“Why would anyone steal pigeons?” she asked when Cate was done.
“I don’t know,” Cate said. “It’s crazy, right?”
“Yes,” Isabel a said. “It’s crazy.”
“You believe me though, right?”
“Cate, are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I’m just tel ing you, it was the weirdest thing. He just scooped them up, like it was his job. Like he was sent there to do that.”
Isabel a shrugged. “Maybe it was,” she said. “Maybe he works for the city.”
“No,” Cate said. “I thought of that. The van wasn’t marked.”
Isabel a sighed. “Okay, so it was just some crazy man. Why do you care?”
“It’s not right,” Cate said. “It’s not right that people can just go stealing pigeons in broad daylight.”
“They’re disgusting,” Isabel a said. “I say, let anyone who wants to take them go ahead.”
“But you believe me, right? You know I’m tel ing the truth?”
“Yes,” Isabel a said. “I believe you. Can we just go over the stuff for the meeting now?”
“Yeah,” Cate said. “Okay, sure.”
“Cate, are you sure you’re okay? Did something else happen?” Isabel a asked.
“No,” she said. “I’m fine. Let’s just get this over with, okay?”
Cate started to write an e-mail to her friends about Bridget, but she didn’t get far. How embarrassing was it that her ex-boyfriend was dating Bridget Carlson? She looked at the sentence she’d typed and erased it. It was pretty embarrassing, she decided. She stared at her computer and tried to figure out how long it would be before everyone knew about Bridget and Jim. Knowing Bridget, she was probably posting it on Facebook right then. Her status would probably read, “Bridget Carlson is madly in love with Jim.” Cate wondered if Bridget had a blog. She hadn’t mentioned it, but if anyone was going to fil the world with pointless information about her life, it would be Bridget. This lunch was probably going to be in Bridget’s memoir.
Isabel a gave Cate suspicious looks al afternoon. Cate tried to ignore her. Once, she started to tel Isabel a what had happened. Isabel a didn’t know Bridget, so she couldn’t possibly know the extent of the awfulness. Cate tried, but she couldn’t get the words out.
Isabel a had saved Cate in the meeting. She’d talked for the both of them, acting as if Cate was involved in the work she’d done. “Thanks,” Cate said to her when they got back to their desks.
Isabel a just shrugged and shook her head. “Sure,” she said. “No problem.”
Isabel a was always so serious. She constantly reminded Cate that she was older, and said things like “When I was your age” and “You’l understand in a few years.” Whenever Cate told her to calm down, she said, “I don’t have any time left to fool around.” Isabel a was only three years older than Cate, but she acted like she was a hundred. If Cate told her about Bridget and Jim, there was a good chance she would shake her head and say, “Oh, children these days.”
Cate’s phone wouldn’t stop ringing the rest of the afternoon, but she refused to answer it. “What is going on?” Isabel a demanded.
“I’m just trying to avoid a phone cal .”
“The stalker?” Isabel a asked. “Why don’t you just look at the cal er ID?”
“No. You don’t know this girl. She could be cal ing from any number.”
“I guess,” Isabel a said. She chewed on her lip and looked concerned. “You know, I was thinking about the pigeons.”
“Real y?” Cate asked.
“Yeah, I mean, you’re right. It could have been just some random man stealing them.”
“I know,” Cate said. “But why wouldn’t anyone have stopped him?”
Isabel a shrugged. “Sometimes I think that if you do something with enough confidence in New York, you can get away with anything. If you pretend to have authority, people never question you.”
“I think you’re right.” Cate swal owed, looked back at her computer, and started typing.
Cate left work and stood on the corner waiting for the bus. A pigeon bobbed its head and walked toward her. She waited for it to stop and turn around, but it kept coming. Its beak was open, like it was going to bite her. She kicked her shoe at it and backed up, but it just flapped its wings at her. The people across the street watched her, giving her strange looks. The pigeon kept coming closer, and Cate wondered if it was a rabid pigeon. Was there such a thing? She kicked at it again and screamed, “Aughh!” Final y it turned to walk away. “Fuck you,” Cate said to its back.
She could have sworn it turned around to look at her. “You better watch it,” she said. “There are people out there who can take you.” The man next to her moved two steps away.
Cate stopped on the way home to get a bottle of wine, and opened it as soon as she got into her apartment. She poured some into a glass and took a sip before she even took off her jacket. No matter how many times she’d tried to make sense of it, she couldn’t. “Bridget and Jim,” she repeated aloud. “Bridget and Jim.”
Final y, after a couple glasses of wine, she picked up the phone and cal ed her friend Julia. “You won’t believe this,” Cate said. “I had lunch with Bridget today—I know, I know, she’s a crazy person. But listen to what she told me. She’s obsessed with Jim and total y stalking him. Yes, that Jim. I know, she’s nuts.” Cate took another sip of wine and smiled. “I think she’s breaking him down,” she said. “You know how she is. I know, I know. You almost feel sorry for him. Poor bastard.”
R iding backwards on a train makes me sick,” Lauren said. Everyone ignored her. They were sitting in a four-person seat on the Long Island Rail Road, facing each other with their knees touching. “I’m serious, you guys, I might throw up. I always get motion sick when I ride backwards.”
“You feel sick because you drank about forty-five vodka tonics last night,” Mary said. She leaned forward and sniffed. “You smel like you just took a shot. I’m serious. I can smel liquor on your breath.”
“Please stop it,” Lauren said, closing her eyes and leaning her head back against the seat. “Could someone please just switch with me?”
“Fine, I wil ,” Isabel a said.
They stood up and grasped elbows, turning until they were on opposite sides. Lauren knocked Mary’s coffee when she sat down and Mary swore at her. They were al annoyed. They were on their way to Long Island for a wedding shower and they were al annoyed.
“This isn’t helping,” Lauren said, and leaned forward to rest her head in her lap. “I hate Long Island.”
“No kidding,” Isabel a said.
Their friend Kristi was engaged. They were al happy for her. They were al bridesmaids. They were al sick of celebrating it.
Kristi was real y embracing her role as a bride-to-be. She never said things like “Let’s talk about something besides the wedding,” or, “You don’t have to buy me a present for every party.” She wanted al of the attention and she wanted al of the presents. This was her time, she kept reminding them, like it was something she’d earned.
This was Kristi’s sixth shower. First, her mother’s side of the family had thrown her a “Time of Day” shower. They were al given a time of day, and had to buy a present that went along with it. Isabel a got two a.m. “What am I supposed to get them for two a.m.?” Isabel a asked everyone. She agonized over it, ignored Lauren’s suggestion to buy them handcuffs, and final y bought sheets.
Kristi’s second shower was thrown by her father’s side of the family. (Her father’s side had been excluded from the first shower, because of some family drama that none of the bridesmaids cared about.) They traveled to Rhode Island to sit in a tiny living room and listen to Kristi’s aunt complain about not being invited to the other shower. “She could have had my invitation,” Mary whispered to Isabel a.