At five thirty, she met Hillary at McFadden’s at Forty- second and Second. It was the typical midtown after- work bar- lots of suits and ties, lots of uptight people desperately trying to let loose, businessmen calling each other “bro” and “dude.” Marissa felt like she was on a different planet, but Hillary, who had an entry- level marketing job at some ad agency, seemed right at home, smiling, waving, saying hi and even hugging people as she entered. Marissa and Hillary had been best friends for years, but lately Marissa felt like they’d been drifting apart. She hoped it was just a phase, though, that Hillary would eventually get over this whole trying- to- act- like- a-yuppie kick and return to acting like her normal self.
Hillary hugged Marissa hello; then Marissa said, “God, I need a drink so badly. Something strong.”
They found seats at the bar and ordered cosmos,“heavy on the vodka.” Hillary had already read about the robbery on Marissa’s blog, but Marissa retold the story anyway.
“Oh my God, that must’ve been so horrifying,” Hillary said.
“It gets worse,” Marissa said, her voice cracking.
Hillary, like all of Marissa’s friends, had known Gabriela. It was almost like Gabriela had been a part of the Bloom family.
When Marissa told Hillary about Gabriela being killed and probably being involved in the robbery, Hillary started to cry, and Marissa cried with her. Hillary said all the expected things-I can’t believe it, it’s not possible, she was soyoung- as they continued to sob together.
Finally Marissa said, “Maybe we should stop crying, this is a happy hour after all,” but the attempt at an icebreaking joke didn’t even get a smirk from Hillary.
“It’s so horrible that you have to go through all of this,” Hillary said.
“Yeah, I know it sucks,” Marissa said. “My mom’s worried that the guy who shot Gabriela’s still out there, but I’m not really worried about that. I’m sure the cops’ll catch him.”
“God, I certainly hope so,” Hillary said.
Marissa sipped her drink, then said, “I was so happy when you said you could meet up. It’s been a total nightmare at home. My mother’s angry, so she’s snapping at my father, and, of course, my father’s taking it out on me, as usual. He actually said I have to stop drinking and smoking in the house, treating me like I’m some kind of party animal or something. Meanwhile, I barely smoke or drink at all. But their fighting, that’s the worst. I swear, it was like when I was a teenager all over again. I really don’t know what’s wrong with them. If they can’t get along and can’t stand the sight of each other, why don’t they just get divorced?”
Suddenly Hillary’s eyes widened, and Marissa could tell something was wrong.
“What is it?” Marissa asked.
“Nothing, never mind,” Hillary said and took a sip of her drink.
“Come on, what is it? Is it about Gabriela?”
“No.”
“Then what is it? Come on, you have to tell me.”
“It’s really not important.”
“Come on, just tell me.”
“It’s nothing,” Hillary said. “I shouldn’t’ve said anything.”
“You didn’t say anything yet. Come on, now you have to tell me.”
Hillary took another sip of her drink, breathed deeply, then said, “It’s just… It’s about your mother.”
“My mother?”
“See? I shouldn’t’ve opened my big mouth.”
“What about her?”
“I mean, with what you’re going through now and every-”
“Come on, just tell me already.”
Hillary waited several seconds, as if trying to or ganize her thoughts, then said, “I heard her and my mom talking the other night. They didn’t think I was home, but I heard them from upstairs.”
“What were they talking about?”
“I’m sorry. I mean, I didn’t want to tell you, but-”
“Is it something bad?”
“No. I mean, not bad bad.”
“Is my mom sick?”
“No, God no, nothing like that.”
“Then what is it?”
“It’s just she’s… well, she’s… cheating on your dad.”
Marissa couldn’t believe it. “My mother?”
“Sorry, I didn’t want to tell you, especially not now when-”
“You sure you didn’t misunderstand something?”
“Positive. She was talking about how it’s been going on for months and she keeps wanting to break it off but she can’t.”
For months?
“With who?” Marissa asked.
“You know him,” Hillary said.
“Oh God, who?”
“Tony.”
“Who’s Tony?”
“You know- Tony, that trainer guy at New York Sports Club.”
It took a few moments to register then Marissa said, “You mean that big guy with the thick Bronx accent?”
Hillary nodded uncomfortably.
“You’re kidding me, right?” Marissa said.
“Swear to God,” Hillary said. “See? I shouldn’t’ve told you.”
Marissa saw a flash of her mom and Tony together- naked. It was kind of funny.
“Who would’ve thought?” Marissa said. “My mom and a bodybuilder. Good for her.”
“Wait, you’re not upset?”
“Upset? Why would I be upset? If I was my mom I would’ve cheated on my dad years ago. Maybe my parents’ll finally get divorced, put all of us out of our misery.” She finished her cosmo in one gulp, then added, “Honestly, this is by far the best news I’ve heard all day.”
seven
Johnny Long was walking uptown on Eighth Avenue, on his way back from Slate, a pool hall in Chelsea where he’d hustled a hundred- something bucks off some drunken stockbroker, heading toward the touristy bars around Times Square, where he hoped to find a decent- looking woman to screw and rob, when the rain started. It was coming down hard, lightning and thundering, and didn’t seem to be letting up. He waited it out for a while under an awning, then dashed across the street to the Molly Wee Pub on Thirtieth and Eighth, figuring he’d wait out the storm there.
When he entered the Irish bar, he noticed five women checking him out. This wasn’t unusual; women checked him out wherever he went. His looks had always been his biggest asset and his biggest liability. It was great to look hot when he wanted to pick up a woman, but during a stretch at Rikers being known as “Johnny Pretty,”“J. Lo” and- the worst-“Jenny from the Block” had caused him seven and a half months of total hell.
Johnny often got mistaken for Johnny Depp, and not just because they had the same first name. He was bigger than Depp, more muscular, but their faces looked alike- both had that sleepy, washed- out look- especially when he let strands of his longish, greasy dark hair fall over his light blue eyes. He also got mistaken for Jared Leto every once in a while, or one of the other guys in 30 Seconds to Mars.
He sat at the bar, ordered a club soda with a wedge of lime- he didn’t touch alcohol- and checked out his options. Two of the women were with guys- not impossible, but it made things a little harder, and he wasn’t in the mood for hard. So it was down to the thin girl with dark hair who was at the table with a group of friends, the girl with dark curly hair or her blond friend at the end of the bar, or the older blonde who was alone at a table near the door. He wasn’t attracted to any of the women, not that that mattered.
He sipped his club soda and looked up at the basketball game on TV, deciding to let fate decide for him. It would save him some work, and besides, the odds of picking up a woman were much better when he let the woman make the first move. If he went over to one of the women his chances would still be very good, but it would require much more charm and effort, and if it turned out the woman was married or had a serious boyfriend there was a chance Johnny wouldn’t be able to pull it off. But he knew if he did nothing, just sat and waited for a woman to come over to him, he would almost definitely score.
Although he wasn’t looking at any of the women, he could feel their eyes on him. He just knew that they wanted him so badly, that they were just dying to be with a hot guy like him, a Johnny Depp look- alike, for chrissake. At one point, he looked casually beyond the bartender and in the mirror behind the bar saw that the blonde and the girl with the dark curly hair were still looking in his direction, obviously talking about him. The dark- haired girl was probably saying something like “God, he’s so cute,” and the friend was egging her on, saying, “Go ahead, talk to him, what’re you waiting for?” That was the way it always happened. It was so predictable it was almost boring.