Very Nice

by Marcy Dermansky

  And watching her quiver and then catch her breath, before starting again, I had a moment of déjà vu, remembering her daughter, Rachel, beneath me, looking into my eyes as she came.

  Khloe

  I went out for drinks with the guys.

  First I drank a gin and tonic and then another. It had been a long day at the office. The team had reeled back in a big client that had been thinking of jumping ship. It represented tens of millions of dollars.

  Fuck you, Jane, I thought, high-fiving Zach and Baxter and the other frat-guy analyst whose name I could never remember. Jonathan, my boss, grinned at me, because he knew that in the end, I’d sealed the deal. I had churned out a fluent recital of numbers, promises, paired with my cleavage and my legs. I had dressed for this meeting, the sleeveless silk blouse beneath my jacket. I had offered the idea of sex, sex the client would never have but could dream about. I was fine with that.

  Fuck you, Jane. It was a refrain, going on in my head, over and over again, every time I checked my phone, still waiting for an apology that did not come.

  As a rule, I never went out for drinks with the guys, but today I went and I immediately remembered why. My co-workers were grade A assholes. I watched them grope women in the bar as if they had a free pass. I watched the women they groped, the waitresses and the women who actually went there, clearly on the lookout for guys in finance, and it seemed to be okay with everyone. Danny Tang, I noticed, did not come out with the guys.

  The asshats I worked with wore suits. They oozed money. They were good-looking and they were repulsive. I felt lucky, at least, to sit back and observe. There was so much need in this bar, almost too much humanity on display. I looked at my cell phone and finally, there it was. A message. The message.

  So sorry, K. We need to talk.

  We never said we were exclusive.

  Let’s have coffee.

  Fucking coffee. It was as good as being dumped.

  “Heard you were a dyke,” Zach said, joining me, placing four shots of tequila on the table, a bowl full of limes. He was talented. He did not spill a drop.

  We did a shot together.

  He had heard I was a dyke, huh? Was he making this shit up or had he actually heard this? Was Jonathan Klein spreading gossip about me? Terrific. I didn’t know why, but I didn’t expect it from him. It was not like I liked the man, but I sort of liked him, despite myself. Or I respected him. I thought he was decent. No one, if you thought about it, was truly decent. My twin sister, for instance: Kristi was also a cunt when it came down to it. She had betrayed me—for art had been her bullshit explanation. Even still, I expected things from people.

  Meet for coffee.

  It would make me stop drinking coffee.

  “You got something to say?” I said.

  “Nah. Not me,” Zach said. “I love dykes. My little sister is a total bull dyke. Looks like a boy. Whereas you, Khloe, you are hot. I would totally fuck you.”

  “Gee, thanks,” I said.

  I was being sarcastic but I was not sure that Zach was aware of this.

  I did the other shot.

  “You’re welcome,” he said. “What are you doing out here in this meat market anyway?”

  “Leaving,” I said, standing up.

  He seemed relieved.

  “Don’t get raped on your way out.”

  “What?”

  Zach winked. I shook my head. His sister was a lesbian, but that didn’t make him decent. I was without words. Nights like this made me think I had made a wrong turn in my life. The MBA, the job, the entire course of my life. I also hated thoughts like this. I hated introspection. I wanted the money, I told myself, I wanted the money, that had always been my goal, but it seemed like maybe I was going to want more than that. I wanted Jane. It would all be bearable if I had Jane.

  I read my message from Jane again.

  Not exclusive. Coffee. There was an apology, at least. Was I supposed to write back? What could I possibly say in a fucking text. I wanted to show up at Jane’s brownstone and shake her. She had made a mistake. The biggest fucking mistake. She was not admitting her feelings for me because of things that had happened when I was a child. I could convince her, only I was so angry, I worried I might want to choke her instead.

  My phone dinged.

