by Cynthia Dane
She spoke, drawing him out of his fantasies.
“Fell in a pool when I was a little kid. I almost drowned.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“You ever almost drown before?”
“Not really.”
“It sucks. You also never forget it. It’s scary as hell.”
“I believe you.” Zack pried his eyes away from the angelic image gracing his bed. “I also want to apologize again. I should have picked up on your energy.”
“I should be the one apologizing. I’ve been a bitch since I got here.”
“No you haven’t.”
“After last night…” Rachel cut herself off. “Never mind.”
We should probably talk about it. Was he nuts? Zack was the first one to say that guys did not simply talk about their romantic feelings for women. Especially to those women!
“I shouldn’t have kissed you,” they both said at the same time.
The pause that ensued was filled with stifling laughter. Zack puffed his into his cheeks while Rachel released her giggles into her hair. “Don’t worry about it,” Zack said. “I won’t.”
“Let’s put it behind us, right?”
“That’s what I’m thinking.”
“You know.” Rachel curled her hands into her lap. “If we’re really going to do this friends thing, we should test it.”
“How so?” This would either be brilliant or petrifying. Zack might be game for either.
“First of all, I want to get far away from this boat.” Rachel pointed to both walls on either side of her. “Second of all, we need to have a sleepover.”
Zack wasn’t sure he heard that right. “Come again?”
“Take me back to your proper place, Zack.” Was she drunk? She had to be, to suggest this. “We’re having a sleepover. With movies. And popcorn.”
He grinned. “Sounds great.”
The smile he got back was the best one yet. And also the most damning.
***
“Hold on to your sweatshirt,” Zack said, key in hand. “Because my place is awesome.”
Rachel stood in the twenty-fifth floor hallway of one of the nicest – yet so nondescript – luxury apartment buildings downtown. The sign downstairs cordially invited guests to inquire about monthly rental units or purchasing one outright. Zack had let slip that he purchased his apartment, because his father made it clear that it was fine to rent an art studio, but a man should own the bedroom he slept in. This place already feels more expensive than my parents’ old house. The sconces on the walls burned a low, romantic yellow. The carpet was as plush as clouds beneath Rachel’s feet. Even the doors to luxury apartments, were freshly painted, their golden numbers glistening like heirloom jewelry. Rachel was afraid to touch the door handle.
Then Zack opened the door.
“Oh my God.” Rachel refused to cross the threshold. “It’s a fucking museum!”
“Don’t know if I would go that far.” Zack tossed his keys onto a minimalistic table in the entryway. “But I do keep it pretty clean.”
That was the exact opposite of what Rachel imagined. Zack was the kind of guy she figured would never clean up after himself. That’s why he was rich enough to hire people to do that for him. In the meantime, he would leave his clothes on the floor, dirty dishes on tables, and with any luck he would throw away the used condoms. Ew. Don’t go there, Rachel. Come on.
Zack had read her mind. “Fun fact!” he called over his shoulder as he entered the main room of the apartment. “You’re the first woman besides my mother to come in and not have sex with me!”
“How kind of you to absolve your mother of that crime.”
Rachel gently closed the door behind her. She also removed her shoes, even though Zack hadn’t bothered – and he had done way more walking around the marina docks than she had! How many barnacles had he tracked on his carpet?
“My mother would insist.” Zack flopped onto a leather sofa facing the wide floor-to-ceiling windows. Midday light filtered through the tinted glass and covered the gray carpet in swirls of sunshine. When Rachel’s eyes adjusted to the bright light – and not a single lamp was on – she saw the large entertainment center taking up the one bare wall in the room. The open-concept layout of the living area flowed seamlessly into the stainless steel kitchen, complete with enough digital buttons and devices to give Rachel an aneurysm.
“Do all of the apartments here look like this?”
