Just North of Whoville (4 page)

“
Okay. Sure. No problem,” I said casually, just trying to get out of there as quickly as possible.

“
And Dorrie, I’m sorry I came down so hard on you. But I think you’ve got potential in this business. How does that grab you?”

“
Um…okay. Sure.”

I didn’t want anything in that office to grab me. And then she looked at my shirt.

“
Is that cat hair?”

Back in the reception area, Deb was surveying Timmy with a hawk’s eye.

“
Timmy! What have you done?”

“
Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod… I knew it!”

“
Don’t you worry. Deb’s going to make it all better,” she soothed, as she put her arm around him and led him off for the kill.

I had to get out of this job. Was I being groomed to become part of the ABC Team? I was sick thinking I might have to resort to fully participating in their chicanery. What dark, hidden traits had she detected in my personality that would lead her believe I could be her partner in crime?

As I sat there at my desk, panic set in. I couldn’t breathe. Like lead weights were nailed to my chest. Was this a panic attack? I’d heard about those. Or maybe a heart attack? Whatever it was, it wasn’t good. I’d better call 911. No. They’re busy people there. Maybe I should just call Mom. Or anybody. Just somebody who cared. I pulled out my cell phone and saw I had a text. It was from my friend Steve. For some reason, just getting a text message allowed me to breathe. There was someone out there who cared about me. At least sort of.

Steve O’Brien was an actor I’d worked with a few years ago on an off-off-off Broadway play. He had an Irish father and a Korean mother---this guaranteed that he was stopped by Homeland Security on a regular basis.

“
R we still meeting 4 lunch?” the text read.

Steve and I weren’t dating. God no. We weren’t even really friends. Not in that close friendship sense. We were theatre pals. After the short run of the show, we’d run into each other at different plays and theatre gatherings. But he was born and raised in New York, so his request to meet for lunch probably meant he wanted something. Steve could be a bit self-involved. But without a huge social life, I agreed to meet him at the halal lunch cart down the street after one of his auditions.

At the very least, it gave me the opportunity to vent. And it didn’t help that workmen all around us were stringing up Christmas lights in almost eighty degree weather.

Oh---I was on fire.

“
Apparently I should be putting prompt, organized and Caucasian on my resume because those seem to be the only skills I have that anyone values.”

“
Okay, your boss is an idiot,” Steve offered, “and that place is one anonymous tip to the Better Business Bureau away from shutting down. Call your temp agency.”

“
I don’t have an agency. I just answered an ad for a temp. I’ve been in New York for four years and this is the best I can do?”

“
I’ve got a job for you.”

I knew it. He wanted something. Everyone in New York wants something.

“
Does it pay?” I asked. After four years, I’d learned to be a bit sassy, too.

“
It’s an opportunity.”

I audibly sighed. I’d had it up to here with “opportunities”.

“
Will you direct my show at The Albatross Theatre?”

The Albatross was at least a halfway decent theatre, so I gave “opportunity” a chance.

“
What is it?”

“
A stage version of
It’s a Wonderful Life
.”

“
A Christmas show? Oh, just kill me now.”

“
Come on,” Steve pleaded as sauce from his gyro dripped down his shirt. “You have to do it.”

“
Why?”

“
Because…” and then he fessed up. “Everyone else is going home for Christmas.”

“
I might be going home.”

“
Do you have your ticket?”

“
What are you, my mother? It’s only the day after Halloween. And look what they’re doing!” I began to wail as I waved my arms in the general direction of the workmen. “Christmas lights! I swear it starts earlier every year!”

Steve looked confused, but just kept going.

“
I’m playing George Bailey.”

“
So…it’s an Arab
It’s a Wonderful Life
?” I teased.

“
Oh you’re funny.”

“
Look, I don’t know. I’ll think about it. I’m just not in the Christmas Spirit. And you kind of need it for that show.”

“
Maybe it will help put you in the Christmas Spirit.”

“
Nice try. Although it would give me something to tell Celia tonight. I’m supposed to meet her and her boyfriend Alex for dinner. It’s a free dinner so I can’t turn that down right now. But I feel like I’d rather sit home and eat instant mashed potatoes or something. I just feel like such a failure every time we get together.”

“
She’s your friend. She doesn’t care if you’re doing a show on Broadway or in a basement in Brooklyn. She just wants to see you.”

He was right. I still thought he was a self-involved actor, but he was right.

“
I know. But every time I see her I’m congratulating her on something. ‘Congratulations on your new account! Congratulations on your write-up in The Times! Congratulations on your new apartment!’ I don’t think her life could get any more perfect.”

That evening, as Celia, Alex and I sat over dinner; he pulled out a huge diamond ring and proposed.

Once again, congratulations were in order.

3

“
Yes! Yes!” Celia leaned over the table to kiss Alex as she accepted his proposal. Right on cue, a waiter appeared with a bottle of champagne and two glasses.

“
Oh,” Alex looked at me like the third wheel, and then turned to the waiter. “Can you bring another glass? I didn’t know we’d have a guest tonight.”

“
Very good, sir,” the waiter shuffled off as Celia admired her new ring.

“
Well…I wasn’t expecting this, either,” I said as nicely as I could. “Sorry I’m intruding on…all this.”

