Something Borrowed

  “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 fingers 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.

  Sixteen

  Kissing 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…”

  “I know. I’ll say something,” I tell her. “You have to remember that I’ve only seen him one time since our weekend together. And that was late one night after work. He fell asleep on my couch.”

  “Well,” she says knowingly.

  “Well, what?”

  “Well, isn’t that somewhat telling?”

  I know what she is implying. That if Dex loved me enough, he’d make more time for me. That I have lost momentum since July Fourth.

  “No, actually, it’s not telling,” I say defensively. “Work has been crazy for both of us. Les is on a rampage. You know that. We’ve literally had no time to see each other.”

  “All right,” she says. “But I’m giving him one more week. Then no more excuses.”

  “Two more weeks,” I negotiate, and then explain that only a very shallow person would find it so incredibly easy to cancel an engagement. That the situation is vastly more complicated than she is acknowledging. That Dex would not string me along for the hell of it. That he values our friendship at the very least. That he also values my friendship with Darcy. That he has integrity. That he told me he loves me. And meant it. I pull out all the stops, trying to convince myself along the way.

  “All right then,” she says. “Two weeks. Absolute max.”

  I smile and nod, thinking that two weeks should just about do it. One way or the other.

  In the meantime, I must face another hurdle: Darcy’s shower/bachelorette party. It has been on the calendar forever—the third Saturday in July—but for obvious reasons I have yet to plan the evening. Claire calls that afternoon to press me on details. “Should we go to the Hamptons or stay in the city?”

  “I don’t know. What do you think?” I am distracted, noticing that my secretary put two c’s in “recommend” on a fax cover sheet that I failed to proofread. If Les sees it, he will go postal.

  “It depends on what Darcy wants,” Claire says.

  Naturally. It always does.

  “Right,” I say.

  “So? What does she want to do?” Claire asks in a tone that says, you should know this, you are the maid of honor.

  I admit that I’m not sure.

  “Let’s conference her in and find out,” Claire suggests in her sorority-social chair voice. She puts me on hold and returns with Darcy on the line.

  We present Darcy with her options: Manhattan or the Hamptons. Claire outlines the pros and cons of each and assures her that either way it is going to be the best bachelorette party ever.

  Darcy says she doesn’t care. Both options sound great. She is subdued. Something is wrong. Maybe there is trouble brewing at home, a visible crack emerging in their relationship. Maybe Dex said something to her. I feel a surge of hope, which is followed by a larger dose of guilt. How can I so easily root for my friend’s unhappiness?

  “You don’t care?” Claire asks. “That’s a first.”

  “You guys decide. I’m fine either way.”

  “What’s Dex doing?” Claire asks. Of course, I am wondering the same thing.

  “I’m not sure,” Darcy says. “He mentioned going to the Hamptons to golf.”

  “Well, if he does that, we should stay in the city. You don’t want him around for your big night, do you?” Claire asks.

  “No,” Darcy says. “I guess not.”

  Something is definitely wrong. She does not sound the slightest bit excited about a night in her honor. My instinct to soothe her kicks in. “Claire and I will put it together and let you know where to show up,” I say. “Does that sound good to you?”

  “Yeah. That’s fine.” Her voice is flat.

  “Is everything all right?” Claire asks.

  “Yeah. I’m just a little tired.”

  “Okay. We’ll work on this, Darce. It’s going to be a great party,” I say.

  We all say good-bye and hang up. Claire calls me right back. “What is wrong with her? She sounds upset.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You think she’s mad at us because we don’t have this planned yet? It is pretty slack of us,” Claire says, sounding worried. It is a scary thing to have Darcy mad at you.

  “No. That can’t be it. She knows we’ve told everyone about the date weeks ago…Everyone will be there. It’s just a matter of nailing down final plans. I’ll talk to her,” I say.

  I hang up with Claire and call Darcy back. She answers, her voice lifeless.

  “You sure you’re okay?” I ask, utterly conflicted as I wait for her answer.

  “I’m fine. Just tired…Maybe a little down.”

  “Why? How was your weekend?” I ask tentatively.

  “It was okay.”

  “Did you have fun with Dex’s father?”

  “Yeah. He’s nice,” she says.

  “Do you like his stepmother?”

  “She’s okay. She can be a pain in the ass though.”

  Takes one to know one.

  “What did she do?”

