Arch Enemy (12 page)

L
ily felt a surge of excitement when she found Scott waiting for her at a corner table at Le Troquet. She pointed him out to the maître d', who took her coat and walked her to the table.

There was something refreshing about him. All the stupid pickup books these days told men to treat women like dirt. Well, maybe not dirt, but with little things, like keeping them waiting at the restaurant. Play dominance games. She seemed to have good odds that this was just maybe a decent guy.

He stood up as she approached. “I was concerned you wouldn't show.” He held out his hand for a shake as she moved in to kiss his cheek, and they did an awkward kiss shake. Lily giggled.

“So, what brings you to the city?”

“We're courting a developer. Some hotshot upstart. He's the best thing since sliced bread, apparently, so I'm here to lure him with a wad of cash and stock options.”

Lily held up a finger. “I propose we taboo any further talk about work.”

The waiter set down a breadbasket and gave each of them a menu, all done in rich cream stock and baroque calligraphy. The prices were written as two- and sometimes three-digit numbers, no cents or dollar signs. And the actual amounts confirmed that this was indeed a restaurant for the cream of the crop.

“I think I can live with that,” said Scott.

“I find it lets me figure out whether there's anything more to a man than that,” Lily commented.

“How often do you find there isn't?”

“If I had a quarter for every man who could only talk about work, I might be able to get myself a cup of coffee.” She bit into a breadstick. “I don't date much.”

“I can't imagine why.”

“It's a work thing, which . . .” She trailed off.

“Well, we don't have to talk about work at all,” he said. “I accept. The topic of work is officially off the table.”

“Good. That way I can pretend I haven't Googled your name and read all I could find about you.”

He chuckled. “You, on the other hand . . . total mystery. Not a whiff of an online presence. I should recommend you as an example for certain high-profile clients.”

“That's veering dangerously close to work talk.”

“Apologies,” he said. “Let's veer away then. Music?”

“Classic British punk,” she said. “You?”

“Prog rock.” He laughed. Prog rock was at best the older, stodgy cousin to punk. “Let's move on from that one, shall we?”

The waiter came to take orders for drinks. “White?” Scott asked her.

“I drink red.” She flashed a coquettish smile.

“Red it is,” he said. Then, to the waiter: “Capanna Brunello de Montalcino, 2010.”
Bold choice
. Expensive, but not ridiculously so, which she well knew he could afford if he wanted to. But it was important to her that he didn't have to.

“You said you don't date much,” he said, when the waiter had gone. “I find that hard to believe.”

“I just don't usually feel like I should inflict my life on someone else.”

She couldn't believe she was saying this to him. There was just something about the way he carried himself, the way he spoke, that was utterly disarming. It made her comfortable saying just about anything to him, which was a dangerous quality in its own insidious way.

“That doesn't say much for your self-esteem.”

“I'm just being realistic.”

“And yet here I am,” he said, with his broad smile and big white teeth. “Asking—no, begging—to get to know you better.”

“You, Mr. Renard, don't have to beg for a single thing in your privileged life.”

“I'm not so sure. Have you ever tried to get coders to do what they're supposed to? Sometimes begging is the only thing that has any effect.” She laughed. “So,” he went on, “what is the lady having?”

She picked a nice midrange dish, osso buco over polenta, which would pair well with the wine.

“You know,” he said, “they have a Wagyu steak au poivre here that you need to try.”

She glanced at the menu. The price was three times that of the osso buco.

“Come on, you don't—”

“I swear I'm not showing off. But to come here and miss this opportunity—it just wouldn't sit right with me.”

She smiled. “Okay. I'll have that.”

“Rare?”

“Blue.”

“I like you.”

The waiter served the wine. She took a sip, woody with hints of berries. “So is this your routine with all your dates, or—”

Her phone rang in her purse.

“I'm so sorry,” she said, reaching for it in the spare seat. “Let me just turn it off.” She withdrew it and glanced at the screen.

“Oh, no.”

“That doesn't sound good,” Scott said.

She stood up. “I know that answering the phone at dinner is most gauche thing you can do, but, I
really
need to get this.”

“It's fine.”

She accepted the call as she walked to a niche near the door.

“Roger?” she said, keeping her voice down so that Scott wouldn't hear.

“I want you.” His voice was husky. Dominating.

“Now?”

“This instant.”

“Maybe I'm busy,” she said, trying to deflect with flirtation, hoping to put it off just enough to finish dinner with Scott.

“Not for me, you're not. Twenty minutes. The Peninsula.” And he hung up. Classic negotiating tactic, not giving her a chance to respond. There'd be no backing out now. Miss this one and she might lose him for good.

