CHAPTER NINE | DUKE
“Am I an asshole?”
“Huh?” Brie pushed herself up on the black leather couch and glanced back at me over her shoulder, frowning.
“Am I an asshole?” I repeated as I propped myself up on the pillows that were piled up at my end of the sofa.
“Like… in general?”
“Yeah, I guess,” I shrugged. “Or to women, more specifically…”
“Hold on,” Brie scoffed, licking her lips. She shifted around on the couch and turned to face me, folding her legs together. “Just to be clear: Duke Williams wants to know if he’s an asshole to women?”
I nodded slowly.
Brie’s smile faded. Her perfectly-manicured eyebrows knitted together, forming a thoughtful frown.
“Why are you asking me that?”
I hesitated, letting my eyes drift towards the wall of windows at the opposite side of the living room.
Through the tinted glass I could see the last sliver of the sun, hanging like a slice of blood orange over the western edge of downtown Hartford and staining the sky with belts of red and orange. Those same colors were reflected in the Connecticut River, which made the softly churning waves look like bright orange flames swarming around the city.
Sometimes, if I caught it from just the right angle, the river reminded me of my childhood.
“Did I ever tell you about how I used to ride on the Staten Island Ferry when I was a kid?” I asked suddenly, changing the subject.
“What are you talking about?” Brie sounded confused.
I tried to glance up at her, but I couldn’t drag my eyes away from the river. I was hypnotized by the shimmering waves.
“This was when I still lived in Manhattan with my parents,” I explained. “Before they shipped me off to boarding school.”
Brie didn’t say anything, so after a few seconds of silence I continued. “Even though we all lived together, we were never really a family. My parents were never around, and I didn’t have any friends in the city. I’d get lonely…”
The room was silent, and I could hear Brie inhaling softly by my side.
“One day, I saw this family of tourists walking down Park Avenue. They were all wearing those stupid foam crowns. You know, the ones that look like the Statue of Liberty’s crown?”
“Oh God,” Brie snorted. “I think I actually have one of those…”
“They were laughing and holding hands, and they seemed like the perfect family,” I said, swallowing slowly. “So I got an idea: I thought that maybe if I brought my parents to the Statue of Liberty, we could be a family, too—”
“Poor little rich boy,” Brie teased me.
I blinked and suddenly my trance was broken. I turned away from the window and stared at Brie’s blank face.
“I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”
I wasn’t sure why I had tried telling her this story; I definitely didn’t want to talk about it anymore.
“It’s fine,” Brie shrugged. Then she teased, “Foreplay never has been your strong suit…”
I glanced up at her and saw that she was starting to undo the buttons on her blouse.
I knew that Brie hadn’t driven over to my place after work on a Wednesday night to listen to tragic anecdotes from my childhood; she was here for sex. But right now, sex was the last thing on my mind.
“You never answered my question,” I reminded her. “Do you think I’m an asshole?”
She paused, halfway down the line of buttons on her blouse, and she glanced back at me.
“No,” Brie said firmly. “I don’t think you’re an asshole.”
“Have I ever said or done anything that… hurt you?” I asked slowly.
“Where is this coming from, Duke?”
“I just want to know,” I shrugged.
“No,” she sighed again. “You haven’t hurt me, because I wouldn’t let someone like you hurt me.”
“Someone like me?”
“Duke…”
“What?”
“You’re…” she exhaled, shaking her head slowly as she struggled to find the right words to say. “You’re the kind of guy that women have fun with. You’re not the kind of guy that women get close to.”
I felt my throat tighten. My jaw clenched together and all of the words that I wanted to say evaporated into thin air, disappearing…
“Like a bad habit?” I asked finally, remembering what she had said in the alleyway the other day, at the salon opening.
“Come on, Duke,” she sighed, rolling her eyes. “You know that I meant that in the very best way. I meant that you’re fun and sexy and dangerous…”
“You said that every bad habit needs to be kicked eventually,” I reminded her. “But if I’m the bad habit… what happens to me?”
Brie narrowed her eyes and studied my face thoughtfully for a few seconds.
Just then, the bedroom door at the edge of the living room swung open. Brie and I both jerked around and saw Olivia Beck step out.
Shit! I hadn’t even realized that my roommate was home — if I had known, I sure as hell would have taken my business to my bedroom.
