Cleopatra and Frankenstein(99)

“That’s the way to do it,” said Frank. “You know when I started at Saatchi, I worked seventy hours a week. All the night cleaners knew my name.”

“And you kept a spare suit in the broom closet,” Zoe droned.

“All right, you’re tired of hearing it,” Frank said. “But I wasn’t like you, all special and talented. I was hardworking, that’s what I had.” Zoe tried to contradict him, but he waved her off. “I’m happy for it now. Gave me the life I wanted. Helped me give you the life you want.”

The life she wanted. Was Zoe living that? She was twenty years old, and the most she’d achieved was a callback for the role of Girl in Jacuzzi. She did think she was special, but she wouldn’t have admitted it. She knew enough to know that there was nothing less special than thinking you were.

“Anyway,” he said. “I’m proud of you, is what I’m trying to say.”

Now was the time to bring up the money. He had served her the perfect opening. But when she tried to speak, the words would simply not come. Would he still be proud of her if he knew why she’d asked to meet? If he knew the trouble she was in? She took another gulp of her drink.

“Have you spoken to Cleo?” she asked instead.

Zoe had been sad to hear about Frank and Cleo splitting up, though, in her hidden heart, not totally surprised. She had often thought about what Cleo had said that summer night on the balcony. Sometimes Frank is the hole. Zoe didn’t know much about relationships, but she knew that wasn’t something someone happily in love said.

“We’re giving each other space.” He looked up at her hopefully. “Why? Have you?”

Zoe shrugged and tried not to look directly at Frank, whose face was aglow with anticipation. She regretted bringing it up.

“We text a little,” she said. “Just about, you know, girl stuff.”

“That’s cool,” said Frank, straining to sound casual. “That’s great.”

“You don’t have to pretend to be happy about it,” said Zoe. “I know it must be weird.”

“I’m not pretending. I’m glad you two talk. You didn’t always get on so well.”

“That’s because I was really immature last year,” said Zoe magnanimously. “I really like her … But I can try not to if it makes you sad.”

Frank shook his head. “She can still be your friend, even if she’s not mine.”

Zoe cocked her head. “But she was never your friend,” she said. “Not really.”

Frank looked down at his lap. “The thing is,” he said, “she was my best friend.”

Zoe stared at her brother and saw that he was suffering. She had not really stopped to think, with all her own problems, how Frank was feeling. She had assumed he was upset, of course, but now, looking into his creased, downturned face, she saw that he was really heartbroken. Zoe looked at him with concern and made a mental note to never, ever let herself be hurt like that. Frank downed the last of his drink and attempted a smile.

“Anyway,” he asked. “Change of subject. How are your grades?”

She was saved from having to answer this by the appearance of Santiago, who emerged from the kitchen’s swinging doors bearing their plates of eggs aloft like the scale of justice. He was slimmer than Zoe had ever seen him and looked several years younger.

“Look at this!” cried Frank. “It’s the incredible shrinking man.”

He slapped Santiago’s still substantial girth appreciatively. Santiago bowed his head, glowing with barely concealed pride.

“I heard the most beautiful girl in New York was in my restaurant,” he said, “and I had to come see for myself.”

He slid the food onto the table and bent to kiss her.

“Frank’s right,” said Zoe. “You look great.”

Santiago turned to Frank and put a large hand on his shoulder. “What about this guy! The hair is muy guapo.”

“Uh-uh, don’t change the subject,” said Frank. “What’s going on with you, man? You look good. You even smell good. What’s new?”

“Nothing new! I’ve just been eating well, you know, taking my exercise, and …”

“You met someone, didn’t you,” said Zoe.

Santiago beamed. “I have a new friend, yes.”

“You’ve been holding out on me!” cried Frank. “Who is she? When can I meet her?”

“Her name is Dominique,” he said. “We have been on three dates.”

“And?” asked Zoe.

“She is warm like the sun.”

“Wow, man,” said Frank. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It is new,” he said. “And with you and Cleo, I didn’t want to …”

“Hey,” said Frank. “Stop that. Just because we broke up, doesn’t mean I can’t be happy for my friend when he finds love.”

Santiago pulled up a metal chair and straddled it. “I appreciate that, brother,” he said. “Now Zoe, you tell me, has he cried to you yet? He needs to cry. When a marriage ends, a man should shed tears like heartbeats.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” said Frank.

“He doesn’t want to talk about it,” said Zoe.