“Nah.” Zack opened the top of his solid black coffee table to reveal a small ice chest stocked with craft beer. You’re kidding me! This was some shit Rachel would see at one in the morning on those home and gardening channels. “If you’ve bought it, you can renovate it however you want. I haven’t renovated this place much, but the guy who owned it before me made it an open-floor plan. Blue Lagoon?”
Rachel remained standing in the middle of the room. “Huh?”
Zack dangled a beer bottle in front of her. “Beer. The best shit you can get.”
“Oh. No, thanks. Not much for alcohol.”
“Suit yourself.” Zack turned on his huge TV, a million colorful apps appearing across the screen. “So what are we watching?”
Rachel turned her attention away from the city skyline sprawled out before her. Sure enough, there was a healthy view of the marina and the river it served. “Uh… dunno. Sorry. Can I use your bathroom really quick?”
Zack pointed to his left. “Closest one is right there. I’ll flip through Netflix and the like to see if anything good’s available.”
Rachel barely heard him as she dived into a water closet. Granted, it was still bigger than the full bathroom in her apartment, but at least she didn’t have to face a fully-functioning sauna or a decorative waterfall in the corner.
She flipped the lid shut on the toilet and sat down, hands on her face. “What a dumb idea,” she muttered into her palms. Did she really think she could casually come over to Zack’s place and not be overwhelmed by who he was? Sure, the man had a yacht. A nice, expensive yacht that cost more than her college education. But at least the living space hadn’t been more intimidating than a middle-class apartment. This space, however? On another level. It screamed that Zachary Feldman came from means and knew how to spend his money. The view alone was worth a million dollars. He may not have done most of the renovations on his dime, but he had paid to make the most of them after the last owner skipped out of town.
You knew how rich he was… Zack didn’t act that rich, however. He may not have had many responsibilities, but he dressed casually and was content to blend in with the everyday crowds. Sometimes it was hard for Rachel to remember who he really was when she was wrapped up in his sandalwood-infused sweatshirt and remembering what it was like to kiss him.
This is ridiculous. This is like… some fucking romance novel fairy tale! Rachel didn’t read many contemporary romance novels, but she was pretty sure this was the template: a man who was rich as shit but magically had all the time in the world, a woman with little money who didn’t know what it was like to take a vacation in her young life, a chance meeting in otherwise ordinary circumstances… and now the prince’s castle, complete with all the amenities.
“You almost slept with him.” That’s what she told her cell phone as she texted Parvati. “You almost took him up to your shitty apartment and let him do whatever he wanted to you…”
Good thing she hadn’t done that! Wait…
Oh, what the fuck was she supposed to do? Rachel hadn’t thought things through this far. When she suggested they do this, it had been on a lark. A stupid joke she didn’t think was going to mean anything. But the fact remained that she was attracted to Zack. A lot. Like rubbing myself to sleep thinking about the way he touches and kisses me…
How were they going to be nothing but friends? Could they actually be friends? Or were they doomed simply because of their class differences?
Rachel splashed some cold water on her face before going back out into th
e living room. Zack was off the couch, the TV still stuck on the welcoming app screen that invited them to check into Netflix, Hulu, Amazon Prime, HBO, Showtime… he probably had a subscription to all of them.
Zack was in the kitchen sniffing through his fridge while on the phone. “Sounds good,” he said. “Make it a full order and put it on my tab.” He lowered his phone. “You like Chinese?”
“Uh, sure. We’re having Chinese?”
He scoffed. “Of course we’re having Chinese. It’s not a friendly pajama party sleepover without Chinese. So, what’s your favorite? And do you want brown or white rice?”
“Beef and broccoli.” Rachel leaned against the marble countertop. “And white rice. Can’t have Chinese without white rice, right?”
He grinned and pointed in her direction. “I like the way you think. Make that two full orders of white rice, thanks.”
