The Lion's Den(76)

“How long do you have this place?” I asked. “Because I figure you’ve stayed with me what, a year? So I can move in at least that long, right?”

She laughed. “I have it for the rest of the summer. But I don’t know…maybe I’ll keep it. Although it might get kinda lonely in the winter. And you can stay here as much as you want, as long as John’s not in town.”

“And you guys clearly need me to keep you company,” Wendy chimed in. “This house would feel empty with just the two of you.”

Summer opened the refrigerator, which was stocked with neatly organized rows of water, fruit, wine, snacks, and prepackaged meals from Whole Foods.

“There’s a person who comes and cleans and stocks the fridge and takes my dry cleaning and everything,” Summer dished. “Wine? What should we drink, Chardonnay, Pinot Gris, or rosé?”

“Rosé!” Wendy and I answered in unison.

Summer collected the glasses and Wendy poured while I prepared us a plate of cheese, crackers, and fruit. Summer’s phone buzzed on the counter. “Ugh. Eric.” She silenced it.

I knew he was currently in town for a show—he’d invited me, but I’d turned him down. I’d stonewalled him for a couple of weeks after that awkward morning when he showed up at my apartment, but once I understood how serious John and Summer were, I relaxed my stance and gradually resumed communication. He’d been in town a few times since, but I had yet to see him. It was much easier not to be attracted to him when he wasn’t in front of me.

“He won’t leave me alone,” Summer complained. “This is the thirteenth time he’s called this week. I tried to tell him it was over last time I saw him, but he wouldn’t listen.”

Funny, he’d told me just the opposite. But then, why was he calling her?

“He may not have taken you seriously if you were telling him while having sex with him,” Wendy teased.

“Have you told Eric there’s someone else?” I asked.

“No,” Summer admitted. “I was kinda hoping I wouldn’t have to.”

“You gotta tell him,” Wendy said. “You don’t want John finding out.”

Eric already knew. I’d accidentally told him months ago, not realizing it was a secret—a fact I didn’t share with Summer for obvious reasons. He’d been relieved to hear that Summer was in a serious relationship, but that had been the extent of our conversation about it. We didn’t discuss details, and in fact, we hadn’t talked about Summer since—and Summer hadn’t said a word about Eric to me, either. So while I’d assumed the two of them had stopped seeing each other, I now realized I could be totally wrong.

“I didn’t know you guys were still seeing each other,” I said casually.

“Yeah,” she said. “I mean, it’s been a while ’cause I’ve been so busy with John, but he’s never given up. He’s always begging me to come out to New York for the weekend.”

Okay, clearly one of them was lying. I just couldn’t understand why. I was dying to ask more, but didn’t want to raise Summer’s suspicions, so I backed off.

Later that night, Summer, Wendy, and I were curled up on leather recliners in the velvet-curtained movie theater watching The Great Gatsby when Summer’s phone rang again. She groaned. “It’s Eric.”

“Answer,” Wendy said.

“You guys can keep watching. I’ve seen this a million times.” She answered the phone as she exited the room, shutting the door behind her.

The movie had ended by the time she returned, her mascara streaked and her face puffy. “How’d it go?” Wendy asked.

“Not good. He already knew, and even knew who John was. That’s why he’s been calling nonstop—”

“Wait. How did he know who John was?” I asked, confused. I was certain I hadn’t told him.

“Have you guys been photographed together or something? Or was he one of Eric’s buyers?” Wendy guessed.

“No,” Summer said, pacing in circles around the furniture. “But it’s not like we haven’t gone out in public, to restaurants or whatever.”

“So someone who knows Eric saw you with John and told him?” I asked. The idea seemed a bit far-fetched. The world of the rich might be small, but John and Eric didn’t exactly travel in the same circles.

Summer waved the question away, clearly annoyed at my pursuit of this line of questioning. “I don’t know.…He wouldn’t say exactly. Anyway, what does it matter? The important—”

“I’d wanna know—”

“Belle!” She spun to face me. “Can you just listen instead of interrupting me all the time with stupid questions?”

Suddenly it hit me: she knew perfectly well who’d told Eric. She just didn’t want us to know. Which of course only piqued my curiosity. But in the interest of preserving the peace, I raised my palms. “Sorry.”

“Anyway”—Summer paused as if trying to remember what she’d been saying—“the point is, he was very upset.” She sank into a chair. “He kept saying how I betrayed him and I’m just into John for the money and he hates me. He threatened to tell John everything.”

Wendy’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh my God.”