by Heidi Lowe
"But–" he started.
"Marcus, I'm not feeling up to it today, okay?" I said, quickly but firmly.
"Okay." He shrugged but didn't seem happy about it. "Another day, then. I just wanted you guys to do something together. Get to know each other better."
I wished he would stop saying crap like that. We would never be best friends, or just surface friends. She wanted me out of his life, and I wanted to remain a part of it. Gridlocked. Conundrum.
She sat down beside him; the two of them opposite me – against me, it seemed. There was that cunning smile in her eyes when she looked at me, as though she dared me to start some trouble.
"What are you guys doing on Friday?"
"We don't have anything planned yet," Marcus said. "Why?"
"I'm heading to Edinburgh to meet a client. A friend has let me stay at her apartment while she's away. You could tag along, take the spare room. That's if Jenna has any desire to see Edinburgh."
I did, just not with her. And what was her game here, exactly? What was she up to? Why would she invite us when it was obvious she couldn't stand me?
But before I could express my reservations, whatever I could come up with, Marcus said, "Sounds like a plan. Are you driving?"
"No, train. We leave really early in the morning, though, so make sure you get enough sleep the night before."
"Great. I'll book our tickets now." Marcus leaped out of his seat and hurried away upstairs.
Scarlett sipped and slurped her coffee, saying nothing, just watching me with eyes filled with amusement. She was waiting for me to speak, to say something rude so that Marcus would hear it, probably. I wasn't about to fall for that trick.
"It'll be nice, the three of us together, your brother, his girlfriend, his sister. We'll have so much fun."
When she moved the cup from her lips, a smile rested there. "I'm sure we will, Jenna." When she said my name it sent a chill across my flesh. She didn't so much say it as breathe it.
"It's really nice of your friend to let us stay at her place. Is she just a friend, or..."
I knew that would wipe the smile off her face.
"Do you know what defamation of character is, Jenna?" she said, swirling the contents of her cup.
"Sort of."
"Let me educate you. If someone spreads false information that damages one's character, that person can be sued. So that little house you own, that you're so proud of, might have to be sold in order to pay damages."
Massachusetts law was still a mystery to me, so I had no chance of understanding English law, or believing the validity of her claims. She could have been talking out of her ass for all I knew, but on the off chance that she wasn't, I decided it best not to push her any further. She was the lawyer after all, and from what Marcus had said, a damn good one.
I swallowed and she saw me. How I hated that she saw me.
"I'm glad to see we're on the same page now." She drained her cup, washed it up, then bounced out of the room.
Needless to say, I was dreading Edinburgh.
SEVEN
The apartment sat on Edinburgh's Prince's Street, a central location close to most of the city's major hotspots. Scotland's capital had a rustic, almost fairytale feel to it; mountains within walking distance of the town center, a castle, a mountainous fogginess even on a warm day, that made you feel like you were in someone's dream. The word magical came to mind.
Once we'd set our bags down and changed, Marcus and I left Scarlett and went exploring the city. Everything seemed to be on a hill, so I must have burned a bunch of calories that day. We passed out early that evening.
When I stirred awake the next morning, the bed was empty. I could hear Marcus and Scarlett's muffled voices coming from the kitchen/diner. After freshening up I reluctantly joined them.
"Sit here," Marcus said, pulling me into a kiss, then onto his lap. I could feel my cheeks burning under Scarlett's gaze. "We were just talking about you."
Nervously, "About me? What were you saying?"
"Wouldn't you like to know," Scarlett said.
"Nothing incriminating, Jenna. You don't have to look so afraid." He laughed. "I just said that you were worried you wouldn't have anything to wear to Norman's birthday party next Saturday."
"I have enough time, I'll find something." It was true; I'd rummaged through my suitcase back at their place and found nothing suitable, nothing that didn't make me look like the unbecoming foreigner, a commoner out of place among England's bourgeoisie.
