Something Borrowed (29 page)

about his crazy work schedule. I tell him I understand, I know

what it's like. He kisses me and gives me a long hug.

And then he

is off to be with Darcy again. As he's walking out the door, I ask

him what he's doing over the weekend. I try to appear nonchalant,

but in my heart I am grasping at straws, hoping that he will dole

out a few hours for me.

"My dad and his wife are visiting. I didn't tell you that?"

"No. No. You didn't. That's nice though. What are you going to

do?"

"You know the usual. Dinners. Maybe a show."

I picture the four of them out on the town. It hurts that I can't

meet his father, driving home the point all the more: I am not

with Dex. I am the other woman. I think of all the other women

who get the random Thursday nights, but never the holidays or

the special family occasions or the important work dinners.

Excluded when it really matters. Then I think to myself that Dex

hasn't even given me any of the assurances, false or otherwise,

that the other woman always gets in the movies.

Nothing but a

couple of "I love yous" and some red dice.

On Saturday night Hillary convinces me to join her and Julian. I

feel guilty for crashing their dinner, but agree, not wanting to be

alone with my thoughts about Dex. I have been obsessing about

the cozy family weekend, Dex smiling amid all the inevitable

wedding chatter, pretending that he is right on schedule with his

nuptials. Maybe he is right on schedule. I have no idea what is

going on, and the waiting and wondering is so much harder to

take after our weekend together.

So I trek down to Gramercy and meet Hillary and Julian at I

Trulli, an Italian restaurant. We sit at a small round table in the

beautiful back garden, surrounded by brownstone walls, a patch

of navy-blue sky above us. The patio is lit by candles, and tiny

white lights are intertwined in the tree branches. The setting

could not be more romantic. Except for the fact that I am the third

wheel.

After fifteen minutes, I know I like Julian. He is not at all affected,

but speaks slowly, choosing his words carefully he uses

"favor"

instead of "like better," "pleasant" instead of "nice,"

and "outset"

instead of "start." They are simple alternatives, not flamboyant

thesaurus entries, so I know he is not showing off. (I once went on

a date with a guy who used the words "salubrious,"

"sartorial,"

and "loquacious" in one evening. I declined his invitation for date

number two, for fear that he would show up wearing an ascot.)

And although Julian is not traditionally handsome, I like the way

he looks. His curly, longish hair, tanned skin, and dark-brown

eyes make me think of a Portuguese fisherman.

I watch Julian laughing at something Hillary just said, leaning

toward her. Nobody would ever guess that they only met a week

ago. Their interaction is fluid and natural, and she is doing none

of the things that women do in the new stages of a relationship.

She asks him twice if she has spinach in her teeth and she eats

every last bit of her pasta, then insists that we order dessert.

Over our slices of cheesecake, Hillary and I tell Julian how much

we hate our jobs. He asks why we don't just quit. We say it's not

that easy, golden handcuffs, paying off our loans, blah blah blah.

And besides, what else would we do? He looks at me and says yes,

what else would you do? I glance at Hillary, wanting her to answer

first.

"Hill would open an antiques shop," he says, touching her wrist.

"Right?"

Hillary smiles at him. They have covered her dreams already. My

bet is that she opens her shop in downtown Montauk.

"So what about you, Rachel?" Julian asks again, his dark eyes

probing.

It is a common question during law-firm interviews, right up

there with "Why did you decide to go to law school?"

at which

point you give the pat answer about the pursuit of justice, when

what you are really thinking is Because I'm a type-A high achiever

with no idea of what else to do; I would have gone to med school,

but blood makes me

I tell him that I don't know, embarrassed by the truth of it.

"Maybe if you quit your job, you'd figure it out more quickly,"

Julian says in his calm voice. "Poverty, hunger these things help

you think more clearly."

My cell phone rings. It is a jarring note. I apologize, say I thought

I had turned it off before dinner. Maybe it is Dex.

Maybe he

sneaked off to the bathroom to call me.

"Who is it?" Hillary asks. I can tell that she, too, is wondering if

it's Dex.

"I'm not sure."

"Well, check it out," she says. "We don't mind, do we?"

Julian shrugs. "Not at all."

I can't resist. I remove my phone from my purse and listen to the

message. It's only Marcus. He says he knows it's late but

wondered what I was up to.

"Marcus," I say, unable to hide my disappointment.

Hillary reminds Julian of who Marcus is the guy from our house.

He nods, says of course he remembers him.

"Why don't you call him? Ask him to come over," she says. "We'll

order another bottle of wine."

She is sweet to offer, but I can tell that she is ready for the shared

part of the evening to be over. And I don't want more charity. I say

no, I'm tired, it has been a wonderful dinner but I should really

get home. Julian makes eye contact with our waitress and asks for

our check with a scribbling flourish in the air.

When we leave the restaurant, Hillary asks me if I'm going to take

a cab. I tell her no, I think I'll walk.

"Forty-some blocks?"

"It's a nice evening."

We say good-bye on Twenty-seventh and Lex. Julian kisses my

cheek. He is about my height, a full two inches shorter than

Hillary. I'm surprised Darcy failed to mention this. I tell Julian it

was a pleasure to meet him. He says likewise, and looks forward

to seeing me in Montauk. I hug Hillary and give her an excited

smile to let her know that I wholeheartedly approve of her new

beau. As I turn for home, I realize that although I am truly happy

for Hillary, her fledgling relationship makes me feel even emptier,

more alone.

The cozy foursome is likely leaving the theater now, headed to a

nice dinner out, strolling the avenues, laughing and singing the

catchiest tunes from the show. Resentment fills me up.

If I had

the dice with me now, I would throw them in a gutter.

