How Stella reacts to my "betrayal":
Stella calls me first thing in the morning. "I am very worried about you." This is what she says. She is so worried about me, she intended to call me last night, after she got back from Jen's. "I'm telling you, Emma, you were all I could think about as I got into the cab, only my phone was dead which meant I had to wait until I got to Greg's... hold on, that might be Greg."
I wait on hold. Two seconds later, Stella is back. "Not Greg," she says, "Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, I finally got to Greg's and... well, I kind of forgot about you. But the point is, I woke up this morning and you were the first thing on my mind."
"What do you mean you kind of forgot?" I ask her. "Didn't you just say you were very worried about me?"
"I was, but then I get home and Greg has all these candles burning and I didn't really think of you again until about now. Anyway, I can't tell you how relieved I am that you answered your phone."
I tell her there's nothing to worry about. "I'm fine," I say, "Really."
Stella isn't interested in "fine". Fine, as far as Stella is concerned, is "code for suicidal." She still remembers this episode from Golden Light when Chrystal tells Skylar she's fine, then goes to her room and shoots herself in the head. "Do you see?" Stella says, "Do you see how saying you're fine is one of the signs."
I try to explain this isn't Golden Light. "Stop trying to change the subject," she says, "Trying to change the subject is something else suicidal people tend to do. Do you know what Chrystal did after Skylar asked her if she was okay? She said, Why don't we go out for dinner?"
"I thought she said she was fine."
"First she said she was fine, then she asked Skylar about dinner. It's exactly what you did. First you tell me you're fine, then you say this isn't about Golden Light. By the way, Emma, I know this isn't Golden Light."
I tell her she's right, I am thinking of committing suicide.
"I knew it," she yells. She's coming over immediately, never mind if I have to go to work. "Hold on," she says, "That might be Greg. He woke up super-early this morning for some meeting..." I wait a full minute. I think how it's a good thing I'm not suicidal because there's a lot of damage someone who actually was suicidal could do in one minute. "Okay," she says, "I'm back, but I have to go. Greg wants me to meet him at this little café in Brooklyn where they make the best croissants in America. His driver should be here any minute, so just don't do anything drastic until I call you back. Okay?"
"Okay," I say.
"I mean it," Stella says, "Nothing drastic."
"Does swallowing pills count as drastic?"
"Look, Emma, I'm under a lot of stress here. Will you for once think about somebody else other than yourself? Don't swallow anything until after six when I call you."
There are two things I hope for in my life: One, to figure out my life before I'm eighty. Two, that Stella never volunteers at a crisis hotline.
How my Tuesday morning class reacts to my "betrayal":
Rinaldo wants to know what is wrong. "Bah!" he scoffs when I try to tell him I'm fine. He can see from my face "which is not smiley like it usually is" that something is "not good". Yesul says it's easy to see what's wrong. "Teacher Ping Ping is having a love problem." Rinaldo thinks about this. "Si," he says, "Yesul is right. This is definitely a problem of the heart."
Only Yesul calls me Teacher Ping Ping. Every one else calls me Emma or Teacher Emma. Yesul says her name for me is both a sign of respect and a compliment. It is the name of a famous Chinese "matchmaker" in London, England who made millions matching lonely wealthy men to "entrepreneurial" young women. "Thank you for the respect," I said when she first explained the name, "and thank you for the compliment, but whatever "matchmaking" business Ping Ping was running, it was more of the one hour "matchmaking" variety, not the long term variety."
Rinaldo wants to know what "kind of a love problem the lovely Emma is having." Oh, and I shouldn't be knocking the one hour "matchmaking" variety. "Sometimes," he says, "one hour can become two hours, maybe three. And sometimes one hour can become one hour a week so you see, all of a sudden, what you think is going to be one time becomes long term commitment. Anyway, enough about that." He leans forward and takes my hand in his. "In Italia, we are famous for two things. Numero uno, we are famous for loving, never you mind if it's loving for one hour we talk about or ten years. Numero due, we are famous for solving the love problems."