"It's not a big deal, honestly, Jenna," Marcus had said when I'd started freaking out.
"How many people are going to be there?"
He shrugged. "A hundred, maybe more."
"And they're all lords and ladies, possibly even the Queen?"
He'd chuckled. "We don't know the Queen. And not all of my parents' friends have titles..."
Great! Not all, which probably meant at least half. My parents' friends were schoolteachers, other real estate agents, and homemakers.
"Hey, I have an idea. Seeing as you didn't want to go mountain climbing with me, what if you and Scarlett went shopping together? Scarlett's got a great eye for fashion, and it would give you a chance to get to know each other without me around."
Horrified, I began stuttering out a reply to the tune of, "are you freakin' crazy? I don't want to go anywhere alone with that woman. I might never come back." Of course, nothing like that ever made it out.
"Scarlett is probably really busy, babe," I said instead.
"Actually, she was just telling me that she was free today. So, what do you think, Scarlett?"
"Well, I think Jenna might like to shop alone. Clothes shopping is such a private thing."
He'd put us both on the spot, and now we were babbling. Sadly, Marcus didn't read between the lines, couldn't see the tension whenever I was in a room with her. I knew he wasn't going to let this go.
"Oh, come on. What's the problem?"
Scarlett and I exchanged looks. It was pointless trying to get out of this.
She forced a smile. "It would be my pleasure. Satisfied?"
Marcus beamed then looked to me to okay it.
Weakly I said, "Sure, why not?"
There were a million reasons why this was a terrible idea.
It was early afternoon when we set out – two women who couldn't stand each other. And anyone unfortunate enough to cross our path would have been under no illusions. Even walking beside me proved a challenge for her, it seemed.
"Where did you want to go first?" she said with a sigh, once we reached the shopping center. "And please don't take all day choosing one dress. I have better things to do with my time than follow you around Edinburgh."
"Believe me, I'm just as anxious as you to get this thing over with," I grumbled.
"How about here?" She pointed to a shabby-looking store with huge red discount and closing down signs in its windows. "This would be within your budget."
Out of pure shock I laughed. "As opposed to your budget, you mean? Unlike you, I actually have to work for a living. I don't live off my inheritance."
"Nice try," she said with a cackle, the insult sliding right off her. "The rich parents thing doesn't work on me. I'm an accomplished barrister. Everything I spend I earned myself."
I groaned and stormed into the store right beside the discount one, praying that she would just stay outside and be carried away by Scottish pirates in kilts! But she followed me inside, up to the women's section on the second floor.
She hung back while I scanned the racks, hung back and made quiet, snide remarks about how garish, or tacky, or plain each dress I showed any interest in was.
Until finally, temper having reached boiling point, I spun round to face her. "All right, if you're such an expert, tell me what I should get?"
She sighed. "Well for starters, nothing in here. I'm aware that a party of this caliber might be new to you, so I understand this is a confusing time." I opened my mouth to tell her to go to hel
l or somewhere equally as grim and hot, but she added, "In the interests of wrapping this nonsense up as quickly as possible, I'll offer my assistance. In turn, you don't question my judgment."
I deliberated for a moment, weighing up the pros and cons. The biggest pro being that a speedy selection meant the end of our girls' day out.
"In the interests of wrapping this up quickly," I repeated, "I accept your terms."
She rolled her eyes impatiently then headed towards the escalator, me following behind her.
Complaining that the store she'd chosen to patronize was way out of my price range would only have amused her, which was why I kept it to myself, while screaming inwardly, "I can't afford anything in here. The cheapest item here costs more than my monthly mortgage payments!"
The store was a fancy boutique outfit with just one store clerk behind the till. She smiled at us and greeted us upon entry, a luxury she had because we were one of two couples in the small store.
