Chapter 3 #4
“That’s amazing,” Susan says, a little embarrassed at her assumption, but mostly confused.
If Eliza doesn’t remember seeing her—and looked as rough as she did—she must have been on drugs.
So maybe she wasn’t unhoused, but she was at least really going through it.
Eliza doesn’t seem to want to tell Susan how bad it was, though, so Susan follows her lead. “What did you study?”
“Film,” Eliza says.
“And what do you do now?”
“I work at a production company,” Eliza says. “I’m a line producer. I do commercials, mostly, so yes, I am a total sellout, thank you.” She smiles, her green eyes darting to the side, as though she’s both proud of herself and self-conscious about her own success.
“That’s … very cool,” Susan says, and she means it. She did not expect Eliza’s life to be so interesting.
Once Susan found out Eliza was a high school dropout, she made a lot of assumptions about what Eliza’s life might look like—mainly that it would be about getting by, not about making art.
It hadn’t occurred to her that Eliza might be ambitious, might have her own goals and dreams. She feels horrible for this judgment, for thinking that Eliza was two-dimensional, and feels even worse that she’s relieved Eliza actually went to college and has an impressive job. It shouldn’t matter. But it does.
Eliza looks a little sheepish. “It’s fine,” she says. “To be honest, what I really want to do is write screenplays. Maybe someday I’ll have time. Or talent.”
“You should do it,” Susan says. “I bet you do have talent.”
Eliza shrugs. “We have no way to know.”
“Oh my god, Susan!” a woman says as she walks by their table.
It takes Susan a moment to recognize her, but then it clicks. Tina. She’s a model and also a DJ who frequents Rider’s parties.
“Girl!” Tina squeals. “I had so much fun the other night. We all missed you!”
Of all the people to run into while on a date, Tina, in her crop top and sparkly eyeshadow, is a good one; she makes Susan look important.
“Yeah, I was sad to miss it,” Susan says. “Next time.”
“I’m opening for a show at Webster Hall next week,” Tina says. “I’ll have my team put you on the list.”
“Oh, nice,” Susan says. She’s grown used to artists thinking that her presence means an endorsement from Rider. “I’ll try to stop by.”
When Tina is gone, Eliza shoots Susan a sidelong glance. “You’re in high demand,” she says, and then adds, “Wow, she’s seriously so pretty.”
Susan wants to ask Eliza if she’s jealous, but it’s too soon for that kind of banter. And anyway, based on the way Eliza’s eyes narrow as she watches Tina walk away, Susan has a feeling she knows the answer.
As they finish their drinks, they search for common ground: what TV shows they’re watching, how expensive the city is getting, how crazy it is that Donald Trump might be running for president, the unseasonably warm weather.
Eliza asks her about books, but Susan only reads blogs.
Susan asks Eliza about music, but Eliza likes whatever’s on the radio.
There’s a friendly feeling to the conversation, and Susan is starting to get fearful that this is just two old pals catching up.
There’s still time to turn it around, though. Susan says, “Should we get another drink or do you want to go somewhere else?”
“You pick,” Eliza says.
“Okay,” Susan says. “I know where we can go.”
She takes out her wallet and starts to put her card down, but Eliza stops her.
“See those guys over there?” Eliza whispers, pointing to two men at the bar. “I bet we can get them to pay our bill.”
Susan is confused. “I can pay our bill,” she says. “We don’t need some random men to pay for our drinks.”
Eliza shrugs, looking mischievous. “Up to you,” she says. “I thought it would be fun.”
It occurs to Susan that she and Eliza might have different definitions of the word fun, but she lets it go. She wants to focus on what they have in common, not what might set them apart.
The subway station is covered in American Apparel advertisements starring Ramona in various states of undress.
Her recent stint as a model is so predictable it’s boring.
She’s platinum blond now, and still looks great after so many years, which annoys Susan to no end; she has to see Ramona’s flawless face every time she’s at this station.
Eliza catches Susan eyeing the advertisement and says, “Are you a fan?”
Susan groans. “I actually dated her.”
“Wow! I had no idea you were rolling with all these hot famous girls.”
“She wasn’t famous yet,” Susan says, eager to convey how unimportant Ramona is to her. “And actually I’m not even sure if you can classify it as dating. Also, she kind of sucks.”
“She seems like she sucks,” Eliza says. “I hate her.” She puts her arm around Susan’s waist, protective and comforting.
“Thank you,” Susan says. The spot on her waist where Eliza’s hand is resting feels very warm. So maybe it’s not just a friendly hang.
Susan takes Eliza to a bar near her apartment, a move she stole from Ramona, though she suspects Ramona wouldn’t mind.