Aisha and Gina (who is new), are also concerned about me. Aisha gathers her long dark hair into a bun and reaches into her purse for her glasses. I didn't even know she wore glasses. "Oh yes," she says, "Otherwise I'm more blind than the bats, but I only wear them for serious work, not for dating class. Also, I think I look hotter without glasses." Her dark eyes study me behind her lenses. "Ahh," she says, "So this is what Emma teacher looks like. Funny, I thought your hair was darker. Also, you are whiter than I thought."
Whiter? What color did she think I was?
Aisha shrugs. "Shadowy," she says.
Anyway, the point is she now has on her glasses because this is "serious".
I again tell my class I'm fine, but they will have none of that. Rinaldo "insists" I tell them. Aisha says, "Spill. Now." Yesul says, "There is an ancient Chinese proverb. Those who don't let out their emotions, will die a slow and painful death." I tell her I've never heard of that. "I made it up," she says, "It's what I always tell people when I want to know what is not my business. Better to make up a proverb than to admit your are nosey gossip." I ask her if that's a made-up proverb as well. "No," she says, "This one is real. Anyway, it's not good to see Teacher Ping Ping sad. If Teacher Ping Ping cannot succeed in love, how can she be any good at matchmaking business."
Aisha knows an English idiom: "Those who can't do, teach. So maybe it is good for business."
"Smile," Yesul says, "It is your secret weapon to success."
Rinaldo doesn't get that one. He thinks it sounds like one of the platitudes you read in Chinese fortune cookies. Yesul laughs. Rinaldo's right, it is from a Chinese fortune cookie. In fact, it's one of hers. "One of my early works," she says, "before I decided to get more creative and so-called intellectual." I let Yesul talk, happy to have the class's attention on her, not me. She tells us she found a job one Summer when she was sixteen, working for a family friend who decided to start his own business making home-made fortune cookies with hand written notes tucked inside. She got fired, though, after customers started complaining about the fortunes. You Will Die Tomorrow. Avoid Crossing Any Street For The Next Year. See Your Doctor A.S.A.P. "I was sixteen," she explains, "I thought smart meant you don't think happy thoughts."
Rinaldo clears his throat. "Back to Teacher Emma's love problem," he says.
Five minutes later, I tell them everything. Rinaldo slowly shakes his head from side to side. "Aghh," he says. He looks at the poster of some building he worked on in South Africa two years ago. "Easier to build a cultural center," he says, "than to get involved with the fight between women."
Aisha wants to know "What kind of a name is Bluey?" She wants to know if the parents "are okay in the head because who names a kid Bluey." I try to explain it's a nickname, but she isn't really listening. "Is he some character from Avatar?" she says.
Yesul, for her part, pulls out a small doll that looks as if it's made out of a sock. "Voodoo," she says, "This is best solution for Teacher Ping Ping. You draw picture of friend you betrayed--"
I remind Yesul I didn't "betray" Jen. "It's more like I didn't tell her about one small part of my life."
"If Teacher Ping Ping wants to see it like that, then, of course, Teacher Ping Ping can see it like that. But Jen, she see is like betrayal which means she hates you. In fact, you better hope she doesn't have an Emma voodoo doll."
I tell her to put the doll away. She says there's nothing to worry about, a friend of hers gave her the doll. Her friend actually gave her a whole box of dolls. "I use them all the time." She looks at the poster of the cultural center in South Africa. "You remember Rinaldo, how the team from Samson was about to get that contract instead of us."
"Si," Rinaldo says, "but then they get the food poisoning and---" His brown eyes open wide in amazement and newfound understanding. "You?"
Yesul nods. "Me and the dolls."
"Ahh, now I see why you wanted the pictures of the other team."
"How it works?" Gina asks.
Yesul explains the process. There are different kinds of voodoo dolls. On this one, you draw your enemy, or at least a likeness of your enemy, and then you take a pin, or anything sharp, and you jab. In my case, Yesul recommends I jab the arm area gently, just enough to disable Jen from picking up any sharp object.
