In the dark back seat of the cab, Jake allowed his hands to wander beneath her shirt while they kissed. Marci could barely control her excitement. She had always been attracted to Jake, and once in a while she had a fleeting sense the feeling might be mutual. But he had never acted on it, and she had not allowed herself to entertain the idea for long. Not so much as a kiss on the cheek until tonight.
In the parking lot of her apartment, the middle-aged driver heaved an annoyed sigh while Jake fumbled in his pockets for the fare. When the cab pulled away, they walked hand in hand to the front door of her dark apartment, stopping to lean against it for a few more minutes before she located her key and let them in. Inside, she wasn’t sure what to do. Offer him a drink? Put on a movie? Abandon all pretense and head straight for the bedroom?
She had brought guys back to the apartment before, of course, but always while at least one of her roommates was home and generally after an official date. This was new territory: an empty apartment with someone who needed no introduction to her life. Jake, however, did not seem to feel any awkwardness. He pulled her polo shirt over her head and threw it on the floor, walking her back toward her bedroom as he did.
They undressed each other hurriedly and collapsed onto her bed. After a few more minutes, she couldn’t stand it any longer. She reached into the top drawer of her night table and pulled out a strip of condoms. He looked at them with a mischievous grin, and then back at her. “Are you sure?”
“So sure.” Or at least she had been until he asked. She paused before handing him the string of little square wrappers. “It feels right, don’t you think?”
“Yeah. And you’re okay with everything? The whole ‘No Serious Dating’ thing?”
Even though the conversation had only been a couple of hours ago, it somehow felt very distant from where they were. Irrelevant to them. She didn’t want to talk about reality now. Hesitation might mean ruining her only chance to experience this with Jake, her best friend, who was handsome and funny and naked in her bed. Everything else would have to iron itself out tomorrow. She kissed him in response, and they made love without turning back the covers.
A few hours later, she woke up cradled in his arms and snuggled closer to him. He shifted, kissed her bare shoulder, and slid his arm out from under her. He began getting dressed at the foot of the bed. “Why are you up?” she asked.
“It’s morning,” he said. “I gotta go home.”
“Your car is downtown,” she said. “Can’t you just stay?”
“Nah, I’ll walk. It’s a nice morning. You should sleep in.” The words were friendly, but his tone was clipped and tight.
“Jake.” She sat up. He was apparently focused on finding his sandals and said nothing. “Jake?” The hint of desperation in her own voice embarrassed her.
“Last night was great,” he said gently, meeting her eye at last. “Really great. I’m just worried that it wasn’t the smartest thing we could’ve done.”
“Why?”
“Because you are my best friend, and I meant what I said that I don’t want to date anyone seriously at this point in my life.”
She resented his assumption that she wanted some kind of serious relationship, even after their conversation last night. On the other hand, she did not want him to leave, especially like this. “Can’t we just have fun? Don’t friends do that sometimes?” She’d heard about friends with benefits—admittedly not from anyone she actually knew, but still.
“Maybe we could, but...Honestly, Marce, I don’t think you would be happy with that for very long. The way you looked at me.”
She felt suddenly defensive. “You were looking pretty intense yourself. I don’t think it was me who suggested getting a cab.”
“I know, I know. I’m sorry. I guess...” He studied a fraying spot on the carpet. “I guess I love you too much to be the guy who lets you down.”
She slammed her head back against the pillow, regretting it immediately and remembering the lemon shots. She turned defiantly away from him to face the wall.
“If I haven’t already,” he murmured sadly.
He waited a minute or two for her to respond, but she could think of nothing to say. Everything he was saying made sense; he’d been very clear about it last night, and the way she was acting now only confirmed his theory. She wanted desperately to be casual and light, say something like, “Okay, sweetie, I’ll catch you later,” and mean it. She wanted to prove to him that she could be his friend and his lover and that it wouldn’t be weird. But it was weird, and casual was the furthest thing from what she was feeling right now.
