Confessions of a Nervous Shiksa by Tracy McArdle

Author:Tracy McArdle
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pocket Books
Published: 2005-07-15T00:00:00+00:00

David came over the next night to drop off Harve, who’d been with him all day going to the gym and Starbucks and soap opera auditions (and not looking for an apartment). I heard him open the door, deposit Harve, and then I heard him climbing the stairs. My stomach knotted. I was in the study, busy late e-mailing the MPAA, the Tonight Show and everyone else on my call sheet from the day. Why was he coming in? Was he going to kill me? But he came in and just gave me a polite smile. Being human was just full of surprises. We sat down on the study futon. We talked about Harve’s tumors and Little’s mystery illness. We talked about Sundance, and about the Golden Globes. He asked me about Kirk, Eugene R., and then he asked if I could introduce him to them. “David, I—,” I began, not knowing what to say. Except that I felt desperately sorry for him.

“Well, you know, just thought I’d mention it…” He smiled, an earnest, sad, but optimistic reflection of his own opinion of himself. “I’ll have to figure out a way to meet these people on my own now.” I stared at the floor a moment, then changed the subject. “What are you doing about an apartment?”

“I’ll try to find something by the fifteenth, that way Molly can move in even if my stuff is still here, I promise. After my parents’ anniversary cruise it’ll be easier.”

“Thanks,” I said gratefully, wondering if I could ever forgive him for going on a cruise now, when to me every day of his life seemed like one long vacation from reality.

He got up to leave and sighed, a deliberate, patient sound. “Lex, it’s not easy finding an affordable single that will take a dog…a dog is a lot harder than a cat.” He was right. It would be hard, but it could be done. Like most things, he just had to be a little more disciplined about it. “Hey, why don’t you bring Little to the Pet Vet Clinic? They’re really good there, they’ve been treating Harve for a year now,” he said helpfully, looking at Little stretched out on a pile of his belongings. “I’ll leave you the number,” he added, and we looked at each other for a moment and realized there was nothing left to say. He smelled of vague spices and leather, his stubble just perfect for a Marlboro Man ad. “I’m going to go now,” he finally declared.

“I…I went to services at that group, you know,” I called as he headed for the door.

He stopped at the top of the stairs. “How was it?” he dared to ask.

“It’s…not for me.” I saw his head drop an inch. “I just thought you should know,” I added quietly.

He took a breath, stiffened, and our connection, three years in the making, was gone forever. “Take care, Lex,” he said. He patted Harve good-bye and left. And the air in the apartment opened up like a cautious spring bloom.

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