She poured the wine, and it clunk clunk clunked through the nose of the bottle and into our glasses.
“Hell’s Kitchen, with my best friend from college.” Just north of me, one stop on the express train. Easy.
“I live on Twenty-Second and Eighth,” I offered. “Not far.”
She asked about my job and my plans to go to law school. There was an underlying desperation in her voice when she asked me questions, as though it were an interview of sorts. I recognized the subtle, frazzled notes behind the intention: the girl who wants a boyfriend.
Our conversation flowed throughout dinner. Alice was easy to flirt with in the way that she was receptive to all my jokes, tossing her head back in a throaty, committed laugh.
We hit a couple of midtown bars after Beth’s—the kind of bars where the atmosphere is sterile and depressing and they play Journey songs. Carl kept buying tequila shots, and after taking back three or four I lost track of Alice, my mind a dull blur of booze; a thick, sour taste coated my tongue. By the end of the evening she was nowhere in sight, and Carl and Beth offered to drop me off in a cab on their way home.
I was so fucked up I nearly forgot to ask Beth for Alice’s number. The thought flung back into my head just after I’d exited the taxi, and I rapped on the closed window. I had no idea what time it was but Twenty-Second Street was coated in the tangible gray haze that heralds dawn. Carl and I had done some coke earlier in Beth’s bathroom, and then again in the bathroom of one of the bars.
Beth lowered the window and an annoyed expression swept over her horsey face.
“Beth, I forgot to ask you, would it be cool if I called Alice sometime and asked her out? Is she seeing anyone?”
Beth shrugged. “You can call her. She doesn’t have a boyfriend.”
“Great. Could I get her number?”
“Sure, hang on—”
“I’ll text it to you, bud,” Carl interrupted, as if to say, get the hell out of here so I can go home and fuck my ugly girlfriend.
I watched the cab speed down the street, the red brake lights flashing in the smoky grayness before the car hooked a right onto Twenty-Third Street. I was still wired from the coke but felt the anxious onset of depression creeping in at the back of my brain, like a leech.
Inside, I drew the curtains closed and climbed into bed. My mind reeled in the darkness. It was unclear if I slept, but if I did, it was only for an hour or two. When full morning light crept through the drapes I rose to make coffee, my mind static and blank.
I drank a whole pot and watched Family Guy until midmorning when Carl texted me Alice’s number and I felt my juices start to flow again. I decided to give her a call. Calling a girl is always more genuine than texting her, at least in the beginning. Alice answered on the third ring and seemed excited to hear from me. We chatted a bit about the previous evening. I asked if she wanted to have dinner, and we set up a date for that Wednesday.
I hung up the phone and it occurred to me that I had never before been on a real date. Sure, I’d been out to eat with girls I’d dated in high school and college, but I’d never been to dinner with a girl where the notion of sex afterward wasn’t a guarantee. I would certainly be required to pay for the meal, and I’d need to pick the restaurant.
I felt slightly unsettled Wednesday evening when I left work and caught the subway up to Hell’s Kitchen, to an Italian restaurant near Alice’s apartment where I’d made a reservation. The sun hung low in the sky, the October air crisp.
I arrived a few minutes before seven and ordered a Scotch and soda at the bar while I waited. Alice pranced in ten minutes later, looking made-up and polished in a slinky black top that revealed a sliver of pale cleavage.
“You look gorgeous.” I kissed her on the cheek.
“Thanks. Sorry I’m a little late. I live four blocks away, so I have no excuse.”
As the waitress led us to our table, I was suddenly filled with the stimulating realization that I could be anyone. For the first time in over four years I was not a physical representation of my past; there was no neon highlighter underscoring my faults and blunders. Alice had no predetermined sentiments about my personality or the choices I’d made.
The waitress came over and recited a long list of specials. We ordered a bottle of pinot noir.
“I’m glad you suggested dinner.” Alice smiled and shifted in her seat across from me, providing a more generous view of the tops of her buoyant breasts.
