The Friends We Keep (27 page)

80

 

“This is not good,” I said. “This is not good at all.”

Suddenly, my appetite was gone. Thankfully, we hadn't yet ordered lunch.

Sophie's face fell even further. “I know. I feel just miserable about it. And it's put a strain on Ben and me, too.”

“Sorry. I suppose I should try to be helpful.”

“There's really nothing you can do. Except maybe give me some advice on how to tell Eva that I'm involved with the man she says was the love of her life.”

The man she says was the love of her life. Something about Eva's claim had always struck me as . . . false. Maybe not entirely but it sounded too Romantic for Eva, even, in fact, for Eve, whose ideas about love had been, from what I could recall, less airy than earthy and solid.

“Yes, well, I'll try to think of something useful,” I said lamely.

“I've asked Ben to join us. I hope you don't mind.”

“Of course not,” I said. As long as Eva doesn't happen to wander by, everything should be fine.

Ben showed up a few minutes after that. He greeted Sophie with a kiss on her cheek and a squeeze of her hand. She looked simultaneously pleased and embarrassed. Ben sat and Sophie introduced us. His firm handshake belied the overall delicacy of his appearance.

Ben spoke with precision; his voice was pleasing. His movements were graceful, almost elegant. He was deferential though not subservient. In short, it was ludicrous to imagine Eva with this man. It was like trying to imagine the Dahli Lama dating Carmen Electra, or Beverly Sills hanging out with Pete Doherty. All right, the contrast between Ben and Eva wasn't quite that extreme but you get my point.

Eva, I was certain, needed a man more obviously dynamic, someone more like—me. She needed a man who could help her become the person she once wanted to be. She needed a man more like—me.

I'm not entirely unreflective. I wondered uneasily if I was again indulging in savior fantasies, imagining myself as the white knight coming to the rescue of the damsel in distress—even though the damsel wouldn't admit she was in distress. Then again, maybe that was part of my fantasy: convincing the reluctant damsel that she needed my help.

“Tell Eva as soon as possible,” I said, interrupting Ben as he was saying something sotto voce to Sophie.

Ben nodded. “I agree. I think we need to tell her right away.”

“And,” Sophie said glumly, “I should be the one to do it.”

81

 

I tasted the wine. It was something Sophie had introduced me to, a delicious Cabernet Sauvignon. John, I thought, will really like this.

John. When I'd postponed my “date” with Jake earlier that day, I didn't tell him that I was having dinner with John. By now, Jake knew better than to press me about my life outside his small apartment.

Not that it mattered. I was going to end it with Jake as soon as the right moment presented itself. The unpleasantness of keeping the affair from Sophie was wearing me down. I wanted it to be done.

And there was something else. Those feelings for John were occupying more and more of my time. Not that I had any illusions of a relationship with him. I was still convinced that my feelings were temporary, a passing, aberrant thing. A whim. A fancy.

Still, it was time to walk away from Jake. He was young. Although his ego might get bruised, his heart would soon recover. And, I reasoned, he, too, might be ready to move on. He couldn't be happy with the narrowness of our situation. Youth is never content to be regulated.

I spotted John walking to our table and smiled.

“You look good,” I said, when he joined me. “That's a gorgeous suit.”

“You're not going to berate me for being late?”

I looked at my watch. “You are late. I didn't even notice.”

“That excited to see me?” John grinned.

“No,” I said. “My mind was just wandering. Anyway, you're not going to thank me for complimenting your suit?”

“Of course. Thank you. And I am sorry I was late. I don't know why I took the T. I should have just walked.”

“Stuff happens. You're here now.”

“You're in a mellow mood. Not that I'm complaining.”

I shrugged. “I guess. Here, you have to taste this wine. Sophie recommended it.”

John lifted my glass to his lips, then hesitated. “You're not afraid of my cooties?”

“I had my shot. Go ahead.”

John took a sip. “That's great. Do you want to get a bottle?”

“Sure. It's a little pricey, though.”

“But we lawyers make oodles of money.”

“Oodles?”

“I'm quoting you.”

I frowned. “I said oodles?”

“You did.”

“Huh. Well, anyway, if you can afford that suit you can afford the wine.”

John raised an eyebrow at me. “I can afford it? We're not splitting the bill?”

“I'm not in that mellow a mood,” I said slyly.

John sighed, the long-put-upon man. “Well, all right. I'll live on Ramen noodles for the rest of the week.”