"Here," Gina says, "Give me the doll. So, let us say I take this pen and on this doll I draw his dark curly hair and then I draw his dark eyes and his mouth. The same mouth, by the way, which told me he wasn't married and that he loved me. And then, after I finish with the mouth, I draw on the shirt with the blue stripes that his Mama gave him and that he wore on the day he tells me, Gina, I have a wife I forget to tell you about. Oh, and I just remembered, I have two kids I forget to tell you about." Gina looks at the doll lying on the conference table. She pulls out a small pair of scissors from her purse. "So now that I finish drawing this man, I take this scissors and I stab him here, and here, and here..."
Yesul says, "You see Teacher Ping Ping. Gina gets the point. Here, I have another doll. You take it and you draw."
I ask Yesul how many dolls she carries in her purse. "Enough to do serious damage to many people," she says. I take the doll she hands me and carefully put it in my purse. "I'll take care of Jen later," I say. "Right now we should focus on English. So? Where are we at with the profiles?"
How Anne reacts to my "betrayal":
Anne calls as I make my way to see Rosetta and Ms. Green. I am supposedly helping them with their c.v.'s, although neither one is looking for a new job. We are meeting at Frank's house since Rosetta is too lazy to come to Benton Valby. "You mean too tired," I said when she told me she was "too lazy". "Or maybe you mean too busy."
No, Rosetta means "too lazy." "What?" she says, "You think I'm like some immigrant and I don't know how to say what I mean."
"Let's face it, Emma," Anne now says, "Jen was bound to find out sooner or later. For one thing, you haven't mentioned Josh Keever for about three weeks. For another, there's a certain glow about you. It was just putting two and two together."
I tell Anne I still don't get it. Jen's seeing Bluey, Jen's living with Bluey (or at least she was up until two nights ago), Jen and Matt broke up six months ago... "Can you explain it?" I ask. "After all, it's not like I stole her boyfriend. He wasn't her boyfriend."
Anne looks at it somewhat more pragmatically. It isn't about whether or not Jen still has feelings for Matt, it's about a good friend not telling another good friend about a significant happening in her life. Also, according to Anne, I need to ask myself why I didn't tell Jen.
"Because up until a few days ago, there wasn't anything to tell."
Anne thinks about this for a few minutes. I can actually "hear" her thinking on the other end of the phone. She tells me it's all a question of interpretation. She tells me to think of it as an art work. She tells me to think of it as a Hermès shopping Bag.
"A Hermès shopping bag?"
"What do you think when you see someone carrying a Hermès shopping bag."
"I think they have too much money," I say. "I think they're being wasteful."
"That's one interpretation," she says, "Another is that the person carrying the bag expects the highest quality and appreciates workmanship. In other words, you see it one way, Jen sees it another."
"And you? How do you see it?"
Again I can hear Anne "thinking". "I'm too pragmatic," she finally says, "to really think about who's right and who's wrong. Honestly, the only thing I think about is what a waste of time and energy relationships are."
I tell Anne I have to go. I have an in-coming call from Stella who wants to know if I'm still alive. I tell her chances are good I'm alive, otherwise I wouldn't be talking to her, would I? "Just hold on until around dinner time, okay? I should be free by then."
I hang up and thank my lucky stars I have Stella to count on.
How Rosetta and Bibs react to my "betrayal":
Ms. Green can't make it, but Rosetta is ready for her first lesson. She has her dark, grey at the edges hair tied up in a bun and she's wearing an apron that reads, I’m Not Really Here so if You Need Anything, GET IT YOURSELF! She has a list of the kind of man she is looking for, but first she wants to talk to me about the "Jen situation".
The Jen situation. Why is it that anyone connected to Stella knows about the Jen situation?
The house phone rings. Rosetta has no intention of answering. The answering machine kicks in four rings later. It's Stella, telling Rosetta to pick up. "I know you're there," her voice can be heard on the machine, "Pick up, Rosetta. This is a matter of life and death. You make sure Emma is alive when she comes over for your lesson, or whatever it is, and you make sure she's alive when she leaves."
