'No worries,' he says, offering me a stool next to his.
I sit down. He smiles, exposing two rows of very white, straight teeth. Possibly his best feature. Either that or the cleft in his square chin.
'So what can I get you?' he asks me.
'What are you having?'
'Gin and tonic.'
'I'll have the same.'
He glances toward the bartender with a twenty extended and then looks back at me. 'You look great, Rachel.'
I thank him. It's been a long time since I've received a proper compliment from a guy. It occurs to me that Dex and I didn't get around to compliments.
Marcus finally gets the bartender's attention and orders me a Bombay Sapphire and tonic. Then he says, 'So, last time I saw you we were all pretty wasted… That was a fun night.'
'Yeah. I was pretty out of it,' I say, hoping that Dex told me the truth about keeping Marcus in the dark. 'But at least I made it home before sunup. Darcy told me you and Dex were out pretty late that night.'
'Yeah. We hung out for a while,' Marcus says, without looking at me. This is a good sign. He is covering for his friend but has trouble lying. He takes his change from the bartender, leaves two bills and some coins on the bar, and hands me my drink. 'Here you go.'
'Thanks.' I smile, stir, and sip from the skinny straw.
An emaciated Asian girl wearing leather pants and too much lip liner taps Marcus on the arm and tells him that our table is ready. We carry our drinks, following her to the restaurant area beyond the bar. As we sit, she hands us two oversized menus and a separate wine list.
'Your server will be with you shortly,' she says, before flipping her long, black hair and waltzing off.
Marcus glances at the wine list and asks if I want to order a bottle.
'Sure,' I say.
'Red or white?'
'Either.'
'Do you think you're going to have fish?' He looks at the menu.
'Maybe. But I don't mind red with fish.'
'I'm not very good at picking wines,' he says, cracking his knuckles below the table. 'You wanna have a look?'
'That's okay. You can pick. Whatever is fine.'
'All right then. I'll wing it,' he says, flashing me his 'I never skipped a night wearing my retainer' smile.
We study our menus, discussing what looks good. Marcus slides his chair closer to the table, and I feel his knee against mine.
'I almost didn't ask you out, since we're in the same summer house and all,' Marcus says, his eyes still scanning the menu. 'Dex told me that's one of the cardinal rules here. Don't get involved with someone in your house. At least not until August.'
He laughs as I store away this fact for later analysis: Dex discouraged our date.
'But then I thought, you know, what the hell-I dig her, I'm going to call her. I mean, I've been thinking about asking you out since Dex first introduced us. Right when I moved here. But I was seeing this girl from San Francisco for a minute in there and thought I should wrap things up before I called you. You know, just to make it all neat and kosher. So I finally ended that deal… And here we are.' He wipes his forehead with the back of his hand as if relieved to make this confession.
'I think you made the right decision.' 'To wait?'
'No. To call.' I give him my most alluring smile, fleetingly reminding myself of Darcy. She doesn't have the market cornered on female attractiveness, I think. I don't always have to be the serious, dowdy one.
Our waitress interrupts the moment. 'Hello. How are you this evening?'
'Fine,' Marcus says cheerfully, and then lowers his voice. 'For a first date.'
I laugh, but our waitress musters only a stiff, tight-lipped smile. 'Can I tell you about the specials?'
'Go for it,' Marcus says.
She stares into the space just above our heads, rattling off the list of specials, calling everything 'nice'-'a nice sea bass,' 'a nice risotto,' and so on. I nod and only half listen while I think about Dex telling Marcus not to ask me out, wondering what that means.
'So would you like to start with something to drink?'
'Yeah… Think we're going with a bottle of red. What do you recommend?' He squints at the menu.
'The Marjorie pinot noir is superb.' She points down at the wine list.
'Fine. That one then. Perfect.'
She flashes another prim smile my way. 'And are you ready to order?'
'Yes, I think we are,' I say, and then order the garden salad and tuna.
'And how would you like that done?'
'Medium,' I say.
Marcus orders the pea soup and the lamb.
'Excellent choices,' our waitress says, with an affected tilt of the head. She gathers our menus and turns on her heels.
'Man,' Marcus says.
'What?'
'That chick has zero personality.'
I laugh.
He smiles. 'Where were we?… Oh yeah, the Hamptons.'
'Right.'
'So Dex says it's never a good idea to go out with someone in your own house. And I'm like, 'Dude, I'm not playin' by your dumb East Coast rules.' If we end up hating each other, we hate each other.'
'I don't think we're going to hate each other,' I say.
Our waitress returns with the wine, uncorks the bottle, and pours some into his glass. Marcus takes a healthy sip and reports that it's great, skipping the usual pretentious ceremony. You can tell a lot about a guy by watching him take that first sip of wine. It's not a good sign when he does the whole swirling thing, burying his nose into the glass, taking a slow, thoughtful sip, pausing with a furrowed brow followed by a slight nod so as not to appear too enthusiastic, as if to say, this passes, but I have had plenty better. If he is truly a wine connoisseur, that's one thing. But it is usually just a bunch of show, painful to observe.
As our waitress pours my wine, I ask Marcus if he knows about the bet.
He shakes his head. 'What bet?'
I wait until we are alone again-it's bad enough that our waitress knows this is a first date. 'Dex and Darcy had a bet about whether I'd say yes when you asked me out.'
'Get outta here.' He drops his jaw for effect. 'Who thought you'd go and who thought you'd diss me?'
'Oh. I forget.' I pretend to be confused. 'That's not the point. The point is-'
'That they are so up and in our business!' He shakes his head. 'Bastards.'
'I know.'
He lifts his glass. 'To eluding Dex and Darcy. No sharing details of tonight with those nosy bastards.'
I laugh. 'No matter how great-or how bad-our date is!'
Our glasses touch and we sip in unison.
'This date is not going to be bad. Trust me on that.'
I smile. 'I trust you.'
I do trust him, I think. There is something disarming about his sense of humor, and easy, Midwestern style. And he's not engaged to Darcy. A nice bonus.
Then, as if on cue, Marcus asks me how long I've known Darcy.
'Twenty-some years. First time I saw her she was all dressed up in this fancy little sundress, and I was wearing these dumb Winnie-the-Pooh shorts from Sears. I thought, now there's a girl with style.'
Marcus laughs. 'I bet you looked cute in your Pooh shorts.'
