All Adults Here(56)
Nicky ducked into the room and shut the door behind him. He didn’t have a girlfriend. He picked up the phone and called his mother.
“It’s practically midnight,” Astrid said, after Nicky had identified himself, his hand cupped around the phone. “What’s going on?”
“I’m at this director’s apartment,” Nicky said. “I don’t know, he said it was a party, but it’s just me, and it’s kind of weird.”
“Okay.” Astrid must have been in bed already, reading a book. Nicky could picture her, eyes closed, the book tented open on her middle.
“Do you think I should leave?”
“You’re an adult, Nicky! How should I know? Do you want to leave?”
“I don’t know.” He wanted her to tell him to leave. He wanted her to tell him that she would call a car service and have it waiting downstairs, that he should run if he wanted to, that his comfort was her fire alarm, that there was nothing to be afraid of, that she was there, always awake and waiting, like when he was little and woke up in the middle of the night with a bad dream. “I don’t know what I want you to say.”
Astrid laughed. “Nicky, sweetheart, I’m going to sleep. I trust you. Have a drink! It’ll be fine.”
Nicky opened the bedroom door and Robert smiled. He shifted on the couch, and Nicky could see a tentpole in his jeans, poking skyward.
“She’s super pissed,” Nicky said. He set his wineglass down on the coffee table. “I should go.”
“Are you sure?” Robert stroked his inseam with a finger. “I’d really like to get to know you better, Nick. I think we could do some really great stuff together. And we could get started right now.” He gave half a wink, and Nicky understood that he did this all the time, and that it usually worked.
“Yeah, thank you, thanks, I’m sure.” Nicky scooped up his bag and held it against his chest as he hurried back toward the elevator. It took forever to come, and his heart was beating so loud that he thought Robert might be able to hear it from inside the apartment.
It was windy on West End when he pushed past the doorman, and Nicky pulled his coat shut as he ran to Broadway. He didn’t know why he was running. He could call Jerry, or a friend, but why? All his life, people had treated Nicky like a paper doll, something they could dress up or down, a cute, flat toy. It didn’t matter what he wanted, not really—he had become an actor because his father had had tears in his eyes. He had become a movie star because he’d gotten the part. He had danced and kissed beautiful girls because they were beautiful but mostly because they were doing the same thing that he was doing, pretending that the roles they were given had been doled out fairly, that they had any choice in the matter. Photographers snapped pictures of his hand on a model’s thigh, and then they were dating, and then she was his girlfriend, and then they’d broken up, all before they’d shared a meal or knew the names of each other’s siblings.
The Russian baths were slick and salty, every surface wet. Nicky’s pores were wide open. He could feel it all coming out, every angry feeling, every time he’d let himself down by saying yes instead of saying no. He watched himself storm out of that apartment a hundred times before he opened his eyes, and through all the steam and heat watched himself sit down next to Robert and let him play paper dolls. Nicky didn’t know then if he’d ever be a parent, if he’d ever get married, anything like that—but he did know that if he did, if he did, he would always listen for the tiny voice inside the big voice, and try to answer all the questions, the ones being asked and the questions hiding behind. Nicky pushed himself up to standing, filled up his bucket, and poured ice cold water over his head. It was time to go.
Chapter 25
Working Together
The contract wasn’t as solid as it seemed. Wendy went through all the points quickly. They were alone in Elliot’s office. This was why they needed extra help with the kids—because in addition to her part-time job, Wendy had taken on a pro bono client: her husband. Beauty Bar was offering more money than the other businesses on Main Street, it was true, but they were offering only a five-year lease, with an option to renew, with rent increases of only half a percent for the entire length of their lease. They wanted the landlord to pay for everything else—snow removal, air-conditioning, the rent during the time it would take to build the store, which could be up to nine months, much longer than the standard three.
“So, no way! Right?” Elliot had shut the office door so that they were talking in private. He’d built his career by building houses, which was just managing crews and couples, basically, and usually the architects and interior designers got the brunt of those problems. The most trouble he had was when people wanted to move outlets and bathrooms, without understanding that both power and water came from somewhere else and didn’t just appear in a wall by magic.
“This is a first offer,” Wendy said. “They’re testing you.”
Elliot nodded. “Okay. Okay. So now what?”
“You make a counteroffer, and take all this garbage out, and tell them what you actually want, and if they don’t come back to it, I will give you a million dollars. Do you know how much money they have, El? This company makes billions of dollars. They can pay for everything. They just don’t want to if they don’t have to.”