"Your cousin," Rosetta says, unplugging the phone, "Is not only a poutana housewrecker, she's also a genius. Anyway, about the Jen situation."
My phone, buzzing. I look at my screen. Stella. Stella texting me - Are you alive? No, I text back, Jumped off the George Washington ten minutes ago. I turn my phone off. I ask Rosetta how she knows about Jen. "Your poutana housewrecker of a cousin came racing in here earlier this morning and told me all about it. She told me not to let you have any knives and to follow you into the bathroom."
I try to explain to Rosetta how it's not how Stella says it is. "I didn't actually cheat with Jen's boyfriend," I begin.
Rosetta stops me. "Please," she says, "It's never the way that poutana housewrecker says it is. That girl, she has this thing with drama. Personally, I think you're the sanest one around here. Now, for my list. This is what I am looking for."
Rosetta slides a piece of paper over to me. It reads:
Things Rosetta's Man Must have:
- He must like my cooking.
- He must be at least six feet tall (not wide) and very good-looking
- His mama needs to be dead and buried. Also, he must have a death certificate to prove she is dead.
I ask Rosetta about this last one. She doesn't want any Mama's boy. The last time she dated, it was with a Mama's boy. "I ask him point blank, Is your mama dead. Yes, he tells me, she's dead. Finito. So finito she's not coming back. I say, Okay, then, you and me can get together. So we get together and I make him my lasagna and he says, It's good, Rosetta, but not as good as Mama's is. I pick up my butcher knife and I say, What do you mean is? I thought your mama was dead. Boy that man he run."
“I need a coffee.”
We look up to see Bibs who’s stopped in her tracks, clearly shocked to find me here in the middle of the day. She’s wearing a t-shirt that comes down to just below her waist and a pair of bright pink thongs.
"Emma's helping me find a man," Rosetta says, "So get your own coffee."
“Tell me this is a bad dream,” Bibs says, "Because I'm pretty sure I just heard you say Emily is helping you find a man."
“That's what I say, alright,” Rosetta says. She looks at me and tells me to add, "Must be very rich", to the list.
Bibs closes her large blue/green eyes, then opens them again. “Let me get this straight? You're looking for a husband?"
"No, not a husband. A lover."
"Then you shouldn't be talking to Emily. You should be talking to me." Bibs blinks a few more times as her eyes adjust to the daylight. She looks at me. "By the way, rich guy's kid phoned. She wanted to know if you were alive. Anyway, I told her I'd check, assuming I remembered. Apparently, you and I have something in common - we go after other people's boyfriends. Well, actually, you go after other people's boyfriends, I go after their husbands. Rosetta, I really need a coffee." Bibs sits at the kitchen table with us.
“Should I call the police?” she addresses this question to me.
"Why?"
"Because I was just thinking that if you do kill yourself, it could get messy and Rosetta is lousy at housecleaning."
"Me?" Rosetta says, "What about you, Miss I-can't-make-my-own-coffee."
"A simple coffee. Would it kill you to make it?"
“Forget it,” Rosetta says. “Number one, you are wasting my find-a-man-time. Number two, I get you a coffee, then Emma asks me for a glass of water and then where does it end?”
“Fine," Bibs says, "How do you make coffee?”
Rosetta sighs. She gets up, walks over and gives Bibs a poke before sitting down again.
“What was that for?” Bibs says.
“To see if you were real,” Rosetta says.
“Have you noticed, Emily, how she’s always poking me? I told Rich Guy, but he thinks it’s my imagination.”
“Uhmm, I’m not Emily.”
"Whatever," Bibs says, "Now how about you get me a coffee and I help Rosetta get a man."
How Justin and the crew at Council Member Young react to my "betrayal":
If you don't know about it, then you don't react. Besides, Heart and Justin are too busy bonding to notice whether or not my face is less "smiley" than usual.
