
I winced with shame and picked up the phone.
A sleepy voice answered, “Kevin here.”
“Kevin, it’s me, Anna. I’m so, so sorry. I’m really so sorry to abandon you like that. I went bonkers.”
“It’s okay,” he said. “I went crazy, too, when I found out. I got thrown out of Pottery Barn. Can you believe it? Pottery Barn? I said to the guys, ‘I’ve been thrown out of better places than this.’”
I waited for him to start yelping about what a bitch Janie was and how he and I could apply for custody of “little Jack,” but he didn’t. Apparently the situation with Janie had changed; overnight it had become very civilized and everyone was pals now.
“We went to see little Jack last night, me, Mom, and Dad, and he is such a cute little guy. Loves the Red Sox already. We’re going to see him again today. Why don’t you come?”
“No.”
“But—”
“No.”
“How about this weekend?”
“No.”
“Oh. Okay, Anna, you take your time. Take all the time you need. But he really is the cutest. And funny, you know? I said to Janie, ‘I’ll take a beer,’ and he said, ‘I’ll take a beer’ in exactly the same voice. Coulda been me! And he has this bear—”
“Sorry, Kevin, I’ve got to go. Bye.”
I hung up and Rachel said, “You might want to apologize to Angelo.”
Angelo! “Oh Christ.” I put my head in my hands. “I was mental, pure mental. He wouldn’t have sex with me.”
“Of course he wouldn’t. What kind of man did you take him for?”
“Just a man man. Speaking of which, has Joey gone back to Jacqui yet?”
“No. I don’t think he’s going to.”
“What!” I’d thought that he’d take a day or two to process the pregnancy news and then he’d be round at Jacqui’s begging her to take him back.
“Fuckhead,” I hissed.
87
All I can remember from that time was that my bones ached, every single one of them, worse than ever. Even my hands and feet hurt. I was silent and brooding, like a female Joey but without the stupid rocker clothes. I removed every photo of Aidan—the ones hanging on the walls, standing on frames on top of the telly, even the one in my wallet—and dispatched them to the dusty Siberia of Under the Bed. I wanted no reminders of him.
The only person I wanted to be with was Jacqui, who couldn’t stop crying.
“It’s just hormones,” she kept saying, between bouts of sobbing. “It’s not Joey. I’m absolutely fine about him. It’s just the hormones.”
When I wasn’t with Jacqui, I went shopping and spent money aggressively. I’d just been paid and I spent it all, including my rent money. I didn’t care. I shelled out a fortune on two charcoal suits, black high-heeled shoes, sheer hose, and a Chloé handbag. Way, way too much. Every time I signed for another purchase I thought of the two and a half grand that I’d paid Neris Hemming and I flinched. I should pursue her, try to get the money back—although there was bound to be something in the small print that said I couldn’t—but I didn’t want to have anything to do with her. I wanted to forget I’d ever heard of her. And there was no way I wanted to reschedule; I knew it was all nonsense. Talking to the dead? Don’t be so silly.
In the evenings, for some strange masochistic reason, I watched baseball on the telly. The World Series was on: the Red Sox playing the St. Louis Cardinals. The Red Sox hadn’t won since 1919—since the curse of Babe Ruth—but I knew with a cold unwavering certainty that this year they were going to end their losing streak. They were going to win because that asshole had been stupid enough to die and miss it.
The pundits, the newspapers, and the Red Sox fans were in an ecstasy of anxiety; they were so close but what if they didn’t win?
I never doubted that they would, and just as I had predicted, they did and I was the only person in the world who wasn’t surprised.
The jubilation of the fans was indescribable. All of those who had kept the faith during those barren decades were finally rewarded. I watched grown men weeping and I wept along with them. But that, I decided, would be the last time I cried.
This might be way, way too soon, but would you like to meet Jack? Whenever is good for you. I could bring him to New York if you didn’t want to come to Boston.
Once again I apologize for any distress I might have caused by telling you this. I felt you have a right to know and that seeing a part of Aidan living on might make your loss a little easier to bear.
Yours sincerely,
Janie
“So you see,” Rachel said. “He didn’t cheat on you, he wasn’t unfaithful.”
“I don’t care,” I said. “I still hate him.”
86
Rachel brought me up to speed on everything that had been happening in my life while I’d been absent without leave.
“You still have a job. I spoke to that Franklin guy. I told him you weren’t well.”
“Oh God.” The Devereaux execs and Professor Redfern himself were keen to meet with me to get the Formula Twelve campaign up and running. This was a terrible time for me to be “not well.” “Did he start hyperventilating?”
