The Lion's Den(81)
“Isabelle.”
I jump and turn to see John, freshly showered and flashing his most disarming smile, designed to throw me off balance, I’m sure.
I hit send without finishing the sentence I was typing and log out of my email as fast as humanly possible, then vault to my feet as he approaches and shake his hand like I’m interviewing for a job. “I apologize for being late today.”
He nods coolly, and I follow him to the formal sitting area, where I perch on an uncomfortable chair across from him, hastily explaining what happened with the credit card, substituting myself for Amythest. “I’m so sorry,” I conclude, hating myself for groveling. “I didn’t mean to be ungrateful or disrespectful. It was an honest mistake.”
Strangely, he pats my hand. And then, without addressing anything I have just said, “Summer’s always spoken so highly of you. I know you’ve been friends for a long time, and it can be hard when a friend is taken away by a new relationship. Especially when that friend has been letting you live with her for free.”
My brain shorts. Did Summer tell him I was crashing with her and not the other way around? “I’m sorry?”
“You must have a lot of anger toward her, toward me. It’s understandable. But Summer invited you here to have fun, and you’re not having fun. So maybe it would be best if you went home. I know your sister misses you.”
Nothing about him reads as angry or vindictive, but I’m sure I’ve never mentioned my sister in front of him, which means he wants me to know he’s been reading my emails. I stare at him, unsure what to say. A voice in the back of my head reminds me that it doesn’t matter, that he’s right and it’s okay for me to leave now, but I’m too shocked to respond immediately. My ego takes advantage of my hesitation to jump in, wanting to save itself from criticism and make everything okay. “I’m having fun!” I lie.
No, no, this isn’t how this is supposed to go! I don’t need to please this horrid man. I conjure up the image of his flaccid penis.
Still smiling enigmatically, he again pats my hand. I resist the urge to jerk it away and yell at him not to touch me. “You should ask for her forgiveness, not mine,” he says. No part of me wants to eat humble pie for that bitch. “You can do that now.”
I slowly rise to my feet, reminding myself of why I’m here. Even if I’m gonna jump ship, I should do so on good terms. “Is she in her room?”
“Go to your room and call her.”
I’m kicking myself as I climb down the stairs to my room. What just happened? Why was I so obsequious? What a waste. It was supposed to be my decision to leave. And I didn’t ask him for my passport. I totally disregarded my plan. I failed.
“What happened?” Amythest asks when I get back to the room.
“I’m supposed to call Summer to apologize now.”
“Lame.” She rolls her eyes.
I pick up the handset on the bedside table and hit the button for her room. I’ll ask for forgiveness, then tell her I think it’s best if I take off, blame it on feeling sick. I’ve stayed long enough; I don’t need to be here anymore. She answers on the first ring. “Hi,” I say. “I was just calling to apologize.…”
“You don’t sound like you’re sorry,” she charges.
“Honestly,” I insist, reminding myself to be nice, to get my passport back. “I didn’t mean any disrespect.…”
“This is John’s boat, and it leaves when he says it does—”
“I got that. Look, I don’t know what I did to upset you, but…”
“You’ve been a nightmare this entire trip,” she chides. “You haven’t noticed that I’ve been acting different toward you the past few days?”
“Yeah,” I counter, slowly coming back to my senses, “but you’ve been acting different this entire trip.”
“You should have come to me and asked me why I was mad at you.”
I take a deep breath. I know it does me no good to blow up at her, but I’m having trouble maintaining my composure. “I didn’t know you were mad,” I say evenly. “I can’t read your mind.”
“Maybe if you weren’t so wrapped up in yourself, you would have noticed,” she snaps. “How am I supposed to feel? I invited you here to have a good time, and you were sulking at lunch yesterday—”
It’s like a fun-house version of the conversation I just had with John, only nothing about it is fun. The details of my supposed transgressions on this trip are so petty, so trivial in the face of the bigger picture. Yet my ego wants to argue with her, to convince her that she’s the awful one. And then there’s the part of me that wants to talk this whole thing out with her, my onetime best friend, to make sense of what has happened between us—not just over the course of this trip, but before. What did I do to make her hate me so?
But it doesn’t matter. She’s changed, and I have, too. We’re no longer compatible as friends; I knew that going into this trip. Riding on jets and yachts may be fun and all, but I can’t begin to fathom believing this lifestyle to be worth the sacrifices she’s made to obtain it. So I simply apologize, noting that I was sick to my stomach yesterday. But she’s not finished cataloging my sins.