“Just order the wine, you self-pitying wretch. And get us some menus while you're at it. I'm starved.”

82

 

Eva liked my suit.

Eva was involved with another man.

I spent a good part of our dinner together trying to temper any hopes I might have regarding my relationship with Eva. It was exhausting, hope having a lot of energy.

I reminded myself repeatedly that Eva had given me no indication she was interested in me in a romantic way. True, she wasn't as disinterested or abrasive as she was when we first reunited, and she had apologized about her bad behavior the night of the show, and we had shared a good evening after that. And tonight—well, tonight was going nicely enough, though Eva seemed a bit distracted. Come to think of it, I'm sure I did, too.

Still, as I've mentioned earlier, I make mistakes but I'm not a fool. At least for the moment, at least until Eva learned Sophie's secret, at least until—sometime in the future—I would keep my feelings to myself.

Sophie's secret. I hated sitting across from Eva knowing I held a secret that when revealed—if Sophie was to be believed—would cause her a great deal of pain. But I wouldn't break my word to Sophie; the secret wasn't mine to tell.

I did wonder, though, if Eva would care so much that Sophie was involved with her ex; after all, she had that young guy now. But I knew Eva; at least I thought I knew her. Where once she'd been generous she'd grown stingy; where once she'd been reasonable she'd grown impetuous. The chances of her reaction being a mild one were slim.

Dinner over, we parted outside the restaurant. I hailed her a cab.

“I can hail my own cabs,” she said. “But thanks.”

I opened the back passenger door for her. “Yes,” I said, “I know you can open your own doors, too. But, you're welcome.”

Eva laughed. And then, just before slipping into the cab, she planted a quick little kiss at the corner of my mouth. But she made the mistake of lingering there a split second too long. I kissed her back. It was a bit awkward, not my best work, and then, with another laugh, she darted into the cab and was gone.

I hadn't meant to kiss her. But I wasn't sorry that I had.

83

 

I wondered why I was even bothering to meet Jake, especially after John's unexpected kiss, a kiss that had made me want more, a kiss that had rattled a lot more than my body.

I checked my watch.

He was late again. I pulled out my cell and called my lazy, soon-to-be-ex-lover. The phone rang once, twice. On the third ring I scanned the area impatiently, half-expecting to see Jake loping his way toward me, an excuse on his lips.

But the street was empty except for a couple, a man and a woman. Something about them seemed familiar. They were holding hands. Coming closer, nearer to a streetlight. They stopped. The man pulled the woman to him and kissed her. They moved on, under the glow of the lamp.

Sophie. And Ben.

“Hey, Eva.”

I was startled by the voice at my ear.

“Look, I'm sorry I'm late. I'm on my way—”

“I can't meet you tonight,” I said mechanically.

“No, wait,” Jake went on, “I'm really sorry, I'll be there in like, ten minutes.”

I clicked the phone shut.

I backed into the shadows and watched as Sophie and Ben walked by.

84

 

Jake called twice that night. I didn't take either of his calls. I deleted his voice messages without listening to them.

I saw, I felt, I knew only betrayal. Somehow, Sophie knew when she met Ben that he had been mine. And yet she pursued him, maybe for that reason alone. And when Ben had learned the truth, he, too, had laughed and enjoyed the game.

It had been hours since dinner but I thought everything I'd eaten would come roaring up my throat. My head hurt. I tried to swallow two aspirin but gagged on them.

Hours passed. I remained painfully wide-awake. At one
AM
I was sure that if I spent one more minute by myself in that near-empty apartment I would shatter.

Sam. I reached for the phone. And then I dropped my hand to my side. No. Not that kind of help, not now.

John. His was the kind of support that made sense. Again, I reached for the phone—and again I withdrew my hand.

I wasn't used to asking for help. I felt frightened. What if John laughed at my pain or made light of my hurt? Sure, he'd been nice to me lately, but that proved nothing. Besides, I didn't fully trust myself around John, not after that kiss earlier. I knew that if something happened between us while I was feeling so vulnerable, it would kill anything real that might develop on its own. Maybe I'd grown smarter in the ways of the heart; maybe it was only self-preservation kicking in at a moment of great stress.

I sat heavily in my one armchair and looked at the opposite wall, blank of anything but paint. No desperate phone calls. No risk-taking. As I'd done since my parents' deaths, I'd weather this storm alone.