“They like you?” he asks.
“No one is,” Bella says. She shakes her hair off her neck.
“Her?” Scoot points to me. He’s less than impressed, this I can tell. Being Bella’s friend has always felt a little bit like standing in her shadow. It used to make me insecure, maybe it still does, but over time we found our things., our shared ground, our complimenting balance. Standing in front of that club maybe we hadn’t,yet.
Bella leans forward and whispers something into Scoot’s ear. I don’t hear, but I can imagine what it is:She’s a princess, you know. She’s royalty. Fifth in line to the Dutch throne. A Vanderbilt.
It used to embarrass me that Bella had to do this. It embarrasses me that night in Meatpacking, too. But I never tell her. Her proximity is my gift; my silence is hers. I make her life smooth and solid. She makes mine bright and dazzling. This seems fair. A good trade.
“Come on in, ladies,” Scoot says. We do. We enter Twitch or Slice or Markd. Whatever it was called, it’s gone now. We dance. Men buy us drinks. I feel pretty in her dress, although it is a little too short on me, a little loose in the chest. It hugs in the wrong spots.
At a certain point, two men come up to hit on us. I am not interested. I have a boyfriend. He’s in law school at Brown. We’ve been together for eight months. I’m faithful to him. I think, maybe, I’ll marry him, but it is a passing thought.
Everywhere we go Bella flirts. She does not like that I don’t. She thinks I am withholding, that I do not know how to have a good time. She’s right, but only sometimes. This form of fun does not come naturally to me, and therefore feels impossible to engage in. I am constantly trying to learn the rules, only to realize that the people who win don’t seem to follow any.
One of the men makes a comment. Everyone laughs. I roll my eyes.
“You’re so friendly,” he says. It sticks.
At the restaurant now, I scoop a fava bean onto a small piece of crisp bread. It’s hot, and the garlic pops in my mouth.
“Morgan and Ariel met Greg on Saturday,” Bella says. “Theyloved him.”
Morgan and Ariel are a couple Bella met through the gallery scene four-ish years ago. Since then, they’ve become more David’s and my friends than Bella’s—mostly because we’re better at making dinner reservations and staying in the country. Morgan is a photographer who does popular cityscapes and had a coffee table book calledOn Highcome out last year to much fanfare. Ariel works in private equity.
“Oh?”
“Yeah,” Bella says. “I honestly thought you would, too.” She continues while I chew. “I’m not mad it’s just... you’re always wanting me to be more serious, and be with someone who cares. Like you never stop talking about that. And he does. And it doesn’t seem to matter to you.”
“It matters,” I tell her. I do not want to keep talking about this.
“You have a weird way of showing it.”
She’s annoyed, her voice edgy, her arms outstretched. I sit back.
“I know,” I say. I swallow. “I mean, I can see that, that he cares. And I’m happy for you.”
“You are?” she says.
“I am,” I say. “He seems like a good guy.”
“A good guy? Come on, Dannie, that’s pathetic.” She’s petulant, angry. I don’t really blame her. I’m giving her nothing. “I’m really crazy about him,” she says. “I’ve never felt this way before, and I know I’ve said this a lot, and I know you don’t believe me—”
“I believe you,” I say.
Bella sticks her elbows on the table and leans forward. All the way. “What is it?” she says. “It’s me, Dannie. You can say anything. You know that. What do you not like about him?”
All at once my eyes sting up with tears. It is an unusual reaction for me, and I blink, more in surprise than in an effort to stop it. Bella looks so hopeful sitting across from me. Naïve, even. So full of the possibility she purports to feel. And I have a giant secret I cannot tell her. Something profound, terrible, and strange has happened in my life, and she doesn’t get to know.
“I guess I’ve had you all to myself for a really long time,” I say. “It’s not fair, but the idea of you being with someone for real makes me feel, I don’t know.” I swallow. “Jealous, maybe?”
She sits back, satisfied. Thank god I came up with something. Bless me for being a lawyer. She buys it. This makes sense to her. She knows I have always wanted the space closest to her, front position, and she has given it to me.
“But you have David, and it’s fine,” she says.
“Yeah. It’s just always been that way, so it feels different.”
She nods.
