Faking Life (30 page)

“Wait one second.”

He took his full glass of wine, untouched throughout the meal, and stared at the light caught in the deep red. He could see his reflection in the glass, uncertain eyes peering back at him. He looked up at Esther, her gaze confused. Slowly, he raised the glass and smiled at her.

“To an incredible first date, and to a truly incredible woman. You have no idea what tonight meant to me.” John heard Esther take a deep breath as he tilted the glass back and swallowed a mouthful of wine. It tasted sweet and bitter and lingered on his tongue. Nothing else. No bile or saliva. No revulsion. Esther's eyes seemed to glisten and for a moment, John thought she was about to cry. He dismissed it. She couldn't possibly know the significance of what he'd done.

As they left, John held Esther's coat open, allowing her to slip her delicate arms in. She glanced over her shoulder as he held the sleeves, his arm grazing her check, her skin warm and inviting. She let the touch linger. No 'thank you' was necessary, he felt it in her eyes. She looked like she wanted to say something, but was talking through her body, her movements, her eyes. And John took in every word.

They walked along avenue B, the sun having given way to the grayish blue New York night. Traffic lights and lampposts provided faint illumination as they walked side by side.

“So where to now?” Esther asked. John shrugged and shoved his hands into his pockets.

“Well, I guess I didn't plan too far ahead. We could catch a movie or something if you'd like.”

“I'm not really in the mood for a movie. Any other suggestions?”

“We could go for a drink?”

“I had drinks with dinner.” She moved closer to him, her perfume tickling his nose.

“We could…stand out here on the street and do nothing.” She laughed, inched closer.

“Now where's the fun in that?”

“I don't know, if you really want you can have fun with anything…”

Before he could finish the thought, Esther leaned forward and kissed him. He felt her lips press against his, gentle, smothering. He pushed back and felt her gloved hands around his neck, her breath hot on his face. Finally they pulled apart, breathed, stared at eachother's eyes.

“My roommate…” John said.

“Mine is out for the night.” He smiled. She laughed, then grabbed his hand.

“Come with me.” She hailed the nearest cab and gave the driver her address. As soon as the motor started, John felt her hands back on his face, her sweet smell intoxicating. They stayed like that the entire ride, until finally she led him upstairs and into her deep embrace.

“We need to go to that restaurant more often.” John laughed.

Esther lay across his chest, her hand lazily brushing the hair between his pectorals. Her cheeks rose and fell with her breathing. He smiled and stroked her lips. Her eyes were open, warm and satisfied.

“Now aren't you glad we didn't bother playing any games?” he said. Esther laughed and lightly slapped his arm.

“Thank you for dinner,” she said. “It was delicious.” He nodded. Her skin was so warm against his touch. He lightly pressed his fingertips against her wrist, feeling her steady pulse.

“We'll definitely go back sometime. But the dessert.
Mmm…mmm
. Even better than the main course.” John leaned over and nibbled her ear, Esther letting out a shriek of pleasure as he pretended to gnaw away.

“Stop that! We'll get a noise complaint.” He took his head away and licked his lips.

“Delicious. A hint of cinnamon. Could use some dressing maybe.”

“Don't you dare.”

They smiled. John leaned over and kissed her forehead, Esther closing her eyes, a dreamy grin on her face. Then she kissed him, her tongue gently flicking around his mouth, the swell of her body pushing against him.

“You're incredible, John.” He leaned back, her eyes staring into him.

“Don't say that.”

“I mean it, you are.”

“You are too, Esther.” She shook her head.

“You don't need to tell me I am just because I told you. I really think you're amazing.” John wrapped his arms around Esther and hugged her tight, pressing his cheekbone against the bridge of her nose.

“Thank you.” She smiled. Leaning across the bed, Esther took her watch from the nightstand.

“It's early.”

“You still up for a movie? Maybe a cocktail?”

“Not really. Actually,” she said, bracing herself with her elbows. John traced his finger along her naked sternum, her skin warm and slick.

“That tickles.”

“I'll stop.” She shuddered.