  Only this time, it wasn’t Jane. It was from Rachel. For a moment, I didn’t remember who she was. I had slept with so many women in Brooklyn that summer, before Jane, and I tried to remember which one was Rachel. Only it was my boss’s teenage daughter, asking me if I liked turkey sandwiches, if I wanted to have a picnic. Did I still want to go to the beach? She would understand if I was too busy.

  I had forgotten.

  Of course, I wouldn’t go. I was not going to mess around with this child. Because deep down, unlike every other single fucking person I knew, I was decent.

  * * *

  —

  Jane did not let me into her apartment.

  She was wearing oversized shorts and a tattered T-shirt, smeared with chocolate. She came out onto the steps of the brownstone.

  “Can I come in?” I asked.

  I had never been inside her apartment. It was always at my place. Zahid’s place. And every time Jane came over, she was opening drawers and closets, clearly looking for something. I don’t know what she thought she might find. Zahid, himself, under the bed, writing in longhand. A novel in a drawer. It was idiotic.

  “It’s late,” she said. “It’s too late for this. Didn’t you get my text?”

  “You want to have coffee,” I said.

  “Yes,” Jane said. “Can we do that? Tomorrow.”

  “You’re serious,” I said.

  Jane sighed. “Like I said, it’s late. I’m watching TV. I’m too tired for this.”

  “You are a mess,” I said. “Did you know that?”

  I touched the smear of chocolate on her T-shirt. There was a small tear in the armpit and another one beneath the V-neck. I hadn’t known this about Jane, that she wore rags when she was alone, but somehow I wasn’t surprised. I had seen the state of her underwear.

  “Are you drunk?” Jane asked me.

  I might have been a little bit drunk. Gin and tonics. Tequila. Maybe I was drunk. I sat down on the steps. I took off my shoes. These ridiculous high-heeled shoes. They were necessary for work and I was used to them. I liked them even, liked the way they made my legs look, liked the power they gave me, but my feet were tired after a long fucking day. I looked up at Jane, still standing in the doorway. I wasn’t going anywhere. I had a bad feeling about where this was going. It was already backfiring on me, showing up the way I had, but she had to talk to me.

  Finally, Jane sat down next to me.

  “Khloe,” she said.

  I put my head on her shoulder. Jane stroked my head. “I like your short hair,” she said. “Did you know that?”

  I nodded.

  I let her touch my hair.

  She liked my hair. She was attracted to me. I knew this. The air felt good. I had spent the whole day inside, freezing in air-conditioned rooms, feeling numb, feeling nothing. It had been so hot outside, but now it had cooled down. I felt a breeze. Jane’s hand was on my head. It felt so good.

  “You are such a baby,” Jane said.

  I shook my head. This was the problem, that Jane had met me when I was a child and she would not let this go. There were tears streaming down my cheeks.

  “You only think that you love me,” Jane said. “It is just an idea that you have been clinging to. It’s flattering, of course. And it’s not as if I don’t have feelings for you.”

  “You do,” I said. “I know you do.”

  Jane was still stroking my head.

  “It’s complicated,” Jane said. “There is Winnie.”

  I hiccupped.<
br />
  “I was already seeing her,” Jane said. “Before you showed up.”

  Technically, Jane had been cheating on Winnie when she slept with me, except Winnie had a boyfriend. And Winnie was not gay. Winnie was experimenting and she would come out straight and squeaky clean. Any lesbian could see that.

  “Winnie isn’t gay,” Jane said, as if she were reading my thoughts.

  I nodded, glad that Jane knew this, too.

  “This isn’t the first time I have fallen for a straight girl. You’d think I would learn.”

  “I’m gay,” I said. “One hundred percent.”

  “But I don’t feel that way about you,” Jane said.

  This was stupid. We had had sex, more than once. It had been amazing. She did, she did feel that way. She just felt like it was necessary to deny it. She did not want me because I wanted her. She was going to get fat, spend her life alone with her cat. Her cat would die. They always did. Her cat would die and she would be alone and she would get another cat and twenty years later that cat would die, too. It was no way to live a life. I lay my head back down on her shoulder. My head was spinning.

