Diving In (16 page)

“I thought we’d settled that.”

What game was he playing?

It didn’t matter, as long as she remembered it was a game. He was just having fun because he’d been overcompensated at birth and was chronically bored with the lack of any challenge.
 

She lifted her fork. “Why does Rachel call him Lawless?”

Ansel looked at his watch. “You held out longer than I expected.”

“Just making conversation.”

He shrugged. “It’s not what you think.”

“He doesn’t sleep around?”

“Of course he does,” he said. “But it’s not actually illegal. He’s not, like, going for the fifteen-year-olds or anything.”

Trying to look intrigued, she looked in the direction of the pool. “Did Rachel sleep with him recently?”

“Recently?”

“Unless it’s like some regular deal they have going, I wouldn’t want to get involved.”

“But if it’s a ‘regular deal’ it’s okay?”

She propped her elbow on the table and played with her hair. “If it’s just some fun little tradition that doesn’t mean anything, yeah. I won’t be messing anything up.” She gave him a dainty shrug. “If I take advantage of whatever he’s offering.”

“Except my good impression of you.”

“Ooooh, Mr. Slut-Shamer,” she said. “Nice to meet you.” She slid a cherry tomato between her lips.

His voice dropped. “If you’re trying to scare me again, it’s not working.”

As they stared at each other over the table, his phone vibrated.

“I’m really sorry,” he said, “but I have to take this call. Just for a second. Sorry.”

Nicki shrugged as if she couldn’t care less and went back to eating. It was pretty good, but it wasn’t lobster.

“Hi, Diane,” he said, holding the phone up to his face.

She made an internal note in thick black pen, highlighted with fluorescent yellow:
He’s video chatting with another woman while he’s having lunch with me.

“Can we talk later?” he continued. “I’m in a restaurant. Like in an hour? What is it there, eight, nine o’clock?”

Nicki reached over and stole his pineapple slice. Diane. And he’d been expecting her call.

“No,” Ansel continued, “I’m here with a friend of Rachel’s.”

Nicki could feel the woman’s jealousy from across however many thousands of miles their digital video traveled. She started shoveling in mouthfuls of vegetables and protein as fast as she could; they might be leaving any minute if Diane was as bossy as the tone of her voice implied.

Ansel smiled at his friend. “Sure, here she is.” He aimed the phone at Nicki like a vampire hunter with a silver cross.

She flinched appropriately, resisting the urge to pull up her hands in front of her face. Instead, she sat up taller and nodded at the beautiful brunette on the screen.

Diane wore a blouse her mother would’ve approved of, had the perfectly bobbed hairdo of a senator’s wife, and sat in a dim office.

“Hi,” Nicki said, wishing Ansel would shove the phone up his ass.

Smiling without parting her lips, Diane looked her over. “Nice day at the pool?”

Nicki nodded. This kind of woman made her nervous. Not just beautiful but composed, self-assured, mature.
She
’d never tell a knock-knock joke in the throes of passion the way Nicki had with her first real boyfriend.

Knock knock.

Who’s there?

You don’t remember?

Nicki never did understand why you weren’t supposed to laugh in bed.

“I was just in the pool, yes,” Nicki said.

“Lucky you,” Diane said.

“Not really,” Nicki replied.

Ansel retracted the phone and said, “About an hour, okay? Call me from home. Remember? Where you’re supposed to sleep?” With a relaxed smile, he hung up, put the phone away, and went back to eating, not looking up at Nicki. “She works too much. Young executive type.”

Whatever charge had been humming between them was now gone. They finished the meal, Ansel signed the tab—not even teasing about it—and they walked out into the resort courtyard. The line was just as long as when they’d entered. She thought she recognized some of the same faces, still waiting.

“I’m going to go back to the pool.” She was glad that woman had called. It was just the jolt in the spine she needed. “Thanks for lunch.”

“Wait, hold on. Are you going swimming again? I could spot you.”

“I haven’t decided yet. But I wouldn’t want to mess up your schedule. You’ve got to call your girlfriend back.”

“Diane’s not my girlfriend. We’re just really close.”

“It’s none of my business.”

He tapped her shoulder, rolling his eyes. “Don’t make that face. It’s true.”

“I’m not making a face.”

