Happy Birthday: A Novel

After they’d finished eating, Valerie put the dishes in the sink. She offered to put them in the dishwasher, but he said that someone would be in to do it in the morning, and after they put the leftovers in the fridge, they went upstairs to his study, which had an even more spectacular view. They stood looking at it together for a moment, as the lights sparkled around the skyline of the city, and then Jack pressed a button and blackout shades came down over the windows, so they could watch a movie. He had a screening room too, but said this was more comfortable and cozier. They sat in two big armchairs side by side and he stuck a bag of popcorn in the microwave. He offered her several choices of films, and they picked one that neither of them had seen yet but wanted to. Valerie said she hadn’t been to a movie in months. She never had time. She often worked on her books and shows at night.

“You work too hard,” he reminded her, and she agreed readily. “I play more than you do,” he confessed. “Or at least I used to. I haven’t been out for two months, since Halloween.” He didn’t go into detail about it, and didn’t want to, but she knew something drastic had happened, since she had seen him the day after in the elevator at work, on their birthdays. He had said it was an accident, but she sensed there had been more to it than that. He wouldn’t have admitted it to Valerie, but he had only had sex once since, with one of his more sedate younger dates, but he had been so nervous about injuring himself again that he had barely dared to move, and it hadn’t been good for either of them. He was terrified to rupture the disk, and hadn’t dared to try it since, with anyone. The night before his birthday had changed his life, maybe forever, he was afraid. In an odd way, he and Valerie were at opposite ends of the spectrum, but with the same end result. He had a flock of women around him, she had no one, and in the end, both of them were alone, in all the ways that really mattered. It hadn’t occurred to either of them, but it was true. They were both lonely, in their own way, and worried about the future, although for all intents and purposes, to anyone looking at them from the outside, they had golden lives.

They happily munched the popcorn while watching the film they had selected. It was a romantic comedy about an actor with a million girlfriends who falls in love with his snooty leading lady, who is disgusted by him and wants nothing to do with him. Throughout the film, he tries to convince her that he’s a decent person, while the women he’s been involved with drop in, drop by, run into them, show up, climb in windows naked, and show up at his house, while the leading lady loathes him more and more. Some of the incidents portrayed in the movie were truly funny, and they both laughed loudly. The film particularly resonated for Jack, who could see himself easily in the role of the beleaguered actor if he ever truly fell in love. It was light fare and they both enjoyed it as they guffawed and giggled at the leading man’s discomfort and ate the popcorn. It had a happy ending, of course, which pleased them both. It set just the right tone for their friendly New Year’s Eve as buddies, recovering from their recent trauma, and trying to keep things light.

“I loved it!” Valerie said, looking delighted, as Jack switched some soft lights back on. They were cozy in the big chairs, and he had handed Valerie a cashmere blanket to snuggle under since he liked keeping the apartment cooler than most women liked. She hated to get up, she was happy where she was as he turned on the lights. “I hate sad movies, or violence, or anything about sports,” she said without thinking, and then laughed out loud, and apologized to him.

“Okay, I heard that!” he said, referring to her comment about sports. But it didn’t surprise or offend him. He watched movies with women all the time, and they felt much the way Valerie did. He watched the violent ones on his own, and the guy films about wars and sports. “I like happy movies too. I’m kind of a softie and I like chick flicks with happy endings. Life is tough enough without watching films that depress you for three days after you see them. I hate that stuff,” he said, and he meant it.

“Yeah, me too,” she agreed. “I like thinking that things can turn out okay.”

“What does ‘turning out okay’ mean to you?” he asked with interest. He often asked himself the same question, and had a relatively clear idea of what he wanted out of life. He just hadn’t found it yet, and the goal shifted slightly year by year. His version of a happy ending had been different at thirty and forty than it was now. So was hers.