Lies That Bind Us(33)

“I’d kill for a massage,” said Kristen. “When I’m on set, the studio has a masseuse on call to keep everyone relaxed. Raul,” she added with a mischievous grin, “plays my spine like a grand piano.”

“Does he indeed?” said Melissa.

“You wouldn’t believe it,” said Kristen. “Shooting is so stressful. Everyone running around, new pages to learn, the director racing the light . . . so stressful. Not sure what I’d do without Raul.”

“Raul,” said Melissa again, tasting the word in her mouth like it was ice cream.

“We have masseuses in the office,” said Simon. “Neck and shoulder only. Very professional.”

“There’s a spa we use in Buckhead, isn’t there, honey?” said Brad. “When you don’t have Raul, of course.”

Kristen smiled and looked down. Maybe I was imagining it, but I thought she was on her guard. There was something about the way Brad fixed her with his gaze that seemed . . . not predatory exactly, but proprietary. Like he’d just had his car detailed and was checking it over to make sure he’d gotten what he paid for.

“What about you, Jan?” asked Marcus abruptly.

I gave him a disbelieving stare. He knew as well as I did that neither of us could afford regular massages.

“You still go to Charlene every Wednesday?” he said.

To my amazement, he smiled fractionally and, sure that no one else was watching too closely, winked. Needless to say, I knew no one called Charlene.

“Regular as clockwork,” I said. “Couldn’t get through the week without her. And you?” I said, turnabout being fair play. “You still going to Oriental Elegance?”

He almost laughed but managed to nod seriously.

“It’s handy,” he said, “being right over by Thai Palace. I can get a massage and then go downstairs for some Prik King.”

My turn to look down, hiding my grin.

“Oriental Elegance?” said Simon. “Full service, huh? Sounds like you’re the Prick King!”

Brad laughed loudly, but Melissa rolled her eyes.

“So juvenile,” she said, smiling. “What are you, thirteen?”

“I thought you loved my boyish charm?” he said.

“Oh, I do,” said Melissa, grinning at him. I caught Marcus’s eye, and we exchanged a private smile. I’d only had one glass of wine, but I felt myself flushing happily. I looked away bashfully.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Gretchen remarked, “but I’d go diving again tomorrow if I had the chance.”

“We have the gear all week,” said Simon, tearing his gaze from Melissa and Brad. “Totally could. At the other end of the island, there’s a submerged city. Ruins of temples and stuff. Roman or whatever. Greek, I guess. We’d need to get started pretty early but . . .”

“Let’s play it by ear,” said Melissa. “Gotta get some shopping in, right, ladies?”

Kristen said, “Oh, I think so,” and reached over the table for a high five. Gretchen hastily added an “Absolutely!” and half reached for the high five, but slid her hand under the table when she realized she had been a moment too late. Again I looked quickly away.

“Maybe another day,” said Marcus, whose curiosity was obviously piqued.

“Yeah,” said Simon. “I thought you’d like that, professor.”

“Not a professor,” said Marcus, smiling, humble. “Just a lowly high school history teacher.”

“Public school too,” said Brad. “How’s that for dedication?”

I saw Marcus’s eyes harden a little, but he made the best of it.

“Lots of great kids,” he said. “Smart. Capable. Just because they can’t afford—”

“You have, like, metal detectors and stuff?” said Brad. “Keep the gangs under control.”

“No,” said Marcus.

“Maybe they build them in shop class,” said Simon, grinning. “They still have shop? Woodworking? Car mechanics? Cooking classes?”

“Bojangles has to get its staff somewhere, right?” said Brad.

“I teach history,” said Marcus, his jaw tight. “AP and IB courses. We get some of the best college placement in the state . . .”

“Oh, no doubt,” said Melissa. “They didn’t mean anything by it, did you Simon? Brad?”

“Just kidding around, man,” said Simon.

“Yeah,” said Brad. “Don’t tell me you grew out of your sense of humor, professor.”

“My sense of humor is well intact,” said Marcus, putting his knife and fork down and meeting Brad’s skeletal grin with something like defiance.

“That’s so cool,” said Gretchen, apparently missing the shift in the tone of the conversation. “You guys have such cool jobs.”

I tore my eyes from Marcus, who was still staring Brad down, and tried to use what she had said to redirect the group, but it wasn’t easy. My job was far from cool.

“Not really,” I said. “I mean, they have cool jobs,” I added, nodding expansively to the others, including Marcus. “I’m one notch up from your basic salesclerk.”

“That’s not true,” said Marcus loyally. “You’re a team manager for a major retail chain.”