Marci heard him pick up his keys off the floor behind her. A few seconds later, the front door creaked open and closed, and she was alone again in the empty apartment.
Chapter 10
Suzanne had been the one originally to meet Jake, and for that matter, tried desperately for a couple of weeks to add him to her growing list of conquests. The three of them had all been in an enormous section of English 101 together freshman year, taught by Cyrus Somebody, a moody TA who dressed in head-to-toe black every day and offered them extra credit if they attended his readings at local poetry slams. He seemed to resent very much the fact that teaching basic composition to the great unwashed student population was among his duties, and demonstrated this by being generally surly and condescending, not to mention an extremely tough grader.
He seemed to have a vendetta against athletes and members of fraternities and sororities, who often found their weekly papers were returned to them not only with grammatical corrections but also with bright red insults that bordered on personal attacks. Although Jake was not in a fraternity and only played Ultimate Frisbee, he seemed to have been lumped into this category, too, because Cyrus frequently peppered his papers with comments like “awkward,” “choppy,” and “trite.”
One day a few weeks into the semester, after Jake had been shot down for an in-class comment that was “obvious and pedestrian,” Suzanne, who had been ogling Jake for the last couple of classes, dashed out of the classroom behind him, leaving Marci to continue packing her backpack alone. By the front steps of the building, she managed to catch up to him and pull on the zipper to his bag flirtatiously.
“I didn’t think there was anything obvious about what you said at all. I think that TA has a total chip on his shoulder, don’t you?” When Jake stopped and turned to face her, she put on her most charming smile, generally known throughout the Southeast as irresistible.
“Yeah. Thanks,” Jake responded. “I just wish I didn’t have to worry that chip on the shoulder was going to cost me an ‘F’ in his class.”
“Oh, me, too,” Suzanne commiserated. In truth, she had an 89 in the class because she and Marci been religiously attending the awful poetry slams since the first week. Not only did the extra credit help, but Cyrus had begun to go easier on them as soon as they’d appeared at the coffee house for Open Mike Night. It usually cost them two cappuccinos apiece just to stay awake for the whole thing, but it seemed to be worth it, at least for Suzanne.
Marci, who had a 97 and did not even need the extra credit, caught up to Suzanne while she talked with Jake on the stairs. He was leaning against the brick and concrete half-wall next to the stairway, looking handsome and windswept as he listened to Suzanne politely. Marci noticed that he was still tanned from a summer outdoors and the mild fall they were having so far. The morning was cool and cloudless, and shade from the mature trees that surrounded the English building kept the sun from being too glaring. Set against the backdrop of a perfect fall day, Jake seemed to fit in completely with the surroundings. Marci was suddenly very glad she had come to Georgia rather than accepting a scholarship out of state.
As she approached, she could hear Suzanne’s lilting Southern accent, perhaps a little denser and sweeter than usual. “I do, too,” she was saying. “I worry about it every single night...I can’t sleep a wink.” Suzanne had placed her hand congenially on Jake’s chest, a signature mov
e of hers—make body contact as soon as possible; it makes them feel close to you—and Jake did not seem uncomfortable.
“Hey,” Marci said, and for a split second she thought Suzanne was annoyed at being interrupted. If this was true, she didn’t show it for long, and she embraced Marci in a sudden hug. “Oh, Marci! You’re exactly the person we need. You should tutor us! You have amazing grades in this class and Cyrus likes you, while Jake here and I are both struggling.”
“That would be awesome. Oh, and, nice to meet you,” Jake said, with his hand out to Marci.
“You, too,” she said. “I’m Marci. Well, I guess Suzanne already said that,” she trailed off awkwardly. He smiled.
“Oh, my gosh, Marci, please tell me you’ll tutor us in this horrible class. I can’t fail; I just can’t!” Suzanne was gushing with Scarlett O’Hara drama. Marci fought the urge to laugh at this ridiculous display. Oh, well, she thought, I guess this one is off the table for me. What else is new? Going to college with your best friend in the world had its drawbacks, especially when that friend was a perky blonde size six who could out-charm any debutante in the state.
