from the Upper East Side.”
“She might have accounted for it when she left the house.” Not a good sign. But, before I can defend Tabitha’s honor, Herself shows up. She’s a vision in brown this morning—and where did she get that leather jacket?
“Sorry, I’m late.” This to me and an extended hand to Rosie. “Tabitha.” They shake hands and eye each other. Does it really have to be this strenuous? Can’t we all just get along?
“Was it a rough night?”
“You could say that.” She hasn’t yet removed her sunglasses. “I went out with Ahmed.”
“What about Luis?” She looks from me to Rosie and back to me.
“I just can’t date people in the service industry. You should have seen the restaurant he suggested we go to.”
“I’m sure it was hideous.” This isn’t doing much for her image. The waiter comes over, but Tabitha, still undecided, waves him off as she “needs a minute.” I try not to see Rosie roll her eyes. I sigh.
“C’mon, Tabitha, I’m starved.” I am really trying to keep it together.
“You could have ordered.”
I grip my mimosa glass. “We didn’t. We waited.”
“Fine,” says Tabitha. She closes her menu and takes out a cigarette. Rosie absently waves some smoke away. The waiter takes our order. Tabitha smirks when Rosie orders an egg white omelet with grilled vegetables.
“The omelets are great,” I say, making an attempt.
“Of course you never get egg whites. Wanna cigarette?” Rosie excuses herself to go to the bathroom.
“Is she going to puke?” I hope I didn’t tell Tabitha about Roseanne’s former eating disorder.
“Tabitha, what’s your problem?”
“What problem?” I shake my head. The waiter pours us more mimosas. These drinks are never stiff enough, but usually I’m still slightly toasted from the night before. I snag one of her cigarettes and smoke fiendishly.
“And that outfit,” she rolls her eyes, “high fashion.”
“Tabitha. Maturity. Come on.”
“Fine, I’ll play with your little friend.” When Rosie returns, Tabitha stubs out her cigarette and removes her glasses. If you were a student of Tabitha body language like I am, you would think this was a good sign. We’ll see.
“So, what field are you interested in?”
“Finance. I was a finance major and I worked for a small consulting firm in Hartford.”
“Do you have any leads?” Our food arrives and the waiter mistakenly puts Roseanne’s food in front of Tabitha. “No, this is not for me.”
“Well, I’ve written some letters and I have two interviews set up for this week. I’m also in contact with an agency.”
“Those agencies are such a pain.” Tabitha shoves a huge forkful of eggs Benedict in her mouth. I think she is flaunting her appetite, if you can believe it. “It’s pretty admirable of you to just hop on down without a job or any hope of one.” (Is this a compliment?)
“I figured it was the only way to get motivated.” Tabitha asks the waiter for more bread.
“You know.” She pauses to get our attention before she speaks again. “I do have a friend at Deutsche Bank. Remember Johann?” I nod, remembering the awful fashion sense.
“Is he still talking to you?”
“I stopped talking to him. Danke. ” Rosie smiles at that. “Anyway, see how your other interviews go and if nothing comes, give me a call and I’ll call Herr Johann. If you want.” Is she being helpful?
“Thanks.” Rosie is genuinely grateful, but of course this happy moment of togetherness can’t last. “I can’t wait till we find a place and then we can join a gym.”
“What fun,” Tabitha outdoes herself on the sarcasm and excuses herself to powder her nose. I stare down at my Belgian waffles.
“Is she always this…way?” Rosie asks.
“I know, I know, I know. She just takes some getting used to. She doesn’t mean to be abrasive. Really.”
Tabitha returns at the same time the bill arrives. Rosie reaches for it but Tabitha grabs her
“She might have accounted for it when she left the house.” Not a good sign. But, before I can defend Tabitha’s honor, Herself shows up. She’s a vision in brown this morning—and where did she get that leather jacket?
“Sorry, I’m late.” This to me and an extended hand to Rosie. “Tabitha.” They shake hands and eye each other. Does it really have to be this strenuous? Can’t we all just get along?
“Was it a rough night?”
“You could say that.” She hasn’t yet removed her sunglasses. “I went out with Ahmed.”
“What about Luis?” She looks from me to Rosie and back to me.
“I just can’t date people in the service industry. You should have seen the restaurant he suggested we go to.”
“I’m sure it was hideous.” This isn’t doing much for her image. The waiter comes over, but Tabitha, still undecided, waves him off as she “needs a minute.” I try not to see Rosie roll her eyes. I sigh.
“C’mon, Tabitha, I’m starved.” I am really trying to keep it together.
“You could have ordered.”
I grip my mimosa glass. “We didn’t. We waited.”
“Fine,” says Tabitha. She closes her menu and takes out a cigarette. Rosie absently waves some smoke away. The waiter takes our order. Tabitha smirks when Rosie orders an egg white omelet with grilled vegetables.
“The omelets are great,” I say, making an attempt.
“Of course you never get egg whites. Wanna cigarette?” Rosie excuses herself to go to the bathroom.
“Is she going to puke?” I hope I didn’t tell Tabitha about Roseanne’s former eating disorder.
“Tabitha, what’s your problem?”
“What problem?” I shake my head. The waiter pours us more mimosas. These drinks are never stiff enough, but usually I’m still slightly toasted from the night before. I snag one of her cigarettes and smoke fiendishly.
“And that outfit,” she rolls her eyes, “high fashion.”
“Tabitha. Maturity. Come on.”
“Fine, I’ll play with your little friend.” When Rosie returns, Tabitha stubs out her cigarette and removes her glasses. If you were a student of Tabitha body language like I am, you would think this was a good sign. We’ll see.
“So, what field are you interested in?”
“Finance. I was a finance major and I worked for a small consulting firm in Hartford.”
“Do you have any leads?” Our food arrives and the waiter mistakenly puts Roseanne’s food in front of Tabitha. “No, this is not for me.”
“Well, I’ve written some letters and I have two interviews set up for this week. I’m also in contact with an agency.”
“Those agencies are such a pain.” Tabitha shoves a huge forkful of eggs Benedict in her mouth. I think she is flaunting her appetite, if you can believe it. “It’s pretty admirable of you to just hop on down without a job or any hope of one.” (Is this a compliment?)
“I figured it was the only way to get motivated.” Tabitha asks the waiter for more bread.
“You know.” She pauses to get our attention before she speaks again. “I do have a friend at Deutsche Bank. Remember Johann?” I nod, remembering the awful fashion sense.
“Is he still talking to you?”
“I stopped talking to him. Danke. ” Rosie smiles at that. “Anyway, see how your other interviews go and if nothing comes, give me a call and I’ll call Herr Johann. If you want.” Is she being helpful?
“Thanks.” Rosie is genuinely grateful, but of course this happy moment of togetherness can’t last. “I can’t wait till we find a place and then we can join a gym.”
“What fun,” Tabitha outdoes herself on the sarcasm and excuses herself to powder her nose. I stare down at my Belgian waffles.
“Is she always this…way?” Rosie asks.
“I know, I know, I know. She just takes some getting used to. She doesn’t mean to be abrasive. Really.”
Tabitha returns at the same time the bill arrives. Rosie reaches for it but Tabitha grabs her
Similar Books