“Oh,” Beck mumbled, glancing down at us. “Um… sorry, I’ll go…”
“You don’t have to go,” Brie said quickly, already starting to re-do the buttons her blouse. “I was just leaving, anyways.”
“You were?” I asked.
“I promised a girlfriend I would meet her for drinks tonight,” she said. Then in a whisper, she added, “I’m taking a raincheck on the sex, by the way. You owe me.”
“Bad habits die hard…” I teased, but my voice sounded flat and strange.
Was I… hurt?
I watched as Brie stood up and crossed the room, stepping into the black Louboutins she had left at the edge of the room. Her stiletto heels sunk into the shag rug and she stumbled forward awkwardly.
I stood up from the couch and walked Brie towards the front door of the apartment. Beck was already in the kitchen, fumbling with pots and pans, and as we passed by, I saw her eyes flick up and dart between Brie and me. Then I saw her brows wrinkle into a scowl.
When we made it to the door, I turned to Brie.
“I almost forgot, I wanted to ask you something…”
“Oh, God,” Brie rolled her eyes in exasperation. “What’s with all the questions tonight? Should I be worried about you, Duke?”
“It’s not like that,” I assured her. “Actually, there’s this charity gala in the Hamptons next month—”
“The Maison Verte Ball?”
“Yeah,” I said. “My parents have been benefactors every year for as long as I can remember, so I know they’re going to be there. I figured that I could show up and see them. Maybe that could be a baby step towards us reconciling?”
“And you thought that if you showed up with a beautiful, successful real estate maven on your arm, then your parents might be more inclined to believe that you actually have your shit together?” Brie finished for me, grinning.
“It’s worth a shot,” I shrugged. “Will you be my date?”
“But… we’re not actually dating,” Brie reminded me in a secretive whisper. “We’d be a sham.”
“Appearances are all that matter to my parents anyways,” I shrugged. “We’re talking about a couple that probably hasn’t slept in the same bed since night they conceived me.”
“Ewww, too much information,” Brie wrinkled her nose. Then she added: “Yes, I’ll go to the Maison Verte Ball with you.”
Then she turned on her heel and let herself out of the apartment.
“I’ll see you later,” Brie said over her shoulder, slipping out the door without waiting for me to say goodbye. I held up my hand, waving at nothing as the door slammed shut in my face. Then I turned and made my way back to the kitchen.
“So… who was the girl?” Beck greeted me.
I raised an eyebrow. “You mean Brie?”
“I mean the Playboy bunny who just strutted out of here in a pair of high heels that probably cost more than my half of the rent.”
“Yeah, that’s Brie,” I nodded.
“Is she your girlfriend?”
“She’s just a friend.”
“Just a friend?” her blue eyes blinked up at me defiantly.
“Why do you wanna know?” I narrowed my eyes. “Are you jealous?”
“Jealous of what?” she scoffed. “Meaningless sex between two miserable people?”
“Who are you calling miserable?”
“You both looked like you were walking out of a funeral,” Beck smirked.
I frowned, watching as she dropped a giant shiny chrome pot of water onto the gas cooktop. She flicked one of the stove knobs and a ring of bright blue flames erupted. The stray drops of water that had dripped down the side of the pot immediately simmered.
“What’s cooking?” I asked.
“Comfort food.”
“Pasta?” I asked, eyeing a box of rotini that she had placed next to the cooktop.
“Cheesy noodles,” she corrected me.
“So… macaroni and cheese?”
“No,” she shook her head. “Cheesy noodles.”
Right…
“Is there enough for two?” I asked.
Her eyes flicked up to me and she glared.
“Never mind,” I said quickly. “I’ll just order a pizza…”
“No, don’t,” Beck said, rubbing her forehead wearily. “There’s plenty. You can have some cheesy noodles if you want…”
I grinned and popped open the fridge, reaching for a bottle of wine.
“Can I pour you a glass?”
“Um…” she raised an eyebrow, then peered over my shoulder. “Do you have any beer?”
I turned back to the fridge and replaced the bottle of pinot grigio on the shelf, then I grabbed two bottles of Corona by their necks and held them up.
“Much better,” Beck smiled, giving me a thumbs up.
“You really are like one of the guys…” I shook my head as I tapped open one of the cabinet drawers and fingered around for the bottle opener. “So… why do you need comfort food? You feeling homesick already?”
“Definitely not,” Beck shook her head.