As it turned out, however, Jake was off the table for Suzanne, too. In the frequent joint study sessions at the library that followed, she had tried every trick in her considerable repertoire. Everything from lip gloss and tight sweaters to a dramatic breakup with a fake boyfriend. None of it worked on Jake. He was kind, funny, and clearly enjoyed being around them, but he gave zero indication that he was interested in either of them. Politely ignoring Suzanne’s embarrassing efforts to fall on top of him, he somehow managed to simultaneously knit himself into their social circle, as they met nearly every day to discuss literature and often went out afterward for dinner or drinks.
In a couple of weeks, Suzanne had given up on Jake and moved on to the far more lucrative conquest of her art history teacher, who incidentally was a fan of lip gloss, tight sweaters, and college freshman melodrama. Thanks to Marci’s keen eye for editing and symbolism, all three had improved English grades. And thanks to a couple of late nights on campus and some thinly veiled suggestions about going to the administration and/or Dr. Kimball’s wife, Suzanne more or less ensured she would never have lower than a B in art history.
Marci enjoyed the friendship with Jake. None of the guy friends she’d hung around in high school had come to UGA, and it was nice to have some testosterone around to balance things. Jake had a way of getting straight to the point about things that Marci really liked. He seemed to say exactly what he was thinking without preface or apology.
Jake was also obsessed with movies and he constantly dragged anyone who would go to the student center to watch artsy pictures and foreign films. Suzanne complained about this and often found reasons to opt out, but Marci usually liked whatever he chose. She had never been much of a movie person growing up, and had more or less failed to see anything beyond the big box office hits and whatever came on Channel 17 on weekends. Learning about the whole world of independent films made her feel very grown-up and collegiate.
When sophomore year came, Rebecca decided to move into her sorority house. Jake announced his plan to move to a cheap but questionable neighborhood on the west side of town with some guys from his Intro to Film class. This had landed Suzanne and Marci in half of a four-bedroom plan on the cleaner, safer, student-centered east side of town. They lived with Noelle and Cindy, the two least annoying girls from their dorm hall.
That fall, Rebecca talked frequently about how busy she was with sorority life—rush, parties, meetings, and lots of gossip about the goings-on in the Delta house. At least four Jennifers were mentioned frequently, and Marci eventually stopped trying to keep them straight. After attending one of the Deltas’ enormous parties that Rebecca helped organize, Marci and Suzanne began giving the sisters catty nicknames to keep them straight: “Slutty Jennifer,” “Anorexic Jennifer,” “Blue Blood Jennifer,” and worse.
This would have mortified Rebecca, who idolized her sorority sisters without reservation. The Deltas, and the social connections that came with them, were Rebecca’s ticket to everything she wanted. She downplayed her origins as daughter of a mail carrier and a housewife in Birmingham. She had met Marci and Suzanne their senior year in high school, when Rebecca moved in with an affluent Georgia aunt, a past sorority president at UGA, to establish residency and improve her chances of being accepted into one of the better houses.
This left her with little in common with Marci, who had no interest in climbing through the social strata and only minimal understanding of the world Rebecca inhabited. Suzanne, however, had all the apparent qualities every sorority would want. She was beautiful, charming, decidedly Southern, and a legacy Alpha Chi. That she had decided not to rush, despite handwritten invitations from the chapter president and even a few alums, surprised even Marci.
The fact that Suzanne could have had the Hellenic world at her feet and chose not to participate seemed to leave Rebecca befuddled, resentful, and relieved all at once. On one hand, how could she give up something so easily that Rebecca had worked so hard for? On the other, who would want to compete with Suzanne for attention and acceptance? This latter part of Rebecca’s struggle, at least, Marci understood. She had spent many years in Suzanne’s shadow.
Although Suzanne pooh-poohed Rebecca’s obvious social climbing and devotion to Greek life, Marci felt a touch more sympathy as she listened to the Delta house gossip and Rebecca’s worries about getting things right in the eyes of her new sisters. Marci never said so to Suzanne, but she knew firsthand it was easier not to care about being accepted when you had never been the outsider.