I continue on toward Third, checking my watch. It is just after ten

and suddenly I don't want to go home. I consider calling Marcus

back, worrying that it would be unfair, and I'd only be using him

to get over Dex. But I am so miserable and angry that I dial

Marcus's number anyway.

He answers on the first ring.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"Hey! You got my message?"

"Yeah, I did. I was at dinner. I'm in your neighborhood.

You want

to meet me for a drink?"

"I'd love to. Where are you?"

I tell him Twenty-seventh and Third.

"Right there at Rodeo Bar?"

I look up. He has the correct coordinates. "Yeah, it's across the

street."

"Well, go in and get me a Pete's Summer Brew, would ya? I'll be

right over."

His voice is animated and cheerful and it makes me smile. I tell

him I'll be at the bar waiting for him with his Pete's.

Rodeo Bar is as hillbilly as it gets in Manhattan. Old license plates

frame the bar and a huge stuffed bison hangs from the ceiling.

Peanut shells cover the floor.

"Hey, good-lookin," I hear Marcus say behind me.

"This seat

taken?"

I laugh and tell him no, he is welcome to it. "Here's your beer."

"And it's still cold," he says, taking a long drink.

"Thanks."

"You're very welcome."

"So where were you?"

"I Trulli."

He nods to say he knows the place. "Nice. Were you on a date?" he

asks, with feigned jealousy. He lifts his fist as if he's about to

become violent toward the guy who infringed on his territory.

I laugh. "No. I was with Hillary and Julian, her new boyfriend.

You met him last weekend, right?"

"Oh yeah. That dude Hillary picked up on the beach."

I laugh again. "Something like that."

"She did. For real. It was a strong move."

"Hillary is more like a guy than a girl in a lot of ways,"

I say,

thinking that I could never approach a stranger on the beach like

that.

"Yeah," he says. "It's great, really. I'm still waiting for you to be

aggressive with me."

I smile. "Oh, really?"

"Yes, really." He smiles, looking right at me.

"So," I say.

"So." He moves his arm against mine.

"I'm pasty," I say, comparing our skin tones.

"I like pale," he says. "It's feminine."

"So let me get this straight," I say, "you like aggressive women

who look feminine?"

He snaps his ringers in the air and points at me. "You got it. Can

you deliver?"

I laugh and sip my beer, wonder if Marcus will kiss me tonight. If

he does, I might kiss him back. I might even enjoy it.

"If you can't

be with the one you love"

We finish our beers. I say I am tired of country music and ask

Marcus if he is ready to go. He says sure, do I want to go to

another bar? Have I been to Aubette? It's only a few blocks away.

"Yeah. It's on the same block as I Trulli, right?"

"Yeah. I've only been there on weeknights so I don't know if it will

be any good. But they have these killer apple martinis that would

be right up your alley. You want to go?"

I laugh. How does he know what is up my alley? Dex is up my

alley. "Sure. Let's go."

We walk quickly to Aubette, past the muscle-bound doorman clad

in black at the entrance. We move inside. The crowd is hard to

pinpoint there is a bridge-and-tunnel element with a dash of

Euro wannabes. I follow Marcus toward the cigar bar in the back

and sit next to him on a buttoned leather couch with high arms. It

is cozy, but would be cozier with Dex. I force him from my mind.

"What do you want?"

"An apple martini." I can feel the red wine and beers moving

toward my head. A martini probably isn't a good idea, but I don't

care.

"You won't be sorry. Be right back."

He returns with my apple martini and a glass of scotch for

himself.

"How is it?" he asks, after I take a sip.

"It's good."

"Tastes just like a Jolly Rancher, doesn't it?"

I take another sip. "Yeah. It does. Want a taste?"

He sips from my glass and then licks his lips and looks at me. It is

an invitation. For a second, in my semidrunk state, I am confused,

unsure what to do next. I think of Dex. He hasn't broken off the

engagement yet. He might never. I can kiss Marcus in the

meantime. I must protect my heart. And something tells me that

Marcus wouldn't mind being used in this manner. I lean toward

him, initiate a kiss.

"Wow." He grins. "Didn't see that coming."

I kiss him again.

"Or that," he says.

I wonder if he will tell Dex. Part of me hopes he will. I kiss him a

third time and add a little tongue for good measure. We talk some

more. I am buzzed and vaguely attracted to him. He has nice

forearms, with just the right amount of hair. We kiss several more

times and it feels good, but nothing stirs inside me.

And every

time our lips touch, I miss Dexter a little bit more.

We finally leave Aubette and stand awkwardly in the street. A cab

sails down Twenty-seventh toward Lex. Marcus doesn't stop me

from hailing it, doesn't ask me to go back to his place. I am

relieved, because I think I

might have said yes. And that would be a mistake. It would only

be the apple martini talking that and a growing resentment in my

chest that here I am, six days postroll, playing third wheel at a

romantic dinner and kissing the wrong guy in a windowless

lounge filled with cigar smoke.

Marcus is what I need to give Dex more time. The logic is

convoluted, but I feel that the small act of betrayal puts Dex and

me on equal footing, at least in the short run. He is engaged; I

kissed his friend.

Hillary doesn't buy the rationale. She is beside herself, telling me

to cut it off. No more. Enough.

"Just a little more time," I say. "It's still only July.

We're only in

July."

She looks at me skeptically.

"Come on, Hill," I say. "Patience is a virtue Good things come to

those who wait Time cures all things."

"Uh-huh," she says. "How about 'No time like the present'? Ever

heard that one?"

"I'll say something soon. I will."

"Okay. Because you really can't put this off any longer.

You need

to nail him down," she says. "Move on with your life one way or

the other.

This waiting-around stuff just isn't good for you, Rach.

I'm

seriously worried about you"