But something about her keeps pulling me in. Hard to put my finger on it, but she makes me feel like I can just…breathe easy and be myself.
“Have you been listening to anything I said?” Alicia demands. The flush on her face is blotchy and unbecoming.
“I already told you no.” I catch our waiter’s eye and hand him the valet parking ticket. He disappears.
Alicia doesn’t pay attention to what I’m doing with the waiter. To her, the restaurant staff is of no importance. Actually, most people seem to be beneath her notice unless they’re rich or well connected. I probably shouldn’t have gone out with her, even if she does make decent arm candy. But I was trying to forget my attraction to Molly, and the best course seemed to be to look for somebody who was nothing like her. A woman my age, with some fancy high-society gloss and…stuff.
And now here I am with this melodramatic banshee, who’s shouting, “I said if you’re going to be so cheap about it, at least take me to your father’s birthday party!”
More eyes turn in our direction.
“No.” I say it coolly but have to hide an inward shudder. As a rule, I avoid taking dates to Dad’s birthday parties. They’realwaysembarrassing, although he calls them “fun,” and of course everyone in his circle agrees. You don’t disagree with Ted Lasker, the Hollywood god who’s produced nothing but mega-hit movies in his decades-long career. Even I admit his filmography is impressive. I drop a few hundred-dollar bills on the table. “I need to go.”
“What? You can’t do that!”
I get up.
“If you walk out, we’re done!” She slaps the table hard enough to make the silverware rattle.
“Okay.” I start moving away.
“What?Nicholas! No, wait!” Her chair scrapes the floor with a screech as she jumps to her feet.
But I get out before she does—my strides are longer, I have a head start and she’s in wobbly heels.
The valet and I exchange cash and fob. I climb into my Aston Martin.
“You can’t leave me here! I’m your girlfriend!” Alicia screams.
Girlfriend? Is she kidding?I lower the window on the passenger side about two inches. “I thought we were done. You broke up with me just now, remember?” Then I head down I-5 toward Irvine.
Eat Pray Drink is near the campus, and looks like a typical college bar. Garish lights, lots of neon writing on reflective black surfaces promising cheap booze and even cheaper food.
I park and climb out. A few girls are walking by. One says, “Wow.” Some guys stare openly at the car, but I ignore them and roll my tight shoulders. There’s a full moon in the night sky, unusually round and bright.
Pretty. The sight of it helps calm my annoyance from dinner. The moon shines the same way, no matter where you are…or how you feel. It isn’t overly bright and flashy like the sun, either. It has a sort of understated steadiness that I find comforting.
Eat Pray Drink is packed tighter than a box of doughnuts. I’m overdressed in my Armani suit and Gucci loafers. The interior’s dimly lit, and terrible songs boom in the air. The lyrics are more cuss words than not. Her friends should’ve taken Molly to someplace classier. At least with better alcohol that would be worth a hangover.
I finally spot Molly and Georgia in the back. My stepsister’s eyes are slits, and she purses her mouth as some guy next to her says something. Molly’s next to Georgia, nursing a beer. From the way her body is swaying, I know she’s had a few.
I walk up and put a hand on Molly’s shoulder. “Hey.”
She turns to me. “Hey, Nicholas.” She slurs the greeting and gives me a wonderful bright smile. But her green eyes are positively glassy. “I’m twenty-one now!”
“Yes, I know. I sent you a happy birthday text this morning, remember?” I also sent her what Georgia calls “book money” so that I don’t appear like a “weird guy with too much money.” Georgia isgreatfor my ego.
“Oh yeah, you did.” Molly giggles. “Are you here to buy me a drink?”
“Yeah…not sure that would be a good idea. I’m actually here to take you home.”
Georgia turns her head. “Oh hey, you’re here.”
“Yes.” My eyes slide to the guy next to her.
“This is Jerry,” Georgia says. “Jerry, my stepbrother Nicholas.”
Jerry looks athletic, like a large tennis jock. I nod in acknowledgment and approval. At least she has somebody to walk with. I don’t care what college administrators say about the safety of the area. I’m not letting my stepsister become a statistic. “Make sure she gets home safely, okay?”
