Will You Won't You Want Me?: A Novel (33 page)

“It was you,” Gus said. “Seems he’s got a little crush.”

“Imagine that.”

“I can’t.”

“Hey!” Marjorie shoved his shoulder.

He gave her a lazy, cool half grin that would trail her for years to follow and pop into her head at unexpected moments like a surprise. “A
big
crush, on the other hand. Now that I get.”

It happened so fast. The tension between them, Marjorie reasoned, had to be defused. Otherwise, the apartment’s gas appliances, the pressure cooker, the BBQ’s propane tank would surely have combusted in mass stainless steel wreckage. This was a public service for the safety of Gus’s neighbors.

Time and space suspended their regular rules. The air thickened, charged and inevitable. As Gus drew close, Marjorie saw fragments of herself in his eyes, and sunlight, white splotches that persisted behind her lids once she closed them. He kissed her hesitantly, his lips a question mark against her own. But soon that propriety transformed to urgency, an exclamation. As she pressed against him, the balls of her feet pushed away the uneven wooden floor, osmosing its history in the Braille-like ridges against her skin. She slipped her hands under his shirt, following the crease up the path of his spine. He slid his palms behind her head, then down her still damp back and sides, tracing a nonsensical route, the long way home. He lifted her closer. And the thread of the story was lost in a jumbled tangent of terry cloth and skin.

It wasn’t until the towel threatened to completely fall away that Marjorie’s higher consciousness returned. Slowly, reluctantly, she remembered the existence of phones and planes and clocks, daylight streaming through the window, offering no cover.
This is not okay.
Her bare limbs felt so right against Gus’s skin and rough jeans, this version of him a happy surprise. But she had to stop.

Pulling away was like stepping from a warm bath onto a cold tile floor. It took Gus a moment to realize what was happening, his expression dazed. But then he stepped back, raising his hands in surrender like she was holding a gun on him, like this was a
stickup.
And she felt depressed as his face clouded with concern. “I’m sorry. I’m—I thought you—”

“No, I do. It’s just … Mac.”

“Right. Mac.” Gus’s arms fell to his sides. “Your not so imaginary friend, who you’re moving in with.”

“That’s the guy.” She tightened the towel across her chest.

Gus’s hair was ruffled; his T-shirt sat askew across his shoulders, riding up on one side. Marjorie’s own hands had traversed that territory moments before, had displaced that shirt. She wanted to reach out again, prove that she’d been there. He rubbed the back of his neck, his head dropping toward the floor, a habit, she now realized, she found adorable. He looked up at her, hangdog, “I’m not that creepy boss, right? ’Cause that’s my worst nightmare. To make you feel uncomfortable—”

“Oh, God, no. Please don’t think that. Really, really, really. You could never be that guy, even if you tried.”

“Good.” He shot her a hint of a smile. “So, what now?”

“Um, I think maybe we should talk. Is that the worst idea ever? Am I
that
girl now?”

“That girl only exists in opposition to
that
guy, who doesn’t give a shit but wants to keep sleeping with her.”

“Don’t say perfect things like that or I’ll have to walk back over and let the towel drop this time.”

“Don’t say things like
that
unless you mean them.”

They stared at each other.

Gus cleared his throat. “I sort of can’t believe I’m saying this, but why don’t you go get dressed? Then we can hash this out.”

Marjorie nodded and bent to grab her bag, now dumped out at her feet. Standing, she caught her towel just before it fell, once again. Gus groaned, throwing a hand over his eyes. “Can you just put on some clothes?”

She couldn’t help smiling.

Back in the bathroom, Marjorie threw on her outfit in record time. So much so that a drill sergeant at West Point felt a jolt of inexplicable joy.

She emerged in jean shorts and a sheer T-shirt. Gus was waiting on the couch. He looked up, a pained expression on his face. “Don’t you have a snowsuit or something you could put on?”

“Sorry. It’s summer.”

“So it is.”

Marjorie settled next to him. “So, so, so.”

“That’s a well-articulated point. Everything’s much clearer now.”

“I don’t want you to feel responsible for what happened. This is all my doing.”

He raised an eyebrow. “It is?”

“I mean, you haven’t even wanted to hang out with me.”

“What? Why do you think that?”

“Two nights ago, you ran away when I kissed your cheek.” She was embarrassed just thinking about it. “And last night, you disinvited me from dinner.”

