Hot Desk: A Novel - 14
While Rebecca sipped her 6 p.m. cocktail with Mimi and Jane, she could spy the neatly folded blankets and pillow next to the couch where she was supposed to sleep for a few nights. The couch was narrow, slippery, and perhaps stuffed with straw. It had been a slightly taxing early evening for Jane an...
While Rebecca sipped her 6 p.m. cocktail with Mimi and Jane, she could spy the neatly folded blankets and pillow next to the couch where she was supposed to sleep for a few nights. The couch was narrow, slippery, and perhaps stuffed with straw. It had been a slightly taxing early evening for Jane and Mimi as they reviewed photos of grandchildren and great-grandchildren and shared their high hopes for Rebecca’s future. The point was, Rebecca thought, everyone needed a stiff drink in a tiny glass.
Turning to Mimi she said, “I’m sure Mom told you she hasn’t seen Rose Adams in a million years. Did she tell you why? Did she tell you what happened today at the town house when they first laid eyes on each other after those million years? Because she certainly hasn’t told me.”
“Told you what, dear?” asked Mimi.
“Sweetheart,” her mom responded. “Seeing Rose was overwhelming. I’m still processing everything. And we are having dinner together. You can ask us questions, I promise.”
Rebecca didn’t like the sound of this “us.” In the past week or so, it had become apparent that while Rebecca’s life was an open book to her mother, fair game for all kinds of queries and judgments, Jane did not feel obligated to return the favor. And now that Rebecca was asking the questions—plenty of them—Jane was the one resisting, hedging, withholding.
“Stella dropped off a Greek platter earlier, so don’t worry about my dinner,” Mimi announced, clearly not opposed to their worrying. “She marinates the chicken in an oregano-yogurt sauce before she cooks it, and the texture is sublime.” Had she not heard Jane and Rebecca, or was she making sure they knew she would be eating alone? Or both?
“Mimi, I’m going to make you and Stella famous,” Rebecca said loudly. “You’re going to have your own TikTok account and then we’ll take over YouTube.”
“TikTok? Honestly, Rebecca,” Jane said disapprovingly.
“I just watched an old lady with literally half of Mimi’s personality stand there making chapatis and she has millions of followers!”
“Old lady?” Suddenly Mimi’s hearing had improved.
“Millions of people have nothing better to do? This is why reading literacy is plummeting in this country,” Jane scolded.
“And we’re also going to start a YouTube channel for you and Stella,” Rebecca continued, ignoring her mother. “You’ll be an influencer in no time. Then brands and companies and music producers and all kinds of people will pay you to promote products and songs and places. The next thing you know, you’ll be hiring a private car and driver to squire you about town.”
“Well, that does sound as though it would keep me busy!” Mimi said agreeably. “Although I don’t need a private car now that you showed me how Youbert works.”
“Uber, Mimi. U-B-E-R.” Rebecca was not at all confident that her Uber app lesson had been absorbed, but fortunately Mimi still enjoyed hailing a taxi by waving an umbrella, which she carried in her capacious purse, rain or shine.
“It was wonderful to glimpse Stella,” Jane said. “She came by just before you got home. She was telling some incredible stories about the family she works for—and it sounds as though she and Miles are doing well.”
“I know, it’s crazy. Miles is great but he’s never around. He’s super-busy.” Rebecca waited, one, two, three, and…
“Are you seeing anyone these days? How is that lawyer?”
It was unclear how much Jane knew about what had happened with Max, and Mimi refused to catch Rebecca’s eye, instead busying herself with the last of the olives.
“Nope, nope, nope.” Rebecca stood up to gather the glasses. “Free and single, yay.”
“I approve,” Jane volunteered, unasked. “The more time you devote to your career at this stage, the more it will pay off down the line.”
“I never thought that lawyer was good enough for Rebecca,” Mimi revealed.
“So I’ve heard.” Rebecca turned and looked over her shoulder. “Mom, we need to get going. Fifteen minutes, okay?”
