I Take You (21 page)

I do try to sleep, but I’m too restless. I leave the hotel and walk aimlessly. Duval Street to Angela Street to Thomas Street. Olivia to Emma to Petronia. Soon I’m standing in front of an ordinary house. White
clapboard. Yellow shutters. Lee’s old house. It used to be brown and tired, with curling linoleum on the kitchen floor, shaggy carpet, an overgrown front yard. Now it’s another bland, pristine renovation, waiting for the next hurricane.

I open my bag and find the business card I filched from Teddy’s wallet. I dial his number.

“Ted Bennet,” he answers.

“Ted?” I repeat.

“Hi.”

“Since when are you Ted?”

“People don’t take a detective named Teddy very seriously,” he says. “Strangely enough.”

“You could use that to your advantage. You’re named Teddy and they think they’ll walk all over you, and you just come in and like,
pow!
Beat the shit out of them.”

“Interesting idea.”

“You’re a vicious, evil brutalizer. Named Teddy.”

“Is there something I can do for you?”

“Yes,” I say. “Meet me somewhere.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Why not,” he says, like it’s a challenge.

“Please, Teddy?”

He’s silent for a long time. Finally, “Let me think about it.”

He hangs up. I wander back to the hotel. I’m still restless. Agitated. I go up to the room. As I open the door I think—Enough. This is not me. I like to be happy. I am happy, all the time. I work very, very hard at it.

I throw myself on the bed. I need some distraction, something to lift my spirits. I’m about to look for porn on my computer when my phone pings with a text. Maybe it’s Will!

Oh, even better. It’s Lyle.

—Philip and I may need you on a call tomorrow. 1 pm.

—what for?

—Just make sure you’re available.

I text him a few more times, but he doesn’t answer. Maybe it’s about our next case. If there is a next case for me.

I hear a key in the door. Will is back!

“Hey, baby!”

“Hi.” He drops his wallet on the desk. He pulls a handful of sea grass out of his pocket and spreads it on the windowsill. I start to ask him about it, but he bends down and kisses me. I pull him onto the bed. He stretches out beside me. I reach for his belt. He helps me off with my dress. Things are progressing nicely. No fireworks, but that’s okay. I’ll take plain vanilla sex right now.

I reach inside his pants. Nothing’s happening. I stroke him gently. Then harder. Still nothing. I go down on him. I get a tiny reaction, but … not enough. What the hell?

“I drank way too much last night,” he says apologetically. “It’s not going to happen.”

“Can we keep trying?”

He pulls me up beside him. “I still feel awful.”

“But …”

He takes the remote from the nightstand and turns on the television. He flips a few channels and then turns back to me. He strokes my hair and kisses my forehead. “Sorry. We can still cuddle for a while, can’t we?”

On the television screen, flames are leaping out of a hotel window. People with ‘70s hair are screaming. I know how they feel.

Because
cuddle
? Cuddle? His psychotic mother is threatening to ruin my career. I’ve spent the day thinking over my very worst memories. I do not want to fucking cuddle!

Is this what being in a relationship is like? I guess I didn’t notice when we were in New York. We both work long hours, we’re busy people. Down here, on vacation? Will should want to have sex all the time, hangovers be damned. He should try harder. What gives?

I jump off the bed and get dressed. “I’m going for a swim.”

He looks surprised. “Okay.”

That’s all he has to say? “Okay?” Not, “But you don’t have your bathing suit.” Or, “You don’t have a towel.” Is he really not going to notice this very obvious lie?

I open the door. “Bye!”

“Have fun,” he says.

I walk out. The door slams behind me.

Frustration!

I stand in the hallway, considering my options.

The elevator dings, and Javier steps out. He’s reading something on his phone as he walks down the hall, tripping once, almost running into the wall. He finds his door and fumbles in his pocket for his room key.

I walk up to him quickly, push him inside his room and close the door behind us.

“Lily!” he says, looking startled. “Hey. What’s—”

“Got a minute, Javier?” I pull out a chair and sit down.

He adjusts his glasses and peers at me curiously. “Sure.” He sits across from me.

“I want to talk to you about Will,” I say.

He looks concerned. “Is he okay?”

“I was hoping you could tell me.” I stretch my legs out under the table and look around the room. It’s smaller than ours. Spotless. Javier must be very tidy.