“Marjorie. That’s crazy. That isn’t what happened.”

“Then what did?”

“You surprised me with the kiss, sure. But that was encouraging. And last night I really did have another obligation.”

“But you got so weird when you left the screening room.”

Gus sighed. “The morning after dinner with Benny, you seemed angry. I thought you were behaving ‘professionally’ because I’d been somehow inappropriate. And last night, one of my best friends, who I never see, called to say he was in town. I would have included you, but he’s having marital problems and needed to vent. And I wanted to get advice from him … about you.”

Marjorie’s eyes widened. “About
me
?” She tucked her legs underneath her and leaned an elbow on the back of the couch. “What about me?”

Gus pinched the bridge of his nose, willing himself to think clearly. He exhaled and looked at her. “I’ve had some … weird feelings for you since the night we met at Fred’s.”

“Weird feelings?” She smiled.

“Just shut up and listen, okay? I met you, I liked you. I haven’t liked anyone in a long time. And you seemed single, if not slightly unhinged. Mac showing up was a wrinkle, but I didn’t think you were together. I knew you needed a job, so
I
suggested hiring you—not Mike, by the way.”

“But you treated me like an idiot, like you resented my being at the office!”

“You acted like one, walking in with attitude.”

“I did not!”

“Well, it seemed that way to me. And then”—he looked at his lap—“you barely remembered our conversation. I guess I was a little offended.” He raised his eyes to meet hers. “Because it meant something to me.”

Marjorie started to protest, but he raised hand to silence her, as he continued. “Anyway, I thought we were getting along better. When you left the job at the end of the week, I planned to ask you out. But then Mac picked you up at two
A.M
. and called you ‘Madgesty…’” Gus grimaced. “I got the picture. So I kept my distance. I was trying to behave.” He gestured to the spot where they’d kissed minutes before. “Now I guess I broke some kind of guy code.”

“So then why invite me on this trip?”

“You turned out to be good at the job, really good. Since anything romantic was off the table, I figured I might as well get you some experience and me some help. It didn’t go quite how I expected.”

“That’s for sure.” Marjorie was distracted by Gus’s hand inches from her knee. He smelled like something good: suntan lotion? coconuts? that soap?

“The more time we spent together, the more I liked you, despite your being a royal pain the ass and a pathetic hiker. I didn’t think you felt the same way. I’m still not sure?”

She sighed. “I think I was in denial. Until I was in your shower.”

“And I’m only human. You walked out in that little towel, which incidentally I’ll never see the same way—”

“You gave me that towel!”

“I didn’t know you were going to parade around in it! Then you got all excited about the movie thing. What’s a guy to do?”

Marjorie felt a pang of guilt, though she wasn’t sure toward which man. “I’m sorry.”

“Please. Don’t be. I’m not sorry. I hate the idea of you feeling that way … about this.”

“You know, you have a funny way of showing that you like me. I said all those nice things about you in the car this morning and you keep calling me ‘special’—and making fun of me.”

Gus lifted a ringlet up off Marjorie’s shoulder and yanked it softly. “I happen to think you’re brilliant, sweet, beautiful, funny, and totally infuriating. In that order.”

Before either realized, they were leaning in again, their lips millimeters apart. This time, Gus pulled back. “Okay. I can’t fucking take this. We need to talk about that stupid boyfriend of yours or I need to leave.”

“This is your house.”

“I know.” Gus rested his elbows on his lap and buried his head in his hands. “What if I take you to Dan Tana’s?” he said, voice muffled. “No pressure. We’ll talk, safely. In a public place. It’s early. We should get a table without a wait.”

She nodded. “I’m kind of hungry. And by that I mean I need a drink.”

“Good. Let’s go. Before I lose my mind.”

Marjorie threw on lip gloss and collected her belongings, feeling intermittently sublime and wretched, and she and Gus left and walked to the car. They were about to pull out of the driveway, when he realized he’d forgotten his phone.

“Slob,” she teased.

He ran upstairs, leaving the car running, as Marjorie waited in the passenger seat. Outside, the blue sky was infinite. The temperature would soon drop. Could she get used to cool summer evenings, when the heat disappeared with the sun?

Marjorie’s thoughts turned to Mac, three thousand miles away and three hours later, maybe at the bar trading jabs with his friends, expecting her home the next day. Was this a childish dalliance on her part, a relationship panic, or was she really looking for something different?