“Yeah, a bit. But then he took a Xanax. Actually we had quite a grown-up chat. He suggested that you take the rest of the week and all of next week off. Try to get it together, he said.”
“The milk of human kindness. Thank you, Rachel, thank you very much for dealing with it. For taking care of me.” My gratitude was immense. If she hadn’t spoken to Franklin, I’d probably never have dared to reappear at work; at least now I had the option if I wanted to. Then I thought of something else. “Christ! Kevin!” Was he still in his hotel, waiting for me to show up?
“It’s all taken care of. I spoke to him, told him the story. He’s gone back to Boston.”
“God, thank you, you’re so good to me.”
“Give him a ring.”
“What time is it?” I looked at the clock. “Twenty past eight. Is that too early?”
“No. I think he’s keen to hear from you. He was very worried.”
I winced with shame and picked up the phone.
A sleepy voice answered, “Kevin here.”
“Kevin, it’s me, Anna. I’m so, so sorry. I’m really so sorry to abandon you like that. I went bonkers.”
“It’s okay,” he said. “I went crazy, too, when I found out. I got thrown out of Pottery Barn. Can you believe it? Pottery Barn? I said to the guys, ‘I’ve been thrown out of better places than this.’”
I waited for him to start yelping about what a bitch Janie was and how he and I could apply for custody of “little Jack,” but he didn’t. Apparently the situation with Janie had changed; overnight it had become very civilized and everyone was pals now.
“We went to see little Jack last night, me, Mom, and Dad, and he is such a cute little guy. Loves the Red Sox already. We’re going to see him again today. Why don’t you come?”
“No.”
“But—”
“No.”
“How about this weekend?”
“No.”
“Oh. Okay, Anna, you take your time. Take all the time you need. But he really is the cutest. And funny, you know? I said to Janie, ‘I’ll take a beer,’ and he said, ‘I’ll take a beer’ in exactly the same voice. Coulda been me! And he has this bear—”
“Sorry, Kevin, I’ve got to go. Bye.”
I hung up and Rachel said, “You might want to apologize to Angelo.”
Angelo! “Oh Christ.” I put my head in my hands. “I was mental, pure mental. He wouldn’t have sex with me.”
“Of course he wouldn’t. What kind of man did you take him for?”
“Just a man man. Speaking of which, has Joey gone back to Jacqui yet?”
“No. I don’t think he’s going to.”
“What!” I’d thought that he’d take a day or two to process the pregnancy news and then he’d be round at Jacqui’s begging her to take him back.
“Fuckhead,” I hissed.
87
All I can remember from that time was that my bones ached, every single one of them, worse than ever. Even my hands and feet hurt. I was silent and brooding, like a female Joey but without the stupid rocker clothes. I removed every photo of Aidan—the ones hanging on the walls, standing on frames on top of the telly, even the one in my wallet—and dispatched them to the dusty Siberia of Under the Bed. I wanted no reminders of him.
The only person I wanted to be with was Jacqui, who couldn’t stop crying.
“It’s just hormones,” she kept saying, between bouts of sobbing. “It’s not Joey. I’m absolutely fine about him. It’s just the hormones.”
When I wasn’t with Jacqui, I went shopping and spent money aggressively. I’d just been paid and I spent it all, including my rent money. I didn’t care. I shelled out a fortune on two charcoal suits, black high-heeled shoes, sheer hose, and a Chloé handbag. Way, way too much. Every time I signed for another purchase I thought of the two and a half grand that I’d paid Neris Hemming and I flinched. I should pursue her, try to get the money back—although there was bound to be something in the small print that said I couldn’t—but I didn’t want to have anything to do with her. I wanted to forget I’d ever heard of her. And there was no way I wanted to reschedule; I knew it was all nonsense. Talking to the dead? Don’t be so silly.
In the evenings, for some strange masochistic reason, I watched baseball on the telly. The World Series was on: the Red Sox playing the St. Louis Cardinals. The Red Sox hadn’t won since 1919—since the curse of Babe Ruth—but I knew with a cold unwavering certainty that this year they were going to end their losing streak. They were going to win because that asshole had been stupid enough to die and miss it.
The pundits, the newspapers, and the Red Sox fans were in an ecstasy of anxiety; they were so close but what if they didn’t win?
I never doubted that they would, and just as I had predicted, they did and I was the only person in the world who wasn’t surprised.
The jubilation of the fans was indescribable. All of those who had kept the faith during those barren decades were finally rewarded. I watched grown men weeping and I wept along with them. But that, I decided, would be the last time I cried.