Scarlett got to work picking out dresses, her face scrunched up in concentration, as though she had a grueling task. For several minutes I watched her, wondering if this was some sort of trick. Would she put me in fancy dress only for me to arrive at the party and realize that everyone else had dressed casually? No, that would have been childish. Scarlett was many things, but childish wasn't one of them. If anything, she seemed older than her thirty-four years. Took herself way too seriously. In my presence, at least. With Marcus, she was probably the life and soul of the party.
"What size are you?"
"Uh, four. Not sure what that is in UK sizes," I said, and received another sigh for my reply.
She picked out four dresses, then shoved them at me. "Try them on."
I claimed one of the two changing rooms, and she stood outside, doing something with her phone.
"What will the weather be like on Friday?" I called out as I climbed out of my clothes.
"I'm a barrister, Jenna, not a meteorologist."
I hadn't expected anything less snarky. I shook my head, amused by her rudeness.
"Have you decided what you're wearing?"
"No. I'll decide on the day," she said.
I slipped into the first dress, which was a pale blue and did nothing for my figure. Plus it was the most expensive one of the bunch, which made it less appealing to the eye.
"The blue one doesn't work."
"Then move on to the next one."
I did. It was only once I reached the last dress, a sleeveless scarlet number that I knew I was on to a winner. Scarlet, go figure.
"Could you do me up?" I said, trying but failing to fasten the buttons. It was clearly a dress only a woman with a helpful boyfriend/husband would buy.
I heard her sigh from behind the curtain before she slipped inside. I saw her in the reflection of the mirror.
"There are, like, five buttons. Why couldn't they have settled on a zipper?" I complained.
She started from the bottom and worked her way up, and I watched her in the mirror. She looked even more beautiful when she frowned. Beautiful and troubled. Boy, even doing this for me was too much to ask of her.
When she reached the top button, she gently swept my hair out of the way, her fingers ever so slightly brushing the nape of my neck.
And then we were looking at each other in the mirror. She must have felt it too, felt how sensual the move had been, despite its inherent innocence.
The moment seemed to last forever. I heard her breathing, she must have heard mine. Even though our reflections were the only things we saw, that day we saw each other. Possibly for the first time.
Then the spell passed and she cast her eyes down, fastened the last button.
When I spun around to face her, she'd moved back a few steps, as much as she could in the small, enclosed space.
"What do you think?"
She gave me the briefest once-over, I mean like one second long, mumbled, "It's fine," then shot out of the changing room.
I found her at the counter when I came out with the dresses. I handed the clerk the one I wanted, and she took the unsuitable ones from me.
She rang it up. "That's three-hundred and fifty pounds."
I started searching for my credit card in my purse. Giving her hundredth sigh of the afternoon, while I wasn't looking Scarlett handed over her own card.
"Put it on that," she said.
"What? No, I can pay for my own dress." The poor store clerk smiled uncertainly as she looked back and forth between us, not sure what to do with the card.
"Put it through on mine," she said again to the clerk, completely ignoring my complaints.
"You really shouldn't have done that," I said, once we'd left the store. I felt like a hooker or something, like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. "I have my own money."
"Look, it was my idea to shop there, it's only fair I pay for it. You don't need to make a fuss about it, either. Can we leave now, or do you need to accessorize?"
"No, but it's lunchtime. At least let me buy you lunch as a thank you."
"No."
I frowned as I studied the way she was now avoiding my gaze, when she'd had no problem looking at me with callous, calculating eyes in the past.
"I have to insist. You dropped all that money on the dress. That's the least I can do." Three-hundred and fifty pounds, which was something like four-hundred bucks, may have been chump change to a Rutherford-Manning, but that amount was nothing to sneeze at for someone like me.
She folded her arms. "You can insist all you like, but the answer will still be no."
"I'm really trying to be nice here. Help me out," I said, confused by her stubbornness. "It's just lunch."
"Look, I have a date, if you must know."
"Oh." I hadn't been expecting that for an excuse. Not only because this was the first time she'd mentioned it, but also because she didn't seem the type to go on dates. Women like Scarlett were the kind of women to be courted, the Romeo and Juliet balcony scene type of courting. Dates seemed so...common.