For distraction, she e-mailed Belinda:

Coming home tomorrow, Belly! Can’t wait to see the first real draft on Sunday. xo Madge.

Just then, Gus’s cell phone rang from the car’s speakers like an alarm, startling her. He’d left the Bluetooth on, and it was still connecting from inside the apartment. She searched for an Off button, but nothing on the dashboard looked right.

“Hello?” Gus’s voice projected, clear as day.

“Hey G-Man.”

“Mike. What’s up, dude?”

“Got your message. Why do you sound so chipper?”

“Oh. ’Cause we got that movie, looks like. The filmmaker wants to sign with us.”

“That’s awesome! Good fucking job.”

What choice did Marjorie have but to eavesdrop? She couldn’t vacate a running car.

“It was our girl, actually. He loved Marjorie. Thought she was great and trusted her.”

“You were right from the beginning. She’s smart. We should keep her.” There was silence on Gus’s end of the line. “G-Man? You still there?”

“Yeah, I’m here.”

“What do you think? Should we offer her the full-time gig?”

Marjorie was thrilled. They thought she was good! She was going to have a job!

“Uh. I don’t think so.”

Her heart sank. Was Gus kidding? She waited for a punch line.

“I don’t get it. Why not?” asked Michael.

“It’s not the best fit. She probably wouldn’t stay for the long haul.”

“But she made this deal.”

“Yeah, because he had a crush on her. I just don’t see this as her future.”

It was like being slapped. Marjorie listened as Michael reluctantly agreed not to hire her. Then she zoned out, numb. They said their good-byes and clicked off.

Robotically, she pushed the car door open, climbed out, and started walking, as Gus jogged outside. He looked from the humming car to his former passenger. “Hey Marjorie! Where are you going?”

She stopped but didn’t turn to face him. “To bed.”

“It’s six thirty. What about Dan Tana’s?”

“I’m not in the mood anymore.”

“I don’t understand. What happened?” His voice broke, tugging at her heart, and she hated him even more for that. She turned to face him. “What happened is that the Bluetooth is on in your car.”

“Yeah?” She watched him, waiting for recognition to set in. He winced. “Ah. You heard me talking to Mike.”

“Yeah, Gus. I did.”

He stepped toward her. “Marjorie, you don’t understand.”

“Actually, I do. You think I only got that deal because of how I look.” She felt sick.

“No. Not at all.”

“Really? ’Cause it sure sounded that way when you told Michael not to hire me.”

“I just don’t think we should work together. There are better things you could—”

“Gus, even if that’s true, even if what you want is for us to be together, your solution is to sacrifice my credibility? God forbid you risk tarnishing your own image!”

He rubbed at the back of his neck. “I’m sorry. I panicked. We haven’t talked about anything yet. You have a boyfriend. I don’t know how much you want people to know. And it isn’t just about us working together. I think you have other talents that—”

Marjorie was enraged. “What about asking what
I
want? I need to support myself! If this had happened months from now, it would have been bad, but at least we’d have had a foundation. This was already an impossible situation. Now…” She turned to leave.

“Marjorie, wait! Let’s talk about this. I’ll call Mike back right now and explain. You can have the job. It’s not even close to too late.”

“Actually, Gus, it’s entirely too late.” Marjorie trudged back to the hotel, leaving Gus standing on the street alone.

38

The woman behind Virgin America’s check-in counter studied Marjorie’s ticket. “This is for tomorrow morning.”

“I know. I’d like to fly standby tonight instead.”

“Let me see what I can do.” She pressed some buttons on her keyboard. “In a rush to get home?”

“In a rush to get out of here.”

Marjorie had tried to relax at the hotel. She’d stared unseeing at the Olympic opening ceremonies in London on TV, then wept as torch-wielding athletes ran into the stadium past its brick and mortar builders, who wore hard hats and suits.

She was devastated—about losing Gus, betraying Mac, compromising her self-respect. She wanted to go home. She could not have understood, because Gus barely did himself, that years of helping his mother through bouts of “the black dog” (her pet name for depression) had taught him to take the reins and make decisions for others. Even as Marjorie packed her bags and headed for the airport, he sat slumped on his couch, deflated and bewildered. In neglecting to consult Marjorie about her own future, he had exorcised himself from it.