Ofer acted like he was doing me a favor by bringing me along, as though I actually gave a shit about this circus. Once we arrived, he was in full networking mode and had no use for me. I tracked his bald head as he made his way around the room, sniffing out the dissatisfied talent: the actors and actresses whose managers weren’t doing enough for them—their eternal cry.
I was starving. I feared that at any moment my hand and mouth could form a secret shared alliance, wherein my hand would unconsciously reach out and make a grab for the butlered hors d’oeuvres: the pigs in a blanket, chicken-and-waffle bites, and small rustic pizzas that mined the whole room. I had my protein bar stashed away in my purse, ready to safeguard me from hunger. But I couldn’t just whip it out in the crowded room when there was so much other food available.
I would have to consume the bar in the bathroom. I had no qualms with eating in bathrooms, really. If given the choice, I’d much prefer to eat a protein bar alone on the toilet than do cocktail hour under the watchful eyes of others. At least a bathroom was a room of one’s own.
Unfortunately, this bathroom had two stalls. Another woman already occupied one of them. I entered my stall, sat down, and waited. I wanted to hold off until she left in case my chewing made any noise. The protein bar was soft, consisting of whey proteins, not loud like a granola bar, or anything in the crunchy family. Still, I craved total privacy.
When the woman finished peeing, another woman came in and took over her stall immediately. When that woman finished, a third woman entered. This third woman made no noise. She simply sat there silently for a very long time. I knew she was waiting for me to leave so she could do her business. We were locked in a stalemate, and neither of us was moving.
I was starving. It was now or never—I would have to let her win. As quietly as possible, I took the protein bar out of my purse. The wrapper made a loud crinkling sound when I opened it. I hoped that my neighbor would think it was a tampon wrapper. Gingerly, I took a bite and tried to chew quietly. The saliva in my mouth made juicy, squelching noises. It was time to just say fuck it and surrender. I took my next bite with more gusto, chewing heartily.
Suddenly, I heard a series of farts erupt from the stall next door, then the sound of shit plopping, unmistakably diarrhea, then more farts. I wondered if the woman felt ashamed, knowing that I was there to hear it. What an exciting feeling! I was happy not to be the one who was ashamed for once. Then the smell hit me. I didn’t know what to do. Should I finish the bar, steeped in diarrhea smell? Should I go back to the party light-headed with low blood sugar? As more shit fell, I was unable to continue eating. I swallowed my bite, put the bar in my bag, and flushed even though I hadn’t peed.
I washed and dried my hands, then took the remainder of the bar out of my bag, unpeeled it, and shoved the rest in my mouth. I swung open the bathroom door, mouth full of bar like a chipmunk.
“Hi, Rachel.”
It was Jace Evans. There was no way I could open my mouth. I already felt a little puddle of drool forming in the right corner of my lips. I gave him a little wave and tried to keep walking, but he stopped me.
“Is anyone in the women’s room? Some guy locked himself in the men’s for the past ten minutes,” he said. “I have to talk to media, but I really gotta go.”
“Mmm-hmm,” I said, lips still clenched and bulging like I had a mouth guard in. I held up two fingers to indicate that there were two people in there.
“Oh, okay,” he said. “You all right?”
“Mmm-hmm,” I said again, trying to suck the giant ball of bar farther back in my mouth. There was no way I could swallow it without choking. It had the consistency of a Tootsie Roll. Instinctively, once it reached my molars, I started chewing.
“Do you always eat in the bathroom?” he asked.
CHAPTER 16
“Where’s Adiv?” I asked, as Miriam greeted me at the counter with a big smile.
“Packing his stuff,” she said.
“Oh?”
“He’s going back to Israel. Basic training. He’s going to be serving in the IDF.”
“Oh.”
The IDF?! The situation was more alarming than I’d imagined. Maybe it shouldn’t be surprising. Adiv did seem like the “follows orders” type. He took commands well with a yogurt machine at least, which was more than could be said of Miriam.
“Listen,” I said, before she went over to the machine. “I only want the yogurt to the top of the cup, no higher.”
I said it firmly and solemnly.
“Okay,” she said, shrugging.
She filled the cup, exceeding the rim by a few centimeters—probably out of spite.
“What toppings do you want?” she asked.
So we were still playing this game.
“I don’t want any toppings,” I said.
“Didn’t you enjoy the sprinkles last time?”
Oh, I’d enjoyed them, all right.
“They were fine,” I said. “But I prefer it plain.”
“Maybe try a different topping this time,” she said.
“No, that’s okay.”
“How about this? Why don’t you let me make you something special? If you hate it, I will just give you your plain cup to the rim, exactly the way you want it.”
This was coercion, intimidation by butterscotch. I wanted to tell her to go away, that she was ruining something secure and delicious in my world. But another part of me —that same wild part that had lapped up the sprinkles, the demon of my old insatiable hunger—felt liberated by her enthusiasm.
I opened my mouth and said, “Okay.”
And when I said, “Okay,” Miriam said “Okay” too.
She gave me a huge smile, her face flashing like a candle. I felt my anxiety dissipate. Gone was the fear that she was out to ruin me, the suspicion that she wanted to disappear me from myself, to make me hate myself, to send me spinning out into infinity, a nothing, a blob, so big I could be seen only in fragments, so unwieldy I could never be held, just an overwhelming void, just devastated, just dead. I looked at her smile, and I thought: love.
She moved silently to the toppings bar in her long blue dress, the same dress she wore the first time I’d seen her. I traced the many curves of her body around and around all the way to the floor. I wondered what she was going to do. I was scared. How many times had I made sundaes in my mind, never thinking the fantasies would actually be realized? I’d never even wanted the fantasies to be realized. I’d thought it was safe to fantasize, because my inner wall was so strong. My wall was thick, under my control. But now she was lifting the metal lid off the hot fudge with her pale hand, this sorceress at the cauldron, and not a low-calorie cauldron either, but regular hot fudge. She was taking up the ladle.
I watched her spoon three large puddles of fudge on top, the yogurt plateauing beneath the warm sauce, the sauce dripping down the sides, wildly volcanic. After each ladle, I thought she was going to stop, but she did not stop, she added a fourth, then a fifth ladle of fudge, the yogurt going totally Vesuvius. She paused for a moment, then dusted the entire thing with a layer of chopped peanuts. I was stunned. Never in my topping daydreams would I have thought to incorporate a peanut. She finished with whipped cream—just a dollop—and then a drizzle of strawberry syrup on top of that.