  We belonged together. This was how it should be.

  “You scare me a little,” Jane said.

  “Why?”

  It came out muffled, my lips on her shoulder.

  “Because you want me so much.”

  I sat up. “No, I don’t,” I said.

  Clearly I was lying. We both laughed. This felt better.

  “What’s wrong with that?” I said. “Wanting you?”

  “I was your babysitter,” Jane said.

  “I am thirty,” I said. “I am not a baby. I am not even a little girl.”

  “You’re thirty?” Jane said. “Really?”

  I nodded.

  “I used to kiss you,” Jane said, looking straight ahead, out onto the street. “Too much. When you were little. When I tucked you in. Sometimes when you were sleeping. I might have touched you. Nothing bad. Nothing gross. But maybe a little bit. I still feel ashamed of myself. You were so pretty. Like a doll. I have talked about this with my therapist. I don’t think you know this. I don’t think you remember.”

  “Of course I remember,” I said.

  “You do?” she said.

  “I was only pretending to be asleep. I liked it. I always did. And you were the only person, the only person who liked me more than Kristi.”

  “Khloe,” Jane said. “This is all wrong. You should hate me. You should be in therapy because of me.”

  “No,” I said. “It’s not wrong and I don’t. I love you. You are denying what is right in front of you.”

  “You are drunk,” Jane said.

  “I don’t see what that has to do with anything,” I said.

  I turned to Jane. I put my hand on her breast and I kissed her, dry lips on dry lips, but Jane did not return my kiss. She also did not remove my hand from her breast. She had put her hand back on my hair. It was possible. I only had to push. I could sense people walking by us. This was not safe, even in Brooklyn. We should go inside. Jane needed to let me inside. Inside, I could convince her.

  Jane pulled away.

  “I know that I have confused you,” Jane said. “Right now, I am only making it worse, and for that I’m sorry. I’m truly sorry. But you are not what I want.”

  “You’re wrong,” I said.

  My hand was still on her breast. I kissed Jane again and she returned my kiss.

  “I don’t want to break your heart,” she said, pulling away again.

  “So fix it,” I said. “Fix my heart.”

  “That’s so corny.”

  “Fix it,” I said.

  Jane kissed me again. I slid my hand under her dirty T-shirt. I fingered her nipple. I knew I could do this. I knew that I could change Jane’s mind. And then, she pulled away again.

  On the street, there was an older woman with a small dog watching us from outside the iron fence.

  “Don’t mind me,” she said. “I’m just watching the show.”

  “This is stupid,” I told Jane. “Let’s go inside.”

  Jane shook her head.

  She handed me my shoes.

  “You’re asking me to leave?” I said. “Now?”

  I was drunk, sure, but I had fixed everything. She had kissed me back, I could feel her heart beating, her body responding. But faster than I could react, Jane went inside the brownstone without me. She closed the door behind herself. I heard the door firmly lock.

  “Jane!” I screamed. I stood up. I pounded on the door. “Let me in. What the fuck? Let me inside. Jane!”

  “Oh, honey,” the woman with the dog said. “It’s going to be okay.”

  “Fuck you,” I said.

  I started to pound on the door again.

  “Go home, honey,” she said.

  “Fuck you,” I told her.

  The woman with her little dog left.

  And I sat back down on the steps, drunk, waiting for Jane.

  “Come back,” I said. “Come back.”

  I lay down, looking up at the sky.

  Sometimes, I missed the stars.

  I woke up there in the early morning, the sun rising, the sky a crazy pink I did not know was possible in Brooklyn. I had fallen asleep on the steps. My head was resting on my purse. Someone had stolen my shoes.

  Rachel

  I saw Ian on the pickup line at day camp and I knew I would go with him. “I have no plans today,” I said.

  “So you’re gonna join us, huh?” Ian said.

