Chapter Twenty One

“People you’ve been before that you don’t want around anymore.” Elliott Smith

I quit officially the next day, and I got a few slips of paper with people’s numbers pressed into my palm, with whispers of “Call me! I might leave too.” I had to put off Steven for another night, ignoring the constant buzzing of his texts all afternoon. He was like a puppy, I thought. I had to meet Viv’s parents with the girls for dinner in midtown, and I was dreading seeing Marie for the first time. Her words still stung, because she voiced the fears I was trying to ignore. I walked into some trendy restaurant full of tourists trying to get the “real New York feel!”, no doubt steered there from their overpriced hotels. I spotted Viv parents easily, for reasons besides Viv and Marie at the table. Viv’s mom had obviously used her plastic surgeon father’s expertise, and looked like she really dipped into the Long Island fountain of youth, with a boob job, a nose job and yogalaties. They had relocated back to their native Island after a new practice opened, leaving Westchester for tackier, more suitable conditions.
“The famous Jane!” Her mother said nasally. “It’s so nice to finally meet you! I’m loving Marie so I’m sure we’ll love you too!” She hugged me tightly, calling to mind Viv’s bone crushing hugs, and I got a cloud of her trendy perfume in my nose. Her father had a shirt partway unbuttoned, and I was relieved he just shook my hand and didn’t hug me.
“So Viv tells us you’re an English major? We have a friend in publishing…” I wondered why publishing kept coming up in my life, over and over.
“Jane, have you seen Viv’s art?” Mrs Silverstein put her arm around Viv.
“Uhm, yeah she’s so good.” Obviously, I live with her, I though to myself. I drank some of the expensive wine they had gotten for us. They kept spouting praise for Viv, and Marie kept drinking wine. I figured she was pissed at me
“So you’re a….classics major?”
“Yes.” She was being sullen, and Viv’s mom looked taken aback. She turned her attention to me and started talking about my bone structure. I wondered if she would request it for her next facelift.
After an excruciating hour like that, Marie and I took and awkward cab ride back to her parents. I decided now was as good a time as ever to tell her about Andrew.
“Marie, I’m back with Andrew and I’m moving in with him.”
I looked over and saw tears running down her face. I was shocked. I had never seen her cry, even when she fell down the stairs really hard once.
I went into our room to collect some things when we got there, and when I came out into the kitchen she was drinking vodka from the bottle. She was taking pulls, slight rivets of excess running down the side of her mouth.
“Marie, what are you doing?” I was confused and worried.
“Fuck! What the fuck?” She was obviously drunk, slurring, with her hard face on.
“What? What is going on, tell me.” My hurt from her words dissipated as I saw her looking so pathetic.
“Where are my parents, huh, Jane? Have you seen them? Tell them to call me if you do. My relationship with them is…fuck.”
“No, M, they love you.” I was trying to talk her down from this ledge of anger.
“No, they love the idea of me. I’m as abstract to them as their fucking horrible paintings. I had nannies,” She said acidly, “and now they live at their studio, ignoring me. My awards are what they care about, so they can say shit about me at cocktail parties and galas. Even Viv’s parents love their fucked up daughter. And you just have to call your daddy, and he sends you thousands. That’s normal, right? RIGHT? And now you’re leaving me alone here too. You bitch!”
“Marie!” she was so vehement I was scared.
“FUCK!” she yelled and threw the bottle against one of the paintings. It smashed, and the paint started to bleed. Marie started sobbing, hysterical. She ran into the bedroom and slammed the door. I heard a lock click into place, and I was alone in the kitchen, with the smell of vodka and Marie’s detritus of fury. I let myself out quietly.
I walked the streets for a while, debating whether or not to check on her. I felt like the farther along I got, the more they fell apart. Viv and Marie were who I used to be. But who was I now?
I stayed at Andrew’s that night, curled into him comfortably. I woke up refreshed, which I soon realized was from a lack of hangover and a solid eight hours.
“So this is what being a grown-up feels like.” I remarked to Andrew after relaying my epiphany to him.
“Please, you’re a baby.”
“That’s what they call me at work, you know. Baby Jane.”
“You mean your old job. Now your work is your own magazine.”
“Right. Jesus.”
“Maybe you are a grown up then, huh?” He pulled me closer.
“Maybe I am.”

