Page 11 of Stay Awake
Marco’s a very compartmentalized person. We see each other two to three nights a week when he’s not traveling for work, which he does a lot. Marco left a job in finance to set up a technology start-up. It’s something to do with advertising software. He’s on the road a fair bit, raising capital and doing deals.
“Where are you going?” I prop myself up against a large pillow.
“I’m meeting an investor for lunch. Remember? You said last night that you’d join us. That’s why I woke you. Otherwise I’d have let you sleep longer.”
“I totally forgot!” I groan.
That’s not technically true. I have a vague memory of a drunken promise to join him. It was quickly followed by regret. Being an appendage at a working lunch while Marco charms an investor is hardly my idea of a fun-filled Sunday with my boyfriend. Marco’s so driven, but I wish he’d give his wheeling and dealing a break on weekends.
“I’m a mess. There isn’t enough time for me to get ready.” I run my hand through my disheveled hair.
“There’s plenty of time for you to get ready.” He puts on his watch.
I make a comical face in the mirror on the wall, amused at how my hair sticks out in a dozen different directions. I look like an ingenue with hair this short. It makes my eyes bigger and my face pointier and uncertain. I look much younger than a woman who’s just hit the big thirty.
“Marco. Will you hate me if I skip the lunch?”
Disappointment shifts across his face so quickly that I wonder if I imagined it. “You don’t have to come, Liv. It’s up to you. Dean’s bringing Emily, but I never told him that you were definitely joining us.” He shrugs, leaving the rest unsaid.
I like that Marco doesn’t push me. I’ve always had a tendency to date overbearing boyfriends who expect me to be at their beck and call. Marco’s not like that at all. He’s easygoing. It makes me want to please him.
“On second thought, I’ll go. It’ll be fun,” I say, with forced enthusiasm.
“Great! You’ll love Emily.” I suspect he knew all along that I’d agree. Am I that predictable?
“What does Emily do?” I ask a few minutes later after I’ve showered. I take out linen pants and a navy off-the-shoulder top from Marco’s closet. I keep a few outfits at his apartment. Sometimes I go straight to work when I stay overnight because he lives a few blocks from my office near Washington Square Park.
“She’s a designer. Handbags and accessories. She’s very talented. Dean tells me it’s a tough industry to break into.”
I hear that a lot. The market is flooded with designers trying to get discovered. It’s the Project Runway effect. Some of the designers are amazing and yet they struggle to survive in a saturated market. These days, it’s not how good you are as a designer but who you know, or how many Instagram followers you have. Celebrity is what sells. I tell Marco some version of this as I get dressed.
“If you like Emily’s collection, then maybe you could getCulturato do a write-up.”
He says it nonchalantly, but I sense his expectation. My eyes flick to his face in the mirror while I apply lipstick. He sits on the edge of his bed putting on his socks, his face inscrutable.
“It’s not my beat, although I can always ask the style team if they’re interested,” I offer.
I’m starting to suspect the real reason that Marco wants me at this lunch is so I’ll meet Emily and get roped into arranging free publicity at my magazine for her label. I immediately feel bad about my uncharitable thoughts. Marco is not manipulative. If he wanted me to help his investor’s wife with free publicity, then he’d have come right out and asked. On the other hand, he doesn’t usually take meetings on a Sunday.
I’m uncharacteristically quiet as we leave the apartment.
Marco senses my disquiet. He puts his arm around me when we’re out on the street. “How about we go on a bike ride after lunch?”
Marco has a set of road bikes. I’ve always presumed he keeps the smaller road bike for his girlfriend of the moment to join him on weekend bike rides.
Until I met Marco, I hadn’t been on a bike since I was a kid. My dad taught me to ride during a visit to see his family in England when I was five. It’s my last vivid memory of him before he walked out on Mom the following year.
Marco’s an avid cyclist. After our second date, I borrowed a friend’s bike and went riding by myself until I felt confident enough to join him on his weekend treks. I’m starting to get the bug, too. In fact, we’re talking about doing a cycling trip in France in October.
“I’d love to, but I arranged to go to a kickboxing class with Amy this afternoon. She’s already signed us up.”
“I thought you hated kickboxing.”
“It’s growing on me. The instructor says I have potential.”
“What does he mean by ‘potential’?”
“He says I have great technique, but I’m too timid with my punches. Why don’t you come over tonight instead?” I suggest to Marco. “I’ll cook. Name any cuisine and I’ll make you a feast.”
