Friends Without Benefits (Knitting in the City) (15 page)

I made a concerted effort to focus on the not-so-bad aspects of the whole situation, otherwise known as:
it could have been worse
or
look on the bright side
or
at least you’re not a hobo
.

I thanked my lucky stars that the quality o
f the video was spotty at best, though it was clearly me. The idiot who posted it on YouTube listed my name beneath the clip. However, on the bright side, he or she never got a full shot of my face. The amateur videographer seemed to be mostly preoccupied with capturing Nico.

I also thanked my luck
y stars that I never felt the need to set up a Facebook or other social media account. My ambivalence to social media was another way that Janie had rubbed off on me. I didn’t have friends other than my small circle, and I didn’t much care for
connecting
with people. Therefore, the only picture of me linked to the video was my high school graduation photo.

I thanked m
y lucky stars a third time that I now looked almost entirely different. My teenage self could have passed for a picture of a younger brother.

The weird celebrity stalkers
had my name, a dark video of me, my high school yearbook photo, and that was basically it. I felt some measure of relief for myself, but still struggled with how to make things right for Nico. I told myself that I’d overreacted and the likelihood of it all blowing over was almost certain.

I was wrong
, but it took me until lunch on Sunday to understand the depth and breadth of the situation.

Whe
n I returned to work on Sunday I braced myself for. . . something. Meg had the day off. Everyone else appeared to be oblivious to the Nico-love-child-video apocalypse. That or they were too polite to mention it. I was able to go about my day with no disruption; I felt calmer, more relaxed about the kerfuffle.

Ashley and I had made a date
the week prior to meet for lunch Sunday afternoon. Since the day was unseasonably nice for April in Chicago—at forty-nine degrees and sunny—we bundled up and decided to eat on the stone patio benches in the garden; it was situated in a small green space beside the hospital, presently the area was more brown than green.

“So
,” She openly studied me as we settled on the cold bench. Ashley took a bite of her carrot. It snapped as it broke. “How was the reunion?”

My lids drifted shut as an unbidden
image of Nico—at the restaurant, blocking my way, holding the bathroom door closed, his expression full of hurt—flashed before my eyes. I rubbed my forehead. My heart thudded painfully for three or four beats.

“Can we save this conversation for Tuesday? I know the ladies will want to hear all about it and I just don’t think I can tell the story twice.”

“That good, huh?” Ashley smiled then continued her carrot munching.

“That
 strange.” I handed Ashley a peanut butter cookie. As was my habit, I always brought her a cookie when we had lunch together. She always brought me mango soda.

I’d just unwrapped my egg salad on pumpernickel when Ashley stopped chewing her carrot. She blinked then squinted at
a bush some distance away, near the edge of the hospital garden.

“What the
. . .?” She tilted her head to the side, looked behind us, then glared at the bush again. “Elizabeth.”

My mouth was watering
, and I was starving. I grunted, “What?” Then stuffed a quarter of the sandwich in my mouth.

“There’s some weirdo in the bushes over there taking pictures of us.” She pointed to the edge of the garden.

I wrinkled my nose and squinted in the direction she’d indicated. Sure enough, a weirdo was in the bushes taking pictures of us with the largest lens I’d ever seen. I stared at the lens and the weirdo as I chewed my sandwich.

Ashley set her lunch to the side and stood. “I’m going to ask him to please stop taking pictures.”

“You’re going over there?” I managed to ask through my mouthful of sandwich.

“
Jeepers, yeah. I don’t want to have pictures of me eating carrots just floating around out there, for all those carrot fetish people to leer at.”

I watched her saunter over to the man with the camera
and took another bite of my sandwich. She was about halfway to the weirdo before it occurred to me that the weirdo might actually be paparazzi and that I, and not Ashley’s propensity for eating carrots, was the real purpose of their photographic endeavors.

I tried to yell at Ashley to turn around
, but then abandoned the plan, the un-chewed egg salad and pumpernickel a sound barrier. I was forced to swallow a painful and inadequately masticated lump of sandwich, washed it down quickly with water, then stood and shouted at her to come back.

But, I was too late. She was
already talking to the man.

Ashley was pointing to his camera. She was very calm. He pointed to me. She cocked her head to the side and laughed. He shook his head. She shook her head. He pointed to me again and then lifted his camera to take a picture.

Shrugging her shoulders she
sauntered back to our bench, her expression was a mixture of quizzical amusement.

“That guy has
his horse switched with a raccoon.” She reclaimed her seat.

“
Horse?”

“He’s
plain nutters.”

I cleared my throat; it still ached from the large swallow. “What
did you talk about?”

“Remember last week? When I told you all about that celebrity in the hospital?
Nico Moretti?”

I nodded
slowly, and the queasiness that accompanies dread gripped my stomach; I tried to turn further away from the man with the camera.

“Well, that guy over there thinks that you’re Nico’s
secret
luvah
.” Ashley wagged her eyebrows at me and grinned, emphasizing her mispronunciation of the word
lover
in a way that made me think of sweat, labored breathing, and porno mustaches from the seventies. “I told him he was nuts.”

