“I can’t do that to him.”
“If you loved Oscar, you could.”
One of the girls from Vogue sashays into the bathroom. Angela gives me a look that says she thinks she’s gotten the last word in under the wire.
When we get back to the table, Claudio is talking nonsense about inviting all of us to spend next August at his family’s villa in Capri.
“Are the taxis really all convertibles?” One of the Vogue girls asks.
“Of course. And the rest are boats. You’ll have to come stay. We have the most amazing chef.”
The girl’s eye lashes are batting wildly by the time Angela reappears like a fast rising electrical storm and displaces her new would-be rival from the perch next to Claudio. I’ve never seen Angela so besotted. It can’t be just Claudio’s looks. She’s not as easily plied by chiseled abs, soulful eyes and a winning smile as the average female. Some of her short timers actually tend to be wealthier than they are handsome, but with their resources, they can make the best of whatever the genetic lottery awarded them.
More drinks arrive and the conversation becomes increasingly inane as the Vogue girls toss back too much wine and gush about a trip to Italy that will never happen. Kevin sits between them, studiously avoiding eye contact with me. When Claudio gets up, I slide in next to Angela and say, “I didn’t know you had it so bad.”
“He’s wonderful, Zoë, but I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know?”
“I’m not really a monogamy kind of girl.”
“That’s because you never date anyone you actually like enough to be that way. You go for the guys who can show you a good time, but if you take away the glitzy gifts and big nights out, there’s nothing left. I love you, Angela, but you do have a tendency to fall for the same smoke and mirrors tricks over and over again.”
The little voice in my head wonders whether I’m guilty of falling for a similar type of substance-free glamour myself. She’s speculating, somewhat loudly, that Angela and I suffer from the same fear of true romantic intimacy. I tell her to shush. This isn’t about me. It’s about my friend.
“I’m not falling for them if I’m the one who does the dumping,” Angela says finally, as if she’s really been thinking this through.
“Fair enough.” I don’t want to sail into treacherous waters so I ask, “What do you suppose it is about Claudio?”
“He checks all the boxes I normally require, of course, but the thing is, he gets me. It’s like we’re on the same wave length. He knows what I’m going to say before I say it. And I can’t stop thinking about him. Like yesterday, when I was going over the proofs for the January feature on Jimmy Choo, a not-so-little part of my brain was trying out my last name with his.”
“Your name, if you wanted to change it, would go with any Italian name.”
“I know! It must be a sign that we’re meant to be,” she says jokingly. “And I have this destructive urge to tote him home to meet my family.”
“So now you know how I feel about Oscar.” I stir my Stoli Raspberry tonic.
“But do you? Even now that you know I wasn’t off the mark with Kevin?”
“Kevin and I need to talk.” I hear myself try to say this with conviction, but the truth is, I’m unsure what I really want to say to Kevin.
“I don’t think talking is what he has in mind,” Claudio says as he re-joins us. He waits expectantly for me to slide over a chair so that he won’t have to sit three feet away from Angela.
Sometime before two, the birthday girl decides she’s had enough to drink and Claudio gets the check. We all reach for our wallets, but he waves us away, looking almost insulted that we would foist our dollars on him. Of course, he’s a rich man made even richer by the exchange rate. I’m curious as to what three hours for a dozen people in the Rose Bar costs, but I’m not drunk or rude enough to ask.
Kevin comes over to me. “Share a cab?”
I open my mouth to say I promised to go to Oscar’s when the party broke up, but what comes out is, “Alright.” I can always ask the cab to make two stops, or, better yet, I could go home first and get my overnight stuff. I don’t want to be wearing my dress and stilettos again in the morning.
We kiss Angela and Claudio goodbye. She raises one eyebrow and gives me a knowing look. When Kevin’s attention is elsewhere, I hiss at her, “It’s not going to be like that.”
“Of course it’s not, honey,” she says playfully. “Call me in the morning, okay? And thanks again for a great birthday.”
Kevin and I settle into the taxi for the quick trip home. As the driver pulls away from the curb, Kevin looks out the window on his side and says, “So it seems that my secret is out.”
