The phone rang. Serge stared as the answering machine clicked on.
Beeeeep.
Serge casually walked back down the stairs, feigning an expression of futility. He sauntered around the corner until he was out of sight, then took off sprinting.
Ivan and Zigzag looked at each other again and shrugged.
Serge loping across the garment district. Thirty-seventh Street, Thirty-sixth, Thirty-fifth, flying through racks of clothes being wheeled across the street, people yelling and shaking fists. He ran past a pretzel wagon stand, which exploded, throwing a Bruce Willis stunt double through the air and into a parked car.
Serge stopped and helped him up. “Are you okay?”
“Cut! Cut!”
Serge took off again, charging down the steps at Penn Station and running to the Amtrak window.
“Miami, please.”
Serge carefully tucked the ticket in his wallet and went over to the main concourse to check out the giant schedule board with the latest arrival and departure info.
“It’s Monday,” said Rebecca. “Woody’s playing clarinet at the Carlyle.”
“That’s a great idea!” said Teresa.
“I’m not sure I
“Why not?”
“Because of what he did to Mia.”
“We don’t know Mia,” said Rebecca. “What’s she ever done for us?”
“He slept with her daughter, for heaven’s sake!”
“It’s not a sex show,” said Teresa. “He’s just going to play the clarinet.”
“Mia went with the Beatles to see that Maharishi guy,” said Rebecca. “And she married Sinatra and played the on-screen mother of Satan.”
“So?” said Sam.
“The whole thing was shaky.”
“There it is,” said Maria. “There’s the schedule board.”
The BBB walked across the Penn Station concourse and stopped in front of the big board.
“That’s our train,
“What about Woody Allen?” asked Rebecca. “Are we going or not?”
“Excuse me,” said a man’s voice. “Did I hear you say you’re going to see Woody Allen?”
The Café Carlyle doorman had a smile and white gloves. “Good evening, ladies.” The women checked their coats and the maître d’ led them to a table under muted frescoes. He bowed and left.
“Look how intimate the seating is,” said Rebecca, gesturing at an empty chair beside a piano just feet away. “He’s going to be sitting right there!”
Sam leaned and whispered to Teresa: “I can’t believe we let him come along.”
“Shhh! He’ll hear you.” They looked over and smiled at Serge, who was setting up a miniature digital recorder under a napkin to bootleg Woody.
A round of drinks arrived. Then a few more.
“Let’s check out guys,” said Rebecca. “Oooo, I like that one over there.”
“Which one? The overaged hippie?”
“No, the business type in the turtleneck. I’d sleep with him.”
“You would?”
“Sure, if I knew I wouldn’t catch anything and wouldn’t get pregnant again, and knew that he would still respect me and call, but not call too much and get cloying and possessive. And if he doesn’t have a wife, and doesn’t lie to me if he does, because I wouldn’t want to wreck another woman’s home, and…”
“In other words, in some fantasy astral plane in a parallel universe,” said Teresa.
“Right,” said Rebecca.
“Okay, Rebecca’s an easy lay. Who else?”
“I’d do that guy over there,” said Maria.
“The cheap Tom Selleck?”
“That’s the one.”
“Same terms as Rebecca?”
“Except that he also can’t smell bad after an hour or two. Or bob his head in the car to some song that he tells me perfectly captures the kind of person he is. Either of those two things, and it’s no Big O for Maria.”
“Are you talking about Charlie?”
“How’d you know?”
“I warned you not to go out with him, but did you listen?”
“
“I’m starting to not want to date anyone who’s eligible,” said Paige.
“I know what you mean,” said Maria. “It’s like availability automatically disqualifies them. If they’re single and never been married, they’re either playboys or have some kind of psychological defect that prevents them from forming healthy relationships, like a private sexual ceremony you only find out about when you’re innocently going through his dresser and find the baby pacifiers and vibrating butt plugs and he accuses you of spying…”
“Charlie again?”
“Did I use any names?”
“And if they’ve been married and gotten divorced, what did they do to deserve it?” said Paige. “You don’t want to hire someone who’s just been fired…”
“And if she was the bad unit in the marriage, then his judgment is suspect…”
“The only decent ones are married, and if they fool around, what does that say?…”
“That means the only guys worth considering are widowers…”
