invisible braces I was still paying) instead of a justice of the peace sounded less pathetic, but as soon as the words left my mouth, I realized that it didn’t.
“Hey, before I forget,” Ramona said, her face lighting up with the kind of anticipation people get when preparing to share a juicy bit of gossip, “that letter you got from the guy who ran up all that credit card debt and then had his car repossessed, Poorhouse Paul?” She clucked her tongue and slipped the croissants into a bag. “That guy was a hot mess. Loved your answer to him.”
“Oh. Thanks.”
Though I should be used to it by now, I always feel uncomfortable with this type of praise. I think of my column as a private correspondence between me and the person writing to me. Sometimes I forget that thousands of other people, more like tens of thousands, are eavesdropping on our conversation, poring over the letters to and from Dear Calpurnia for entertainment, or affirmation. Sure, their lives might be a train wreck but at least not as big a train wreck as Poorhouse Paul’s.
“No, really, Celia. I’m serious. How can you be so young and so wise?”
I hate it when people say things like this. Calpurnia is the one with all the answers. Sometimes it feels like I’m just her scribe. Also . . .
“I’m thirty-seven. About to turn thirty-eight. I feel ancient.”
“You’re a spring chicken,” Ramona said, flapping her hand. “But a smart one. If Poorhouse Paul had been writing to me for advice, I’d just have told him to quit whining and find a second job.”
“Well, that’s kind of what I did say. That and to find himself a good credit counseling company. I just said it more sympathetically.”
Ramona shook her head. She wasn’t really listening.
“I’ve worked hard all my life. Never took nothing from nobody. But these millennials? They’re all like that Poorhouse Paul, expecting everything to be handed to them. Think they should get a trophy just for showing up. Won’t take responsibility for their own bad choices.” Ramona turned toward the twenty-something woman who was running the espresso machine. “You got that latte ready? Then come over here and watch the register for a while. I need a smoke.”
The Good Drop was packed. I craned my neck, trying to find Calvin. Just when I decided that he hadn’t shown up, I heard a familiar whistle, turned around, and spotted Calvin LaGuardia.
Calvin and I had met in this very spot about six years before. After taking a seat at the counter, I’d struck up a conversation with the very tall and large but impeccably dressed man on the next stool. When I asked about the origins of his unusual name he said, “I just made it up one day, along with my entire persona.”
I loved that. It’s such a New York story. Half the people in the city moved here in hopes of becoming somebody else, including me. The moment he said it, I knew in my bones that Calvin LaGuardia and I were destined to become friends. And we were, for close to three years. But things changed after I married Steve. It wasn’t that I ghosted Calvin or anything; we still talked but not as often, and our conversation was more guarded. There were things I felt I couldn’t tell him, mostly having to do with Steve. To start with, Steve was jealous of Calvin, which was stupid.
“How can you possibly be jealous of Calvin? He’s the gayest man in Manhattan. If I climbed into bed with him stark naked, all he’d do is ask me to turn out the light. Which is a lot more than I can say for your friends. During our last party Joey backed me into a corner and tried to shove his tongue down my throat.”
“He was drunk,” Steve said dismissively, missing the point. As usual.
“Your friends are always drunk. Seriously, how can you be jealous of Calvin?”
“Because you spend hours on the phone with him! What do you talk about?”
“Stuff.” I shrugged. “Recipes. Politics. Life. Work. Who wore what to the Oscars. What happened on Real Housewives. That’s why I like Calvin; he talks to me.”
Steve upped the volume on the basketball game.
“Yeah, I know. For hours.”
Apart from having done it in the first place, the thing I regret most about my marriage was letting my friendship with Calvin lapse. When Steve left, one of the first things I did was call Calvin to apologize.
“I