I don’t know how to respond. I suppress the urge to come up with something pithy and pointless to fill the silence and wait for him to say more.
“I didn’t mean to tell you that way.” He’s still looking out the window.
“Well, technically, you kind of showed me. Although, if we’re being honest, I’m not completely clear on what exactly you hoped to communicate.”
I’ve been staring straight ahead but now I turn to look at my friend. I’ve always thought he was cute, no, better than cute, but in a totally different way than Oscar. Oscar is classically tall, dark and handsome, and judging by the looks he gets on the street, that’s not a matter of opinion. Kevin’s one of those guys who’s better than average looking to begin with, but his charm makes him even more attractive.
He finally turns his head to meet my gaze. He takes a deep breath. “I love you Zoë. I have for a long time, and not in the just-friends sense. I thought I was being so painfully obvious about it, but in retrospect, maybe I wasn’t. And now you’re with Oscar and it’s literally tearing me up inside.” He looks away again.
Wow.
“I don’t know what to say. But at the minimum, I can say it wasn’t obvious. You’ve been seeing Lily, and I thought that was going well, that you’d graduated to more than the odd date and lots of casual sex. And you’ve been so angry with me.”
“That’s because I’ve been a big wimp.”
“So what’s changed?”
“I started to see Oscar might have some staying power, and of course, all the drinks tonight gave me some courage.”
“Maybe you’re just beer goggling me. Won’t you feel sheepish in the morning?” I force a laugh, but I know there’s no putting his big announcement back in its tidy little box.
The cab pulls up to our building before he can answer. The little voice in my head warns me not to rock the boat with Oscar. I should take Kevin’s ten bucks and tell the driver to take me to Central Park West. But I can’t. I let Kevin pay and slide out of the car. He takes my hand as a group of drunk guys commandeers our cab, and leads me through the entrance and up the stairs. He holds the door for me and we step out of the stairwell into our shared hallway.
“Your place or mine?” he asks with a smile.
NINETEEN
“Kevin, I can’t.” I say it after he’s swung his door open and led me through it.
He flips on the lights. They make the tiny foyer too bright, especially for the late hour. “Because of him?”
“Yes. I’m sorry.”
Kevin looks away from me and asks, “But you want to?”
“I don’t know. Yes. No. Maybe if we’d had less to drink. Or more to drink. I just don’t know, so I think the best thing to do would be to call it a night, and for me to go home.”
“You mean go to his place.” He still won’t look at me.
Despite my best efforts to squelch them, tears start to leak from the corners of my eyes. They make my worn-too-long extreme lengthening mascara sting and itch. When I wipe my eyes, an ugly black smudge appears on the back of my hand. “What am I supposed to say? What do you want me to say?” I sound stuffy and borderline hysterical.
“Zoë, come on, don’t cry.” He reaches out and envelopes me in his arms. I take a deep
breath, will myself to demonstrate a little composure, and try not to sob into his shoulder. It’s a good thing his wool overcoat is black cashmere. It probably won’t show cosmetics stains.
“Do you want a cup of tea or hot chocolate or something?”
“Okay.” I shrug my coat off my shoulders and hang it with his on an over-crowded hat stand that takes up most of the entrance. I follow Kevin into his familiar kitchen and realize I haven’t been inside this apartment since I started dating Oscar. Even though the timing of my new boyfriend has coincided with Kevin’s busy season at work, normally I’d at least have been by for a late night beer now and then.
The kettle starts to screech. He pours two cups and mixes in the little packets of instant hot cocoa. Both mugs bear a (fortunately) rejected mayoral campaign slogan supposedly penned by an intern whose parents were major contributors. O’Malley: A Shiny Future for the Big Apple. As he hands me one, Kevin says, “This is not how tonight had played out in my head.”
I put the mug down and hop up to sit on the counter. For a second, I watch Kevin contemplate sliding in next to me, but he situates himself on the other one, opposite me in the small galley. I slide a largish pile of unopened mail out of the way. Not that it was interfering with my comfort, but it gives me something to do for a second because I still have no idea what to say.
