On Turpentine Lane(34)

I said to Stuart, “You couldn’t possibly have expected that I’d want you for a housemate-slash-companion the way your mothers suggested.”

“I kinda did,” he said, “because another thing I learned on my journey was that where you sleep is not equal to where you are in your life.”

“Whatever that means,” I said.

He stared at me as if sorely disappointed that I couldn’t grasp such a rudimentary doctrine.

“It’s not even psychobabble,” I said. “It’s just Stuartspeak.”

“What I meant, clearly, was people can coexist under one roof without having to be lovers or friends. You respect each other. You help out. I’d help out. I’m getting an advance on my first pay period.”

“Of course you would, seeing who your bosses are. Are you staying with them, too?”

“For the time being, but it’s only till I find my own place.”

“Sorry, man,” said Nick. “No room to coexist here.”

“And frankly,” I added, “even if there was room, I wouldn’t have any respect for myself if I took you in.”

How would he answer such a forthright confession? What was he taking away from our exchange? “You broke something off, too?” he asked Nick. “With a woman, I take it? Does she have a place?”

Wouldn’t Nick take offense? Wouldn’t his hackles rise?

No. What I saw instead was the half smile Nick reserved for a prize exchange with Reggie. This time, too, he was telegraphing Pay attention; I’m going to have a little fun with this guy.





23





Let Them Live Happily Ever After


“TELL HER YOU just got back from a business trip, or whatever kind of trip makes you sound the least like a flower child,” Nick advised Stuart.

“How many bedrooms?” Stuart asked.

“Two. The second one is her office, but it has a foldout couch.”

“What does she do?” Stuart asked.

“She sells stuff on eBay. Designer stuff.”

“Like clothes?”

“Like pocketbooks.”

“Leather?” asked Stuart.

“I’m afraid so,” said Nick. “Is that a deal breaker?”

I’d started out as a reluctant, mildly horrified party to the potential roommating of our exes but was now fully signed on as spectator. Wasn’t I already a fan of Nick’s nerve? Hadn’t he called Mrs. Hepworth, then used the word hellhole about the very lockers her husband considered sacred, and made her laugh? I overheard and applauded such liberties every day.

“Are you allergic to leather?” Nick asked Stuart, so theatrically wide-eyed that I knew he’d never heard of a leather allergy.

“It’s not an allergy,” Stuart said. “It’s a belief system.”

I said, “I don’t think you’re in any position to be fussy.”

Nick said, all innocence again, “I think it’ll work. Stuart could impart some of his core values to Brooke.”

“Brooke’s been known to put too much value on things,” I explained.

“Do you know for a fact that she’s looking for a roommate?” Stuart asked.

Nick said, “She can’t swing it herself; I know that much.”

“Do I tell her that you gave me her contact info?”

I asked Stuart if he’d excuse us for a minute while I spoke privately to Nick about this matter.

“Good time for me to look around?” Stuart asked.

I said, “No. Wait here,” and motioned to Nick that we conference halfway up the stairs, far enough for privacy while insuring that Stuart couldn’t gallop to the second floor for a bedroom count.

I whispered, “Is this a good idea? Or are you just getting even?”

“The lease is in both our names and I’m still paying my share, so my motive isn’t exactly altruistic.”

“So she’s actually in the market for a roommate?”

“We’ll find out,” he said.

Back in the living room, Stuart—in the approximate ninety seconds we’d been gone—had dozed off, his bulging backpack under his oily head.

“Hey!” I said. He snapped awake and sat up.

Nick said, “How’s this? You tell Brooke that you have a friend at Everton Country Day and that friend knew I’d advertised for a new place and thus deduced that there was an opening at my former residence.”

Stuart had begun shaking his head unhappily as soon as Nick said, “Tell Brooke that . . .”

I asked what the problem was.

“It’s a lie. I’m sorry, but I don’t lie.”

“What’s the lie?” asked Nick. He pointed. “Friend, check. Friend of friend, check. Both—Faith, me—Everton Country Day. Show me the lie.”

“I don’t know, man. I mean, down the line, I’d have a little too much to drink or smoke, and I tell her that it started here, face-to-face, with her ex-boyfriend. Because something tells me that this is nothing but a con. Here I am, just back, pretty grungy, and isn’t that what you were discussing in private? Wouldn’t it be hilarious to sic him on Brooke?”

His theory was so true that I didn’t even attempt an answer. Nick said, “Is that what you think? Because I can disabuse you of that notion right away.” He patted his jean pockets, then said, “I’ll be right back.” Taking the stairs two at a time, he was up and down in what seemed like seconds, his phone already to his ear. Not answering, he mouthed, then: “Brooke? Nick. I gave your e-mail address to a guy I know, well, a guy I met, just back from a cross-country trip, looking for a place to live. A safe guy, believe me—Buddhist, pacifist, you name it. Harmless. And employed. He’s living at home with his mom. His name is Stuart.” And just before hanging up, he said, “May I remind you that you promised to find someone to take over my portion of the rent ASAP.”