“Now, that doesn’t mean there’s not a wonderful young man out there who is just right for her,” Mimi went on. “In my day, we weren’t afraid to say ‘soulmates.’ ”
“Fortunately, Rebecca lives in a day and age when her worth can be measured by more than her good fortune in finding a soulmate,” Jane replied tartly.
Rebecca paused until she was certain this familiar throw down had led to a noncontentious discussion, then went to change for dinner and to text Stella.
Rebecca:
thanks for the chicken—how was seeing jane?
your abiding love with miles and soon-to-be rocketing career used as bludgeon
Stella:
easy to please jane if you’re not her daughter
Rebecca:
jane not telling me anything about rose
Stella:
she did seem distracted
Rebecca:
wtf should I expect at this dinner
Stella:
patience is a virtue
Rebecca:
NOT ONE OF MINE also almost got fired today after mtg debacle in nitro brew place by subway
Stella:
everyone’s so mean in there!!
Rebecca:
desk share guy revealed as expected to be a complete ass
Stella:
gabe said he was hot
Rebecca:
that’s according to mrs. singh! unreliable!!
Stella:
well?
Rebecca:
had his camera off like a sniveling coward
Stella:
idk but i feel sparks
Rebecca:
UGH NO
Stella:
you need to get back in there
Rebecca:
I BEG YOU TO STOP
Stella:
Rebecca:
think you need to see miles soon
ok i have to go to world’s most awkward dinner now
my true paternity revealed
kind of nervous tbh
Stella:
Rebecca:
thank you for your support
Stella:
talk tonight ily
Rose had already arrived. Bruno, the restaurant’s proprietor, who had known Rebecca since she was a child visiting Mimi, ushered them to “the best tavola in the house: very privato !” Rebecca let her mom go first. She watched Rose’s face light up as she stood and moved toward Jane. They hugged for a long time. Long enough to make Bruno uncomfortable. “May I bring some vino? Would the signore care to sit down?”
The signore did finally sit down, and Rebecca went to the bathroom to give them a chance to speak alone. They hardly seemed to notice her leaving but huddled together on the banquette. Rebecca peed, washed her hands, and texted Gabe.
Rebecca:
possible that jane and rose are in love?
Gabe:
I KNEW IT
Rebecca:
settle down
v intense tho
ok need to go back and see wtf is going on
Gabe:
Back at the table, Jane and Rose were deep in conversation. Mercifully someone had seen fit to order a bottle of wine that Bruno was pouring. Rebecca sat down across from them like a couple’s therapist or a bank officer reviewing a loan. “Well, cheers!” she said, lifting her glass as soon as Bruno filled it. “Let’s drink to…” She looked expectantly across the table. Had both of them been crying? Rebecca couldn’t remember the last time she had seen her unsentimental mother cry.
“Friendship,” Rose answered, raising her glass.
“Looking forward, not backward,” Jane added. “To reconnecting.”
“To always being connected, no matter what,” Rose said meaningfully.
“To friendship!” Rebecca clinked her glass against Rose’s, then Jane’s. They all took a sip, and Rebecca seized her moment. “So I would love to know what’s going on. Like, why you haven’t seen each other in so long and why I have no idea about any of it?” She looked pointedly at Jane. Jane wiped her eyes with a napkin. Rebecca motioned for Bruno to bring garlic bread and caprese, the usual.
“Years ago,” Jane began, and Rebecca nodded encouragingly, “we worked at the East River Review together. We were interns… Rose was a writer, a model, a wonderful editor—”
“And your mother,” Rose interrupted, “is an amazing writer!”
Rebecca remembered what Rose had said at the town house. Was Jane an amazing writer? “Mom?”
“I did think I was going to be a writer,” Jane admitted. “It was such an exhilarating world to be part of… We were around writers and writing all day, all night. It’s hard to explain how it was the air we breathed. Everywhere we went in the city, we were talking about books, about art; we were reading everything… I remember all of it!” Jane concluded passionately. Who was this emotional woman impersonating her mother? Or could it be that her sensible, even-keeled mother had been the lie? When Rebecca thought of her mother’s life before her, it was a self-described slog of raising twin boys and waiting for the day her beautiful daughter arrived. This was a narrative that served Rebecca well, she realized, and, frankly, she was not proud that she had swallowed it whole and never looked beyond it. “Your story about the motorcycle, the job in Paris,” Jane continued, turning to Rose. “I read it in The New Yorker .”