He tugs nervously on one ear. “Is this about the bachelor party? I swear I had nothing to do with—”

I smile at him. “Do you have anything to drink?”

“I’m trying not to use the minibar,” he says apologetically. “It’s so expensive.”

I open the refrigerator and grab a handful of bottles. Bourbon. Perfect. I unscrew one and drink it down.

“Will really wasn’t kidding,” Javier remarks.

I gaze at him in silence. He’s cute. Geeky, but cute. Freddy shouldn’t have given up so easily.

“Help me out, Javier. I’ve got a funny feeling about Will. I’m wondering whether he’s really the person he says he is.”

“He is.” Javier nods vigorously. “He definitely is.”

I open another bottle and take a sip. “I have a few questions for you.”

Javier frowns. “I’m not sure I should be talking about Will behind his back like this.”

I lean forward. “I need you, Javier. I need your wisdom. You’ve known Will since kindergarten.”

“High school.”

“Whatever. Here’s what we’re going to do.” I’m improvising now. The bourbon helps. The bourbon always helps. “For every question you answer, I’ll remove an article of clothing.”

Javier looks shocked. “That actually makes me really uncomfortable.”

“Fine. Then for every question you answer, I’ll leave on an article of clothing.”

“I really don’t want to—”

I start unbuttoning my sweater.

“Okay okay okay,” he says. “What do you want to know?”

“Tell me everything about Will. Tell me his secrets.”

“I don’t think he has any secrets.”

I kick off a sandal.

“His grandfather died in prison,” Javier says quickly. “He couldn’t get into
Breaking Bad
because the science was too dumbed down. He got crabs once from a towel at the Yale gym.”

“Tell me about his girlfriends.”

“They were nice,” Javier says. “Grad-school types, you know? Intellectual, serious.”

“Much like myself.”

“Um, yeah …”

“Does he have any bad habits? Any vices?”

“He tried dipping tobacco once, during exam week,” Javier says. “It made him throw up.”

This is useless. And I’m bored. “How does he feel about his mother?”

Javier looks startled. “His mother? Fine, as far as I know. I mean, normal. She’s a little intense. I think he seeks her approval.”

“Intense is right,” I say. “Have you met her?”

“Mmm hmm.” He crosses and uncrosses his legs. He stares at the floor, suddenly fascinated by the beige carpet.

I narrow my eyes. “When?”

“Will and I went to high school together, so …” He shifts in his
chair uneasily. “And then, one summer during college, I got a job as a paralegal in her office.”

“Did you have a lot of interaction with her?”

He bites his lip. “Not really.”

I take another sip of bourbon, saying nothing. A good attorney knows when to slow down the questioning, let the pauses grow. Nervous people hate silence. They perceive it as a judgment, and fall all over themselves to fill it.

Which is exactly what Javier does. “I mean, Anita—that is, Mrs. Field—she was an Assistant U.S. Attorney at that point. She wasn’t in charge of the whole office, like she is now. They all have their own cases, and in terms of working with paralegals like me—”

“You slept with her,” I say.

“No!”

“Oh my God, Javier.” I put my hand over my mouth. “You did. You bonked Will’s mom!”

“It was a mistake!” he cries. “There was a softball game between our office and the local FBI. We went out for beers afterward. She drove me home!”

“The ride home after a sporting event.” I nod approvingly. “Classic move.”

He covers his face with his hands. “I was drunk! We did it in her station wagon. The same one she’d used to drive me and Will to quiz bowl tournaments!”

“How many times did it happen?”

He tries to compose himself. “Just that once.”

“Stop lying to me, Javier.”

“Seven!” he wails. “We did it seven times!”

“Javier, Javier,” I say darkly. “Javier.”

“I thought I wanted to be an attorney, but after that? No way.” He shudders. “You people are out of control.”

“You’re in big trouble,” I tell him.

His eyes widen. “Why?”

“Don’t you know it’s treason to commit adultery with a United States Attorney?”

His brow furrows. “No it isn’t.”

“Well, it’s not very nice! And the mother of your best friend? I should tell Will.”

He looks panicked. “You wouldn’t do that.”

I open the third bottle of bourbon. “Fine. I won’t. Provided that you call Anita right now and tell her that you’re going to confess everything to him unless she leaves me alone.”

