As we go to pay for our suits, Darcy grabs my arm. 'Oh! Shit! I almost forgot to tell you!'
'What?' I ask, unnerved by her sudden outburst, even though I know she isn't going to say, 'I forgot to tell you that I know you slept with Dex!'
'Marcus likes you!' We might as well be in the tenth grade, from her tone and use of the word 'likes.'
I am intentionally obtuse. 'I like him too,' I say. 'He's a nice guy.' And a hell of an alibi.
'No, silly. I mean, he likes you. You must've done a good job at the party because he called Dex and got your number. I think he's going to ask you out for this weekend. Of course, I wanted it to be a double date, but Marcus said no, he doesn't want witnesses.' She drops her bikinis onto the counter and fumbles in her purse for her wallet.
'He got my number from Dex?' I ask, thinking that this is quite a development.
'Yeah. Dex was cute when he told me about it. He was…' She looks up, searching for the right word. 'Sort of protective of you.'
'What do you mean by 'protective'?' I ask, way more interested in Dex's role in this exchange than in Marcus's intentions.
'Well, he gave Marcus the number, but when he got off the phone he asked me all these questions, like were you seeing anyone and did I think you would like Marcus. And you know, was he smart enough for you. Stuff like that. It was really cute.'
I digest this information as the store clerk rings up Darcy's bikinis.
'So what did you tell him?'
'I just said that you were totally single, and that of course you'd be into Marcus. He's such a sweetie. Don't you think?'
I shrug. Marcus moved to New York from San Francisco only a few months ago. I know very little about him, except that he and Dex became friends at Georgetown, where Marcus's claim to fame was graduating dead last. Apparently Marcus never went to class and got high all the time. The most infamous story is that he overslept on the day of his statistics final exam, showed up twenty minutes late only to discover that he had thrown his remote control into his backpack instead of his calculator.
I haven't yet determined whether he is a free spirit or simply a buffoon.
'So are you psyched? If you get a date in with him before our share starts, you will have dibs on him over Claire and Hillary.'
I laugh and shake my head.
'Seriously.' Darcy signs her receipt and flashes a smile at the clerk. 'Claire would love to sink her nails in him.'
'Who said I'm going on a date?'
'Oh, puh-lease. Don't even start with that shit. You're going. (A) he is such a cutie. And (b) Rachel, no offense, but you can't exactly afford to be all picky, Ms. Haven't Been Laid in-what? Over a year?'
The store clerk looks up at me sympathetically. I glare at Darcy as I slide my tankini across the counter. Yeah, right-a year.
We leave Bloomingdale's and look for a cab on Third Avenue.
'So, you'll go out with Marcus?'
'I guess so.'
'Promise?' she asks, getting her cell phone out of her purse.
'You want me to take a blood oath? Yes, I'll go,' I say. 'Who are you calling?'
'Dex. He bet me twenty bucks that you wouldn't go.'
Darcy's right-I have nothing else going on. But the real reason I say yes to Marcus when he calls and asks me out is that Dex said I wouldn't go. And just in case he thought he had cast some sort of spell over me and I was going to turn Marcus down because I'm preoccupied with the Incident, I will go out with Marcus.
But as soon as I say yes, I start obsessing about what Marcus really knows. Did Dex tell him anything? I decide that I must call Dexter and find out. I hang up three times before I can dial the full number. My stomach is churning when he answers on the first ring. 'Dex Thaler.'
'So what does Marcus know about what happened last Saturday?' I blurt out, my heart racing.
'Well, hello to you too,' he says.
I soften slightly. 'Hi, Dex.'
'Last Saturday? What was last Saturday? Refresh my memory.'
'I'm being serious! What did you tell him?' I am horrified to find myself talking in the girly, whiny way that Darcy has perfected.
'What do you think I told him?' he asks.
'Dexter, tell me!'
'Oh, relax,' he says, his tone still one of amusement. 'I didn't tell him anything… What do you think this is? A high school locker room? Why would I tell anyone our business?'
Our business. Our. We. Us.
'I was just wondering what he knew. I mean, you told Darcy you were with him that night…'
'Yeah. I said, 'Marcus, I was with you last night and we had breakfast together this morning-all right?' And that was that. I know that's not how it works with you girls-women.'
'What is that supposed to mean?'
'I mean you and Darcy share every exhaustive detail with one another. Like what you ate that day and what brand of shampoo you plan on purchasing.'
'And like when you sleep with one another's fiances? That sort of detail?'
Dex laughs. 'Yeah, that would be another example.'
'Or like your bet that I'd say no to Marcus?'
He laughs again, knowing that he is busted. 'She told you that, did she?'
'Yeah. She told me that.'
'And did it offend you?'
I realize that I am starting to relax, almost enjoying the conversation. 'No… but it made me say yes to Marcus.'
'Oh!' he laughs. 'I see how it works. So you're saying that had she not shared that piece of information with you, you would have turned my boy down?'
'Wouldn't you like to know?' I ask coyly, hardly recognizing myself.
'I would actually. Please enlighten me.'
'I'm not sure… Why did you think I'd say no?'
'Wouldn't you like to know,' he retorts.
I smile. This is full-fledged flirtatious banter.
'Okay. I thought you'd say no because Marcus doesn't seem to be your type,' he finally says.
'And who is?' I ask, and then feel instantly remorseful. Flirting like this is not the path to redemption. It is no way to right my wrong. This is what my brain tells me, but my heart is galloping as I await his answer.
'I don't know. I've been trying to figure that out for about seven years.'
I wonder what he means by this statement. I twist the cord around my fingers and can think of nothing to say in response. We should hang up now. This is going in a bad direction.
'Rach?' His voice is low and intimate.
I feel breathless, hearing him say my name like this. The one syllable is familiar, warm. 'Yeah?'
'You still there?' he whispers.
I manage to say, 'Yes, I'm still here.'
'What are you thinking?'
'Nothing,' I lie.
I have to lie. Because what I am thinking is, Maybe you are my type a little bit more than I once thought.
Chapter 5