“Your fingerprints were all over it,” Rose claimed. “You were the one who suggested the cat! You shaped that last paragraph.” She took a breath. “I thought maybe you would call after that. I understand now why you didn’t.”
There was a long pause while Bruno deposited the bread and caprese, read the room, and left without insisting on a dinner order. The one who suggested the cat? Rebecca poured everyone another glass of wine. When would she understand why Jane hadn’t called?
“I wish I had,” Jane said. She picked up her water glass and set it back down without drinking. “And now I’m old. It’s been so long.”
“You look exactly the same,” Rose said lovingly.
“You’re very generous.” Jane laughed, almost shyly, her eyes damp.
“Oh, we were so young!” Rose exclaimed.
“Remember how old everyone else seemed? Susan Sontag was ancient!”
“She must have been in her forties then.”
“And Tama Janowitz—the height of cool! But she was only a year or two older than we were—”
“And when we went to deliver manuscripts to Patti Smith at the Chelsea. And all those nights at the Odeon…” Rose was gathering steam. “That little room under the stairs! What we got up to in there, my god. Everyone smoking everywhere. Those amazing fries!”
“When Jay McInerney kept buying us drinks.” Jane laughed. “In that trench coat he never took off. Years before Bright Lights, Big City !”
“I was telling your daughter a little about it,” Rose said, and they both looked at Rebecca, not quite seeing her. Rebecca often met Gabe and Tor for drinks (and fries) at the Odeon, where it was still open on West Broadway.
“Teddy’s tab at Elaine’s…” Jane began again. “The fight with Mailer that time.”
“When Teddy would storm into the East River Review office and yell, ‘Daddy’s home!’ ” Rose and Jane burst out laughing. Then Rose sobered. “How did we stand for it, let alone reward it?”
“We all thought it was charming, didn’t we? We were all a little bit in love with him, weren’t we?”
“We were,” Rose said. “I was obliviously in love with him.”
“When we were upstairs reading through the slush pile, and he would come down in his boxers and challenge people to play pool…” Jane paused.
Rebecca perked up. She had been entranced by the parade of famous 1980s names and places and entertained by the glimpse of their lives at the East River Review . But now the tone had shifted, become more fraught, and she sensed something was going to be revealed. Bruno slowed the momentum by appearing tableside and reciting the specials even though they never ordered anything but the linguine alle vongole and a side of sautéed spinach with garlic. There was a short discussion about the osso buco, but Rose quickly fell in line, and Bruno was sent away with three identical orders and a request for another bottle of wine. Rebecca knew they were making progress toward the heart of the rift, and as much as she was nervous about what might be uncovered, she was eager to know. “In his boxers?” she prompted her mother. “That doesn’t sound HR approved.”
“Yes,” her mother said slowly. “This time… the pertinent time… Rose had gone to Paris for the Armani show. The week of a crazy April blizzard.” She paused again.
“Will you tell me about what happened then?” Rebecca prodded. “Why it’s been so long since you’ve seen each other?”
Jane looked at Rebecca. “I was good at pool.” More surprising information , thought Rebecca. And possible non sequitur? “But I was overconfident. Teddy loved a wager. He was still married to Clara but already falling in love with Rose.”
“Wait, hold up,” Rebecca interrupted. “He was married ?”
“Oh yes, to his second wife, Clara, Atticus’s mother,” Rose answered. “His first marriage, to the French actress Marielle Martine, ended when they were quite young. And Clara had Atticus after Teddy and I were together. As you could have read in the tabloids, their divorce was messy and took forever. Atticus was so young. I was so young! And then Clara got breast cancer. It was hard for years.”
“What about you, Mom? What happened? Why did you leave?”
Jane put her hand on Rebecca’s arm. “This is hard to talk about, even now.”
Rebecca squeezed her mom’s fingers, then let go. She looked across the table at Jane and Rose, and waited.