Page 9 of Love, Lines, and Alibis
“Are you checking me out?”
I’d taken off the WGA West hoodie and was wearing just my pajama pants and a bralette from the now defunct les girls les boys. I may be awful when it comes to outerwear and have committed such crimes as wearing Birkenstock sandals with socks, but I have impeccable taste in underwear. And David’s eyes were fixed on my body in my bedroom mirror.
“Should I not be staring at you?” He locked eyes with my reflection in the mirror.
I turned around and walked in his direction, still in nothing but my sheer mesh bralette and my low-hanging pajama pants. I stopped in front of him, a mere few centimeters between the two of us. My eyes were playfully fixed on his the whole time.
Something electric crackled in the air. It was always like that between the two of us lately, but seeing each other’s faces during the daytime heightened it. So did the fact that we were somehow talking and not just communicating in grunts and monosyllables. The temperature in the room heated even more than it had on previous recent occasions.
I thought he was about to kiss me. I knowIwas going to kiss him.
But the doorbell buzzed.
“Elena, it’s me!” I heard Victor’s voice on the other side of my front door. He knew Ineveranswered the doorbell or opened that door unless I was zealously waiting for a package to be delivered.
Fuuuuck!I thought but managed not to say out loud. I wanted Victor to leave and for me and David to be about to kiss in plain daylight. But the moment had been fleeting.
“Right,” I said and, against my own desire, left David standing in the middle of my living room. I went to my bedroom to grab the top I was supposed to be wearing. I hurriedly put it on and went to open the door.
“Been looking for you all over the building. You weren’t home before,” Victor said when he saw me. His eyes fell on David. “Ah, you’re also here.”
“I was actually leaving,” David said. He exited without attempting to make an excuse. “I’ll text you later. We still need to talk,” he told me.
David left and I realized he was going to start investigating the case without me. I had asked him to join in, and he wasn’t interested. He only seemed to want to talk to me about something even if he wasn’t telling me what it was.
I assumed that Victor wasn’t going to ask about David’s presence at my apartment or what we supposedly needed to talk about. The nature of my relationship with Victor had always been uncomplicated, incurious, and open. (See, I told you there had been no cheating.) He made his way to the kitchen and opened the fridge.
“What was that about?” he asked, checking the sparse contents of my refrigerator.
“What waswhatabout?” You can decide whether to believe me, but I truly had no idea what he meant.
“Why do you need to talk?”
It didn’t escape my limited deducing skills that he was not looking at me but pretending to be thoroughly hypnotized by the non-contents of my fridge because he was avoiding conflict.
“Why don’t you go and ask him?” I told Victor, annoyed. “He’s the one who says he wants to talk. For all I know, he may be having second thoughts about letting me keep the fifth season ofThe Wireon DVD when we split up. It’s the one about a newsroom.”
Victor opted for a change of subject with judgment still directed to my fridge. “Where do you keep the sparkling water?”
“I don’t.”
“What?” he exclaimed as if not having sparkling water could be equated to not having Wi-Fi—or running hot water. “You have a SodaStream or something, right?” He sounded distressed. On second thought, maybe the source of the distress wasn’t my lack of posh water but the fact that I had been caught with my ex and wasn’t going to talk about it with him. But at the time, I remained unaware of that possibility.
“Nope. I hate bubbles.” My tone lacked even a hint of apology.
And that said so many things about our relationship of convenience. He didn’t know that I abhorred fizzy liquids. I’m sure he was still convinced that because I was technically European, Ihadto like sparkling hydration.
I was aware of his water preference but made no effort to keep any in the house. My sister would be able to find her favorite kind of chocolate—Hu Hazelnut Butter Crunch Milk Chocolate bar at the moment; Amelia knew the diverse array of kombucha cans inside the fridge was there solely for her enjoyment; and I kept Guayakí loose leaf yerba mate for those rare nights in which David felt like having it. But there was no sparkling water.
I was certain Victor wasn’t at my place to pick a fight or to talk about our relationship—he just wanted to tell me something about the case. But I’m going to make you wait for it since I guess this is as good a moment as any to tell you a bit more about him. Aboutus. Because I know you must be wondering, What is she doing with him exactly? And perhaps more specifically, What is he doing with her?
To be completely honest, I’m not sure.
Victor arrived in my life the moment I most needed him. He was like no one I had dated before. I didn’t even know I liked blonds until I met him and his eternally freckled if perennially tanned skin.
Of course, it was my mother who introduced us. She approved of him, which was much more than I could say about any of my previous partners. And I didn’t hold that against Victor. He’s sexy, he can be funny (in private and when he’s completely sure that nothing he says will end up online and ruin his future political prospects) but, above all, he’s easy.
I’m perfectly aware that he was probably with me because of how well connected I am. He’d never leave me so he didn’t lose access, and that made the relationship quite effortless. I never had to worry about saying the right thing, buying the right birthday gift, or wearing the right clothes. He didn’t mind that I don’t even try. Our relationship felt almost like work, and I know how to work.