There was a fixed anxiety behind her eyes that told me she counted on this night going well. She didn’t seem like the type of girl who dated much, not because she wasn’t cute but because she belonged to the heavily populated category of desperate, available, decently attractive twentysomething girls in New York City. These girls weren’t beautiful enough to be picky; they were always on the hunt for a decent man, always semiconscious of their ticking biological clocks.
Alice ordered the salmon, I the T-bone steak. I watched her adjust her bra strap (black) and wondered how long it had been since she’d had sex.
We fell into a fluid conversation, especially once the wine hit. Alice’s voice spun off in a girly twang, her long fingernails were painted a shiny plum color, and shimmery makeup smudged the skin around her eyes. She was the kind of girl Diana and her friends at Baird would have hated—they would have called her “tacky” or “basic.” But I felt almost enchanted watching her from across the table. She was just what I needed—something fresh.
We ordered cocktails after the wine was finished, and I could tell she was getting drunk, the way her cheeks had reddened. She leaned forward on the table, pressing her weight into one elbow. I watched a piece of her yellow hair slip into the crevice of her chest.
“I’m having fun, Stephen.”
“I find you incredibly attractive, Alice.” I watched her exterior collapse from the compliment, an uncontainable smile breaking over her face.
When the check appeared on the table, I pulled out my wallet.
“Are you sure? We can split it.” It was a half offer, the way she glanced away when she said it.
“No way. This is a date.” I grinned, conscious of the fact that I was checking her boxes.
“You’re sweet.”
“I’m going to use the bathroom.”
“Sure,” she said. “I’ll meet you outside.”
I signed the bill and found the restroom. I pissed in a stall and did a small key bump of coke. Just a nudge; I felt tired from all the red wine and the dealer Carl had hooked me up with really did provide a nice product. My phone vibrated in my pocket and the screen flashed a text from Lucy.
LUCY: How are you?
Fuck. I’d been bad about keeping up with Lucy since the summer. It wasn’t something I’d necessarily intended, but staying in touch with her was beginning to feel like a chore. I tapped out a quick response.
STEPHEN: Hey you. I’ve been meaning to call you. Work has been nuts. Let’s catch up this weekend.
I found Alice outside, smoking a cigarette. She looked sophisticated standing in heels, tendrils of smoke curling around her face, and I was suddenly overcome by the same feeling I’d had the night I first realized I liked Diana in our freshman dorm at Charlie’s pregame. I’d felt the impulse and the right to claim her—the simple clarity that she should be mine.
“My place isn’t far from here,” Alice said, stubbing her cig.
“Really?” I feigned surprise, though I had chosen the restaurant for that very reason. “I’ll walk you home, then.”
A short few blocks and we stood in front of her building on the corner of Fifty-Fourth and Ninth. I hovered over her; she was super short, even in heels.
“I would invite you in, but, you know . . .”
“But . . . ?”
“I barely know you.” She giggled, shifting her weight onto one hip.
“Alice, I get it. You’re not that kind of girl. If you did let me up, I’d sort of be forced to think less of you.”
“Exact
ly.”
“Can I kiss you?” I stared into her dark eyes and slowly leaned down, pressing my mouth against hers. Her lips were soft and supple. I pushed her against the side of the apartment building with some force.
“I should go.” Alice pulled away after several minutes of intense kissing, her face flushed.
“Damn. Okay.”
“Thanks for dinner, Stephen.”
“You’re welcome, Alice in Wonderland. Go get some sleep. I’ll talk to you soon.”
“Alice in Wonderland?”
“I dunno,” I laughed. “It fits you.” On the assumption that the date would go well, I’d come prepared with a nickname.
“You’re too funny.” She laughed easily, leaning in for another kiss.
The next morning I googled the address to Alice’s office and had flowers delivered to her desk. I chose red carnations, which she’d mentioned at dinner she loved and had carried as a bridesmaid in her cousin’s wedding the month before.
I included a note, too, which the congenial Pakistani man at Ava’s Florist Shop transcribed for me: Alice in Wonderland, I hope you have a wonderful day. I’m very glad I met you.
31
LUCY
FEBRUARY 2013
There was a disturbance in the air. It had been there for months, but now it was almost tangible, like a film coating the atmosphere.