I left later, heading to the salon. I asked the stylist to cut my hair short, in a bob. I also wanted it dyed it a normal shade of blonde, not the white I had been wearing for the past few months.
“So what’s your name again?” The hairdresser asked, while my head was in some sort of downward contortion.
“Uh, Jane.” “Oh, I thought it was you, oh my god!” She stopped cutting.
“What?” I was trying to remember if I went to high school with her or something.
“You’re the skanky bitch!” she said brightly.
“What?” I was taken aback at her comment.
“You’re the skanky bitch on Capital G today!” She named a popular gossip blog, the one that had called us Steven’s euro-pop harem.
“I’m what now?”
“You little ho, Steven Doyle and Andrew Thompson. Hot.” She patted my arm warmly, and odd match for her words.
“Show me, now.”
She pulled up the page, a bevy of salon workers crowded around us, my hair unevenly cut and wet.
“Skanky Bitch Alert!” It read, “Look at this hot mess. Who would believe both Andrew Thompson from The Wake and Steven Doyle think they’re her boyfriend?! Her name is Jane Tyler, apparently, and watch out boys, this skank gets around.” It had a picture of me, unflattering of course, my head thrown back and my mouth opened extremely wide, laughing at the paparazzi from the euro-pop night.
“Oh my god. Just finish my hair.”
I left, feeling naked, both from my new short hair, and also from my apparent internet skankiness. I called Andrew.
“Don’t google yourself today.”
“Oh babe, I heard. It’s kind of funny. And you are my girlfriend, so I don’t care. Steven might though.”
“Whatever, who told them that? No one even knows we’re back together. Not even Viv. Oh, shit.”
“What?”
“Marie.”
“No, she wouldn’t. Would she?”
“She was pretty pissed at me. and look what she did before. Oh my god. I have to go find her.”

I got out of the cab in front of Marie’s, throwing money at the cabbie. I rushed upstairs, furious. I found her sitting at the kitchen counter, reading a book.
“You bitch.” I spat out.
“Oh Steven called my phone to tell you to go to hell.” She smirked.
I walked closer to her, fuming.
“Why did you do this?”
“Because you deserve it. You think you’re so above us, like you’re leaving us behind or something. But you’re throwing away your future because you can’t handle stress. And like you’ll be so happy when Andrew dumps your ugly ass eventually.”
“I’m finally happy, you idiot. And I am leaving you behind. I’m leaving you to be a whiny little child. Oh, your parents don’t love you; your life is so hard, whatever. You’re making excuses for why you’re unhappy. And you’re jealous of me. Jealous of Andrew, jealous of any success I have, of my happiness.”
“yeah right, you dumb bitch.” She stood up.
I took a step closer, anger welling up in me. I slapped her across the face, hard. She stepped back, shocked, and I took the pause to go to our room and start packing. I called a cab while in there, with the door locked. I heard the door slam after a minute, and breathed heavily.
“What did I just do?” I said out loud to myself, putting a hand to my chest. I called Viv.
“You what?” Viv sounded legitimately shocked. I was surprised Marie hadn’t gotten to her first.
“I know, I know, but she was being vile.”
“Well,” She inhaled, “ I bet she probably did. I never said anything, but I thought she was out of line with Andrew before, and now this? Bullshit.”
“She called you a fuck-up, too.”
“She’s a bitch. Let’s meet for a drink, ok?”
“I would but I have to go find Andrew.”
“Bye, my little skanky bitch.”
“Bye, fuck-up.”