I tell him that of course I believe him. I want to believe him.
Another silence.
'So, yeah, that was a first for me,' he says.
More silence. I picture him with his feet up on his desk, his collar loosened, tie thrown over his shoulder. He looks good in a suit. Well, he looks good in anything. And nothing.
'Uh-huh,' I say. I am gripping the phone so tightly that my fingers hurt. I switch hands and wipe my sweaty palm on my skirt.
'I feel so bad that you've been friends with Darcy forever, and this thing that happened between us… it puts you in a really atrocious position.' He clears his throat and continues. 'But at the same time, I don't know…'
'What don't you know?' I ask, against my better judgment to end the conversation, hang up the phone, choose the flight instinct that has always served me well.
'I don't know. I just… well, in some ways… well, objectively speaking, I know what I did was so wrong. But I just don't feel guilty. Isn't that awful?… Do you think less of me?'
I have no idea how to answer this one. 'Yes' seems mean and judgmental; 'no' might open the floodgates. I find safe, middle ground. 'I have no room to judge anyone, do I? I was there… I did it too.'
'I know, Rachel. But it was my fault.'
I think about the elevator, the feel of his hair between my fingers.
'We were both at fault… We were both drunk. It must have been the shots-they just sneaked up on me and I hadn't really eaten much that day,' I ramble, hoping that we are nearly finished.
Dex interrupts. 'I wasn't that drunk,' he states plainly, almost defiantly.
You weren't that drunk?
As though he has read my mind, he continues. 'I mean, yes, I had a few drinks-my inhibitions certainly were lowered-but I knew what I was doing, and on some level, I think I wanted it to happen. Well, I suppose that's a rather obvious statement… But what I mean is that I think I consciously wanted it to happen. Not that it was premeditated. But it had crossed my mind at various points before…'
At various points? When? In law school? Before or after you met Darcy?
I suddenly recall one pre-Darcy occasion when Dex and I were studying for our Torts exam in the library. It was late and we were both punchy, almost delirious from lack of sleep and too much caffeine. Dex started imitating Zigman, quoting certain pet phrases of his, as I laughed so hard that I started to cry. When I finally got ahold of myself, he leaned across the narrow table and wiped a tear off my face with his thumb. Just like a scene in a movie, only usually those are sad tears. Our eyes locked.
I looked away first, returning my eyes to my book, the words jumping all over the page. I couldn't for the life of me focus on negligence or proximate cause. Only the feel of his thumb on my face. Later, Dex offered to walk me back to my dorm. I politely declined, telling him that I'd be fine on my own. As I was falling asleep that night, I decided that I had imagined his intent, that Dex would never care for me as more than a friend. He was only being nice.
Still, I sometimes wondered what would have happened if I hadn't been so guarded. If I had said yes to his offer that night. I am wondering now in a big way.
Dex keeps talking. 'Of course, I'm well aware it can never happen again,' he says with conviction. 'Right?' The last word is earnest, almost vulnerable.
'Right. Never ever again,' I say, immediately regretting my juvenile choice of words. 'It was a mistake.'
'But I don't regret it. I should, but I just don't,' he says.
This is so weird, I think, but say nothing. Just sit dumbly, waiting for him to speak again.
'So anyway, Rachel, I'm sorry for putting you in this position. But I thought you should know how I feel,' he finishes, then laughs nervously.
I say okay, well now I know, and I guess we should move on and put this behind us, and all of those other things that I thought Dex was calling to tell me. We say good-bye, then I hang up and stare out my window in a daze. The call that was supposed to bring closure only ushered in more uneasiness. And a tiny little stirring inside me, a stirring that I resolve to squelch.
I stand up, turn off my office light, and walk down to the subway, trying to put Dex out of my head. But as I wait on the subway platform, my mind returns to our kiss in the elevator. The feel of his hair. And the way he looked sleeping in my bed, half-covered by my sheets. Those are the images that I remember the most. They are like the photographs of ex-boyfriends that you desperately want to throw away, but you can't bring yourself to get rid of them. So instead you store them in an old shoe box, in the back of your closet, figuring that it doesn't hurt to save them. Just in case you want to open that box and remember some of the good times.
Chapter 4
We are days away from the official start of summer and all Darcy can talk about is the Hamptons. She calls and e-mails me constantly, forwarding information about Memorial Day parties, restaurant reservations, and sample sales where we are guaranteed to find the cutest summer clothes. Of course, I am absolutely dreading all of it. Like the four previous summers, I am in a house with Darcy and Dex. This year we are also sharing with Marcus, Claire, and Hillary.
'You think we should've gotten a full share?' Darcy asks for at least the twentieth time. I have never known such a second-, third-, fourth-guesser. She has buyer's remorse when she leaves Baskin-Robbins.
'No, a half share is enough. You never end up using the full share,' I say, the phone tucked under my ear as I continue to revise my memo summarizing the difference between Florida and New York excess insurance law.
'Are you typing?' Darcy demands, always expecting my full attention.
'No,' I lie, typing more quietly.
'You better not be…'
'I'm not.'
'Well, I guess you're right, a half share is better… And we have a lot of wedding stuff to do in the city anyway.'
The wedding is the only topic I wish to avoid more than the Hamptons. 'Uh-huh.'
'So are you going to drive out with us or take the train?'
'Train. I don't know if I can get out of here at a decent hour,' I say, thinking that I do not want to be stuck in a car with her and Dex. I have not seen Dex since he left my apartment. Have not seen Darcy since the betrayal.
'Really? 'Cause I was thinking that we should definitely, definitely drive… Wouldn't you rather have a car the first weekend out? You know, especially because it's going to be a long weekend. We don't want to be stuck with cabs and stuff… C'mon, ride with us!'
'We'll see,' I say, as a mother tells a child so that the child will drop the topic.
'Not 'we'll see.' You're comin' with us.'
I sigh and tell her that I really should get back to work.
'Okay. Sheesh. I'll let you go work at your oh-so-important job… So we still on for tonight?'
'What's tonight?'
'Hello? Ms. Forgetful. Don't even tell me you have to work late-you promised. Bikinis? Ring a bell?'
'Oh, right,' I say. I had completely forgotten my promise to go bathing-suit shopping with her. One of the least pleasant tasks in the world. Right up there with scrubbing toilets and getting a root canal. 'Yeah. Sure. I can still do it.'
'Great. I'll meet you at the yogurt counter in the basement of Bloomie's. You know, next to the fat-women's clothes. At seven sharp.'
I arrive at the Fifty-ninth Street station fifteen minutes after our designated meeting time and run into the basement of Bloomingdale's, nervous that Darcy will be pouting. I do not feel up to cajoling her out of one of her moods. But she looks content, sitting at the counter with a cup of strawberry frozen yogurt. She smiles and waves. I take a deep breath, reminding myself that there is no scarlet letter on my chest.