“Ok… bad day at work then?” I popped the top off of one of the bottles and passed it to her.
“Do I need a reason to eat cheesy pasta?” she blinked up at me.
“Fair enough,” I held up my hands, surrendering.
She took a swig of Corona, then she wrapped her arms across her chest and turned to me.
“You never finished your story,” she said.
“Huh?”
“About going to see the Statue of Liberty with your parents.”
“You heard that?” my stomach sunk and I immediately felt mortified.
“Not intentionally,” Beck shrugged apologetically. “But the walls are paper thin…”
I played back my entire conversation with Brie, wondering what else I had said or done that I should be embarrassed about…
“I’m sorry,” I said, still cringing on the inside. “I forgot you were home. I shouldn’t have—”
I didn’t want to finish that sentence, so I just let my voice trail off. I glanced back at the window, but the sun had finished setting and it was too dark to see the river anymore; it had disappeared in the black shadows of the night.
“So this story…” Beck reminded me. “Did your parents take you to see the Statue of Liberty?”
“They agreed to go with me,” I nodded slowly. “We were supposed to go on a Saturday morning. But something came up, or maybe they just forgot… I don’t know.”
“Did that kind of thing happen a lot?”
“All the time,” I nodded. “My parents are…” my voice trailed off again. I wasn’t sure how to describe my parents: rich? Eccentric? Cold? Finally, I settled on: “Preoccupied.”
“So you didn’t get to go?”
“Oh, I still went,” I said. “By myself.”
“How old were you?”
“Seven or eight?” I shrugged. “Old enough to have my own MetroCard. I took the subway down to Battery Park, but I got lost.”
The water started to boil on the stove. We both ignored it.
“After wandering around on my own for a while, I finally found this family; a mom, a dad, and two little boys who looked like they were around my age. I followed them, but I made sure to stay a few paces behind so they wouldn’t notice me. I followed them all the way onto the Staten Island Ferry. It was a rainy day, so they sat on one of the benches below the deck.”
White tufts of steam filled the air, puffing up from the boiling pot of water, but neither of us moved…
“The ferry passed the Statue of Liberty and the family crowded around the window, pressing their noses against the glass. I squeezed in with them, pretending that I wanted to see the Statue of Liberty too. But I didn’t actually give a shit about the statue… I just wanted to know what it felt like to be part of a family.”
“As I was standing there with this family of strangers, I suddenly felt a hand land on my shoulder. The dad had mistaken me for one of his sons. It only lasted for a split second, but in that split second I felt something I had been desperately waiting for my entire life.”
“Love?” Beck asked.
I swallowed heavily, but I didn’t answer. Instead, I nodded to the pot of boiling water and said: “I think the water is boiling…”
The water had been boiling for several minutes, but when Beck glanced down at the pot, she seemed to notice for the first time. She absently tore the top off a cardboard pasta box, then she dumped the noodles into the water.
“I told you my story,” I said, changing the subject. “Now you tell me about this cheesy pasta.”
Beck sighed and bit her bottom lip as she swirled a wooden spoon through the bubbling water.
“My mom used to make cheesy pasta on the first day of school,” she said, keeping her eyes pointed at the pot. “It was our little tradition. I’d come home and she’d have a big bowl of cheesy pasta waiting for me on the kitchen table. Then we’d sit together and talk about what had happened at school; my new classes, which teachers I liked and which ones I hated, my friends…”
“Sounds like you have an awesome mom.”
“Had,” she corrected me, still not blinking up from the pot. “She passed away ten years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I figured that if my mom was here now, she would want to celebrate the first day of my new job with a big pot of cheesy pasta.”
“I agree,” I nodded. “We should honor that tradition.”
Then I reached for the wooden spoon that she was using to stir the pasta.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“You can’t cook your own cheesy pasta,” I said.
“Of course I can!”
“That’s not the tradition,” I reminded her.
She frowned, but she released her grip on the wooden spoon.
“Sit down,” I said. “I’ve got this.”
“You don’t know the recipe—”
“You can tell me as I go,” I shrugged, then I nodded to the bar stools that were lined up along the opposite edge of the kitchen island. “Have a seat.”
She slowly made her way around the island and slid onto one of the barstools, then she took a sip of her beer.
“All right, Olivia Beck,” I said, glancing up from the boiling pot, “Tell me about your day.”