Believe Me, It's You Read online

  “Calvin Blume, right?” Jeremy was saying. “He manages Dylan Moore, doesn't he? He discovered him in Detroit, right?”

  “I don't know, I think so,” Sarah was saying, apparently underestimating Jeremy's knowledge of the pop music industry.

  “God, I hate that kid,” Jeremy said. “What a little punk.”

  Eva looked at him. “Why do you say that? Have you met him?” she asked, feeling her face start to burn.

  “No!” he laughed. “I just, you know. He just seems like a little fag.”

  That was all Eva needed to put the evening to an early and abrupt end.

  “I need to go,” she said, standing up.

  “I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you,” he stood up, too.

  “Whatever,” she said. “I have a bad headache. I'll take a cab. I don't want you guys to have to leave. You haven't finished your dessert.”

  Sarah stood up. “I'll walk you out,” she said. “I'll be back. You two get another drink.”

  They made there way to the street where there were already three cabs parked, waiting for drunks who needed a ride home. Eva turned to Sarah.

  “I'm sorry.”

  “No, I am. I didn't know he was a bit of a jerk,” she apologized.

  “It's okay. You meant well,” Eva laughed and opened the door to the cab first in line.

  “See ya tomorrow. Tell him I have P.M.S. No, tell him I don't date homophobes.”

  “'Bye,” Sarah waved and turned to go back in. Eva took the five minute cab ride back home, and was relieved and happy to be lying in front of the television in her pajamas, watching SNL.

  Chapter Nine

  Sunday morning Eva awoke to the phone ringing next to her bed. She looked at the screen. It was Sarah.

  “Hey, what's up?” she said.

  “Not much. I just wanted to call and apologize,” Sarah said.

  “For what?”

  “I didn't know he was a jerk. He seemed nice at the office,” she sounded sad about the whole fiasco.

  “It's okay, Sarah. You tried,” she laughed. “How did the rest of the night go? Dylan Moore didn't come up again, I hope?”

  “No. I told him your brother was gay and you didn't like that word, and I told him I didn't like it either,” she said.

  “Thanks. Just promise me you won't fix me up anymore, okay? Not for now,” Eva said.

  “I won't,” Sarah said. “Are we good?”

  “Yeah, I'm not mad at you,” Eva said, and she meant it. She really wasn't thinking about Jeremy now. She was thinking about Dylan and the phone call. She wondered why he called. Just to talk, maybe? She thought about how nice it would have been to spend the evening talking to him. He was easy to talk to and he seemed interested in her life. He didn't use up all the conversation talking about himself. How was she going to write a book about someone who only wanted to talk about her?

  Tuesday, her lawyer called her back. Better late than never, she thought.

  “Your husband hasn't filed all his paperwork with the court, yet,” she told Sarah. “We're really at a standstill until he does. They need his financial paperwork.”

  “Why? I thought with a no-fault divorce, we wouldn't have to worry about paperwork. I'm not asking for spousal support and we don't have any property, to speak of...no mutual funds, savings, nothing. Just my earnings since the separation and whatever he has now.”

  “I know. Don't worry. It's just part of what the court requires, regardless. Maybe you could speak with him. Try to get him moving.” she said.

  “We don't really speak. I don't even have a phone number for him, or an address,” Eva said.

  “Alright, let me see what I can do. I'll try to get some information from his lawyer and find out what the hold up might be.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  She got off the phone feeling ill at ease and restless. She was going to take the day off, but decided on a run to the lake. She put her headphones in when she got out on the sidewalk, and started running. She let the music and the endorphins wash away her worries.

  When she got home, she showered and walked around the apartment, wondering how she was going to kill the afternoon. Tomorrow, Dylan was coming. She hated to admit it, but she would be extremely disappointed if he had to change his plans. She got out her laptop and contemplated her novel. She read through the first 20 pages, hating most of it. She wanted to chuck the whole thing, and start fresh with some new inspiration. She wanted to wake up in the morning, compelled to sit down and put her thoughts into words, her words onto paper. But nothing else came. She closed the laptop in disgust, and took it back to her room.

