Something Borrowed (6 page)

account. Practically what I would make if I did well enough in

school to get a job with a New York firm.

So while I sweated it out and racked up debt, Darcy began her

glamorous PR career. She planned parties, promoted the season's

latest fashion trends, got plenty of free everything, and dated a

string of beautiful men. Within seven months, she left the flight

attendants in the dust and moved in with her coworker Claire, a

snobbish, well-connected girl from Greenwich.

Darcy tried to include me in her fast-track life, although I seldom

had time to go to her events or her parties or her blind-date setups

with guys she swore were "total hotties" but that I knew were

simply her castoffs.

Which brings me back to Dex. I raved about him to Darcy and

Claire, told them how unbelievable he was smart, handsome,

funny. In retrospect I'm not sure why I did it. In part because it

was true. But perhaps I was a little jealous of their glamorous life

and wanted to juice mine up a bit. Dex was the best thing in my

arsenal.

"So why don't you like him?" Darcy would ask.

"He's not my type," I'd say. "We're just friends."

Which was the truth. Sure, there were moments when I felt a

flicker of interest or a quickening of my pulse as I sat near Dex.

But I remained vigilant not to fall for him, always reminding

myself that guys like Dex only date girls like Darcy.

It wasn't until the following semester that the two met.

A group of

us from school, including Dex, planned an impromptu Thursday

evening out. Darcy had been asking to meet Dex for weeks, so I

phoned her and told her to be at the Red Lion at eight.

She

showed up, but Dex did not. I could tell Darcy viewed the whole

outing as wasted effort, complaining that the Red Lion wasn't her

scene, that she was over these grungy under-grad bars (which she

had been into just a few short months ago), that the band sucked,

and could we please leave and go somewhere nicer where people

valued good grooming.

At that moment Dex sauntered into the bar wearing a black

leather coat and a beautiful, oatmeal-colored cashmere sweater.

He walked straight over to me and gave me a kiss on the cheek,

which I still wasn't used to Midwesterners don't kiss and greet

like that. I introduced him to Darcy, and she turned on the charm,

giggling and playing with her hair and nodding emphatically

whenever he said anything. Dex was pleasant to her but didn't

seem overly interested and, at one point, as she was dropping

Goldman names Do you know this guy or that guy?

Dex actually

appeared to be suppressing a yawn. He left before the rest of us,

waving good-bye to the group and telling Darcy that it was nice to

meet her.

On the walk back to my room, I asked her what she thought of

him.

"He's cute," Darcy said, giving the minimum endorsement. Her

lackluster response irritated me. She couldn't praise him because

he hadn't been dazzled enough by her. Darcy expected to be the

one pursued. And that's what I had come to expect too.

The next day, as Dex and I had coffee, I waited for him to mention

Darcy. I was sure he would, but he didn't. A small okay, a

big part of me enjoyed telling Darcy that her name hadn't come

up. For once, somebody wasn't falling all over themselves to be

with her.

I should've known better.

About a week later, out of the blue, Dex asked me what the story

was with my friend.

"Which friend?" I asked, playing dumb.

"You know, the dark-haired woman from the Red Lion?"

"Oh. Darcy," I said. And then cut right to the chase.

"You want her

phone number?"

"If she's single."

I delivered the news to her that evening. She smiled coyly. "He is

pretty cute. I'll go out with him."

It took Dex another two weeks to call her. If he waited on purpose,

the strategy worked wonders. She was in a frenzy by the time he

took her to Union Square Cafe. The date obviously went well,

because they went to brunch the next morning in the Village. Soon

after that, Darcy and Dex were both off the market.

In the beginning, their romance was turbulent. I always knew

Darcy loved to fight with her boyfriends it wasn't fun unless high

drama was involved but I viewed Dex as this rational, cool

creature, above the fray. Maybe he had been that way with other

girls, but Darcy sucked him into her world of chaos and high

emotion. She'd find a phone number in one of his lawschool

notebooks (she was a self-proclaimed snoop), do the research,

trace it back to an ex-girlfriend, and refuse to speak to him. One

day he came into Torts looking sheepish, with a cut on his

forehead, right above his left eye. Darcy had hurled a wire hanger

at him in a jealous rage.

And it worked the other way, too. We'd all go out and Darcy would

cozy up to the bar with another guy. I'd watch Dex steal casual

glances their way until he could stand it no longer. He'd go to

collect her, looking angry but composed, and I'd overhear her

justifying her flirtations with some tenuous connection to the guy:

"I mean, we were just talking about our brothers and how they

were in the same freaking fraternity. Jesus, Dex! You don't have to

overreact!" <

But eventually their relationship stabilized, the fights grew less

intense and more infrequent, and she moved into his apartment.

Then, this past winter, Dex proposed. They picked a weekend in

September, and she picked me as her maid of honor.

I knew him first, I think to myself now. It is no more ironclad than

the Ethan defense, but I cling to it for a moment. I picture my

sympathetic juror, leaning forward as she absorbs this revelation.

She even raises the point during deliberations. "If it weren't for

Rachel, Dex and Darcy would never have met. So, in a sense,

Rachel deserved one time with him." The other jurors stare at her

incredulously, and Chanel Suit tells her not to be ridiculous. That

it has nothing to do with anything. "In fact, it might even cut the

other way," Chanel Suit counters. "Rachel had her chance to be

with Dex but that window has long passed. And now she is the

maid of honor. The maid of honor! It is the ultimate betrayal!"

I work late that night, delaying my call back to Dex. I even

consider waiting until tomorrow morning, mid-week, not calling

at all. But the longer I wait, the more awkward it will be when I

inevitably see him. So I force myself to sit down and dial his

number. I hope for voice mail. It is ten-thirty. With any luck, he

will be gone, home with Darcy.

"Dex Thaler," he answers, his tone all business. He is back at

Goldman Sachs, having wisely chosen the banker route over the

lawyer route. The work is more interesting, and the money much

better.

"Rachel!" He sounds genuinely happy to hear from me, although

somewhat nervous, his voice a bit too loud. "Thanks for calling. I

was starting to think I wasn't going to hear from you."

"I've been meaning to call. It's just that I've been really busy

Crazy day," I stammer. My mouth is bone-dry.

"Yeah, it's been nuts here too. Typical Monday," he says, sounding

a bit more relaxed.

"Yeah"

An awkward pause follows well, it feels awkward to me. Does he

expect me to bring up the Incident?

"So. How do you feel?" His voice becomes lower.

"How do I feel?" My face is burning, I'm sweating, and I can't rule

out the possibility of regurgitating my sushi dinner.

"I mean, what do you think about Saturday?" His voice is lower

still, almost a whisper. Maybe he is just being discreet, making

sure nobody in the office hears him, but the volume translates as

intimate.

"I don't know what you're asking me"

"Do you feel guilty?"

"Of course I feel guilty. Don't you?" I look out my window at the

lights of Manhattan, in the direction of his downtown office.

"Well, yeah," he says sincerely. "Obviously. It shouldn't have

happened. No question about that. It was wrong and I don't

want you to think that, you know, that it's typical practice for me.

I've never cheated on Darcy before. Never You believe that, don't

you?"

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