"Oh," I said again. "Okay. Well maybe I can thank you another time."
"If it's all the same with you I'd rather you didn't. Now, can we go?"
If it's all the same with you I'd rather you didn't, I repeated to myself in a mocking way as I trotted behind her, trying to keep up. Hard as nails, as cold as a weekend in the North Pole. It was hard to imagine anyone wanting to take her on a date, no matter how good she was to look at.
"It's definitely A. He should phone a friend, though, to be on the safe side," Marcus said later that night. We'd opted for an evening lounging on the couch, watching reruns of Who Wants to Be a Millionaire. His head lay on my lap.
"No, it has to be C," I argued, certain of my stance.
He fished out his cellphone. "I'm just going to google it," he said, attempted to, but I snatched the phone from him.
"Don't cheat." I chuckled while I placed the phone on the floor, out of his reach, knowing he was too tired to get up and get it. He'd returned from his mountain walk completely totaled.
We were lip-locked when we heard voices at the door. Scarlett was home from her date. Although I knew very little about her, girly laughter coming from her sounded uncharacteristic.
"Oh, you two are still up," she said when she entered the living room, a well-dressed man in tow. We'd met him briefly when he'd picked her up. A Scottish lawyer from a well-known firm, he was bald and at least ten years her senior. Decent-looking, but punching way above his weight. Not quite Beauty and the Beast, but not far off. I didn't like him, though I didn't know why.
"Hello again," he said with a shy wave. The accent and dimples were endearing – maybe those were what had attracted her to him.
"Did you want the room?" Marcus said, getting up. "We were going to get an early night anyway." He grabbed my hand.
"Thank you," Scarlett said.
I wanted to protest to being thrown out of the living room without getting to hear the correct answer, but instead I said goodnight t
o the two of them and followed Marcus into our room.
He conked out within five minutes of his head hitting the pillow.
Wide awake, ears peeled, I lay in the darkness, gaze focused on the slither of light that had snuck in from the street lights behind the curtain. I could hear everything: her flirtatious laughter, his deep, gruff, mumbled tales that I was certain were nowhere near as funny as she made out, then their retreat to her bedroom.
I tossed and turned, trying to find a position in which to rest my head so that I wouldn't have to hear their love-making. But the jerking and creaking of the bed was hard to ignore.
Sleeping after that was impossible. No matter how hard I tried not to see it, images of the Scottish ogre on top of her clouded my thoughts. Eventually he became Shrek to me, Shrek and Princess Fiona. So who was I in that story? The Donkey?
At no point in my fury at having to listen to them did I stop to question why their humping bothered me so much. All I knew was a feeling of nausea settled in my stomach and wouldn't budge.
Some time passed, I wasn't sure how much. A couple of hours maybe. The "lovers" resurfaced from Scarlett's room. I heard them whispering in the hallway. Unable to explain what prompted me to, I crept out of bed and opened the bedroom door just a crack in order to hear what they were saying.
"Would it be all right if I called you? I travel down south for business quite a lot," the man said.
"That won't be necessary," came Scarlett's dismissive reply.
That won't be necessary, I mouthed, both flabbergasted and amused by her coldness. Was that really the way to speak to someone who'd just rocked her world? Or perhaps she was so frosty because he'd been a crap lay. I wanted to believe the latter was true.
"We had fun, didn't we?"
"Yes." She wasn't convincing. "But now I'm going to get back to my life."
"You're not married, are you?"
"No. Goodnight, travel safely."
I waited until I heard the door close, heard her enter the kitchen, before I crept out.
She was leaning by the counter, waiting for the kettle to boil when I entered the room. Her thin green chemise shimmered beneath the ceiling light. A short, provocative number that stopped at her thighs and revealed an uncomfortable amount of flesh. Legs golden from her Singaporean tan, one crossed over the other. She was combing her fingers through her tight curls when she saw me.