CHAPTER
ONE
I
was in bed watching Supermodels on TV. Niles and Ashley were in a horse
drawn carriage in Central Park. They gazed at each other with rapture.
“Evidently,” my
boyfriend Charlie said, “she’s
selling her house.”
“What?”
He
was on the bed next to me. “Have you heard anything I’ve
been saying? My grandmother decided to move to Florida.”
“Good for her.” My eyes
were still on the screen. Ashley had her hair up and was actually wearing
a tiara. Nigel looked suave in a black tuxedo. “I hear there’s
a great dating scene down there.”
His
grandmother’s house
was in New Rochelle. The only intriguing thing about New Rochelle was
that Dick Van Dyke used to live there. Or should I say Rob Petrie.
Interesting
trivia: Carl Reiner, who wrote and created and produced The Dick Van
Dyke show, actually lived in New Rochelle with his wife and son. Carl
Reiner is said to be the first writer who deliberately based a sit-com
on his own life, going so far as using the same street address that
he actually lived on, changing one number so people wouldn’t
drive by his house to ask for autographs.
“Um.
Daphne, would you turn that off?”
“Now?”
I looked at Charlie.
He was so cute, in an Adrian Grenier from Entourage sort of
way.
“There’s
something I want to talk about.”
“But I’ve been
looking forward to this all week.” My eyes were drawn back to
the screen. Supermodels was a guilty pleasure in the tradition
of some of my past favorite trashy nighttime soap dramas like Beverly
Hills, 90210 and Melrose Place. But, like Desperate
Housewives,
it did not take itself completely seriously. Nigel was now telling
Ashley how gorgeous she was, especially since she got her cheek implants,
chin augmentation, crowns and veneers.
“I hate that show,” Charlie
said.
“You aren’t
exactly its demographic.”
“That
would be high school girls, prison inmates and you.”
“Just
because it’s idiotic doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy it.
Can you hand me the peanuts please?”
He
handed me the jar on his nightstand. “You’re a mental case.”
“Then
you must be one too seeing as you choose to live with me.”
I
had him there.
I
poured a small handful of peanuts into my palm and gave him back the
jar. He took some too. “You care more about
your shows than real life.”
“Niles
is finally going to propose to Ashley.”
“Really?” He actually turned
his attention to the show. “Right now?”
“Uh huh.” I
was surprised at his interest. Maybe we would cuddle up and watch together.
We both munched on our peanuts and I filled him in. “She’s
going to quit modeling and have his baby.”
“Really. Maybe
you can tape it. There’s something I want to talk about.”
So
much for my cuddling fantasy. “Can’t it wait for a commercial?”
“I’ve
been thinking. I could talk to her about selling it to me.”
“Selling
what? Who?” Niles was telling Ashley how he fell in love the
first time he ever laid eyes on her at a photo shoot in Nova Scotia
when it was 5 degrees out and she had to wear a bathing suit.
“My
grandmother. The house.”
What
was he saying? Charlie, not Niles. I pressed the mute button and forced
myself to focus. “Could
you go back a little? I think I missed something.”
“I
bet she would finance it. And give me a good deal.”
We’d
been to his grandma’s house a couple times for Thanksgiving Dinner.
My main associations were dry turkey, a gold brocade sofa, figurines
of people from the 18th century waltzing, and aqua wall-to-wall carpeting. “You’re
thinking of buying her house?”
“It
would make a lot of sense.”
My god. Was this going where it seemed to be going?
This
was Charlie’s first year of teaching high school after finishing
all his requirements to get certified. A humbling and utterly practical
move he made after all but giving up on his dream of writing for television
and his reality of bartending at the Gotham Comedy club. Now Charlie
hated everything that was on. Of course, none of it was his.
“We’d
get more space,” he said. “Lots of it.”
“That’s
true.” Our one-bedroom apartment was on the Upper West Side in
an old building on Broadway and 112th. I’d lived there since
graduating from The New School, where I got my MA in Media Studies.
The thing that really made this apartment so special was because it
was in the same building as Tom’s Restaurant. From Seinfeld.
Not that they ever actually went there, seeing as the show was shot
in LA, but the exterior shot was of this very building. Which gave
it a certain cachet. At least in my TV-addled brain. And I liked imagining
them downstairs sitting over coffee talking about “nothing.” (The
food was so greasy and the coffee so bad, I never actually went there
myself either.) Another plus: the apartment was a quick subway ride
to my job at the Museum of Television and Radio on 52nd Street.
“So…” Charlie
took my hand. I looked into his eyes where the green flecks blended
into brown. His expression was serious. Totally. “We could buy
the house.”
My stomach fluttered.
“And get married,” he
said.
My
stomach went from fluttering to all out losing its horizontal hold. “Is
this a marriage proposal?”
He
cleared his throat. “I
do finally have my certification. And teaching may not be the most
glamorous profession in the world, but it is somewhat secure...” He
was straining to make his voice sound casual, which made it anything
but. “And… well… I love you. And I love the idea
of living the rest of my life with you. And having a family together…”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
I
blushed. My palms were perspiring. “I love you too.”
“So… will
you marry me?”
I was aware by my peripheral vision that Niles
was most likely proposing to Ashley that very moment. It took a heroic
amount of concentration not to undo the mute and turn my head towards
the screen. I also made the judgment call that Charlie would not be
amused to know he was proposing at the same moment as Niles.
“Yes,” I
said. “Yes. I do. I mean, I want to. Let’s get married.
Yes!”
“Are
you sure?”