“
Oh, sweetie, don’t be silly!” Celia beamed. “I’m so happy you’re here! Yay!”

“
Yay,” I chimed in. “Well….congratulations!”

And there was some kind of group hug thing going on till Alex’s phone rang.

“
Shit. Sorry, ladies,” Alex apologized. “The Japanese market just opened. I gotta take this.” But he let it ring one more time while he kissed her again and spoke from his gut, “God, you’re gorgeous.”

Celia smiled shyly at the floor. Then he picked up the phone and got to business.

“
Hey! Sukiyaki George! Yesterday was fucking Hiroshima so please give me some good news…” he began his business call as he stepped outside.

I looked at Celia. She really was happy. Even with all the wonderful things that had happened for her, I’d never seen her glow like this. It was a really special moment in her life. And all my silly little problems just went out the window. Strangely, we’d never been particular friends in school. But over the past two years, we’d practically become sisters. I couldn’t help it; I just started to cry. And then she cried. And then we both laughed that we were crying. During our teary giggles, the waiter showed up with another glass.

“
Oh. No…no. I should go,” I smiled. “Tonight is for you guys.”

“
Oh, please stay,” she begged. “Have some champagne. Besides, you have to tell Alex about that leak.”

“
You just got engaged. A leaky roof isn’t very romantic.”

“
Everything’s romantic when you’re engaged,” Celia giggled. “I’m engaged! I’m engaged! I can’t believe I’m engaged!”

She was giddy. It was a sweet, child-like side of Celia she rarely let out. She wiped the tears from her eyes and checked her face in the silver champagne chiller.

“
Do I look okay?” she smiled.

I think it was the first time I’d ever heard Celia concerned about her appearance. She always looked effortlessly perfect. Damn her.

“
You look beautiful,” I answered. The woman was blessed. You want to hate her, but you just can’t. I guess if you have it all, you have no reason to be mean. Nice came naturally. She wouldn’t know how to be anything else.

“
I predict you’re going to be next,” she hinted with a smile.

“
No. I don’t think so. A hundred things need to happen in my life before that rolls around.”

“
Okay then---Thing Number One. Fix Dorrie’s Roof.”

“
Sorry I had to dash away from my lovely lady,” Alex apologized as he sat back down.

“
Honey,” Celia sweetly smiled, “Dorrie’s got a leak.”

“
In the apartment, I hope,” he laughed.

“
Silly! Yes. In the apartment.”

“
It’s not that big a deal…” I demurred.

“
Dorrie,” Celia stepped up, “you shouldn’t have to empty buckets every time it rains.”

“
That bad, huh?” Alex asked.

“
Well….it’s getting there. Oh,” I added as I rummaged thru my purse. “I have a rent check for you.”

As an illegal sublease, I paid my rent directly to Alex. He, in turn, paid the landlord with a check of his own. No one the wiser.

“
Are you sure you’re okay?” Celia asked as I searched the depths of my bag for the check.

“
I’m fine. Really,” I explained, suddenly worried I might have left the check on my desk, which would make Celia really concerned about my financial state.

“
Here it is!” I happily declared as I found the check being used as a bookmark in a volume on the History of Puppetry.

“
Let me call my guy,” Alex promised as I handed over the check. “I’ll get someone out there right away.”

“
Oh no,” I visibly shuddered. “What if they find me out…”

Alex leaned back in his chair with the confidence of a Power Broker. “Look---if anyone asks, just tell them you’re my girlfriend and you’re staying there for a few days. But no one’s gonna ask. The repair guys don’t even speak English. Trust me. You’re absolutely safe.”

Celia was the only girl from my high school class who lived in New York. And, like myself, possibly the only classmate without a hyphenated-name. But now even that was about to change. She was the woman who had everything. Rich, successful, smart, and super nice. Nice is never underestimated in my book. It was probably due to those assets that she never entered the modeling profession----though she certainly could have. Celia was more than pretty; she was a classic blonde beauty. A modern-day Grace Kelly. Perfect clothes. Never a hair out of place. Even the nuns at our school, who avoided pointing out physical attributes, couldn’t help but remark that Celia “has such a nice smile”.

She had another quality that was envied by every girl in our class---the ability to somehow simply have things go her way. It was more than luck. In Celia’s life, there seemed to be nothing even remotely like a bad day, bad Karma, Murphy’s Law, rain on her parade, or any number of Yiddish words describing a predilection for misfortune.

Celia had been kissed by the gods. Even if there was a tiny problem in her life, it somehow made her more interesting and attractive. Like Ingrid Bergman lamenting in a bar in Casablanca while the piano played under her sorrow. The problem always resolved by reel’s end.

Back in high school, when things went horribly wrong for me or my friends, we had a saying:

This would never happen to Celia.

Running out of gas, computer problems, showing up at prom wearing the same dress as Susie Federhoffer----none of this would ever touch Celia.

She had the perfect, perfect life.

That night, as I crept quietly up the five flights of stairs, I began to tremble at the thought of workmen for the building (English-speaking or otherwise) entering the apartment and discovering my true identity. I’d tried so hard to keep my head down the past nine months---but knew that baby would eventually come out.