Kevin breaks the silence again. “Leave him.”
“Please don’t do this. Maybe I should go. I need time to think.” It’s the truth. Everything is happening too fast and I’m starting to feel as if I’m watching my life speed by as if hijacked, instead of steering it myself. I slide off the counter. My dress rides up my thighs and I pull the fabric back down.
Kevin hops off his counter and takes both my hands in his. “I don’t know if I can handle being just friends anymore.” He’s no longer avoiding my gaze. His green eyes are staring right into mine. “And when you kissed me back tonight, it didn’t feel like you were doing it out of sympathy.”
“Of course it wasn’t sympathy. But you have to admit, you caught me off guard.”
“I’ve always enjoyed the element of surprise.” He tries to muster a laugh.
I slip my hands out of his grasp. “I really should go. Let’s talk tomorrow, if you want, when both of us have less drink coursing through our veins.”
“The alcohol hasn’t intensified my feelings. It’s just given me some much-needed liquid courage.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“So if you had these feelings towards me, then why on earth did you encourage me to go out with Oscar in the first place?”
“If you remember, I wasn’t egging you on all that enthusiastically. Angela was. It was obvious you were flattered and excited, and rightly so. I thought there’d be no harm in you having a little fun. And God knows I didn’t want to slide in as the transitional man. Not that I thought of it this way at the time, but, you know, in hindsight, I gambled. I bet that you’d have one or two dates max with this mystery ad exec, and that would be that.”
“Wow.” It’s all I can think of to say. Then, “What about Lily?”
“Friends with benefits. Nothing more.”
“For her, too?”
“Her idea. Or requirement, more like it. She has some serious boyfriend in Ljubljana.”
“Interesting. But it doesn’t lessen or change what I have with Oscar. I love him, and I think he loves me. We’ve just kicked things up a notch. He gave me his key. But now I feel like a big idiot for screwing things up by drunkenly kissing you.” I wonder if I really have messed things up. It’s one stupid, boozy, over-tired little slip, so perhaps there’s no need to come clean to Oscar. It would just hurt him, right? And it’s not like I’m going to let it happen ever again. “I feel like I need to see where we’re going. Kevin, I am so sorry. You’re the last person in the world I want to hurt. Please believe me.”
“I do,” he says, grudgingly. “But I don’t want to see you get hurt, either, and honestly the guy gives me a weird vibe. It’s like he’s too good at playing Mr. Perfect or something.”
My head is already swimming. And for some reason, my earrings are starting to hurt. They’ve become unbearably heavy. I unclasp the over-sized chandeliers and lay them on the counter. I rub my ear lobes and look up at Kevin. “At least now I know why you can’t be objective.” I feel a stress headache, the kind normally induced by Carol, coming on. “It’s really late. We’re both exhausted. Let’s not do this anymore tonight.” I start moving towards the door.
He takes my arm and spins me to face him. “Just promise you’ll consider one thing, okay?”
I blink at him blankly. I wasn’t lying about feeling exhausted. Or overwhelmed by tonight’s developments.
“His career may be taking off, but his income can’t possibly cover his lifestyle. The guy has no mortgage on your place, and none on his pad in the Beresford, either.”
When I frown, Kevin adds, “That stuff is public record. I didn’t snoop anywhere but the registry of deeds.”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but he made some good investments, and got in and out at the right time.” This is what Oscar tells people who ask nosy questions about his finances. He says people would harp too much on the truth. They’d think he was some sort of inbred freak show attraction—his description, not mine.
“Of course he did,” Kevin says snarkily. “You know, I actually talked to him tonight, to try to figure out what’s so great about him, and all I could think is that there’s something shifty about the guy. There’s something in his eyes that I don’t like. And he was asking me all about the O’Malley investigation. It seemed sort of classless.”
I feel my cheeks flush red again. “Now I think you sound paranoid and pathetic.” My eyes narrow. “Oscar is the classiest man I’ve ever met. I know him well enough to promise you that.” I glare at Kevin. He’d better get the message that this subject is closed.
