“Hey, Sluggo!” Clancy shouts, apparently okay changing the direction of our conversation away from where I was steering it. When Clancy spins around to face Sluggo, her skirt twirls high enough so he can see her panties. Sluggo’s jaw drops and his eyes pop, but Clancy either doesn’t notice, or she pretends she doesn’t notice. I honestly have no idea what is up with this girl in terms of this whole unintentional sex show thing she’s got going on.
“Jesus, dude. Really?” I sigh at Sluggo, more because he’s been eavesdropping on our conversation than because he was so obviously checking out Clancy’s panties.
“I would have texted you, but you know…” Sluggo lets the sentence trail with a tight-lipped grin. “Anyway, we’re late.”
“We’re late,” I say flatly. I have no plans with Sluggo today.
“Now you’re doing it to Sluggo,” Clancy giggles. “That’s good. I thought it was only me.”
“Doing what, cutie-pie?” Sluggo asks Clancy.
“Repeating what the other person just said. I think it’s a new symptom,” Clancy replies cheerfully. Clancy and Sluggo have spent hours discussing the symptoms of what they consider my condition. Or, at least Clancy has spent hours pontificating about my condition, while Sluggo probably just stared openly at her body, hoping for another accidental reveal, which is what he continues to do right now. Shamelessly, I might add.
“Anyway, I won’t hold you guys up,” Clancy says, smiling at me. “I just came over to let you know my parents are in town on Friday and they’re so looking forward to seeing you, baby.”
“You crossed the Hudson to tell me that?”
“I just found out this morning. Not enough time for the standard post and your answering machine has been full for more than a month. What did you want me to do?”
Clancy doesn’t ask me to flip the tape on my answering machine. I guess she thinks if I’m going to live in relative isolation with regard to her, it might as well be the same with everyone else. Or maybe she just doesn’t want to acknowledge the fact that there’s a nineteen-eighties, analog cassette tape answering machine attached to my land line.
I actually like Clancy’s father, Ben. He’s always helped me to get some perspective on my life, albeit unintentionally. Clancy’s mother – Amanda-call-me-Mandy – is a carbon copy of her daughter. I know, you’d think it would be the other way around, but it’s not.
See, back when Clancy was twenty-three or so, her mom decided to abandon the personality she had been wearing for decades and adopt the personality that her daughter had constructed. When I first met Clancy’s mom she was Amanda, a Connecticut-country-club wife. That’s a thing. But a few years into my relationship with her daughter, Clancy’s mother changed dresses, figuratively speaking. Amanda the Connecticut-country-club wife transformed herself into Amanda-call-me-Mandy and fashioned herself in the style of her daughter, complete with frequent and suspiciously unintentional reveals of her assorted private parts. Clancy’s mom might be getting on in years, but she keeps herself in pretty good shape, so she can still shift some eyes. Especially, I’d imagine, among her husband’s friends.
If Clancy’s father, Ben, even noticed his wife’s transformation, he never discussed it with me. In fact, he’s only ever discussed two things with me. One is the fact that he hates his wife on a gut-level. Connecticut-country-club or call-me-Mandy, the version didn’t appear to make any difference to Ben. According to Ben, his wife is the antichrist. The second thing he discussed with me, despite the fact that he really does love his daughter, is that I should immediately get as far away from Clancy humanly possible. As fast as humanly possible. He said this to me about fifteen minutes into the very first time we met. Back then I thought he was joking. Now, sometimes I feel like Ben is the only person who has ever truly understood my situation with Clancy.
“You still haven’t told your parents we broke up, then.” I state the obvious.
“Look, baby. I understand that you and I are in different places right now. But I honestly believe that what you’re going through is just a phase. And while I’m willing to let this play out between the two of us…”
Really? I mean, that would sound a lot more convincing if she weren’t standing in my hallway, right?
“… I’m not going to let this phase of yours do who-knows-what kind of damage to our entire social network, including, and not the least of which, my family…”
So, it’s been ten months. And nobody knows that we broke up. I guess that makes sense. I mean, if Clancy isn’t going to tell the world, then who would? Sluggo? Hell, no! Sluggo definitely wouldn’t want anyone to know that Clancy is back on the market until he’s exhausted every possible chance to be with her, or least stare at her apparently unintentional indiscretions while she discusses the various causes and symptoms of what she calls my “condition.”
And who am I going to tell?
“… so, we don’t have to get back together for good or anything. We just have to get back together for Friday, at the Soho House, at seven.”
“There’s no way I’m going to the Soho House.” Either the inflection in my voice shuts down any hope Clancy’s got of arguing, or she figures that yielding on this point also implies that I will, in fact, be meeting her parents on Friday. I think it’s the latter.
“So, where then?” Clancy says demurely, swallowing what I’m sure is a victory yawp.
“Applebee’s.” No need to make this any easier for her.
“Seriously?” Clancy says with a smirk.
“Seriously,” I say, seriously. “I’m in New Jersey. Let’s do like the locals.”
“You want to take my parents to Applebee’s?”
“Actually, I want your parents to take us to Applebee’s. I’m okay ordering off the two for twenty-dollar menu if you’re worried about the cost.”
“How about Nobu? You love Nobu!”
“How about Buffalo Wild Wings? I’m sure there’s a game on Friday night.”