  “Well, for example, she kept complaining about how cold she was at the theater. You should have heard her carrying on and on during the whole intermission, even after Mr. Thaler gave her his jacket. Dex and I were like, well, that’s what you get for wearing a skimpy dress.”

  Dex and I were like…My stomach drops. I hope I’m not in for a lifetime of those words.

  “But overall the weekend was okay?” I probe, pressing the phone against my ear.

  “Yeah. It was okay.”

  “Then why are you down?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I think it’s just PMS. I’ll be fine.”

  Ordinarily I would try and wheedle Darcy out of her mood, find a way to perk her up, but instead I just say, “Well, I better go. Got some party planning to do.”

  She giggles. “Yeah. You sure do. Make it a good one.”

  “Okay,” I say, knowing that I will let Claire do the bulk of the organizing. She will be happy to undertake the project. I know she believes that she is more important to Darcy than I am, that she would have been named maid of honor but for the fact that I’ve known Darcy longer. She is probably right. The major thing Darcy and I have in common is the past. The past and Dex.

  The rest of the week passes quickly. I don’t see Dex, but only because he is in Dallas on a business trip. I try to convince Hillary that his deadline should be extended by three days because he can’t really do anything about his situation while in Texas (although Dex and I do manage to log over four hours of phone time). She tells me that if anything, the time away should give him the chance to really sort through his feelings and come up with a plan of action. I tell her I’m sure that’s what he’s doing.

  On Friday morning, only hours after Dex arrives back in New York, he calls and suggests that we meet for lunch before he heads out to the Hamptons. We arrange to meet at the Pick A Bagel near my apartment, to avoid the Midtown lunch crowds. I feel nervous as I take the uptown subway. I have not seen him in over a week—not since I kissed Marcus. I know that kissing Marcus was not a significant event (apparently it wasn’t significant to him either, as we have barely talked since), yet I feel somewhat strange when I kiss Dex hello. Not quite guilty, just reticent.

  “I’ve missed you so much,” Dex says, shaking his head. “I kept hoping you’d fly down to Dallas and surprise me.”

  I laugh because the thought had actually occurred to me. “I missed you too,” I say, feeling myself relax.

  We stand there on the corner, grinning like crazy at each other, before moving inside the bagel shop. The place is jammed full of people, which gives us an excuse to touch. His fingers brush mine, the sides of our legs graze, his hand rests on my back as he guides me forward in line. I am basking in being near Dex, too distracted to order. We let three people go in front of us before we both decide on egg-salad sandwiches to go. We pay fo
r the bagels and two Snapple lemon iced teas and then walk briskly toward my apartment. I tell myself not to get too swept up in emotion when we are finally alone. I really need to bring up Darcy before her bachelorette festivities get under way. I must do this over our egg salad. Unless of course he does it first.

  Just as we are approaching my building, I spot Claire descending upon us half a block away. I hear Dex curse under his breath, just as I see a look of confusion on Claire’s face. There is no time to consult Dex and formulate a story. Five steps later, she is upon us. We are cold busted.

  “Hi, Claire!” Dex says robustly.

  “What are you two doing here?” She switches her mustard-colored Prada bag from one shoulder to the other and smiles a bewildered smile.

  I laugh nervously. “What are you doing here?” I ask. It is a feeble attempt to buy a few seconds. I am terrible under pressure, an absolute disaster. I should not be a litigator, at least not the kind who might ever see the light of a courtroom. I am better suited to my big boxes of documents in over-air-conditioned conference rooms.

  “I left work early today to get ready for the party tomorrow. I was just at Kate’s Paperie buying wrapping paper and a card for Darcy.” She glances at our brown paper bags. I am carrying our Snapples; Dex has the sandwiches. “Are you having lunch?”

  “No,” Dex says. He is perfectly composed. “Well yes, we just bought lunch. But I’m headed to my car—about to leave for the Hamptons.”

  “Oh,” she says, but is still not satisfied. Luckily she keeps her eyes on Dex. I have more faith in him than in myself.

  “I had to give Rachel something to give to Darcy,” Dex says.

  She cocks her head to the side. “What’s that?”

  I don’t think she’s suspicious; she simply does not consider that what we are doing may not be her business. In her eyes, she is in the inner Darcy circle, privy to any information that concerns her friend. And Dex and I most certainly concern Darcy.

  “A note,” Dex says. “A little something I want Darcy to have before her wild and crazy night on the town.”