Rachel didn’t know which restaurant he ordered from. Could’ve been Mushu’s down the block or Golden Dynasty on the other side of town. Mushu’s was closer and okay, if someone didn’t mind their Chinese food distilled through non-Asian chefs for plainer American palates. Golden Dynasty was considered king of Chinese food in that city, however. The Wangs had run the place for over a hundred years, with each generation achieving a new nirvana nobody else could compete with. But that also made them more expensive and less likely to deliver in a timely manner. Zack was lazy enough to order Mushu’s but also rich enough to spring for Golden Dynasty’s.
“Who did you order from?” she asked, while he pulled plates from a cabinet and forks from a drawer. “Mushu’s?”
He cringed. “If I wanted bland food that can barely be called Chinese,” he muttered, “I would make my own. No, I ordered from Forbidden City.”
“Forbidden City?”
“Yeah. You must know them.” Forks clattered against the plates. “From New York.”
“You ordered… from New York…”
“Yup. Should be here in a few hours. In the meantime, I’ve got some cold pizza in the fridge. You like pineapple on your pie?”
Rachel was still too dumbstruck to properly reply. “I… no. I don’t. Like pineapple in general, that is.”
“Oh! Well. I’ll pick it off yours. More for me!”
The rest of the afternoon continued as strangely, and part of the reason it was so strange was because Zack constantly showed how out of touch from real life he was, even though he came across as such a blasted normal guy. The “cold” pizza was fired up not in a microwave, but an oven that had a specific “wood” setting, somehow replicating the exact taste and texture of a traditional wood fire pizza – without flames, even. And the pizza itself? Leftovers, but from the expensive gourmet place that was considered a birthday splurge to someone like Rachel, and not a typical Wednesday night for Zack.
The movie he suggested they watch was still in the theaters, but movie companies sent him complimentary screeners because he went to Cannes when he dated an indie actress. The couch was deceptively state of the art, complete with individual massage components, heated cup holders (for all that hot tea Zack supposedly drank in front of his TV) and docks for handheld electronics and recharge stations for PlayStation controllers – oh, and he could play any game at any moment. Had Rachel tried out the Nintendo Switch yet? Zack had received an advanced copy of Breath of the Wild, but hadn’t had the chance to play it yet. He got it a year ago! When he asked her if it had even come out yet, she was almost afraid to tell him that it had.
A coffee table that was part ice chest for beer and soda, part neatly organized library of art history books and Zack’s archived sketchbooks. Windows that were controlled with the same remote that turned down the overhead lights and futzed with the AC. A voice that sounded a lot like Siri responding to Zack’s requests to turn on this and adjust that – assuming the remote didn’t control that, too.
Rachel felt like she was in a futuristic movie. Not even Star Trek had shit like this!
“I know that guy,” Zack said halfway through the movie. “Went to art school with him. Huh. How about that? Got to be a fancy actor and everything.”
Rachel couldn’t take being gobsmacked anymore. “That’s Sal Louis!” The guy on every magazine cover at the moment? Is he shitting me? “He won a bunch of newcomer awards!”
“Did he? No idea. I don’t keep up with entertainment and celebrity stuff.”
“Neither do I.” Rachel stood in grocery store lines and read Facebook headlines. How could Zack be so involved in these intersecting worlds yet know nothing about them? How could he be in the same class as Sal Louis and not know that he was Hollywood A-list? “But… guess that’s the difference between us.”
This had been so stupid. Rachel didn’t even care that the Chinese food arrived perfectly cooked and tasting so good, textured so perfectly that it was like every dead emperor rose from his grave to sample it for themselves. I should go. Rachel wasn’t meant to be a part of Zack’s world. She couldn’t even handle his technologically advanced apartment in the middle of the city. He was probably neighbors with the mayor. Assuming the mayor lived in a high-rise…
“We’re two friends hanging out and… are you actually using the chopsticks?”
Rice slipped back onto Rachel’s plate. “Yeah? Why? Don’t you know how to use chopsticks?”
“Uhhh.” Zack looked at the fork in his hand. “Forks are easier?”