“What can I say?” Kevin looks defeated, and slightly stunned to boot. His persuasive gifts rarely fail him. “Most of me hopes you’re right, but if we’re being honest, part of me hopes he’s a total creep.”
My throat is tightening, like my clothes are constricting me. Suddenly I can’t wait to be free of my favorite little black dress. I shove my way past Kevin and lunge towards the door. He reaches out to grab my arm.
I brush him away. “I need to be alone. To think.” I sprint out the door before he can stop me. I’m so beside myself that it takes me three or four tries to get my key into the lock. Once inside my apartment, I slam the door behind me, slide both the deadbolt and the chain shut—something I hardly ever bother to do—before leaning back against the doubly-secured door and slumping to the ground.
I sit there for a few minutes, expecting to cry but just feeling dazed and empty. Did we just have a friendship-ending conversation? My phone vibrates in my little satin evening bag. Oscar. For the first time since we’ve been dating, I let him roll to voicemail. He doesn’t leave a message. Seconds later, the phone vibrates again and I answer.
“It’s lonely over here. Are you still out partying?”
“No, I just walked in the door.”
“Now that’s not entirely true. I don’t see you here.”
“I meant my door. I thought I’d let you get a decent night’s sleep for a change.”
“Come over.”
“It’ll be four by the time I get there.”
“So?”
I’m so cooked that I feel like it might be a better idea to say good night and crawl into my own bed, but I hear myself say, “I’ll see if I can find a cab.”
Naturally, the one time I wish for taxis to be scarce, one pulls up as soon as I step onto the sidewalk and raise my arm. I spend the entire ride so conflicted that I feel like my head might explode. I love Oscar, so why did I cheat with Kevin? Not that everyone would agree that a kiss constitutes cheating, but to me it does. If Oscar kissed another woman, I’d be furious, j
ealous and generally beside myself. Every time the taxi stops and goes, I flounder between guilt and exhausted indifference. I’m completely unsure whether I should throw myself on his mercy for being such an inadequate girlfriend, or leave well enough alone. As the taxi turns onto his block, I decide to do what Angela would do—proclaim a kiss just a kiss and say nothing. I can always change my mind later, when I’ve had the benefit of a few hours of distance. And sleep.
The Beresford’s twenty-four hour doorman admits me. I ride the elevator up and knock on Oscar’s door. No answer. I knock again. Nothing. He must have fallen back asleep. Maybe I should go home. But then he’ll call again if he wakes up and notices he’s alone.
I use the key I was so excited to receive only a few hours ago to let myself in. I kick my heels off and make my way down the hall with my overnight bag, which I keep almost constantly packed these days, slung over my shoulder. Sure enough, I hear soft snoring coming from the bedroom. I slip into the master bath and close the door before finally peeling off my dress and stockings. I scrub away my party face, slather on some cream, brush my teeth and pull on a little black night gown before emerging. He hasn’t changed position at all. He’s spread out on his back, one arm flung overhead, snoring louder than before.
I start to climb in beside him, then realize I will hate life in the morning if I don’t drink some water. I guzzle a glass in the kitchen and refill it to take with me to bed. I’m about to switch off the lights when I notice Oscar’s phone resting on the granite counter. Its screen taunts me with “New Message—Krystal Klein”
Who the heck is Krystal Klein? Olivia’s warning, and Oscar’s unequivocal denial, flash back to my mind’s eye. The idea starts to take root and I know I won’t be able to purge it with plain will power.
No. If I snoop, I’ll find nothing, and I’ll feel like a tremendous jackass for violating his trust. Maybe my imagination has run away from me because of sleep deprivation, booze, and my traumatic interaction with Kevin.
If I trust Oscar, which I do, or at least I really, really want to, I shouldn’t need to delve any further. Though isn’t there a chance, however miniscule, that I’m wrong? Wouldn’t it be better to indulge a tiny bit of psycho-chick behavior now, in order to assure peace of mind later?
The Hazards of Hunting While Heartbroken Page 21