Page 12 of Is This for Real?
I have no idea what that all means, but I do think that some emotional memories are better off suppressed.
“Curls, what do you think of this piece of art?” Rory asks.
Callie’s eyes narrow as if she realizes that my nickname implies an intimacy beyond casual acquaintance. I don’t want her to feel threatened. She eviscerated Marie once when Rory wasn’t around. But I’m also not conceding the field.
“I like it. I like Callie’s interpretation. And taking Callie’s interpretation, some stones are up in the air, some are held up by the framework, and some stones or memories have dropped. To me, the metal frames look like a revolving door, and so it’s like a series of doors to walk through. Or it’s like frameworks to conform to.”
Rory glances at me and nods.
“The revolving door?” Callie looks slyly at Rory. She takes his hand. “C’mon, Rory, we’re supposed to walk under it. Do you dare?” She pulls him through, giggling.
I walk through the other metal frame and stand in the middle, studying the spheres against the bright-blue sky. It doesn’t feel that secure. This is what Theresa, Jamie’s mom, thinks of my striving to become a published author. The plaque says that the artist was conceptualizing the stones, which took years to form, as compressed time. Even though I can feel that my writing has gotten stronger these past two years, I don’t have the budget to take another year off.
I rub the red stone. Rory comes over to me as Callie takes a phone call. He rubs it, too.
“Sorry Callie interrupted our time together. She’s kind of like a force of nature,” he says.
“The Shoin Room is your favorite?”
“No, she must be confusing me with someone else. This roof deck is one of my favorites. That and the modern art gallery with the slanted glass window ceiling. Some of my favorite art is there.”
“What’s your interpretation of the sculpture?” I ask. Callie walks back over.
Callie interrupts us again. “It’s like Rory’s shiny new ball syndrome writ large.”
I step back. Rory laughs easily. “All ad execs have shiny new ball syndrome. We need to be able to understand how to create that same excitement in individuals. It’s not necessarily a bad thing. It means I come up with a lot of ideas.”
Callie’s phone pings. Some of her business school friends are in the neighborhood, and she suggests we meet up with them for a drink. Rory looks tempted. I need to go home to walk the dogs and write, or, in reality, stare out my window at the birds instead of the blank screen in front of me. I get cranky otherwise. And I need to clean up my mess from making miniature Etsy orders before Zelda comes home. I made a dozen miniature waffles with strawberries early this morning.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come?” His blue eyes are so vivid and entreating. “All that partying gave those artists material.”
I smile but shake my head. Maybe if Callie wasn’t there. And it wasn’t a bunch of successful B-school friends asking me if I’m published yet.
“Well, come with us to 91st,” Rory says.
We walk up to the café/bar between Fifth Avenue and Madison. Tables have been set outside, fenced in by a red banner that cheerfully proclaims the café name of La Belle Vie. Some women wave from a table, laughter breaks out; there’s the murmur of conversations, a shout of excitement. I say goodbye, and he goes off with Callie. Callie puts her arm through his.
I walk back to Fifth Avenue alone. Maybe I should have gone with them—especially since Rory wanted me to come. I check my email. An agent has replied to one of my queries:
To: Penelope
From: Agent Assistant
Thank you for sending usMidnight Masquerade. We don’t feel the emotional engagement to take it to the next level. We think it needs more backstory. This process is subjective, so we are sure another agent will feel differently. We wish you the best.
That about sums up today. I can’t seem to get my novel to the next level. Jamie didn’t feel the emotional engagement to take it to the next level. And instead of being in a real relationship, I’m faking one and lying to Jamie. Just as long as I don’t lose my real friendship with Rory. My backstory doesn’t need any more loss.
Chapter four
Istridedownthedirt pathway next to the Jackie Onassis Reservoir in Central Park against the flow of the joggers, hoping not to get yelled at that I am going the wrong way.I shouldn’t have agreed to fake date Rory.I don’t want to lose my friendship with him. He and Zelda are my closest friends.
Maybe I should’ve walked on the parallel path through the trees, but there’s no view of the deep-blue waters of the reservoir there or of the skyline. I stay far to the side as a jogger runs by. And then I exit the pathway to walk across the bridge and down the steps. The air is chilly out of the sun.
But the research component forFake Dating Follyis gold. Perched on a park bench, I make a list in my always-handy, little, black notebook of what we should explore:
(1)What are the rules?
(2) How did we start dating?