  She spent the rest of the day half-watching tv, switching from channel to channel, unable to settle on anything. She finally got up and poured herself a glass of wine. She needed something to take the edge off her fidgeting. After one glass, she poured another, thinking it would make her sleepy enough to go climb in bed with a book for the night. Halfway through, she remembered she hadn't eaten dinner. She got up and realized she was a little bit dizzy. Too much wine, not enough food. She really was a lightweight.

  She looked through the fridge, finally settling on cheese and some grapes she'd just bought. She fixed her plate and was rummaging through the cabinet for some crackers she thought she might still have, when she heard her phone ringing. She picked it up from the coffee table. Dylan. She had captured his number after his Saturday call and added him to her contacts.

  “Hi,” she said, trying not to sound too excited.

  “Hey, how's it going?” he said.

  “Good! How are you?”

  “I'm fine. You know, I've had too much time on my hands lately. I'm used to being busier than this, so I'm a little bored,” he confessed.

  “Me too. I need to work again. Are you still coming tomorrow?” she said, wondering if she sounded overanxious.

  “Yes! Definitely. My flight gets into Chicago at 3:00, so I'm thinking I should be at your place by 4, if traffic's not bad.”

  “Good. I'm looking forward to it,” she said, and meant it.

  “Me too. You sound different tonight,” he said.

  “Really? Different how?” she smiled to herself. Like, a little drunk?

  “I don't know, happier,” he said.

  “I sound happier? Does that mean I usually sound like I'm in a state of depression?” she asked.

  “Na, not depressed. Just maybe a little down, I guess. You just sound happy tonight,” he said.

  “I am. I am happy,” she said.

  “Good. I like you like this, Eva,” he said. “How did your date go the other night?”

  “Date?” she asked. Had she told him it was a date?

  “Your dinner with your friends?”

  “Oh! Yeah, well it wasn't that great...” she said.

  “No?” he asked. “Why?”

  “I...well, it was a blind date, actually,” she admitted.

  “Oh...you had a date,” he said. “With a guy.”

  “It was a blind date, like I said. You know, we just didn't hit it off,” she said.

  “Gee, that's too bad,” he said.

  “It's hard to find someone nice,” she said. “You know, someone you can relate to and talk to.”

  “Yeah, it really is, Eva,” he said. “I like talking to you, though.”

  “Likewise,” she said, wondering if he could sense her blushing through the phone.

  “I don't want to keep you on the phone. I'll see you tomorrow afternoon, then. Okay?”

  “Okay,” the wine was making her forget what else she wanted to say.

  “Have a good night, Eva,” he said.

  “Okay, Dylan,” she hung up, forgot all about her plate in the kitchen, and went to bed. Something in the wine made her sleep well.

  Chapter Ten

  She stretched, climbing out of bed early the next morning. She wanted to get a quick run in and straighten up the place before Dylan came.

  She got dressed, dug her sh
oes out of the closet, and left the apartment. The day was crisp and sunny. It was the first week of October and leaves were beginning to turn. She was glad she'd worn her jacket. Halfway to the lake, she saw a familiar figure running about one block ahead of her. He was stopped at the corner when she got to it, waiting for the light to change.

  “Hi, Paul,” she said, jogging in place next to him. “What brings you to the old neighborhood?”

  “Hi, Eva. Uh, we—I moved in to a place on Division Street about a week ago,” he said. “How are you?”

  “Division Street, huh? You have the entire city of Chicago and you choose Division Street? I'm fine. Excellent, as a matter of fact.”

  “Good. You know, I have the right to live anywhere I want. It's close to my office,” he said, looking away. The light changed and they continued to jog toward the lake.

  “My lawyer told me you hadn't filed your financial statement, yet. What's holding you up?” she tried to sound casual.

