The Wild One (15 page)

Pia drinks her whiskey, eyes staring at us over the rim of the glass like a little kid drinking milk.

“Do you want to talk about it?” says Angie when Pia finishes gulping.

“Yes. No. I don't know. I can't think about it,” Pia says. “I need to get drunk. Will you hold my hair back when I throw up later?”

“It would be an honor.”

At that moment Julia charges in, all perky ponytail and smiles, still in her suit and little rucksack from work.

“Hi, gang. Whiskey Smash, please, Coco.”

Julia arranges herself on a barstool, putting one of her bag straps under the stool leg so the bag can't get stolen, taking out her phone to check her work e-mails, and keeps up a steady stream of hyperactive chatter the whole time, oblivious of Pia's dramatic meltdown on the stool beside her.

“Well, I just had the best day. I'm working on this new deal. And it's going to be intense. It's like, the biggest thing
ever.
Way bigger than that other stupid one. So from tomorrow forward, say good-bye to Ju-ju because I will be Little Miss Workaholic for the next month or so, and then I'm going to make billions of dollars, get a promotion, and my ascent up the corporate bitch ladder shall commence.”

I hand over a Whiskey Smash—a perfect one, if I do say so myself—and Julia takes a long slurp. “That is
excellent.
”

“I told Aidan,” says Pia dramatically. “We … we're over.”

“That
sucks,
” exclaims Julia. Man, she's hyper tonight. “You'll get back together. He'll get over it. You're the best thing that ever happened to him.”

Pia bursts into loud sobs again. Joe shoots me a look, and I nod and pour her some more whiskey.

“Let's talk about something else,” says Angie. “Julia, tell us more about your impending work hell, and why you look so happy about it.”

“Yeah,” says Pia, carefully wiping away her tears so that her eye makeup isn't smudged. “I don't like my friends being happy when I'm miserable. It's against the friend code. Like borrowing a piece of clothing before I have worn it.”

Julia smiles beatifically. “It's Peter.”

“The Magnificent,” the three of us chorus in turn.

“Yup. We have a date tonight.”

“Peter the Magnificent is a keeper,” says Angie. “Well, I never.”

“Peter and Julia. Julia and Peter,” Pia enunciates slowly. “Yeah, I can see that. Julia Russotti and Peter the Magnificent.”

Joe looks up, interested, from his drinks order. “You give your hook-ups nicknames? What am I? Wait—let me guess. Joe the Glorious.”

“Right. Joe the Glorious. That's just what we call you,” says Angie.

Julia takes another slurp of Whiskey Smash. “There's lemon in this, right? Good. Vitamin C.”

Pia looks around. “Is it just me, or is the lighting in here better than it used to be?”

I grin triumphantly at Joe. “I told you! We're trying to make the bar better,” I explain to Pia. “You know, so people actually want to drink here.”

“It is way more crowded than last time we were here,” says Julia, looking around. “Why don't you do it up all retro, like every other bar in New York City? You know, like a speakeasy.”

“You mean a speak-cheesy,” says Pia.

“Total cliché,” agrees Joe.

“And so passé,” says Angie. “I've been going to speakcheesies since, like, before I got my first period.”

“Why do you have to bring your vagina into everything?” asks Julia.

Joe grimaces. “There is way too much estrogen in this conversation.” He walks out from behind the bar to go collect dirty glasses.

Pia slams her empty glass back on the bar. “More whik-sey. I mean, whiskey. Please.”

I hand over another.

“So, did you and Topher spend the whole afternoon together?” Julia grins at me and waggles her eyebrows.

“What?” I feel myself blushing. “No. I mean, yes. I mean, we just hung out and went to one of his classes.”

“He's a great guy,” says Julia. “Really smart. He's going places.”

“You're so middle-aged,” says Angie. “
Going places?
”

“I'm just saying, if Coco wanted to date him, it wouldn't be a bad idea.”

My blush-rush doubles. “Don't be crazy. He's way out of my league.”

“I totally thought he liked you today. And Topher is more in your league than some womanizing Irish bartender,” says Julia, glancing at Joe disdainfully as he ducks into the stockroom. I frown. He can't hear her, but still, it's not a nice thing to say.

