On The Verge. Ariella Papa
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Название: On The Verge
Автор: Ariella Papa
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Зарубежные любовные романы
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Tabitha arrives with puffy eyes. She refuses to talk about Jaques. He left for Paris a few days ago. She surveys the place. “Not bad. This is a loft.”
“Thanks, we knew that,” Rosie says, getting up to finish putting on her makeup. You’d think in their times of need they could be nice to each other. Wrong.
“How do you plan to fill your days?” Tabitha yells toward the closed door.
“C’mon on, now,” I plead with her. Tabitha looks like she might start crying again at any minute. “What are you doing tomorrow?”
“I’ve got a tennis lesson.”
“Tennis?”
“Yeah, I need something to fill my time away from Jaques. The circles I want to run in are full of people who play tennis. I would encourage you to look into it.”
“No thanks, I like to be sedentary.”
“Even with Ms. Jazzercise, here?” Ms. Jazzercise herself opens the door to the bathroom and emerges with an obvious foundation line. There is no way she needs to wear this much makeup. Maybe I should buy the Kevin book and leave it open to a page that talks about minimalism. I look at Tabitha and shake my head.
“Okay let’s go, ladies.” I clap my hands together like my mother.
Tabitha wants us to go to this lounge all the way over by the river.
“C’mon, there’s so many other places. Both of us are a little weary. We just want to sit and drink and not have to worry about anyone looking at our breasts.” Roseanne nods in agreement, probably too scared to say anything.
“Why not?” Tabitha is confused.
“Tabitha, at least think of Jaques. We don’t want a meat market.”
We wind up at Peter McManus. It’s an Irish pub with a kickass jukebox. This is the type of place that I would think Tabitha would hate, but she gets up and puts at least two dollars in the jukebox. She keeps telling us we are going to love her selections. When each song ends we pause and look to Tabitha for a word on whether the new one is one of her choices. It’s always a good one, but never one of the ones she picked.
We drink a lot while waiting for her songs to come on.
While Rosie is in the bathroom, I ask Tabitha if she’ll call Johann, the German banker.
“Eve, what about my feelings? I’m just getting over one European.”
“Tabitha, you don’t have to date him, just give him a call.”
“You never tire of testing me. Oh, God.” She gets up. “Shit, shit. This is it. My song.” I leap up, too. It’s “Suspicious Minds” by the King himself. We start dancing and dancing and when Roseanne comes out she starts dancing, too. Some of the regulars look over at us and laugh. They sing along, but it’s just kind of us, fucking up the words, making up dance moves. It’s a good drunk.
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