“You’re coming,” Jackie said.
I watched a blade of sunshine slide across the wooden floor of the small house Jackie and I shared on Carroll Street. I sat on the couch and listened to her get dressed, a tight knot fixed at the base of my stomach. A resistance. Something imperceptible dragged at me, a line hooked below. My mind wouldn’t move.
“I don’t really want to day drink.”
“It’s Sunday funday. Ella got a keg.” Jackie always wanted to hang out at Ella’s now.
I stared at my hands.
“Lucy, come on. I need you. Do I look like I’ve been crying?” She smoothed her tangled hair away from her face.
Jackie had been crying all morning. Stuart had broken up with her a month earlier. Their fighting had gotten worse; he’d finally declared he wanted to experience college without a girlfriend, but we all knew the truth. Jackie had taken Stuart for granted, and he was tired of putting up with her Jackieness.
“A little. Splash some water on your face.”
“I just miss him so much.” She sank down next to me and pressed her forehead to my shoulder. “If I have to see him today, with that sophomore whore . . .”
“Natalie?”
“Don’t say her name.”
I brushed fresh tears off her cheeks with my thumbs and looked into her desolate blue eyes. “Well, if there’s anyone who’s an intimidating ex-girlfriend, it’s you. Plus, why would she be there? She’s not going to show up at a random senior party.”
“That’s true I guess.” Jackie let out an exasperated sigh. “But if she does show up with him, I’m making Ella kick her out.”
“Jack, don’t worry. They’re not going to show up at a party together. Natalie is nothing to him, I promise.”
“How do you know?”
“Because. I’ve been that girl, remember?”
“Lucy, don’t do that to yourself. Stephen did care about you in his own fucked-up way. He’s just a dick. He screws over every girl. Come on. Let’s just go try to have a fun day.”
“I wanted to go to yoga today.”
Jackie rolled her eyes. “You go to yoga every day.”
“Well, also I have calculus homework.”
“Why are you taking calculus?”
“Math credit.”
“Oh, that reminds me. You know how I’m taking Intro to Shakespeare? For my humanities credit?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, our teacher went on maternity leave, so Mr. Levy is taking over starting tomorrow. What do you think of him?”
“Mr. Levy? I had him for Intro to Shakespeare, actually. He’s nice. He’s my adviser.”
“I know, that’s why I’m asking. Didn’t you say he’s kind of a drag?”
“He’s not a drag, he’s just dorky. But nice. You’ll like him. And I still have all my notes from Intro to Shakespeare, if you want them.”
“That’d be great.” Jackie looked at her watch. “All right. Let’s not waste the day. You never do anything anymore.”
“You don’t have to criticize me because I don’t feel like getting drunk all the time.”
“I’m not criticizing you for not getting drunk. It’s called socializing.”
“I socialize.”
“Not anymore. You didn’t even come out last night.”
“Fine. I’ll go.”
“Yay! We’ll have fun, I promise.”
“Let me get dressed.”
“Please don’t take forever.”
“I won’t.”
I changed into jeans and a black tank top, swiped some mascara on my lashes and let my hair down. It was getting longer. I examined myself in the full-length mirror on the back of my bedroom door. I hadn’t done cardio in three days and had accidentally eaten some of Jackie’s pizza the night before. The tank top made my arms look big. I changed into a white shirt with sleeves.
Jackie hadn’t moved from the couch, where she sat aimlessly staring into space. She was a mess, and rightfully so. I on the other hand had expended my pity card after finding out about Stephen’s new girlfriend in November. It had been more than three months since I was destroyed by someone I’d barely been dating. It had been one month since Jackie was dumped by her devoted boyfriend of two and a half years. Jackie was the one who got to be sad. My grief was unmerited, and I did my best to keep it private.