At that moment my phone buzzes in my back pocket.

Topher:
Want to come to my Rilke lecture next Monday?

Maybe Julia is right. Maybe he does like me.

“Coco, did you just get a text from a boy?” says Angie, just as Joe walks back over.

“No,” I say.

“Then why are you blushing?”

“I'm just, uh, it's hot behind the bar,” I say, giving her a shut-the-hell-up face.

To my surprise, she does.

“Still heartbroken here, by the way,” says Pia loudly. “Can someone please tell me everything is going to be fine?”

Angie steps up. “Of course it will. This is just a blip. Cheating is a symptom, not a cause, of problems. Aidan loves you. This is going to bring you guys closer together.”

“But he broke up with me.”

“It won't last!” Angie is smiling so widely, it must hurt. “I am sure of it. You and Aidan are meant to be. So you made one mistake! It's okay.”

“The things you girls do for each other,” mutters Joe. “She's clearly lying. That guy's not going to want to see Pia again.”

“How do you know?” I whisper back.

“Because she cheated on him. That changes everything.”

Shit. I hope he's wrong. I get busy serving drinks. Potstill is starting to feel like an extension of Rookhaven. It's just so homey. All of us here, just hanging out, conversations ebbing and flowing, someone having a crisis, everyone else helping her through it. Best of all, I can avoid too much attention, and just work away here behind the bar. Just like I used to when I was in the kitchen baking.

It's perfect.

And then Madeleine comes in, to complete the scene.

But she's not alone. She's with someone else. A guy.

Who the heck is he? He's kind of cute, wearing a suit, his tie undone, top button open … Is this the guy who gave her that unexplained bed head the other day? I never followed up on that, I wonder if she's dating him. Wait a minute, I know this guy, it's—

“Peter the Magnifi—Peter!” says Julia. “Hi! I mean, what are you doing here?”

“Julia?” Peter is swaying slightly. “I have some bad news.”

“You don't want to go out with me tonight?” Julia looks like she might faint.

“No, I do, but—” Peter drops his wallet on the floor and bends over to pick it up. When he stands up, he seems to have forgotten where he is.

“I found him passed out on the stoop at Rookhaven,” says Madeleine. “He got fired.”

“He what?” Julia is horrified. “Why didn't you call me?”

“My phone belonged to the company. I had to leave it. My phone—my life. Everything.” Peter suddenly looks so vulnerable and sweet, gazing beseechingly at Julia. “I wanted to tell you but I didn't know your number by heart. I don't even know my mom's number by heart. Isn't that insane?”

“Welcome to the twenty-first century, buddy,” says Madeleine. “Okay. Now that I've dropped off your drunk boyfriend—”

“He's not my boyfriend,” mumbles Julia.

“Whatever. I'm going to Amy's apartment to write songs. Later.”

She leaves, and all of us turn back to Peter, who's still swaying on the spot, a small frown on his face as he tries to look sober and fails.

“Can I get a beer?” says Peter.

Joe glances at him. “No. You're langers.”

“I think you should go home, Peter,” says Julia.

“But…” Peter seems at a loss. “But we have a date tonight.”

Julia shakes her head. “Call me tomorrow—oh, right. No phone. Hang on.” Julia grabs a coaster and a pen from the bar, and writes her number on the back. “Get a phone tomorrow. Then call me.”

Peter nods miserably. “You don't like me anymore because I'm the kind of loser who gets fired, right?”

“No!” she exclaims, though obviously that's exactly what she's thinking. I can tell. “Of course not. Um … Let's have dinner next week. It'll be ace.”

Peter puts the coaster in his pocket. He seems more sober now. And kind of sad.

After he leaves the bar, Angie turns to Julia.

“You're totally going to dump the first guy you've liked in however long, just because he got fired?”

“I can't
dump
him. We're not
dating,
” says Julia. “It was just a hookup.”

“He likes you. You like him. It's just a matter of time and semantics,” says Angie.

“Semantics? What a big word,” says Pia. “Can you spell it?”

“B-L-O-W-M-E,” says Angie.

Joe cracks up.

“I just don't see a future for us, you know. I'm totally … I'm just really focused on my career, anyway. That's not a bad thing, right?”