While Rebecca seemed caught in a social whirl, Jake’s routine calls to Marci and Suzanne for dinners, drinks, and movies continued unchanged. In fact, he seemed to appreciate them more with his overly intellectual roommates as foils. “If I have to hear one more time that Spike Lee is a genius or that George Lucas was a special effects pioneer,” he would say, “I’m going to jump off my balcony. Seriously.”
Jake remained a fixture in their lives and on their couch, all the way through their sophomore year. Their easy friendship had continued, through midterms and finals, and through Suzanne and Rebecca leaving town that summer. Right up until the night of too much beer, lemon shots, and a racy cab ride back to Marci’s apartment.
Chapter 11
The night after Marci’s drunken liaison with Jake, Suzanne and Rebecca returned to Athens. Jake called and invited them all out for tacos, as though nothing had happened the night before.
At the restaurant, he hugged Marci tightly and kissed her on the forehead, smiling in a way that was completely disarming against her plan to hate him forever. While they waited for a table, he said quite normally how much the guys liked hanging out with Marci and that he hoped she would come to some of his summer games. He added to Suzanne and Rebecca, “Of course, you girls are welcome, too. The guys always love a female audience. It makes us act like idiots.” He winked at Marci on this last comment and she looked away quickly.
A couple of hours later, as the apartment door closed behind a departing Rebecca, Suzanne rounded on Marci, still holding a leftover enchilada in a Styrofoam box. “Oh my God! You had sex with Jake!”
Marci felt the blood rush to her face. “No, I didn’t!”
Then under Suzanne’s pointed stare, she let out a distressed moan. “Oh, God. You can tell. How stupid am I? It’s totally going to ruin our friendship. I was so drunk.”
“Never mind that. How was it?”
Marci’s blush deepened.
“Oh my,” Suzanne said. “That good?”
Marci nodded reluctantly. “Such a bad idea.”
“Totally bad idea,” Suzanne agreed, though her voice was still exuberant. Marci couldn’t tell whether she was impressed that Marci had managed to snag a guy who had rejected Suzanne, or whether she was just pleased with herself for figuring out a juicy piece of gossip. “I’ll get the ice cream, huh?”
<
br /> “Please.”
#
Saturdays in Athens were always more colorful and laid-back in the summer. The townies, who typically stuck to the more outlying bars and restaurants to escape the crowds of the school year, ventured downtown to help fill up the patios and slurp frozen cocktails. Besides the college student uniform of frayed khakis and tattered baseball caps were the black fingernails and nose rings of the local Goths, and Hawaiian shirts and sandals sported by middle-aged residents, some of whom had started as students a decade or two earlier and never left. During the summer quarter, even the most swamped and ambitious students seemed to feel they were due a few hours to relax on Saturday night.
Suzanne, Rebecca, and Marci had spent the afternoon watching the Frisbee team scrimmage against a club from Valdosta, who were smaller in number and less organized than the UGA group. After an easy couple of victories, Jake’s team invited their opponents, and the girls, out for a night on the town. They crowded a pizza place for dinner, and then made their collective way to an equally cheap and dirty bar known for its pool tables, nickel drinks, and loose interpretation of underage drinking laws.
Drinks were definitely in order tonight. So far, Marci’s semester had been more or less disastrous. On top of the awkwardness with Jake, she had managed to get the one Spanish 201 teacher on campus who actually expected students to do voluminous amounts of work in order to complete his class. Spanish homework. In the summer. While most of her peers were meeting with their TAs at the local Mexican restaurant to do “informal conversational practice” over margaritas once a week, Señor Vasquez was about a hundred years old and expected translated portions of great literary works every class. Meanwhile, Introduction to World History was going to require more reading than any English class she’d had so far, and the professor of her Southern Writers class—whom she worshipped and desperately wanted to impress—had been calling her Melanie for the last two weeks.
The Marriage Pact Page 12