  “I've been busy. I've got a lot going on. I'll do it soon.” He sounded annoyed.

  “I'm coming by to get my clubs next week,” he said.

  “Fine. Please get the papers filed. I want this over,” she said, peeling off in the opposite direction.

  When she got home, she was surprised at how calm she had been with Paul. She wasn't going to let him ruin her day. Besides, she had a job to do and she wanted to be clear-headed. She did some cleaning, and hopped in the shower. She pulled on a white, long sleeved shirt and some jeans and fixed her hair. She decided on a whim to go down to the storage locker and see if Paul's clubs were in there. She made her way to the back of the dark basement and fit the key into the padlock. There was a light with a pull chain and she pulled it. No clubs. She looked behind some camping chairs they used to take to the lake. No clubs. She couldn't imagine where they were. Maybe he had put them in the closet in the spare room. The one she had imagined would be a nursery, but was now a little office and general storage room. She made a mental note to check when she got back upstairs, but by the time she got the mail, discarded all the junk and separated out the bills, she had forgotten.

  She had a quick breakfast and got out her laptop. She sat at her desk and started a folder she named “Dylan Moore” and then created a file named “October 3rd.” She would make notes after he left this evening. She didn't like to take notes while she was talking with someone, and she didn't like using a recorder, either. It was within the natural flow of conversation people opened up. No famous person she ever worked with enjoyed being interviewed, having learned early to be on guard. Dylan had told her so little about himself, she realized she didn't have any preliminary notes. She closed the laptop and sat back, looking out the window at the brick wall across from her. A tree in the alley blew in the wind as the sun disappeared behind a cloud. It looked like it might rain. It felt like fall.

  She grabbed a new book she had bought, and stretched out in the living room. She was so involved in the book, she didn't notice it was close to 3:00. She missed lunch. She grabbed a container of yogurt out of the fridge and was standing in the kitchen eating when the buzzer rang.

  “Hello?” she asked.

  “Hi Eva, it's Dylan,” he said. She buzzed him in. She fought the urge to peep through the peephole, and tried to finish her yogurt. He knocked and she opened the door to find him standing there holding a case of diet soda with a four pack of beer balanced on top.

  “Hey! How are you? We found the place your beer came from. I'll share it with you if you like, and if not, I got you some pop.” She took the beer from him, laughing.

  “Thanks!” she was grateful, because somehow she had forgotten to pick up anything for him to drink. She put the beer in the fridge. He sat the soda down and took a few out to put in the fridge to get cold.

  “You found the microbrewery?”

  “Yeah, I remembered the address from the label,” he said. She looked at him, amazed, and smiled.

  “Where's Teddy?” she asked.

  “He's driving around with Chris, the driver. They'll be back around 7:00.” Four hours was a lot of conversation. She might need a beer, after all.

  “Do you ever drink anything besides beer?” she asked.

  “Yeah. I really don't drink a lot of beer. I'm not legal yet, you know,” he laughed. “I can't drink soda because it wrecks my vocal chords. I usually just have water, but that gets boring.” Not legal yet, she thought. She felt old.

  “Do you want one? They're still cold, “ he was handing one to her.

  “Sure.” She took the beer from his hand and twisted off the top. He was leaning against the kitchen table, like the last time. This time, instead of a t-shirt and jeans, he was wearing a thin light grey sweater with a white shirt underneath. He had no coat.

  “Where's my chocolate cake?” he asked.

  “Sorry?” she said.

  “I thought you were an expert at baking chocolate cake, and that's my favorite. I figured you would have one waiting for me,” he said.

  “I- I didn't think about it, I'm sorry!” she said.

  “I'm joking!” he laughed.

  “Oh, I've been so out of it lately. The old Eva probably would have made you a cake,” she said.

  “I was just kidding. I didn't expect a cake. It was a joke,” he said. “Why have you been out of it lately?”