“Everyone thinks that just because Diane and I had a thing a long time ago, and neither one of us got gay or married, we can’t really be just friends.”

She slipped on her sunglasses. Any man who put his phone on the restaurant table to take a call from one woman—who wasn’t a relative or a coworker—while he was having lunch with another one, had feelings that went beyond friendship. “It’s none of my business.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t be that way.” He put a hand on her shoulder, the second time he’d touched her; yes, she was counting.

“Last night you said you were trying to change.” She turned and began walking away. “I think you need to try a little harder.”

* * *

Betty called her again that night.

“Are you hitting on me?” Nicki asked, chewing on a Swedish fish. The red, sticky, gelatinous candy clung to her teeth like bright, artificially-colored barnacles. “Because we already talked to each other today, and I’m starting to feel uncomfortable.”

“You should be so lucky,” Betty replied, then sighed. “It’s pathetic of me, but I was wondering what happened with the love shrimp today.”

 
Sprawled in bed, with her freshly painted nails drying under the ceiling fan whirring overhead, Nicki told her about her day.

Betty sprang into action. “First thing in the morning, you’re letting Lawless know you’re hot and ready for him.”

“He did seem to catch a chill easily. Maybe that’s how I’ll turn him on, by talking about my body heat.” Nicki had decided to stop arguing with Betty about her little fantasies.

“Whatever works,” Betty said. “But don’t tell him you’re a schoolteacher. He can’t be the sharpest tool in the shed, so you shouldn’t intimidate him. Tell him you’re a flight attendant. Dudes love that, right? Sexist bastards.”

“Wasn’t your last girlfriend a flight attendant?”

Betty chuckled. “She certainly knew how to put my tray in the upright position.”

“You have a tray?”

“It’s a strap-on.”

Groaning, Nicki popped another candy fish into her mouth. She had a pile of them off to one side, lined up like sardines in a can. “Does Jaynette get jealous when you talk about your conquests?”

The line went quiet.

“Betty?” Nicki asked. “You still there?”

Pause. “Yeah.”

Nicki’s supportive friend radar went off. “Is everything okay between you two?” Jaynette the yoga instructor had stolen Betty’s heart the summer before.

“I told her when we met that I was a free spirit. I mean, duh, look at me.”

“The green hair should’ve tipped her off,” Nicki agreed.

“I know, right?”

“So she
is
jealous?”

Betty sighed. “It’s so annoying.”

Nicki tried to remember if she’d ever met a girlfriend of Betty’s who lasted more than a few weeks. One of her friends was an on-again, off-again type, but that was more about convenience than true connection. “When’s the last time you were in a serious relationship?”
 

“When’s the last time
you
were in a serious relationship?” Betty retorted.

“Guess I hit a nerve.”

“Marriage equality is great for some people,” Betty said, “but for lone wolves such as myself, it’s a pain in the ass.”

“Uh-oh. Jaynette wants commitment?”

Betty fell silent again. “No,” she mumbled finally.

“But you’re upset she doesn’t want to share?” Nicki wasn’t quite sure what the problem was. “You’ve been single for a really long time. I’m sure it’s hard to get close enough to somebody who tries to put limits on you.”

“That’s not it.”

Nicki held the phone up to her ear with her shoulder so she could juggle the last three candies. It wasn’t like Betty to be evasive; she didn’t know what methods to use to pry the truth out of her. “Where is she right now?” she asked to buy some time.

“Out.” Betty’s voice was sour, resentful, hurt.

“Oh,” Nicki said softly, finally understanding. She let the candies scatter over the bed. “She’s not jealous.
You
are.”

“I told her when we met that I never get exclusive. Now she’s holding me to it. How can I complain? How can I change the rules in the middle of the game?”

“Does she know how you feel?”

“Pfft,” Betty said. “I’m not going to tell her that. It would be manipulative and unfair. I’ve been on the other end of that way too many times to do it to somebody else.”

“It’s the truth. You can’t avoid it forever.”

“If I tell her now…”

Nicki wiggled her red-tipped toes, kicked the empty candy wrapper to the floor. “You think she’ll dump you. Because that’s what
you
would do.”

Betty made a pained, breathy noise, like a sleepy person stubbing her toe in the dark. “Jesus,” she said.

“It’s what you
did
do,” Nicki continued. “More than once.”

