Something fell in the back of the room, clattering when it hit the floor. “Gus?” I said.
“Sorry to scare you. It’s me,” Sammie trilled. “Is Nigel with you? Tanya’s looking for him.”
I glanced at Nigel, concerned that Sammie may have heard us. But he seemed unfazed as he excused himself to go look for our boss.
“Are you guys packing up the Hepburn show?” Sammie asked. “Can I help? I need to learn how to do that.”
“Gosh. Darn it,” I said. “You’re too late. We just finished.”
Just One of Those Things
WHEN I ARRIVED AT my old apartment that night, I realized I’d forgotten the key.
I pressed my neighbor’s buzzer since I wasn’t sure Alessandro would let me in.
“Who is it?” Mrs. Levine said through the intercom.
“It’s me, Holly. I lost my key. Can you let me in?”
“You do this all the time, Holly. You’re disturbing Herman’s nap.”
“I’m sorry, but please be a dear and let me in.”
The latch clicked and I entered the ancient vestibule and bounded up the stairs.
A door opened from two flights below. Looking down, I saw a cloud of brassy-colored hair attached to an old woman who was shaking her fist and yelling, “Holly, not so loud! You’ll wake Herman. And get another key.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Levine.”
“Herman’s an artist. He needs his rest. If it happens again, I won’t let you in.”
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Levine, there won’t be a next time.”
Upstairs, I checked under the mat, where I had recently stashed my spare key. Bingo! To my great relief, Alessandro hadn’t changed the locks. I opened the door and found him asleep on the couch wearing only his Simpsons boxers. His face was unshaven, but the Skid Row stubble didn’t look cool on him like it did on Ryan Seacrest. His skin had taken on a chalky sheen. There were empty cans of soda and beer strewn around, a bong, and Twinkie wrappers on the couch. Dirty dishes and pots were stacked in the kitchen.
“Alessandro?”
Slowly, he emerged from what must have been a deep slumber. “What time is it?”
I checked my watch. “About seven fifteen.”
“A.M. or P.M.?”
“Night.”
He shook his head to wake himself. Then he sat up. “Why haven’t you returned my calls? Have you canceled the wedding plans yet?”
I dropped the binder on the coffee table. “I’m leaving the country next week. You’ll have to do it yourself.”
Alessandro sat up. “I…wha…no…I don’t have time.”
I looked around, my eyebrows raised. “Yes, I can see how busy you are.”
“You lost Kitty,” Alessandro said.
“Who told you?”
“There are flyers all over the neighborhood.”
“We’ll find her. You’re not back on Broadway.”
“How’d you know?”
“You’re here and it’s after call time.”
He frowned. “They cited the morals clause and fired me. Disney won’t allow accused sex offenders to act in their plays. Bastards.”
“Gee, what a surprise. Well, that’ll give you incentive to work really hard to cancel these contracts,” I said, pointing to the notebook. “The deposits are on your AmEx card. If I were you, I’d get right on it. You’re on the line for upward of fifty grand.”
Alessandro gulped. “Shit! How could you spend so much?”
I sat on the only chair I could find that was clear of Alessandro’s debris. “That’s what weddings cost these days. You agreed to everything. See.” I opened the notebook and pointed to his signature on one of the contracts.
“Fu-uck,” Alessandro said, falling back into prone position. “Why didn’t you sign?”
I shrugged. “Because I only have a debit card and there’s no money in my checking account. Anyway, they only needed one signature.” Alessandro looked so lost that I almost felt sorry for him. Then I remembered that he cheated. He dumped me. By text message. I was not the villain here. “Oh, this is for you,” I added, slapping a pink piece of paper on the table.
“What is it?”
“A pawn shop receipt. They gave me two thousand for the ring. You can buy it back anytime in the next ninety days for two grand plus interest.”
Alessandro blew off the couch like a geyser. He grabbed my arms and shook them hard. “That ring cost twelve thousand dollars!” he screamed. “How could you do that to me?”
I pushed him away. “I can’t go on a cruise without cash in my pocket.”
“You’re going on vacation while I’m facing criminal charges? While I’m out of work? While I’m trying to rescind God knows how many contracts for our wedding? While I have to pay two thousand dollars to get back the engagement ring that’s rightfully mine out of hock? What kind of bitch are you?” he spat.
I smiled. “I’m the bitch you almost married, Alessandro. And don’t expect me to feel sorry for you, because I don’t. Good luck and good riddance.”
My heart was beating so fast I could barely catch my breath as I raced the four flights downstairs and out the front door. Alessandro and I were so over. I couldn’t remember what had made me love him. And that was just sad.
As I walked down the street where I lived for the last time, I inhaled deeply through my nose and chanted “oms” to calm myself. Alessandro broke up with me, I reasoned. He should clean up the mess. I kept two thousand dollars from the ring. Big deal. Alessandro could redeem it, sell it, and have ten thousand left over. That was more than fair. I am not a bitch. I am not a bitch. Om, om, om. So what if I am a bitch? Who cares? I am sick of being Little Miss Doris Day Nicey-poo. Om, om, om.
Anything Goes
ENTERING THE WORLD OF Muttropolis cheered me immensely. It was filled with my Lower East Side neighbors and their dogs enjoying yappy hour, a weekly favorite among customers and canines alike. The air smelled of freshly baked cookies mixed with dog odor. My friend BL was serving tea and pastries