Her name was Alice Edwards, and she had straightened, fake-blond hair, Facebook told me a few days after I found out. Pippa had wedged between Jackie and me on the couch and flipped her laptop open, claiming that the only logical thing to do was properly stalk the girl. Jackie and Pip agreed that her gums were uncharacteristically large and her roots outrageous. Even Stuart got involved (Luce, she’s nothing; you’re a babe). In one photo they were standing in some bar holding fruity cocktails. She was wearing a sleeveless dress that revealed arms on the flabby side. At least I was skinnier than her—it was the only thing that made me feel remotely better.
Finding out about Alice had been my own fault, when I’d stupidly called Stephen over Thanksgiving break. I didn’t even know what I wanted to say. His phone calls had mostly stopped by that point, which should’ve told me everything, but instead his silence was undermined by the parting words I’d memorized: Maybe I can try to come visit one weekend, if work isn’t too crazy. Otherwise I’ll see you over Thanksgiving?
My hands shook as I dialed his number. I asked him if he wanted to get dinner on Long Island.
“I’d love to catch up, but I should tell you that I’ve started seeing someone, Luce. I’m sorry. I guess this was bound to happen, us seeing other people.” His voice contained its usual, unaffected charm. I went into my bathroom and threw up, coffee and skim milk—it was all that was in my stomach.
The fall had been a blur of angst, a collection of anxious days. I had not been seeing other people, even though I should’ve been. I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. Some boys hit on me, but none of them were Stephen DeMarco.
“Do I look okay?” Jackie asked. She hadn’t bothered adjusting her appearance. Her bun was uneven and last night’s makeup was slightly smudged from crying. As usual, she looked like a gorgeous wreck.
“You look beautiful.”
We walked to Ella’s. It was a balmy afternoon, and people were out in the backyard, music blaring through the speakers. The sun sat high in the cloudless sky, splitting down in sharp rays. Jackie filled two red Solo cups with foamy beer and handed one to me. Beer was almost never worth the calories. I already wanted to leave.
Ella came over and attacked Jackie with a ferocious hug, like they hadn’t seen each other in years. It
sort of bothered me how close Jackie and Ella had become. The captain of the girls’ tennis team, Ella was boisterous and loud; around her I could never seem to get a word in. She only paid attention to me because I was Jackie’s roommate.
“Lucy!” Ella said, turning to hug me with half the enthusiasm. “Guess what? Billy’s here. He asked if you were coming.”
“Yes.” Jackie nudged me. “Do it.”
My eyes scanned the party for Billy Boyd, a junior and the head of BORP—Baird Outdoor Recreation Project—a student-run group that led outdoor trips, like camping in Joshua Tree and surfing in Santa Barbara and climbing Mount Baldy. Billy was friends with Ella because Ella was friends with everyone heavily involved in Baird extracurriculars, and I knew via Ella via Jackie that he had a crush on me. We’d made out drunkenly at the Eighties party in January.
“He’s super cute,” I said.
“And I hear he’s a great kisser,” Ella continued. “Is it true?”
“Really great.” I nodded, even though all I remembered about my kiss with Billy was being momentarily pressed against him under a black light on the dance floor of Kappa Sig before running home and gorging on microwaved popcorn. Melted butter.
“We should do shots,” Ella decided, so Jackie and I followed her inside. We found Pippa and Bree in the kitchen, and Ella poured tequila into five glasses while she confessed an explicit, embarrassing sex story involving her boyfriend, a senior named Owen. I lost track of the story but everyone was laughing, and Ella was pouring another round, so I downed my shot, the sour liquor burning my throat, my eyes watering. I must’ve been wincing, because Ella handed me a lime wedge.
“Are you okay?” she asked, the pitch of her voice rising as though she were speaking to a toddler.
“Fine,” I answered, deciding once and for all that I was not a fan of Ella, with her showy stories and thick ponytail and motherly concern.
“Bree. Pipsqueak. Tell me all about Madrid.” Ella quickly returned her attention back to the group. “You haven’t properly filled me in.”
I already knew every detail of Bree’s and Pippa’s semester abroad in Spain, so I slipped back outside when Pippa started recounting her romance with Eduardo, a thirty-year-old Spanish businessman with a bottomless bank account and a second home on the coast of Majorca. He took Pippa and Bree to Ibiza on his yacht.
Tell Me Lies Page 24