  “Oh, I don't know. I've been busy,” she lied.

  “I thought you said the other night you had a lot of time on your hands,” he replied. He didn't miss much, Eva thought.

  “Yeah, I'm sorry. I'm separated. I'm going through a divorce and I have a lot on my mind, I guess. You know, lawyers and all that stuff,” she said.

  “I'm sorry, Eva. How long were you married?”

  “Almost four years,” she said.

  “Did you have any kids?” he asked.

  “No, no kids,” she said.

  “Do you want to go sit down, or something?” he asked.

  “Sure,” she walked into the living room with Dylan behind her. She sat down on the far end of the sofa and he sat down, not at the opposite end, but in the middle, and put his beer on the table.

  “It's good you don't have kids, right? I mean, my parents split up when I was two. It's harder when you have children,” he said, watching her face. Finally, something about him. She took the opportunity to turn the conversation around to him.

  “Did you live with your mother?” she asked.

  “Yeah, for a while. My dad just left, you know. He left us both. I never saw him again,” he said.

  “Did they love each other? Your parents?” she asked, not quite sure why or where she was hoping to go with the question.

  “Love each other? I don't know about that. I know my mom loved my dad. She told me how much she loved him all the time. And then she'd cry. Then she'd go on a drinking binge for a while. Eventually, she got really bad, and took me to live with my grandparents. Anyhow, I guess if he loved her half as much as she loved him, there's no way he could have left her.” He looked at his hands.

  “I guess if she loved me half as much as she loved him, there's no way she could have left me.”

  “I don't know, Dylan. Maybe she loved you so much she had to leave you,” she said. He looked up at her, startled, as if he just realized something.

  “Maybe, Eva,” he said. I guess that's something to think about.” He got up and took his empty bottle to the kitchen. “Can I have some water?”

  “Sure,” she got up and went in the kitchen. She got him a glass of ice water and handed it to him.

  “Are you hungry, Dylan? I'm sorry, I forgot to ask.”

  “Yeah, a little. What about you? Did you eat?”

  “Not really. Do you want me to order something? Pizza? Chinese?” she asked.

  “Chinese sounds good,” he said. She got a menu and they sat at the table, circling whatever sounded good. She called in the order and when she finished, he was rummaging through her cabinets, taking out plates. He went
to the dining room table and sat the plates down.

  “Do you have any chopsticks, or should we call them and tell them to send some? It's just wrong eating Chinese food with forks,” he laughed. She went to the silverware drawer and took out two sets of chopsticks and handed them to him.

  “Have you been to China?” she asked.

  “Three times,” he said.

  “What's it like?” she asked.

  “Oh, you know, the hotels are nice, the stage is nice, the girls scream,” he said. “Like every other place when you're touring. I did get to see the Great Wall. That was a great experience.”

  They sat at the dining room table and he talked more about his mother. She had been a good mother, for the most part, but her drinking got so bad, she began neglecting him. He looked down at the table as he talked about her, seeming sad, but matter-of-fact about the experiences. He excused himself to use the bathroom, and she was glad she had cleaned.

  The food was downstairs and she was buzzing the man up when he came out of the bathroom. He went to the door and opened it. The delivery kid stared at him as he fished some bills out of his pocket and paid for the food.

  “Thanks, man,” he said, taking the food from the kid and handing him some extra bills.

  “You look just like Dylan Moore!” the kid said.

  “Yeah, I get that all the time. Goodnight, thanks,” he closed the door, the kid still lingering. He set the food on the table. Eva was laughing.

  “He didn't really think it was me,” he said, smiling. “I could tell.”

  “How?” she asked, taking the cartons out of the bag.

  “I just could,” he laughed and put some food on his plate and some on hers.

  After they ate, he got another beer and they sat back down. He stretched his legs out.

  “What's your family like, Eva?” he asked.

  “What do you want to know? My mom and dad died a few years back. I have one brother.”

  “The one in Encinitas,” he said.