Bad Boy (29 page)

They walked down the stairs and out to the street before she let herself say another word. “You know, I just don’t get you,” she said once they were on the wet sidewalk.

“What?” he asked, but she could tell he was uncomfortable. He matched his stride to hers.

“I work with you day and night for weeks. I set you up with a date. I even coach you while you’re on it. Then you don’t even call me to tell me how it went. And I have to find out from my girlfriend that you slept with her!”

Jon looked down at the pavement and winced. “Was that information you required?” he asked. “I mean, I guess it was the point. Anyway, now you know. So, in a way, I guess I can say the experiment is over. It worked.”

_p. 287
“That’s
not
the point!” Tracie exclaimed. “I mean, why did you sleep with Beth?”

“Isn’t that what you expected me to do?” Jon asked. “Wasn’t that the whole point? Date ’em, do ’em, and drop ’em.
I
certainly didn’t make that up.”

“I don’t think I ever put it that way,” Tracie said.

“Well, it may not have been how you put it, but as I recall, we were working at ending my celibacy.”

Tracie narrowed her eyes. “But not with my friend,” she told him. “And don’t feel so good about it. Beth is so desperate.”

“And you don’t think I was desperate after a yearlong dry spell?” He was whining like a Borscht Belt comic.

Tracie shook her head. She felt like slapping him. “Do you know how thoughtless this was?” she asked. “Not just doing it but doing it with Beth? We talk about our personal lives, and now I’m going to have to hear more than I would ever want to know about your sex life.”

“Excuse me?” Jon said. “You two talk about your sex lives? I’m not making you talk about it. And anyway, if you didn’t want me to sleep with her, why did you set me up with her? You made the date for me.”

He was being utterly exasperating. “I didn’t mean for you to sleep with her,” Tracie explained. “It was just a practice date.”

“You mean I was supposed to strike out?” Jon asked. “You were setting me up for failure?
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Another no-hitter for the guy who was batting zero?”

“You’re not a batter and Beth isn’t a ball,” Tracie snapped. “She’s been terribly hurt by Marcus, and I didn’t mean
‌
—”

“Marcus, your boss?” Jon asked. “She was going out with Marcus?” He rolled his eyes and leaned against a mailbox until he realized how wet it was.

“I’m the one who has to hear about Marcus a hundred times a day. I know how disgusting he is.”

“Beth was going out with your boss and you set me up with her? That’s the kind of taste she has and yet you thought she’d be right for me?”

“I thought she’d be
wrong
for you,” Tracie said. “Remember? You were supposed to be bad.”

“Then you did mean for me to date her, do her, and drop her,” Jon cried, triumphant.

“Don’t tell me what I meant!” Tracie snapped.

They walked along the sidewalk in silence for almost an entire block. Then Jon stopped, took her by the shoulders, and turned her to him. For a moment, Tracie thought that he might be about to kiss her. “Tracie, you’re my best friend. Why are we fighting? You told me what to do, and then who to do it with. And I did it. So why are you mad? If you don’t want me to see Beth, I won’t see her again. Just please don’t be angry at me.”

Tracie looked at him. Despite all the changes
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she had wrought, he was still Jon. His eyes were warm and pleading. She loved Jon. “I guess I was just hurt,” she admitted. “I expected you’d call me right away.”

“I was embarrassed,” he said. “Plus, it was very late.” He stopped. “I . . . I don’t think guys talk about sex the same way women do.”

“Okay.” She sighed deeply. “The whole thing was ridiculous,” she said. “I don’t even know what I was aggravated about. It’s just that Beth talked about nothing but you all day, and it drove me absolutely bonkers.”

“She did?” he asked.

Just how sexually confident is he? she wondered. And how justified is his confidence? Looking at him now in his new clothes, at his new hair and his unshaven jaw, she realized for the first time that he might be very, very good indeed. She turned away so he wouldn’t see her blush. It was weird to think about him in a sexual way
‌
—a little like thinking of your brother in that way. When he took her arm, she actually jumped.

“You’re not still mad?” he asked.

“No, I’m not mad,” she said. Once again, she thought this would be a good time to tell him about her idea for the article. Maybe if she told him, she wouldn’t have so much trouble writing it.