  “If that’s okay,” I said.

  I had not considered this.

  “Doing us a favor.”

  “What?”

  “All right,” Ian said, scratching his chin as if he were considering it. “We’ll let Rachel come over. Right, Amelia?”

  “Fuck you,” I said.

  “Whatever,” Ian said.

  I did not understand this. Why couldn’t Ian say, Great. Hooray. Be pleased like his little sister. I must have hurt his feelings, but I wasn’t sure he even had feelings. I went with them anyway. I was not going to go home. I was not going to meet my mother at the café and drink lemonade and pretend that everything was fine. What I wanted, really, was never to go home again.

  So instead, I set off with two members of the most notoriously disturbed family in town.

  “Let’s go back to the house today,” Ian said. “Swim at home.”

  I shrugged. Their beach was rocky, there was no sand, but it was fine. It was too late at this point anyway, after practically begging to be invited, to change my mind. What I needed to do, really, was pack my bags and go back to college.

  Amelia slid her fingers into my hand on the walk back to their house. Like a reflex, I thought about Zahid, his fingers. The way I had taken his hand. I did not understand what Amelia’s gorgeous older brother was doing, hanging around, hanging out with his little sister in the afternoon. I had asked him, the other day, what he was doing home, but he had ignored me. Something had gone wrong for him this summer, obviously. He had a story, but I didn’t know it. Had he been fired from a job? Had he graduated from college? What was he doing in the fall? Why did I not know this? I only knew about the brother with the gun.

  I was in the downstairs bathroom, peeing, when Ian came in without knocking. I thought I had locked the door, but apparently I hadn’t.

  “Jesus,” I said. “Get out of here.”

  My underwear and shorts were on the floor between my feet. I was planning on changing right into my bathing suit. Ian watched as I wiped myself. Was this his way of flirting? It was beyond creepy. It made me think of the brother again, the one who brought the gun into my mother’s classroom. My mother had told me he had a penetrating gaze. The word penetrating made m
e think of sex. Ian seemed like he wanted to fuck me, but I did not think he actually liked me. He seemed bored. Still, he wanted to fuck me and because he was so crazy good-looking, I could not ignore it. Zahid had rejected me.

  “You don’t have your period, do you?” he said.

  “What? That’s gross,” I said. “What business is it of yours?”

  “I hate having sex with women when they’re bloody.”

  There, he’d confirmed it.

  And he was disgusting.

  “What?” I said. I walked over to the sink to wash my hands. “What are you talking about. We aren’t having sex.”

  “Why not?”

  I had to come up with a reason.

  “We haven’t even kissed.”

  “Is that what your problem is?”

  Ian turned me around from the bathroom sink and kissed me. It was a forceful kiss, forceful in the way that he had once pushed me underwater, this time pushing my back into the white ceramic sink, forcing his tongue into my mouth. It was not a nice kiss. It felt like a violation. The last person I had kissed was Zahid. He had been hesitant; I’d had to let him know that it was all right

  “There you go,” Ian said. “We’ve kissed.”

  I frowned.

  “That was sort of rough,” I said.

  “Fine.” Ian sighed. “I know what you are looking for. All of you little girls.”

  I was going to object and then Ian kissed me again and it was better. Much better. It was not gentle. It was not tentative. But it was intense. It made me want him. I had not anticipated this. I did not understand any of this. I had never had a proper boyfriend, a normal guy to watch Netflix with, to text and go out to dinner with. Ian was in another league, too good-looking for me. He was also an asshole. It was completely in my power to step away. I could leave the bathroom, I could go home. I knew that was what I should do. But Zahid would be there. Zahid and my mother. She had texted me a picture of all the groceries she’d bought.

  Ian’s hands were on my ass, his erection pressed against me. I did not know what to think. I was afraid Ian was going to rape me. I was also worried that I wanted to have sex with a guy who wanted to rape me. Ian put my thumb in his mouth and sucked it and I gasped.