LITMIR.BIZ

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is obviously too much for Herb to keep all of his expanding creativity in his head along with the name of the person he asked me to call.

      “Mike Greaney’s friend,” Jarvis Mitchell reminds him. So that’s how Lacey gets to write for us. Mike Greaney is another big guy.

      “Oh, right,” says our fearless leader. “I guess I better go be an interrogator.” Now, I stand awkwardly as Jarvis and Herb say their goodbyes. I’m not sure if it would be rude to leave, so I wait. I say goodbye to Jarvis as Herb is walking out, but he doesn’t acknowledge me. Herb and I walk up the stairs (he wouldn’t dream of taking the elevator).

      “So I left Lacey in your office with—” I imitate Lacey’s long pause “—Max.” I’m setting this up to wow him with a witty comment about dogs now that I know Lacey isn’t a friend of his.

      “Oh,” says Herb so that I know he isn’t paying attention to me at all. When we get to his office Lacey is all smiles and I leave them to their introductions and their cooing over Max. Whatever.

      When I get back to my desk, there are three messages waiting for me. The first: “What’s up, it’s me.” (Tabitha) “Guess who is going to be reviewed in the Times this weekend? If you guessed your lost love elizabeth, you are right. Aggh, what could have been, had you only had one more drink.”

      I delete that one, sending it to the message graveyard, never to be heard from again. The second: “Eve, hey, it’s Zeke. I know I haven’t talked to you in a while. I was out of the city but I’m back now. Wanted to take you out for some tapas.” (Yes, he says it with the correct Spanish accent just like a newscaster.) “Give me a call.”

      I forward it to Tabitha’s voice mail. Finally: “Eve, where are you? I am so sick of sitting in Bryant Park between interviews and telephone calls. I talked to a Realtor about that place in the alphabet section.” (City, she means, this is a girl who loves Rent.) “It sounds really good. She gave me the name of a bar to meet at, it’s called Bar on A and it’s on Avenue A. Ooh, I guess that’s easy. Can you try to meet us there at 6:30?” My other line beeps. It’s Tabitha.

      “Want to meet me and Adrian for dinner in Chelsea tonight?”

      “I can’t, I have to meet Rosie to see an apartment in Alphabet City.”

      “Oh, how Bohemian.” Tabitha knows Ro likes Rent. It’s come out in the past two weeks that among other things Roseanne thinks the soundtrack to Rent is really “real.” I would have liked to keep that quiet for a while; Tabitha still hasn’t gotten over the celebrity sighting.

      “What time are you going to be there?”

      “Probably not till eight.”

      “We’ll try to meet you there.”

      “Don’t forget to give her Valium in case Regis Philbin walks down the street.”

      “Let me ask you this, Tabitha, what happens to Adrian if he leaves Chelsea? Is there some kind of electromagnetic field that electrocutes him?”

      “Meow! Remember that Mexican place on Eighth.”

      “How could I forget the twenty-dollar margaritas?”

      “You are going to be no fun until this whole apartment thing is settled, aren’t you?”

      “Yes, and I appreciate you being so supportive.”

      “Mother of God. So will I see you later or what?”

      “If you can behave yourself.”

      “I’ll certainly try.”

      “Great,” I say and hang up.

      I meet Roseanne at the bar. She looks a little red. It must be all the sun she’s getting pounding the pavement. She’s been here since 4:15. It’s quarter of seven.

      “Are you drunk?”

      “No.” Okay. That’s reassuring.

      “How was the interview?”

      “I’m not going to get it.”

      “How do you know?”

      “No chemistry.”

      “Where is the Realtor?”

      “She is talking to someone at the table over there. We were waiting for you. The bartender bought me a drink.” I order a gin and tonic. Rosie gets me back to my bad college habits.

      “Do you want to meet Tabitha and Adrian for dinner after this? Mexican.”

      “I guess.”

      “We don’t have to.”

      “I’m concerned about money. I have a feeling it’s going to take me a while to find a job. Also, I haven’t seen an apartment for under $1600. That doesn’t even include all the stuff we’ll have to get or the darned Realtor’s fee.”

      “Well, I know you’ve had a lot of time to think about this, but honestly, you’ve only been looking for two weeks. That’s eleven business days. No one could get a job that quick.”

      The Realtor interrupts us, a woman named Kate who has a really husky voice. She can’t stop raving about the area—she lives here, it’s changing, it’s safe enough to raise her daughter. She talks so much in the short walk over that I feel dizzy when we get into the apartment. Maybe it’s the walk up four stories. The moment we get into the apartment, Roseanne leans against the wall in the kitchen and refuses to look at anything else. I think she may be a little drunk.

      “Why is the shower in the kitchen?” Roseanne asks.

      As I walk around the apartment (which is really just three tiny rooms) I hear Kate explaining the charm of washing your naked body in the kitchen. There is only one closet and the door opens into the disgusting, showerless bathroom. Kate assures me that the bathroom will be cleaned and they will actually put in a sink before we move in. I could barely fit my double bed in here. The wood floors are nice though, maybe I could sleep on them.

      “So what do you think?” Kate asks. Roseanne is peculiarly quiet. I ask again how much it costs.

      “Only $1300.” I add in the $1000 broker’s fee, and we owe Kate $2300. I look at Roseanne, wishing we had my parents’ telepathic gift. Her face is unreadable. I know there is no way I want to move into this apartment, but does Rosie? I wait for her to speak, but she doesn’t.

      “It’s a great apartment,” I lie, “but, we need to think about it.”

      “Do you want to leave a deposit? We are also going to have to do a credit check and make sure we have a guarantor because you are so young.”

      “I think we should talk about it first and maybe give you a call tomorrow.”

      “Fine.” Kate seems a little disapproving. “I just want to advise you that apartments like this don’t last long in New York.”

      I thank Kate and Roseanne manages a smile and we are back on the streets. I don’t say a word for a while, giving Ro the chance to mull it over. We cut through Tompkins Square Park and ignore the drug pushers.

      Roseanne says nothing, but looks like she is in pain. I try to make casual conversation. “So, um, what did you think of the palace?”

      “I would sooner cut off my right arm than take a shower in the kitchen.” Well, that settles that. The idea of being alone in my house with Roseanne repulses me, so I offer to buy her dinner.

      We meet Adrian and Tabitha at the Mexican place on Eighth Avenue. It overlooks the street at all the beautiful boys walking by. The worst thing about Chelsea is that feeling of being in the best bakery in the world and having your mouth wired shut. There are no men as attractively unattainable as the ones in Chelsea. They dress well, have cuddly dogs, and probably awesome jobs and money in the bank, but you don’t stand a chance unless you have a penis.

      Adrian lives in

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