At least she was dressed for it.

She looked at Scott, sipping his wine at the table, and cursed Baxter, her job, and the world. She walked back, a look of apology plastered on her face. He stood as she came near.

“Bad news?”

“I'm so, so sorry, but something came up,” Lily said apologetically.

“Right,” he said. “Was it me? Did I say something wrong?”

“No—Scott, it doesn't have anything to do with you. I was having a lovely time. I just really need to go. Work stuff. I can pay for my half of dinner.”

“Oh no, don't worry about that,” he said, waving her off. But he was, of course, more bothered than he wanted to let on.

“Look, I'll call you, okay?”

“Yikes. It's been a while since I've gotten ‘I'll call you.'”

She was losing him. They'd formed some kind of connection, and now all she saw in his face was a wall. “It's not a line,” she said. “I really will.”

“Sure,” he said. “I'm sure you will.”

There was something now or never about that moment, and she decided to go with it. She leaned in and kissed him. “That,” she said, “was a promise.”

He grinned in astonishment. “Okay,” he said, starry-eyed. “I guess you convinced me.”

She walked away, leaving a piece of herself behind. At least she left him with a smile.

“H
ow about we . . . ?” Alex extended the monosyllable in an effort to buy time. “Oh! Here's something! Use of expired food in the dining halls!”

She threw a Nerf ball against the wall of Simon's room and caught it again. Her butt was aching from sitting in the same position for so long, but she had vowed not to move until they came up with one good idea to impress the Ekklesia.

“Bo-ring,” said Simon.

“Shut up,” she said. “This is a brainstorm. You're not allowed to criticize anything during a brainstorm!”

“All right, I'll put it on the list,” he said, with a total lack of enthusiasm.

The ball sailed over her hands. Simon, the long-suffering, got up with a groan and picked it up. He threw it against the wall so that its arc brought it within Alex's reach.

“Nice,” she said. “So what have we got so far? Read it back to me.”

“People selling course papers and old tests, dining room theft, underage drinking, and now expired food.”

Alex emitted a long, frustrated groan. “Pathetic.” She hit the ball against the wall, and again it sailed over her head and landed by the door. When Simon leaned over to get it, the door swung open and clocked him on the head.

It was Katie, going full throttle. “Party tonight at Phi Epsilon,” she said, looking at Alex with the eyes of a crazed Chihuahua.

“On a
Monday
?”

“It's their famous Midwinter Bash. It's legendary!”

“Don't you say that about a party at least once a week?” said Simon.

“They're
all
legendary,” she said.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to step all over your rationalization for partying every night.”

“Well, regardless,
you're
coming,” Katie said, pulling Alex's arm. “I can't stand your moping anymore.”

“I've got better things to do,” she said.

“What, stare at the wall with General Revelry here? No offense,” she added, for Simon's benefit.

“None taken.”

“I hate those parties,” said Alex. “Everyone just wants to drink, and you can't hear a word anyone says.”

“But you can dance!” said Katie. “I mean, in general, not you specifically. But you can sway, right? Can you sway?”

“Katie . . .”

“Come onnn,” said Katie. Her pleading gaze found a new target. “Simon, you want to come, right?”

“I guess it wouldn't hurt to get out a bit,” he said, nudging Alex.

“Maybe Devin will be there,” said Katie, half-singing.

“On second thought—”

“You know what?” Alex said. “I think it's a great idea.”

“Oh, you wanna see Devin?” asked Katie.

“What? No,” said Alex. “I'm just tired of staying in. Let's hit it.”

“Yeah, we could go,” said Simon. He pulled on a flannel button-down over his T-shirt.

“You're going like that?” said Katie.

Alex looked down at her outfit. She was wearing a faded yellow T-shirt, rumpled. There might have been a food stain.

“Grab me a hoodie?”

Katie shrugged. “If you want to go looking like a bum, there's nothing I can do about it.” She went to the room to get the hoodie.

 

They took a campus transit bus to Fraternity Row. The night outside was quiet and peaceful, with the magical stillness of winter nights that feel like being in a snow globe.

As they neared the Phi Epsilon house, the song “Get Low” filled the still air. “To the window, to the wall,” came the lyrics. “To the sweat drop down my balls.”

“I'm so pumped!” said Katie. “Aren't you so pumped?”

“Woo,” Alex deadpanned.

Simon helped Alex up the steps of the porch and they walked inside. The heavy bass and beats of the music, the body heat, and the smell of fresh beer over stale beer hit them all at the same time.

“I already regret this,” said Alex.

Katie didn't hear her over the “Wooo!” she was howling.