I wasn’t hungry any more. I wrapped up my uneaten sandwich and put it back in my lunch sack
along with my untouched mango pop. “Oh my god.”

Ashley’s grin waned. Her hand holding the carrot hovered in the
air, halfway to her mouth; “Hey. Elizabeth? Are you okay, hon?”

I fanned my fingers at my temple, trying to hide my expression from the camera; “Oh Ashley. I have to tell you something.”

I motioned for her to pack up her lunch then stood abruptly. She stared at me for a long moment, hesitated, but eventually complied.

I
gripped her hand and pulled her back into the hospital, through the corridors, into the doctors’ lounge. It was lunchtime, but most people opted to eat in the cafeteria or offsite. We basically had the space to ourselves except a few dozing docs on the couches.

We sat at a table in the corner
, and I kept my voice low. “Okay, so, here is the deal.” I squeezed my lids shut. “I know Nico Moretti.”

“You
what
?” Ashley shook me slightly; when I met her gaze her blue eyes nearly popped from their sockets.

“Shhh
.” I covered her mouth with my hand. “I’ll tell you, but you have to be quiet about it.”

She nodded, her face seriou
s and eager. I removed my hand. She traced a cross over her heart then brought her fingers to her lips for the universal sign of
my lips are sealed
.

I left most of the personal, sentimental,
touchy feely emotion stuff out; but, even so, halfway through my story about the reunion and Nico and our shared past, Ashley pulled out her cell phone and searched YouTube for the video. She gasped, covered her mouth, and stared at me with wide, shocked eyes.

She loud
-whispered, “You had a love child with Nico Moretti?”

“Shhh
.” I glanced over my shoulder. No one was paying attention to us. “No. I did not have his love child.”

“But you
still know him? You’re involved with him?”

“No. Yes. I mean
—” I twisted my fingers. “Yes, I know him. We went to school together. He was best friends with my boyfriend, Garrett. He helped me after Garrett died. We—” I gritted my teeth. “We slept together once. But there was no baby.”

“This is
inconceivable.” She shook her head, glanced at her phone. “I can’t believe this.”

“It’s over. He never wants to see me again.”

“He said that?”

“
No. Not precisely. But I’m pretty sure it’s true.”

“After you rescued him from those dance floor hoochies? You’d think he’d be grateful you stepped in, even if you did tell the whole world that you and he made a baby.”

“I didn’t tell the whole world, it was never meant to be recorded. I couldn’t think of anything else to distract them.”

Ashley pursed her lips
. “Why didn’t you yell fire?”

“Because it’s illegal
, and dangerous, to yell
fire
in a crowded room. Besides, he wasn’t angry about that.” My scalp was suddenly itchy.

“What was he mad about?”

“He told me that he loved me and I—”

“He said he loves you?
” Ashley covered her mouth with her hand after shouting the sentence. We both glanced at the couches, but found the inhabitants still slumbering.

“Sorry.” She whispered. “When—how—ok
ay, tell me what happened. When did Nico Moretti tell you he loved you?”

“It doesn’t matter.
I told him about me, I told him what I’m like, about how I indiscriminately sleep with men then stop returning their phone calls.”

Ashley placed her hand on my knee
. “Hon, you don’t indiscriminately sleep with men. I have known you for going on two years and I’ve never seen you whore it up.”

“I do. I have.”

“So you go up to random men on the street and request sex?”

“No. It’s not like that.”

“What’s it like? How many guys have you slept with?” Ashley crossed her arms under her chest. Her eyebrows were disbelieving umbrellas over skeptical blue eyes.

“Four.”

“Four?”

“Yes. Four.”

“Including Nico Moretti?”

“Yes. Four including Nico.”

She chuckled and shook her head. “Four a whore does not you make.”

I blinked. “What?”

“Sorry, sometimes when I try to rhyme I end up sounding like Yoda.” She cleared her throat. “Sleeping with four guys is hardly loose goose territory.”

“But it’s how I do it
, my intentions are selfish. I’m a user. I use them, I have sex with them, then I stop taking their calls.”

“And how long have these relationships—”

“They weren’t relationships.”

Ashley held up her hands, “Fine, how long do these
meaningless orgies last? How long have you been with each of your four sexual partners?”

“
With Nico it was just the once but with the others. . .” I shrugged, sighed, “I don’t know. A couple months each.”

“And have you been with more than one guy at the same time?”

“You mean like a three way or do you mean two guys, different days?”

“Either.”

“Well, actually it’s neither. I’ve only been with one guy at a time.”

“Oh dear.” She shook her head and clasped my hands in hers
. “Elizabeth, I don’t know how to break this to you, but you’ve been having relationships with men.”

“No, no I haven’t. I’ve been using them.”

“Yes. Yes you have. You have been in exclusive relationships with these men.”

“I haven’t.”

“You have. You’ve been dating them.”

“I paid for all my own meals.”