His childish smirk that suggested he knew how sad he was made Rachel laugh for the first time in hours. “I learned how to use them the first time I lived in Japan. So, high school.” She picked up a single pea with her pair of disposable chopsticks. Zack whistled in admiration. “When you live there as often as I have, you figure out how to use chopsticks pretty quickly. Even though most of the restaurants are trying to shove forks into your hand.”
“See? You’re better than me at lots of things.”
“Didn’t realize we were having a contest…”
“Things are always a contest with friends.” Zack tossed his empty plate onto his coffee table. They were officially done watching the boring movie. “My best friend is also an artist. He and I are always trying to one-up each other. He gets a critically acclaimed collection, I get a world tour… he starts dating the most expensive courtesan in America, I start dating an Italian supermodel… I’m sure women do the same thing.”
“Not that I know of.”
“Ah. Oh, well. I’m sure you do. You’re probably more subtle about it.”
“Not sure about that.”
“Well…”
Rachel stood up. “It’s been fun, Zack, but I think I should be heading out now.”
“You’re leaving already?”
She couldn’t bear to look at him. He was still dressed in those easygoing shorts and T-shirt like they were about to go lounge on the deck of his yacht. Bet he’d like to do that. Probably would like it even more if Rachel were in a bikini while they did it. Not gonna lie, if he went shirtless… Nope. She wasn’t going there.
“Look.” Zack always stood up, hands out in a silent appeal to get her to stay. “I’m sorry this day has been so screwy. But you did promise me that we would have a proper sleepover like a couple of nine-year-olds. So what do you want to do, Rachel? What will make you stay?”
She sucked in her breath as if his words cut her. Not in pain, but in pleasure. Can you even be cut in pleasure? I don’t wanna find out! “I dunno. I guess coming here reminded me how different we are. I can’t believe you almost saw my tiny little apartment the other day.”
“Rachel, come on. I know I’ve got fancy stuff, but it’s not a part of me.”
“What is, then?”
His eyes widened. His finger tapped against his chin. He looked away, deep in thought. “Let’s go to my art studio. You can see what’s really a part of me there.”
“Right now?”
“It’s not far. Easy enough walk, and it’s highly secure. You can leave your bag here.” Zack grinned again. �
�That way you’ll have to come back for that sleepover. I had planned on breaking out the sleeping bags in here and everything.”
He marched straight for the entryway and grabbed his keys. Rachel went after him.
“Do I need my jacket?” She snatched it off its hook.
“Nah. We’re not even going outside.”
“We’re… not?”
Zack opened the door. “When I said it was an easy walk, I wasn’t kidding. It’s next door.”
She dropped her jacket.
“Come on. You wanna see where I spend my days when I’m not down at the marina? I’m not shy about showing off my workspace. It’s a lot messier than this place, anyway.”
It was those kinds of winks that made Rachel want to kiss him.
He hadn’t been kidding about the easy walk. He also hadn’t been kidding about his studio being next door. Literally. One of the doors they had passed on the way to his apartment was the door to his large, spacious, well-lit studio.
And when he said that whoever owned their apartments could do whatever they wanted with them… well, he hadn’t lied about that either.
It was like walking into a completely different space. Gone was the functional furniture, the electronics, and the art hanging on the walls. The only thing Rachel saw when she walked beyond the entryway were sheets, tarps, and paint splatters on the concrete floors and walls. “Little mishaps,” Zack called them when she pointed them out. “Nothing to be concerned about.”
The only reason it didn’t smell so strongly of craft materials was because of the great ventilation and carefully controlled temperatures – Zack hadn’t foregone the technology on that. He also had different lights he could adjust with different colors so he could replicate exactly how he wanted his works to be shown on gallery floors.
He didn’t have many works in progress in his studio, and even fewer completed works, but what he did have blew Rachel away. Especially since she had never bothered to look up his artwork after finding out he was a full-time artist. Why would I? I assumed he was a hack, like every other rich person who has the luxury to do their hobby full time. Rachel had met many such types while studying abroad. Hell, in college…