“I live around the corner,” Susan says, as they walk in. The bar is dark, with loud music, but it’s a nice place, the kind where you can’t leave without spending at least fifty dollars on things like oysters and negronis. There are little glass vases with dried daisies in them on each table.
“Oh?” Eliza says. “So you’re a gentrifier.” She’s teasing, but she’s not wrong.
“Oh, completely, but I don’t know where else I’m supposed to live,” Susan says. “This is one of the only neighborhoods I can afford with a decent commute to work. Where do you live?”
“Jackson Heights,” Eliza says, sounding a little superior. “Queens doesn’t gentrify the way Brooklyn does. I have less to feel guilty about out there.”
Susan isn’t sure if this is true, but she lets it go, not wanting to seem confrontational.
They sit at the bar. The bartender nods at Susan; she’s been here many times before. They order two glasses of wine. On either side of them, other people are on dates, though Susan doubts anyone is experiencing anything as monumental as she is.
“Hey,” Eliza says, when their drinks come. “Did you ever call that guy from the band? The obviously gay one who for some insane reason gave you his number.”
“Jonny? Oh, yeah,” Susan says. “He’s my fairy godmother. He got me my job.”
“Oh!” Eliza says, sounding thrilled with this answer. “You still talk to him?”
“He’s one of my best friends,” Susan says. “I honestly don’t know what I would have done without him.”
“But he’s gay, though, right? I just need to hear that I was right.”
Susan laughs. “He’s the gayest. Actually, that’s why he gave me his number.”
“What do you mean?” Eliza’s eyes twinkle at her expectantly.
“He could tell I was a baby dyke who needed help. I don’t know how.”
Eliza puts a hand to her heart. “That is so fucking sweet. But for the record, I could tell, too.”
Susan sighs. “How did everyone know before me?”
Eliza shrugs and sips her wine, smiling without showing her teeth. “I thought it was pretty obvious. So does he still play in that band? Why-Why?”
“What-What,” Susan corrects, taking the bait, and Eliza rolls her eyes, looking both annoyed and pleased. “Yes. But that’s not all he does. He composes music for commercials. Jingles, I guess.”
“That is so cool,” Eliza says, and Susan is touched by her earnestness. “And what’s Katie up to these days?”
“She works in finance. She and Jake are engaged. He’s a photographer.”
“Why does none of that surprise me?”
“Actually their wedding is this weekend,” Susan says. “It’s upstate.”
“Oh, cute,” Eliza says. “A winter wedding.”
“It’s cheaper, I guess.”
They’re quiet for a minute. Susan has to keep herself from staring at the blue-green veins decorating Eliza’s delicate hands.
“Hey,” Susan says. “Before I forget. Do you have a last name?”
“Yeah, I do,” Eliza replies. “Do you?”
“Goldstein.”
“Klein.”
“Eliza Klein,” Susan says, enjoying how the syllables feel on her tongue. Their knees touch, and Susan feels a tingle run up her thighs. “Wait, are you Jewish?”
“Half,” Eliza replies. “But not the half that counts. You?”
“Whole,” Susan says. “Though I haven’t been to Temple since my bat mitzvah. Organized religion is kind of a cult.”
“Definitely a cult,” Eliza agrees. “Anyway, I guess you can stalk me online now.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Susan says, trying hard to hide her grin. It’s funny to be called out like this.
“You’ll be disappointed, though,” Eliza continues. “I’m not really online these days.”
“That’s too bad. I was looking forward to reading every tweet you’ve ever posted.”
Eliza laughs. “I feel like you’re kidding but also totally serious.”
“I’m serious,” Susan confirms, emboldened by the pressure of Eliza’s knee on hers. “So were you just curious about what had become of me, or is this a date?”
Eliza looks surprised. “I hope it’s a date. Is it not obvious?”
“No. I mean, I just never want to assume, you know?”
Eliza turns to Susan and puts both of her hands on Susan’s face. Then she quickly leans in and kisses her lips, one hard good smack that knocks Susan’s teeth into her gums. She pulls away, grinning, and drops her hands from Susan’s cheeks. “How about now?”
Susan is sure her face is as red as the wine, and all she can do is nod. She doesn’t care that it wasn’t a great first kiss. She’s more turned on than she’s ever been in her life.
As soon as Susan opens the door to her apartment, everything is Eliza’s mouth and arms and legs. Susan forgets to wonder whether Mia is home.
They push each other into the walls as their clothes fall to the ground, leaving a trail of white T-shirts and black jeans and Nike sneakers.
Susan wants to freeze time so she can get a better look at Eliza’s naked body, but she also can’t slow down, can’t take her hands off her.
There is so much of Eliza she wants to touch all at once.
She wishes she had more hands, more eyes, perhaps another mouth.