“No, don't.” He gently traced the curve of her breasts, her chest rising sharply as he kneaded her skin, feeling her body shiver.

“John?”

“Yeah?”

“Would you show me your book?” His finger stopped moving.

“Now?” She nodded exuberantly.

“Why so urgent?”

“I don't know, I'd just really like to see it.” John sat up on the bed and looked at the clock.

“Don't see why not. Paul's probably not asleep yet, not that he'd care anyway. You don't mind coming all the way downtown? It's kind of a hike.”

“Well, you'd let me stay over wouldn't you?” John smiled.

“I'd even make you breakfast in the morning. And I haven't done
that
in years. I must have some cereal or crusty old pancake batter lying around. How does that sound?”

“It sounds wonderful.”

They put their clothes back on, making no effort to avoid physical contact as they tugged on socks and shoes, pulling shirts over eachother's heads, gentle kisses waiting as they poked their heads out. Esther put together a small overnight bag and they went downstairs. John had just enough cash to cover the cab downtown.

They took their time walking, hands millimeters apart. John felt the static in the air, a hushed quiet that seemed to suck all the noise from the city, leaving him to hear only them. He could hear her breath, her shoes on the concrete, her slight sniffle in the cold. He playfully nudged her when she hesitated at a green light and she pushed back, their laughter subsiding into quiet smiles.

When they reached his apartment, John checked the mailbox and led Esther upstairs. When they reached the top of the walkup, John smiled shyly as he opened the door.

“It might be a bit messy,” he said.

“I don't care. I'm here to be with you, not to dust the place.”

“Fair enough.”

She placed her hand on the inside of his elbow. He felt blood rush to his cheeks, and for a split second he had an urge to pull her closer before leading her inside. He could hear her long, slow breaths, watched her coat rise and fall.

He turned the key in the lock and pushed the door inward.

“Paul, you decent?”

John held the door open for Esther, twirling his arm in a chivalric gesture. As he followed her in, head bowed, he bumped into Esther, nearly knocking her over. She was standing immobile in front of the door, facing the living room, her head riveted in place.

“Esther, you can go inside if you…” Then John saw what had caused Esther to freeze. His keys fell on the floor with a muted jangle.

Paul was sitting on the couch, his hair askew. His elbows rested on his knees, his eyes full of thick, stringy veins. At least a dozen bottles of beer littered the floor, many of them strewn in between pieces of broken glass with mangled labels still attached. John noticed notches on the wall where Paul must have smashed the bottles. Several pieces of paper sat on the couch next to him. John recognized them immediately. His stomach clenched. He could smell sour vomit wafting from somewhere in the apartment.

Paul picked up the pages and held them out to John.

“You motherfucker,” he said.

“P
aul,” John said hesitantly. “What's going on?”

“This,” Paul said, tapping a finger against the contract he held in his hand. “So this is what you didn't want to show me.”

“Paul, it doesn't matter. So what…”

“This shit,” he said, crinkling the paper between his unsteady fingers. His eyes were full of wax. Sweat beaded down his face like an athlete in a sports drink commercial. “I've worked years, goddamn
years
to just
get
to the point where someone would represent me. And here you are, a goddamn ex-bartender fuckup who hasn't written more than a tax return in his whole life and you have the
nerve
to sign one and then
lie
about it.” There was nothing John could say.

“Paul, I didn't lie, I just never said anything.”

“Shut up. It's people like you who fuck up the whole system,” Paul said. He wasn't looking at John anymore. He didn't seem to have even noticed Esther. She was still standing by the door, looking like she wished she could pass through the wall and disappear.

“Fucking people like you,” Paul railed. “You come along with the next great idea, the next big thing they can market and then it doesn't matter if you can fucking spell
cat
. If you look good on the jacket you'll fucking sell. And it leaves people like me who actually
deserve
it out in the goddamn streets. And your book…” Paul's expression morphed from utter disdain to sadness, and he choked back a sob. “There're things in there you've never even told me.
Me.
” He jabbed his finger against his chest, denting his blue sweatshirt.
“
Your best friend.”

