The Extraordinary Life of Sam Hell(66)

I proceeded to give Mickie the blow-by-blow of my evening. Bandit sat at our feet, his head alternately swiveling back and forth, watching us like he was watching a tennis match. When I got to the part about calling Eva’s hotel room in Boston, Mickie asked, “Could they have connected you to the wrong room?”

“I heard her. She was there.”

Mickie nodded but did not offer further comment. Silence was not like her. Discreet silence was really not like her. Then the reason began to crystallize through my considerable cobwebs. “You knew.”

She arched her eyebrows.

“How long have you known?”

She shrugged. “How long have you been dating?”

“What? You think she’s been cheating on me the entire time? I don’t believe it.”

“You’d have to ask her that question, but yes, I think she has been.”

“Why would you think that?”

“The way she interacts with you, the way she treats you.”

“What’s wrong with the way she treats me?” I asked and, under the circumstances, immediately felt like an idiot. Thankfully Mickie did not take the opportunity to beat me senseless with logic.

“She treats you more like a brother than a lover, Sam. You two are more like roommates than soul mates.”

“That’s an exaggeration.”

“Really? Why did she move in?”

“I asked her to.”

“Yes, but why? Did you not say it would save on rent and utilities?”

“It does.”

“And she said it made sense, didn’t she?”

“It did make sense.”

“Yes, if you were business partners, but last I checked that’s not so good a reason for committing to a lifelong relationship together.”

“It doesn’t mean she’s cheating on me.”

Mickie looked exasperated. “She keeps a separate room.”

“She has to get up at four in the morning a lot, and she doesn’t want to wake me.”

“Very considerate of her.”

“It doesn’t mean she’s been cheating on me, either.”

“No, but the guy I saw rubbing up against her on the dance floor at a club a month after she moved in here was a pretty good indication.”

I nearly choked on my eggs. “And you didn’t tell me? You didn’t say anything?”

Mickie got up and retrieved her purse. “I have to go.”

“Wait a minute.” I stood. “You can’t say that and then just walk out.”

She dropped her purse on the couch. “Fine. What was I supposed to say?”

“Oh, I don’t know. How about, ‘Hey Sam, you know that woman you’re about to have your testicles cut off for? She’s cheating on you. She’s been cheating on you’?”

“Don’t drop that in my lap; I had no idea you were stupid enough to contemplate having a vasectomy until I saw it on your calendar.”

“So tell me she’s cheating on me, and maybe I never go down that path.”

“Okay, I tell you. Then what? You just said, ‘I don’t believe it.’ You tell me I’m wrong. You tell me it’s bullshit, that Eva loves you, that you love her. You ask her and she denies it, or she says it was an old friend and maybe I should just mind my own business. She tells you she doesn’t want to be around me. Then what happens to our friendship, Sam? You come to work every day, and we both pretend that nothing has changed? It’s none of my business what she does, Sam; my business is being your partner and your friend.”

“Is that why you’ve never liked her?”

“I’ve never liked her because she’s not good enough for you. You’ve sold yourself short, again. You always have, since high school and that fat chick with the big tits.”

“Donna Ashby.” Mickie and I had had this discussion about me selling myself short when it came to relationships more than once. Okay, maybe fifty times. I had a modest history of failed relationships with women who could look past my eyes, but only far enough to see a successful doctor who made a decent living. None of them could see far enough to see a life with me.

“You pick women who aren’t good enough, and then you rationalize how they treat you rather than just telling them they aren’t good enough for you.”

“Thanks. That improved my self-esteem immeasurably. Do you have Kim Basinger’s phone number? I’m feeling much more confident.”

“Would you rather I lie?”

“Sometimes.”

“Fine. Next time I’ll lie, and you can continue making the same mistake.”

“Wait a minute. How is this any different from the guys you date?”

Mickie’s eyes blazed, and I regretted my question. “How? I’ll tell you how. Because I’m not living with any of them or thinking of marrying any of them.” Mickie checked her wristwatch and retrieved her purse, moving across the room toward the front door. “You don’t want my advice? I don’t give a shit. But don’t compare my relationships to your relationship with your roommate. And I don’t have to apologize to you or anyone else for who I date or who I sleep with, though I don’t sleep with nearly the number you apparently seem to think I do, like those idiots in high school used to speculate.”