Ashley’s eyes danced as she laughed again. “It doesn’t matter who pays for dinner, dear. A date is a date. You’ve dated four guys, engaged in relations, then ended the relationship when you no longer wanted to pursue it.” She tightened her grip on my hand when I tried to pull away. “It’s called breaking up.”

“No, you’re wrong
. I never had any intention of dating them. I didn’t want a relationship with any of them. I didn’t even like them.”

“But you like Nico.”

I hesitated then decided to be honest. “Yes,” I breathed the word out, finally allowing myself to hold her hand in return. “Yes. I do like him. But I’m so different now and he—he’s some famous comedian. It doesn’t matter anyway because I told him that I use men that I don’t like for sex.”

She glared at me through narrowed eyes. “You were purposefully trying to scare him away.”

“No.” I narrowed my eyes at her, mirroring her expression. “I was trying to be honest. And if my honesty makes him realize that he is wrong about me then so be it.”

Ashley’s mouth was curved in a frown of plain disgust. “
You are pushing the poor guy away.”

“
He doesn’t love me, Ashley. He doesn’t even know me.”

“
Do you want a relationship with Nico?”

I hesitated again. I didn’t know the answer to her question because I’d never allowed myself to consider the possibility, not even
that summer when we were teenagers and he held me as I slept. The idea that Nico Manganiello would want a relationship with me—then or now—was beyond my comprehension. More than that, the idea of dating him felt wrong
because
I liked him and cared about him.

I’d already experienced my one great love. It wouldn’t be fair to Nico if I led him on, made him hope for a future that wasn’t possible
, that I didn’t want, that I wasn’t capable of.

I decided to deflect rather than discuss these thoughts with Ashley.
“You don’t understand what he was like in high school. He was
the guy
. Everyone had a crush on him. He was hot and smart and secreted charisma everywhere. There was much swooning whenever he walked into a room.”

“What does
that have to do with anything?”

“He’s a celebrity. And he has a terrible security firm. He needs better security.”

“Again, what does that have to do with anything?”

“
I’ve already had my great love.”

Ashley blinked at me, waited, then shook her head slightly. “What are you talking about?”

“I’ve already been in love.” I glanced at my watch. Much to my annoyance I still had another fifteen minutes before lunch time was over.

“It’s like you and I are having two different conversations. I asked you if you want a relationship with Nico and you haven’t answered the question.”

“Because I don’t know how to answer it.”

“Well, that’s an answer. You could have just said:
I don’t know, Ashley. I don’t know if I want to have a relationship with dreamy Nico Moretti even though I like him and he’s a great guy and he loves me and over half the population of the United States wants to get in his pants.
” Her voice was high as she mocked me and she lost most of her Tennessee drawl in favor of a Fargo, North Dakota accent.

I twisted my mouth to the side.
“I do not sound like that. And, really, over half the population?”

“More like three quarters. I know some straight men who would switch teams to
take a bite out of that apple arse.”

I hit her thigh
. “Ashley!”

“What? It’s true.
I know I’d like to take a look at his knackwurst.”

“What are you two talking about?”

Ashley and I stiffened and automatically turned toward the owner of the voice. I met the dreamy—yet leaden—gaze of Dr. Ken Miles with an expression that I was sure looked guilty.

“Oh, hey, Ken. I didn’t see you come in.”
Ashley didn’t look guilty. She looked pleased. I scowled at her.

“So who were you two talking about? Was it me?”

Ashley kept her face turned toward Dr. Ken Miles, but her eyes slid to me. “Actually we were talking about a friend of Elizabeth’s from high school. She just recently made contact with him again and he wants to get together, so. . . no. Not you.”

It took all my Jedi power to keep from smacking Ashley at that moment. She knew my plan for Dr. Ken Miles. She knew he was my best hope for getting laid in the foreseeable future. She knew she was interfering with the potential for an orgasm, maybe several
if I was lucky.

Friends don’t pussy submarine friends. Not cool.

“Old friend?” Dr. Ken Miles turned his pale-blue eyes to mine. He appeared to be interested, and his voice held a slight edge. It was a good sign and a bad sign.

I shrugged.
“Oh, yeah, well. You know. I went to my high school reunion this weekend and ran into some people.”

Dr. Ken Miles
was chewing gum and holding a half-finished milkshake. He pushed blond curls to one side of his forehead then crossed his arms over his chest. “Yeah. I saw that.”

I stared at him for a beat. When I spoke my voice cracked. “You saw what?”

Dr. Ken Miles’s eyes narrowed, I was suddenly in the path of Dr. Ken Miles’s vacant stare zone; his jaw opened and closed as he kneaded the gum between his molars. “The YouTube video with you and that comedian guy. Meg showed it to me yesterday.”

Shisterhosen
! Megalomaniac eyebrow-tweezing Meg.

“Oh. That.” I laughed.
I knew it sounded insincere and forced. I grimaced.

He smiled at me in return. It looked insincere and forced. “I didn’t know you had a kid.”