How Kate reacts to my "betrayal":
"Really, quick, Emma, are you okay?"
I tell her I'm fine. I'm in the middle of answering more e-mails for Council Member Young. She says not to worry about Jen, she'll "get over it".
I tell her I have to get back to work. She does as well.
How Shelby reacts to my "betrayal":
Billionaire babe has dropped from the face of this earth. She can't find him anywhere, not India, not London, not anywhere. "This is sort of an awkward question," she says, "But you don't have anything to do with his disappearance, do you?"
I ask Shelby if she's crazy.
"Not crazy," Shelby says, "Just worried. After all, you know what they say. Once a cheater, always a cheater."
I explain how that saying has nothing to do with me. It's about cheating boyfriends and husbands. Shelby says, "Cheating doesn't gender disciminate," which is probably the most intelligent thing she has said in a while, even if it doesn't apply to my life.
How Matt reacts to my "betrayal":
Matt's invited me to his house for dinner. He lives in Astoria, in a small one bedroom. The apartment is on the second floor of a four floor building. There is no elevator and the first floor is completely occupied by a Greek restaurant called Naxos whose outdoor terrace is packed by the time I get there around six thirty.
He lets me in. He has on a chef's hat which he takes off ceremoniously as he steps aside to let me in. He's changed into a pair of jeans, a loose oxford, and he's barefoot. There's a couch, two oversized bean bags, a small fireplace which Matt tells me works, and a table which is set for two. The door to the bedroom is closed. The windows are open and we can hear the laughter and talk of the patrons sitting on the outdoor terrace two floors below. The whole apartment smells of curry and onion. I am suddenly starving.
"Hope you like Indian," Matt says. "I'm making Chole and Palak Paneer."
I ask him if he needs any help in the kitchen. "You can open this bottle of wine," he says. He points with his chin to a cabinet where he keeps the wine glasses.
I sip wine while he finishes preparing the dishes. The naan bread is bought, he tells me, as is the onion bhaji.
"I got a call from Jen," he says as we sit down.
I wonder what shows on my face. Does the tightness I feel in my stomach show? Does the apprehension of what he will say next show? He sets down the plates and makes his way over to me. "You don't have anything to be sorry about, Emma," he says. He lifts my chin up so I am looking at him. "Jen and I were through a long time ago. It's not like you needed her permission to date me." He leans down and kisses me. I kiss him back, my arms around his neck as I draw him in closer. Matt's right, I tell myself, I don't need to ask Jen for permission.
The subject of Jen doesn't come up again. By the time Matt takes me home, he has a motorcycle and two extra helmets, I have forgotten about Jen.
How Ax reacts to my "betrayal":
Ax has waited up for me. Yes she has a "life-changing, possibly noble-prize-worthy project" to work on, but I am her sister and, after speaking with Stella, she figured she better talk to me just to make sure I'm okay.
"I'm fine, Ax, really. Don't listen to anything Stella said. You know how crazy she can get."
Ax tells me not to worry about Jen, she and Linny will take care of it.
“Take care of what, Ax? What are you talking about?”
“We know people,” she says, “More importantly, we know people who know people.”
I look at my sister because seriously, who talks like this? It’s like I leave the insanity of my day only to enter the insanity of home where my parents and Ax are the resident nutcases.
“You need to stop watching so much TV,” I tell her. “You're getting crazier than Stella. You need to get a life.”
“You think I’m kidding?” Ax says. “You’d be in shock with who I know.”
I’m trying hard to think of who Ax knows. Linny. Ax knows Linny. Linny the wanna-be Vampire Slayer. I feel better already.
“Do me a favor, Ax? Don’t tell Linny about this. The last thing I need is for Linny to go after Jen with a knife.” I hold up a finger to signal one moment to Ax. Another text from Stella.
Have you killed yourself?
Not yet, I text back, But am seriously thinking about it.
Don't do it. Jen isn't worth it.
Not Jen who'se pushing me to the brink. It's you.
Oh.