Page 74 of Forget About Me

It’s Monday, the first wide-open day off I’ve had since I don’t even know when. Since I’m leaving soon, my dad replaced me with some kid who I guess is doing a decent job with deliveries. In any case, I’m out and I have nothing to do.

Lucy’s not available. We chatted on the phone last night, and she sounded terrible but claimed that she felt better. Still, she’s got work this morning and clients later. I’ll see her tonight, but there are too many free hours between now and then.

Lots of things I could be doing. Work out. Laundry. Clean the apartment.

I just can’t seem to get out of bed.

But then I have an idea that gets me moving:Mixtape.

Lucy used to give me shit about how she was the only one who ever made the tapes we listened to together. I always thought of it as her territory. She was so artsy with the covers and would spend hours working out which songs to include and the order they should go in. She took a few back to listen to while she drives around town, so maybe she doesn’t have time to make them anymore.

I do have time, and I could make her a mix that’d let her know how much I love her. Maybe it could even communicate how sorry I am about Tony without me ever having to spell it out.

Yeah, that’s asking a bit much.

But I could give it to her tonight and then tell her.

Or tell her after she’s had a few days to listen to it.

First, though, I have to make the thing.

Moments later I’m dressed and staring at my small collection of albums and cassettes. I’m not really sure how to get started.

A couple hours later, I’m ready to throw my stereo across the room. Lucy always made this seem so easy. After two trips and a great deal of condescension from the dude at Radio Shack, I’ve finally eliminated the terrible hissing sound. I have a series of songs recorded without cutoffs and long pauses. But the tape just ran out halfway through a song! That never happened with Lucy’s mixes. She must’ve somehow figured out how long each song was and done some serious math to make it all come out perfectly.

Turning the damn stereo off, I flop onto my back. Puck takes this as an invitation and takes a flying leap off the couch and onto my chest. After a good wrestle, I haul my body off the floor.

Time to work out.

I’ll have to figure out another way to tell Lucy the truth.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

“Just What I Needed” - The Cars

Lucy’s Catch You on the Flipside Mixtape, Song #1

LUCY

After a long weekend of avoiding each other because I had a cold, it’s fun to be out with Ben like a real couple again.

Tonight, we’re on a sort of double date with Ben’s actor friend Will and Will’s girlfriend Kate. They made us a very impressive Indian meal, spicy and flavorful and not too heavy. I might have to branch out from Italian someday.

Kate, who does something in finance, sets down her post-dinner coffee. “So, how does being a dog trainer work, Lucy? Do you have your own business? Or do you work for someone else?”

Her cat is on the sofa between us, purring away. I wish we could have a cat, or a dog, or any pet. Sal is so allergic we had to give our dog away when my brother was little.

“No, I’m not really a dog trainer. I actually have a full-time job as a vet tech.” Kate has a degree from Harvard, so I’m not telling her that I didn’t even finish a semester of college. “I’ve always helped the practice’s clients with behavioral issues when they’ve come up, but having my own clients just kind of happened because of publicity from the play.”

“It’s pretty amazing what you did with Puck for the show,” Will says. “I’d always heard that working with animals is a nightmare.”

“They do tend to upstage everyone,” Ben says. “It’s not fair. All he has to do is cock his head and people laugh. Let him try to make words likepilloryandfarthingalefunny.”

Will shakes his head. “Youtry being the straight man—the asshole straight man at that—with the two of you onstage. I swear I get booed every single time when I chase you offstage.”

Ben dips his chin and pushes his bottom lip out. “I’m sorry we steal the show from you.”

Will throws a pillow at him. “No, you’re not.”

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