“Paul, you need to understand…”

“I read everything, John. Front to back. We've known each other for ten
years
and you never told me these things. Your life…fuck, I mean
Gloria
…how could you not tell me about Gloria?”

“Paul, I couldn't even tell myself about her. You've got it all wrong…”

“And then I'm sitting here and the phone rings. I decide to let the machine get it cause I'm too busy reading your crap. Then I hear this.”

Paul reached out with an unsteady hand and pressed a button on the answering machine. After the beep, John recognized the voice of Nico Vanetti. They all listened in silence. When the message was finished, John's heart skipped a beat. He heard Esther gasp next to him. Paul shook his head in disbelief.

“So you're the next golden boy,” he said, his face turning haggard. “The next poster child. You see me day in and day out and you don't even have the fucking decency to tell me.” John stepped forward, his face burning.
Jesus, was Nico serious?

“Paul, I swear I didn't know about the money. It was never about that.”

“Bull
shit
. I don't deserve to be treated like this.” Paul staggered to his feet. “I'm fucking better than you,” he said, picking a beer bottle off the table and gripping it, his fingers turning white as the blood was forced out of them. The pages of Nico Vanetti's contract fluttered to the ground and began to soak in spilt alcohol. “You don't deserve anything.”

“Why are you better than me?” John asked. Paul's fists were clenched, the glass liable to break under the pressure.

“Because you're nothing,” Paul said. “People like you come and go. You're the fucking flavor of the month. You're a two-page spread in
Vanity Fair
that everyone will forget the second it's finished.”

John stood in silence, his heart beating wildly. He could hear Esther breathing silent gasps in the corner. She was trying not to be heard, not to be noticed.

“You're a burnout,” Paul continued, his finger pointed at John, beer sloshing around at the bottom of his bottle. “You couldn't hack a job serving fucking
drinks
, so what do you do? You go home and you cry into your keyboard. And because you look good in a t-shirt they're gonna slap you on a goddamn dust jacket. The fact of the matter is, you aren't any good.”

“Yes I am,” John said softly.

“No you
fucking
are not!” Paul thundered. He reared back and heaved the bottle across the room, where it shattered against the refrigerator. Shards of glass raked the back of John's coat. They all stood in stunned silence for a moment before it was broken by a voice coming from the corner.

“Yes he
is
!”

Paul looked like he'd just been slapped sober. He turned to face Esther, who was no longer cowering against the wall. John turned around, confused.

“Est?” he said.

“You
are
good,” she moaned, her arm reaching out to John, only a fraction of an inch away. “Paul's wrong, I know he's wrong.”

“And how do you know that?” Paul asked.

“Because I've read his book,” she said. “I've read everything I could get my hands on and I've loved every word of it.”

“How have you…” came the simultaneous query. She pointed to the pages on the ground, soaking in beer and nestled in between shards of brown glass.

“I work for Nico Vanetti,” she said, her voice quivering. John felt his jaw slowly drop. Esther saw him and stepped forward, her eyes moist, lips trembling. “I was the first person to read your book. I was the one who saw your letter and told Nico to take you on. Your book is something I've been passionate about for a long time, John. I never wanted to tell you because I didn't want you think I had any other agenda. You've inspired me, and I haven't been inspired in a long time. And I'll be damned if I'm going to stand here and let him say you aren't any good, because I know it's not true.”

Paul's anger seemed to wither. All John could muster was a soft, “You work for Nico Vanetti?”

Esther nodded, her eyes downcast. John put a hand to his head and wiped it across his brow. Esther arched her eyebrows and moved towards him. She reached out, choking back tears.

“John, I didn't mean to hide anything from you, it's just that…” She couldn't find the words. John's eyes fluttered and darted inwards, piecing things together. “Nico wanted me to get to know you. He said he wanted more drama in your book, that we could make you, could change you. But that's not why I came to the bar. You fascinated me, and I just needed to see for myself. And as soon as I met you I knew it was real. But I can see the way you're looking at me and I'd give anything for it to have happened any other way.”

John could feel blood leaving his body, then a shiver ran down his spine.