It took about thirty seconds of their being there for one of the brothers to come up to Alex, red Solo cups in hand. “Beer?”

“I think I'll just have some water.” The guy laughed and pushed the cup of beer into her hand. She found a table and rearranged the cups already there to find a corner for hers, which she abandoned to go check out the rest of the party. She peeked into a room that had a beer pong table, where they were playing doubles and a large and loud crowd was cheering every toss.

The main living room was what might be called the dance floor. The music was deafening. This is where she found Katie, grinding on some guy Alex didn't know and guessed Katie probably didn't, either.

When she turned her back to the dance floor, someone put another beer in her hand. She motioned to Simon, who'd been standing nearby, to follow her. She navigated her crutches through the crowded party until they reached the porch outside. The cold was refreshing after the stuffy heat of the inside.

“Jeez, can't hear myself think in there,” said Alex. She poured her beer over the railing into a snowbank.

Simon leaned his back against the railing next to her.

“Why do we come to these parties?” said Alex.

“Something to do? I don't know. You're the one who wanted to come.”

“Well, I'm over it,” she said.

“I was over it before we got here.”

“It's decided then. I'm going to go find Katie and tell her we're going.”

Alex looked on the dance floor first, but couldn't make out Katie in the strobe-lit mass of writhing bodies. She checked the line for beer, and then the beer pong room. No Katie.

Giving up Alex squeezed through the crowd to the foyer, where she caught sight of Katie. She was stumbling, holding onto the banister of the staircase. A large frat brother, a football player type, was practically holding her up, leading her upstairs.

She did her crutch-walk over to where the guy had just started his ascent—Katie was not quite getting the concept of stairs in her condition.

Alex pulled on the frat guy's arm. “Hey! She looks nearly unconscious!”

He turned his head to look at Alex and offered her an expression that told her she was lower than dirt to him. “Screw off!”

She pulled on Katie's arm. “Hey!” She was unresponsive.

“She's with me,” said the guy. “All right?”

“What's her name then?”

“What?”

“If she's with you, then what's her name?” Alex asked.

“It's Debbie, all right? Now get lost!”

Alex held on to Katie's arm and set her jaw in determination. “Let her go or I call the police!”

“What's going on?” It was another very large guy, a frat brother, chest out, muscles tense.

“This bitch is on my case.”

“Look at her!” said Alex. “She's practically unconscious!”

“I think it's time for you to go home,” the newcomer said, grabbing Alex's shoulders.

“Do not touch me!” she said, flinching.

“Hey, what's going on?” It was Simon.

“Simon, call the police.”

“
Simon
, get your skinny ass out of our house,” said brother number two.

Simon stepped forward, looking him straight in the eye. “What're you going to do? Beat me up? Let the girl go or I'm getting the police involved.”

Alex saw the meathead running the calculus in his brain. Yes, he could flatten Simon. But there were witnesses. There was a boundary here he was not ready to cross.

“Whatever,” he said, scoffing. “Take her. I'm over it.”

Simon slid his right arm under Katie's armpits to support her weight. She clung to him, her irises rolled up into her eyelids.

“Now get out of our house.”

Alex helped however she could, but it was slow going with her on crutches. The brothers watched the entire time. As soon as they had cleared the door, Alex pulled out her phone and dialed 911.

“My friend's almost passed out,” she said. “I think she had too much to drink. I need an ambulance. Fraternity Row, number twelve.”

They found a bench by the street and Simon eased Katie onto it. Music still blasted from the inside, muffled. Simon sat, looking at the ground. Alex rubbed her hands together and her breath misted in front of her. The night lost whatever picturesque magic it had before. All it was now was cold and cruel.

Katie was mumbling.

“Katie?” said Alex. “Are you okay? Can you understand me?”

She stirred, but her eyes still showed only the whites.

“We're going to get you help, okay?”

The cold chilled Alex to her bones.

The ambulance arrived ten minutes later. Alex stood and waved as it came to a stop by the curbside. Two EMTs came out.

“I'm the one who called. This is my friend here.”

“What'd she have?” asked one of them, while the other examined Katie. They were both young, not much older than Alex.

“I have no idea.”

“She's lucky you were there.” They pulled out the gurney from the back of the ambulance and set to work getting Katie on it. Alex watched as they loaded her in.

“Can I go with her?” asked Alex.

“Are you family?” one of the EMTs asked.

“I'm her roommate.”

“Then no, sorry. But don't worry. Her parents will be notified.” The EMT closed the ambulance door. It took off toward the health center, lights flashing, leaving Alex and Simon behind in the freezing night.