“Way to make me feel better, Nick.”

“But I’m right, aren’t I?”

“Karma’s a bitch. That’s the truth.”

“You need to talk to her about how you feel,” Nicki said.

“Oh, great idea. I’ll send her a text message this second telling her I’ve never loved anyone the way I love her, that she completes me, that she’s the wind in my sails,” Betty said. “And she’ll read it while she’s in bed with somebody else.”

“Or you could, you know, talk to her alone later.”

“Yeah. Whatever.”

“Now you’re just feeling sorry for yourself.”

“No, I deserve to have my heart crushed like a bug,” Betty said before adding in a more typically robust tone, “What do you say you change out the bridge phobia post with something about Lawless? Is there a place you can hide and snap a good shot of him?”

“I’m not doing that.”

“We can crop out his face. Nobody really cares about that anyway. Is he hairy? We’ve got a thread going right now in the forums about the tyranny of body hair removal.”

“I don’t know. He wears a swim shirt and board shorts—Never mind. I’m not going to expose some random guy on your blog, give me a break. You get thousands of hits a day.”

“He’d never know,” Betty said. “Unless he’s secretly a left-wing lesbian, he’ll never know.”

“The blog’s demographics are much more diverse than that, like it or not.”

“Don’t remind me,” Betty said. “It’s your fault. Phobic Phoebe attracts wishy-washy heterosexual chicks.”

Nicki prodded her sleeping laptop. “I’d be happy to skip next week’s post this week if you’d like. We seem to argue a lot more than we used to.”

“No! You can’t skip anything! You promised me two years ago you’d be reliable. If I stop delivering what I’ve promised, Phobic Phoebe and the rest, the blog will never survive, it’ll become just another abandoned, dead, dated—”

“Chill,” Nicki said. “Of course I’ll write it. If you lay off the heavy-handed editorial.”

Betty exhaled loudly. “Promise. I’m launching new Phoebe merchandise next week, and I can’t afford to lose any momentum. Wait until you see the new stress balls.”

“Mail me a pair.”

“To Hawaii? No way. Too expensive.”

“You are so cheap,” Nicki said.

“
You
try making a living from blogging. I’m lucky I can eat.”

Nicki snorted. “You make more money doing part-time programming jobs every few months than I do working all year.”

“All year, my ass,” Betty said. “You are in Hawaii, aren’t you? Anyway, I don’t get benefits. I have to think of the future. What if I want to start a family someday?”

Not believing what she’d heard, Nicki raised the volume on her phone. “Excuse me?”

“I better go before my ovaries get too hopeful and pop out an egg,” Betty said. “Love makes you crazy. I’m walking proof. You’re lucky to be out of it.”

“Yeah. Real lucky.” Unbidden, it was Ansel’s face, not Miles’s, that flashed before her eyes.

No, not him.
In a panic, she dug out her favorite fantasy about Miles, the one when she climbed him like Mt. Everest, and waited for the wave of unrequited longing to wash over her.

“You still there?” Betty asked.

“Not really.” She’d lost it completely. Even in her favorite fantasy about Miles, she was picturing Ansel; and he was laughing.

She said good-bye to her unhappy friend and quasi-boss, then dragged the computer onto her lap and began to type. Ahead of schedule, but she needed a place to vent.

Smelling blood in the water, the sharks came for me immediately,
she wrote.

* * *

Perhaps because of his distracting relationship with his roommate, Ansel forgot to mute his phone when he went to bed, which allowed Brand to wake him in the middle of the night to complain about his pictures of the office building in Kihei.

“My God, you went to the wrong one!” Brand shouted in his ear.

Ansel squinted at his phone: 4:24 a.m. “Time change, buddy, remember? Curvature of the earth and all that?”

“You were in the ocean-side building. We want the inland one. There are two properties.
Two
.”

Ansel sighed, rubbed his eyes. He’d left the shades open to watch the moonlight on the water as he fell asleep. Unfortunately, that had been less than an hour earlier. Sleep wasn’t always easy for him. “It’s taken you this long to look at the pictures?”

“I’ve been busy.”

“You missed my birthday.”

“Oh, shit. Sorry. Thirty, right?”

“Yup.”

Brand cleared his throat. “Is that why you took pictures of the wrong building? You’re having a crisis?”