“Are you kidding? She’ll have me put on a terrorist watch list or something. She’s crazy, in case you haven’t noticed.”

Fair point. I finish the final bottle of bourbon and stand up.

“What’s she doing to you, anyway?” he asks.

“It’s not important.” I take off my sweater and let it drop to the ground. “Let’s get naked.”

“What?” he cries. “No!”

“Why, I’m not good enough for you?”

“No, it’s not that! You’re very … but …”

“You only sleep with women who’ve been confirmed by the Senate? That’s a short list, Javier.” I kick off my other sandal. “And Condi and Hil are busy ladies.”

“Will’s my best friend!” Javier protests. “I couldn’t do that to him.”

I bend down and look him in the eyes. The neckline of my dress is loose—he doesn’t want to look, but he can’t help it. “Javier,” I whisper. “Let’s have some fun.”

He looks away, then back at me. “It’s wrong,” he says.

“That’s what makes it
fun
!” I pull my dress over my head and kneel in front of him. I rest my hands on his thighs. I part his legs slightly. “Tell me what you like.”

“I can’t,” he says softly.

I lean closer. “Javier.” I slip a hand around the back of his neck and pull him toward me. I brush his lips lightly with mine. “You can tell me.” I kiss him again, lingering this time. I feel him respond. I slide my other hand up his leg. “What do you burn for but never get?”

He looks me in the eye. I can feel him wavering.

Then he says, “I think you should leave.”

I’m shutting the door
to Javier’s room behind me as the elevator dings again. Freddy steps out. She sees me and stops dead.

I salute her. “What ho, my lady?”

She cocks her head. “Whose room is that?”

“Javier’s.”

“Javier,” Freddy says. “Will’s best man.”

“No worries, Mother Superior. He shot me down.”

Her eyes widen. She wobbles theatrically. “I feel a great disturbance in the Force.”

“Can we be done with the
Star Wars
references, please?”

“As if a million souls just cried out in agony—”

I take her arm. “Shut up and buy me a drink.”

We leave the hotel and walk into the warm, starry night. We pass a Mexican restaurant. “Margaritas!” we cry at the same time.

On the back patio, Freddy raises her glass. “To Javier. A man of rare fortitude.”

“Please.” I sip my drink. “I get rejected all the time.”

“It really doesn’t bother you?”

I shrug. “So some guy isn’t interested in me. Who cares? Maybe he’s married. Maybe he’s gay. Maybe he prefers blondes. That’s on him, not me.”

“I guess you’re the one with the fortitude. Or,” she adds wryly, “it’s the alcohol, masking all those inhibitions and insecurities.”

“Don’t forget my insufficiencies,” I say. “My ineptitudes and imperfections.”

“Your immaturities. Your infelicities.”

I raise my glass. “To all of my ins. My ins and uns and disses.” Freddy clinks her glass against mine.

We finish our drinks and keep walking. On the next block, she takes my arm and picks up speed. “Whatever you do,” she says, “do not look up at the balcony of the building across the street.”

So of course I do. It’s a nice place, a romantic little seafood restaurant in an old island mansion. There are intimate bistro tables set out on the balcony, draped in white cloth, lit by flickering candles. Various attractive couples are drinking wine, holding hands, gazing into each other’s eyes.

Including my father and Jane.

Jane?

I stop walking.

“Oh,” I whisper. “Oh no.”

“Maybe it’s innocent,” Freddy suggests. “Two exes grabbing a bite. Catching up.”

His hand slips under the table and disappears under her skirt.

“Maybe she has a cramp,” Freddy says, not able to tear her eyes away.

Dad raises Jane’s hand to his lips. He kisses it. She’s smiling at him indulgently, leaning toward him, toying with her gold necklace. He turns her hand over and strokes her palm with his fingertips, gazing into her eyes.

“I’ve seen
you
do that,” Freddy murmurs.

Dad reaches out and traces the line of Jane’s jaw. He brushes aside a few strands of her hair.

“He’s going to kiss her,” Freddy says, hypnotized.

His hand slips around the back of Jane’s neck. He pulls her close. He whispers something in her ear.

He kisses her.

We back under an awning and watch. For a long time.

Then some intuition, some sixth sense, causes him to break off and look directly at me. His eyes widen. I grab Freddy’s hand and yank her away.