I Live In…A Pool House
Leah’s family is coming to the house for Memorial Day. Did I mention before that there’s a pool? There’s a pool. With a pool house. It was not winterized which is why I moved into the main house, but Tuesday and Wednesday I lugged all my stuff across the yard and into the pool house. I feel like that guy from the OC…Ben? I never actually watched that show…which I think makes me a bad teenager, but we also didn’t get the channel it was on. Our house in Vermont had one of those old school fork antennae on the roof—you know, a crosshatch of metal? We could watch PBS, ABC. NBC, and CBS. That was it. Thus my love of Are Your Being Served?, Fawlty Towers, and Mystery! with Diana Rigg. Everything I learned about cooking I learned from Julia Child, and everything I know about building Shaker-style furniture I learned from watching The New Yankee Workshop.
I digress. So I moved my belonging across the way, and now I have a mini-fridge and a microwave which means I can make coffee in the morning without having to interact with anyone.
I am not a morning person.
I manned up and got my own subscription to NetFlix. I’d still been using Billy’s, but it was time for the bad habit to end.
Tuesday after the move I got into bed and watched The Seven Year Itch and What’s New Pussycat? and also How To Steal A Million. I think I’m in love with Peter O’Toole, despite it being, like, fifty years too late for us.
Seriously, that face. Any man who can look sexy and flare his nostrils is okay by me. Also: blue eyes.
Then, on Wednesday Sarah called me and was like, “You need to go out.”
The pool house comes with a surround sound system built in, with the option of turning on or off the outside speakers. I put on Tragic Kingdom and danced around in my underwear getting ready. It’s this delicate balance: on the one hand, I don’t go out all that much so I want to get at least a little gussied up. On the other hand, it’s the Hamptons on an off-season Wednesday night and I don’t want to look like a freak with a face full of spackle and a sequined shirt, or anything. Meaning that, most people do not dress up to go out to the Tavern or Rowdy Hall or wherever on an off-season Wednesday night.
Not that I own a sequined shirt…
I decided on skinny black pants, my favorite tank-top printed with toucans, an off-the-shoulder slouchy purple sweatshirt, and black booties. Some hoops in my ears and a few rings and I figured I looked like any other hipster skulking around Williamsburg. Not too much or too little, but juuuuust right.
“It’s AAAALLLL you’re fault / I screen my PHOOOOONE CALLLLS!”
I’m have a terrible singing voice and I love vintage No Doubt.
I met Sarah at the Tavern and we sat at a table on the bar side by the window.
“Did you know,” she began, “that Aaron Carter is playing at the Talkhouse on the 28th?”
“No! How much are tickets?” I asked.
“Only thirty dollars. And he’s playing after Memorial Day weekend. That can’t be good.” She laughed.
“Oh we definitely need to go. I don’t even know what his music sounds like these days. Do you think it’s still teenage pop stuff?”
“I have no clue. Let me look it up on my phone,” she said.
“Ahh…don’t do that! I hate when people watch videos and play music and stuff on speakerphone in public,” I said.
“El, it’s so loud in here, it’s not like it will matter.” Sarah was pouting.
“I know, but I complain about it all the time and I’ll feel like a total hypocrite…plus we actually know people here,” I argued.
“Ugh, fine. You complain about everything, though,” she said.
“It’s just part of my natural charm,” and I smiled extra sweetly.
Sarah’s eyes got wide all of a sudden. “What? Did I shock you?” I joked. When she didn’t respond I looked over my shoulder. Jake and Dell were standing in the entrance to the bar looking around. Before I could stop her, Sarah began waving her arms.
“Jake! Dell! Over here!” She patted the empty chair next to her. “Come sit with us.”
I could feel myself begin to blush. Shit! Did I actually have a crush on Jake? Why else would my face get heated? I ran a hand nervously through my hair and scooted over to make room. Jake took the seat next to me and his leg brushed mine under the table. Like a spaz, I dropped my purse that I had been moving off the chair. Sarah rolled her eyes at me and Jake bent down to pick it up. Did he just wink at me? He winked at me when he handed me the bag.
Jake winked at me.
Sarah’s an unnaturally bubbly person and she quickly took over the conversation, asking the guys about work and Memorial Day plans. I stared at my plate and tried to think of interesting things I could talk about, but every time Jake’s leg would bump mine my mind went blank.
“Wouldn’t that be fun, El?” Sarah kicked me under the table.
“Huh?” I said, mentally shaking myself.
“You and Sarah should come to our barbeque on the Sunday of Memorial Day weekend,” said Jake. He was smiling at me. Oh god, he has a dimple on his left cheek.
“Yeah!” I said brightly. Then I remembered I had to work the opening shift. “I wouldn’t be done until four-ish…”
“That’s okay—we don’t start until three anyway. Just come over whenever you can.” Sarah practically squealed.
“Oh, it’s going to be so much fun!” she said.
So that’s the story of how I’m going to Jake’s Memorial Day BBQ. And also the story of how Jake has a dimple. And the story of how Jake makes me blush. And, possibly, the story of how I’m getting over Billy.