“Not bad at all,” agrees Pia. “But…”

“He's good-looking. And he seems so nice,” interjects Joe. We all turn to stare at him. I thought he was a womanizer. “Sorry, I've got a lot of little sisters.” He shrugs. “I'm used to hearing this kind of chat.”

“What do you think I should do, then?” asks Julia. “Just date an unemployed guy?”

“Hold your horses, he's been unemployed about six minutes,” says Joe. “And he'll get another job. Like immediately. Cutbacks aren't personal. They can happen to anyone.”

“My dad always says that companies cut back just to get rid of the dead wood,” says Julia. “I don't want to date dead wood. I like people who are winning at life.”

“
Winning
at
life?
” Joe looks incredulous.

For the first time ever, I wonder what effect our dad's high-handed approach to parenting has had on Julia. Maybe she was always this tough and driven. Or maybe he made her that way.

“Some people are going somewhere even when they look like they're standing still,” says Joe. “Who are you to judge?”

“Whatever, Irish,” says Julia.

At that moment, Pia starts to cry, apropos of nothing except perhaps her third drink of the night, and Angie and Julia agree to take her home. Everyone seems a little deflated now, and tension hangs in the air. And why doesn't Julia like Joe? She never dislikes people, not really.

I'm so glad I'm on this side of the bar. Safe from any kind of drama. Safe from everything.

Much later, when the bar is empty, and we're cleaning up and collecting the last of the glasses, Joe says, “So, let's talk some more details about your Potstill Prom idea.”

“Okay,” I say. “So, we have to pick a theme. Right? Like … um…”

“Enchantment Under the Sea,” suggests Joe. “That was the name of the school dance in
Back to the Future.
Best movie ever.”

“Okay, um sure,” I say. “Then we decorate the bar to look like we're under the sea.”

“So … an oil spill?” Joe is deep in thought. “Plastic bags. Crashed airplanes. Killer whales playing Ping-Pong with baby seals.”

“What? Ew. No,” I say. “Like sand, and starfish, and shells, and schools of little paper fish we can hang from the ceiling … Stuff we can make ourselves, homemade, you know? That would make it look extra legit.”

“And very Brooklyn,” says Joe, as we carry our trays of empty glasses back to the bar.

“Right.”

“Are you arty? You look arty.”

“No, but I'm a trained preschool assistant, cutting things into shapes and sticking them on the wall is pretty much my MO.”

Joe laughs.

I'm on a roll. “We'll need sea-themed drinks, and a snack table, and oh! A bubble machine. And we can pin blue cellophane on the lights over the dance floor.”

“So it looks like we're under the sea?”

“Yes. How did you know?

“Just a guess.” I get the feeling he's making fun of me, but I don't care. Another prom! But this time it won't suck and the guy I like won't sleep with my so-called best friend.

“Maybe you and I can dress up as mermaids?” I say. “I mean, you can be a merman, and I—”

I can't talk anymore. Joe has come up behind me and is kissing my neck and,
boom,
my insides turn all warm and shivery. He swivels me around, tangling his fingers in my hair, and we kiss and kiss and kiss and—

“Wait.” I push Joe away briefly. But his eyes focus on my lips, and he leans in and we kiss more—

“Wait!” I say again. “Joe, we're just—this is just—”

“Just what?” Joe moves my hair out of the way and starts kissing, almost nibbling, the skin behind my ear.

“I—oh, God, that's so nice, I—I just want to make sure we both know this is, um—” How can I say “I only want to have sex with you and nothing else” without sounding like a heartless hussy?

“This is casual.” His lips are still on my skin, the words warm and husky. “I know. You just broke up with someone. You're not looking for anything serious. We're both grown-ups. I get it.”

“Right,” I say.

Ethan! I did just break up with him. I totally forgot. How could I forget? I should be analyzing and replaying the breakup over a million times in my head, just because that's what you have to
do
the first few days after a breakup. But I've been too busy enjoying my life. And of course Joe hasn't got a problem with just being friends with benefits. I mean, he's a total player, you know, and what a cliché, the hot Irish bartender who sleeps with everyone, I—oh, wow, Joe is good at kissing my neck, I can't finish my train of—