Up & Out by Ariella Papa

been feeling well. She’s young—you know how it is. She doesn’t understand that this is just business. In our industry these changes happen all the time.” Do they? Was I suddenly ancient?
    “If you have anything you want me to approve before I go, please get it to me before five. I’m on the red-eye to London tonight.”
    “Do you have to relocate?”
    “It hasn’t been determined yet.” I realize that Hackett is a survivor. For all the gruffness and loyalty he may or may not have had, he was in it to get by.
    I pass Don in the hall. We smile at each other. I remember him putting me in the cab last night; I think I held on a little too long when we hugged goodbye. But, we aren’t attracted to each other, we just had a lot to drink. He looks sheepish. He holds his fist out to me. It is a cheesy gesture, but I punch his fist with mine, just to say everything is cool.
    “You were fun last night,” he says.
    “Yeah, it was nice to blow off some steam.”
    “I think we all needed it.” He nods solemnly. I liked him better five shots in. “You have your face time with Hackett yet?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Get that expense report signed before he’s gone.” He was right, of course. Who knew what we had to expect?
    Back in my office, I take a look at the calendar on my wall. My deadlines are unbelievable and now I am going to have to negotiate them with some unknown person.
    I leave Janice and John a message: “We are going out to lunch.”

6
Devil’s Pie
    T ommy and I meet for a late dinner at the Greek place near our old (now his) apartment. I had this constant feeling of nausea, and only the avgolemono soup at Uncle Nick’s could cure me. I had been denied in Astoria, but Tommy was willing to go wherever I wanted.
    I’m making it seem as though we are suddenly complete adults about the breakup, aren’t I? Don’t be fooled. I find myself wondering what boxers he is wearing and how drunk I can get him. Very, very bad.
    We order a bottle of white wine and the four-dip sampler to start. Tommy requested the fish-roe dip, taramosalata, be on a separate plate. I wait on the soup order to give Tommy a chance to look over the menu again. We have been to this restaurant quite a few times, but he isn’t as familiar with Greek food as I am.
    I’m not sure if I want the swordfish kabob or the moussaka. The swordfish is healthier, but how often could I get authentic moussaka? Never.
    “Do you want to split an order of the potatoes?”
    “Rebecca, I’m not that hungry and I’m trying not to spend too much.”
    “Right.” Damn! He was going to be difficult. “Okay, we’ll skip the potatoes, but I’ll get the tab.”
    “Rebecca, you don’t have to do that.”
    “It’s no problem. Don’t forget I make the big bucks, and I suggested this place.” The dips and wine come. Tommy goes through the ceremony of tasting it. He prefers me to do it, but the waiter has poured it in his glass before we can say otherwise. Whenever Tommy tastes wine, he shrugs.
    “I guess it’s okay.” The waiter pours some wine in my glass and more into Tommy’s. He holds up his wineglass to me. “To Indiana Mutual.”
    “Please, Tommy.”
    “Okay, to Grand Theft Auto Vice City.” I raise my eyebrows, but smile because he is in a good mood. “Do you want to make the toast?”
    “Yes, to your new job.” He rolls his eyes. “We should celebrate.”
    “Yeah.” We drink. He looks down at the little dishes of dip. He turns the plate so the eggplant dip faces me and the tzatziki and potato dips face him. He hands me the smaller plate of the fish-roe dip. “You can eat that stuff.”
    I was hoping he would say that. I rip off some toasted pita and start to dig in. Tommy watches me eat.
    “It really is good.”
    “Right,” he says. Something is on his mind, but I am done trying to guess what is it. He is an adult, it’s time he learned to communicate. Besides, there is dip to eat and the waiter is back to get our orders. I feel