When she got back to the apartment, all she wanted was a beer and a hug, but when she opened the door and looked in the refriger
_p. 290
ator, then back at Phil’s pouty face, she realized she probably wasn’t going to get either one.

“Did you get any beers?” she asked him.

“No. If it’s not here, I won’t drink it,” Phil said. “I’m trying to cut back.”

Typical. He always thought of himself. “Speaking of cut, I have to get a haircut. You want a cut, Laura?”

“Yeah. But what I really need are streaks.”

“Stefan is great with streaks. Jon goes to him.”

“You know, that guy ought to be paying you tuition,” Phil told her.

“And you oughta be paying me rent!” Tracie said, slamming the refrigerator door. Phil, oblivious, stirred the ravioli, picked up a bottle of Kraft French dressing, crossed to the table, and poured it on the lettuce halves with a flourish. “Dinner is served.”

“You made dinner, Phil?” She looked at the pot. “Gee. I’m sorry. I’m just not hungry.”

“But . . . I did it for you.”

“Why don’t you eat with Laura while I take a bath?” she suggested. “All I want to do is crawl into bed.” Tracie went into the bathroom. Phil followed her.

“Tracie, this is important,” he said. “I wanted to talk to you over dinner. I thought I might . . . There was this job
‌
—” He stopped talking. She was looking under the sink for her Vitabath.

“You mean with another band? Leave the Glands?” Tracie asked, shaking her head.

“No. I mean a real job,” Phil said. “Well,
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it’s like a trainee job. Can you imagine me in semiconductors?”

Tracie stopped rummaging under the bathroom sink and stared at him. “Did I just hear you say something about getting a job as a train conductor?” she asked him.

“That is
not
what I said. Jesus, if you paid half the attention to me that you’re giving to the nerd and that article, you’d know what I’m talking about.” He turned and walked out the door.

Fine. He could go home. All she wanted was a hot soak in her tub.

Low conversation filled the Malaysian restaurant. Waiters and waitresses glided back and forth between the kitchen and the dining room with huge serving trays. Jon sat at a table in the corner with Samantha. He was in his James Dean/
Rebel Without a Cause
pose, just ending an intense story.

“I’ve never told anyone before,” Jon said, then paused. Jon was nervously playing with the Goofy Pez dispenser. The ears were flipping around in circles. What now? he thought. For brevity’s sake, he’d decided to combine two
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of Tracie’s directives: He’d made up a tragedy and simultaneously told it as a secret imparted only to Samantha.

Samantha’s sympathy, an altogether appropriate reaction to his story, filled him with contempt. He supposed it was because he’d made a sucker out of her with the lie. But if he told a stranger he was Mormon, or an orphan, or that his birthday was on Independence Day
‌
—it was actually on December 3
‌
—there would be no reason for them not to believe him. Lying to Samantha was no big trick. So why did it make him feel superior?

Something else troubled him: The more he lied, the easier it became. And the more it made him wonder if anything anyone said was the truth. How about his father? Had he also lied to Jon all those years like he lied to his mother? He paused and stared down at the table.

“I just can’t get over how I misjudged you,” Samantha was saying. “I mean, I’d noticed you, but somehow I thought you were . . .” She paused, and Jon wondered what version of the word
nerd
she was thinking of using. “Well, I just imagined you as very different,” she said.

He nodded, then executed a perfect James Dean shrug. “Yeah. A lot of people don’t see the real me.” He sighed and looked down at the Pez dispenser. “My brother really loved Pez.” He’d already figured out it was best if he didn’t talk too much. If he did, he’d only screw things up or have to lie and remember what he’d said. Maybe that was why men like
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his father moved on: The lies got too complicated and the truth was unacceptable, so you just started over.

Samantha heard the sigh and reacted with greater attention. “What are you thinking?” she asked. “You can tell me.” Her eyes were pleading. Lie to me, they said. Tell me something dramatic, something that makes me privy to the drama. “What happened then?” Sam asked, leaning toward him.

“He was on the back of my motorcycle . . . and I wiped out. There wasn’t a scratch on me, but he”
‌
—Jon paused for effect
‌
—“he died.” He let silence reign again for a few moments while he looked out toward the kitchen and worked his jaw muscle as visibly as he could. God, I’ll wind up with a jaw like Jay Leno’s by the time I’m done. He figured he’d better finish the story. “I’ve always felt responsible, but since then, I just don’t get frightened.”

