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I’ve called her this since we were little girls. After we were given our new identities, I’d lost touch with Cara. We didn’t reunite until my freshman year of college.
She had been visiting from Julliard for the weekend. She was coming up the escalator of Harvard Square’s “T” station. I hadn’t seen her in nine years, but I would recognize those big brown eyes and almost white blonde hair anywhere
When we were kids, our parents were friends because her Moroccan father and her French mother were the “other” immigrant family in the neighborhood besides mine. We were inseparable. Leaving without saying goodbye to her had been one of the most devastating parts of our move.
We hugged for so long, standing in front of the Au Bon Pain in Harvard Square and promised to never lose touch again. She is the only person from “before” in my life, and it’s such a relief to be with someone who knows me.
“Bitch, you’re late and I’m hungry.”
This is typical Cara, her tiny body contains the fiercest personality and foulest mouth. I rush to sit down and after a quick peck on her cheek.
“Sorry, sorry! I’ve got a lot going on. Work is crazy busy, and I lost track of time.”
Our waitress arrives with big glasses of water to take our order. As soon as she is gone, we get settled in for our conversation. Cara leans across the table, looks me squarely in the eye, and jumps right in.
“Have you talked to your mom, Addie?”
I sigh, loudly. She heard the entire story on the phone last week and even though she didn’t chastise me thoroughly, she has let me know she thinks I’d been out of line and that I need to pick up the phone to apologize. I agree. I just can’t bring myself to face my mother and the conversation that would require.
“No, Cara, I haven’t. But we’ve talked about me endlessly for the last week. How was Paris? How were the auditions?”
She has been to Paris twice for auditions for a primary role with the Paris ballet.
“Crazy, and terrible. I don’t know what is wrong with me, but I feel like I am fucking up the biggest opportunity of my life.”
She twirls the straw and looks up at me with abject despair in her eyes.
I look back at her and roll mine.
“Well, Cara if dancing doesn’t work out, you’ll definitely make it as an actress. You are being so dramatic! I am sure you are killing those auditions. Didn’t they ask you back?”
“Yes, but they must be blind. Or maybe they are thinking because I am American I’ll put out, and they plan on me being the company slut.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. You’re ridiculous.” She snorts out a laugh at that and then her eyes narrow at me.
“Speaking of fucks…when are you going to get to it, Addie? You’ve been here a year!”
“Leave me alone, Cara, I’m busy and my Handy Dandies do me just fine”
“Yeah, well if I’d gone a year without any, my pussy would atrophy.”
“If you go a week without any, your pussy would protest.” Our server arrives with our food just as I finish my sentence, and she gasps in embarrassment. This only make Cara snort again.
“Shows what your dumb ass knows, Addie. I’m on a hiatus. Remember the sex god, Louis, we saw the other day? I’ve been hot for him forever! He’s never given me the time of day. It’s starting to depress me.”
“Louis, the set designer?” My pulse quickens and my mind automatically thinks “Simon”.
“Yes, the one whose friend you had a stroke over?”
“I did not!” I lie. Even now, my heart is speeding up at the thought of him.
“Oh, please, Addie, you couldn’t even form a complete sentence. I had to rescue you from looking like a total ass.”
I flush and Cara only smiles knowingly at me.
She knows me too well. I grin and concede.
“Fine. But shit, he was hot. How in the world have you never mentioned him before?”