Sam nodded her head. “I think I understand,” she said, which was a good thing, because Jon certainly didn’t. What bullshit! Women actually liked this crap.

The cute young Asian waitress came over to their table. Jon looked up from Sam and, in apparent surprise, took the waitress’s arm. “Doesn’t she have the most beautiful eyes?” he asked Sam as he smiled up at the girl. When he saw the reaction on Samantha’s face, he knew he was golden.

_p. 294
The next morning, Jon was walking down the hallway at Micro/Con, feeling pretty cocky. He had his radar on for Samantha, when he spotted a familiar-looking woman in the distance. He’d all but slept over at Sam’s the night before, and although they hadn’t gone the entire distance, Jon felt that an excellent blow job was nothing to sneeze at. And somehow he knew that oral sex was Samantha’s prelude to the real thing. It was her way of showing him she wasn’t the kind of girl who went all the way on the first date.

Sam had been very sweet and giving
‌
—surprising in a woman who was so successful and assertive in the office
‌
—but perhaps he shouldn’t be surprised. He was finding out that a woman’s sexual personality wasn’t necessarily obvious from her public personality. While he pondered this, he kept his eye on the woman he’d clocked in the distance. Until he realized who it was. “Carole!” he yelled. It was The Lovely Girl from the airport! Hadn’t she said something about having Micro/Con as a client?

She turned around and, once she did, Jon did everything he could to recover his cool. He certainly shouldn’t have yelled her name. Now he wouldn’t run to catch up to her or anything. If she waited for him, maybe he’d just pretend to walk by her. No begging girls to turn around and look at him. It was a bad slip.

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Sometimes he thought he’d never learn. But The Lovely Girl, Carole, once she saw him, approached slowly and, as she did, he watched recognition dawn across her face. He had assumed another one of his James Dean poses; this time it was the defiant one from
Rebel Without a Cause.
He hated the idea that she would remember him as a geek, that he had called out to her, and that she must realize he worked here, but he wanted to conquer. Maybe he could make his early gaffe of seeming as close to a serial killer as possible without DNA evidence work for him. Being dangerous yet respectable enough to work here actually might make him a more acceptable candidate. Maybe it was all for the best.

Carole eyed him up and down. “The plane, right?” she asked. He kept his face blank. Could it be that easy? No. Because then, her eyes flickered and she said, “Oh, the luggage.”

Well, a good offense was the best defense. He managed a laugh. “Yeah. I lost my luggage and you misplaced your sense of humor.” He paused. “Man, you completely missed my madman riff,” he said, making a gesture with his hand over his head to indicate the joke had gone over hers.

To his surprise, she blushed. “Sorry. I was probably a little tense. I don’t like lying. But . . . you look . . . different.”

He shrugged. “Maybe it’s the boots,” he said, and she looked down at his feet.

“You work here?” Carole asked. “I didn’t
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realize you worked here. Did you tell me that?”

He could see her relax. She smiled. Clearly,, she was deciding he wasn’t a maniac living in the woods, waiting for his next victim. Or if he was, he was a maniac who at least had excellent health coverage. “Sometimes I’m here,” Jon said truthfully. For once, having been exposed as a guy with a day job would work for him. He smiled. He had to admit he was starting to get it. All you had to do was try to anticipate a woman’s thoughts. “What is it that
you
do here?” he asked.

Carole smiled. “I can’t tell you that,” she said.

He shrugged. By asking, he’d lost a few points, but he didn’t really care. After all, he had a date with Ruth tomorrow, one on the weekend with Samantha, and Beth kept calling. If she didn’t stop soon, he guessed he’d have to sleep with her again just to keep his phone line open. He almost smiled to himself at the thought, but instead he looked at Carole. She wasn’t just pretty; she was smart. And she was working at Micro/Con. They would probably have a lot in common. Jon wondered what it would be like to be with a woman who understood his work and the implications of it. Even Tracie didn’t get it. He smiled more broadly at Carole. “Can you tell me if you eat?” he asked.