Say the Word(35)

Then again, after watching them down seven rounds of lemon drop martinis, I couldn’t say I was surprised.

“Where in the name of Kristin Chenoweth are all the goddamn cabs?” Simon yelled, shaking his right fist at the heavens.

“In the theater district?” Fae proposed, which set them both off in an uproarious fit of laughter.

“It’s two in the morning,” I pointed out.

“So?” Simon said, turning incredulous eyes on me. “This is the city that, I remind you, never sleeps. Except apparently at two in the morning on Fridays in August. Not a freaking cabbie to be found for miles.”

“We could always walk to Fae’s,” I suggested. It was only a fifteen-minute walk to the Meatpacking District from here — twenty at the most.

“I’ll ruin my Manolos,” Fae muttered forlornly.

“We’re so not walking. Plus, I thought we’d agreed — sleepover at my loft,” Simon whined.

I rolled my eyes. Simon always wanted to go to his loft. Not that I could blame him — it was located at the heart of SoHo, and between his own larger-than-life personality and the equally large presence of his two artistic roommates, the loft was a veritable hot spot every night of the week. Music throbbed at all hours and random strangers that had been collected by one of the loft’s three residents were always filtering in and out. And, in a stroke of good fortune for Fae and me, Simon’s roommates were extreme eye-candy.

Shane was a model — gorgeous, easy-going, and interesting in spite of his intellectual shortcomings. He slept almost exclusively with other models, and most weekday mornings saw a near-constant parade of women sneaking out of his room for their walks-of-shame.

Nate was an oil painter — brooding and darkly handsome, with a quiet edginess and a troubled aura that seemed to follow him around. He always smelled faintly like acetone and every article of clothing he owned was splattered with paint, but that only enhanced his appeal, judging by the harem of hippie-chic female art connoisseurs who trailed in his wake from his studio to the loft and back again.

Unfortunately, while both attractive in their own rights, they were also completely undateable — in part because they lived with one of our best friends so any potential breakups would be messy, but mostly because since adopting Simon into our fearsome twosome, Fae and I had become fixtures at the loft and thus born witness to so many farts, belches, and sleazy one-night-stand-aftermaths that whatever initial attraction we’d felt had quickly died.

Now, we were standing on a street corner in the Village, outside the small hole-in-the-wall jazz lounge Simon had dragged us to after work. With fabric-draped walls and a dark, modern speakeasy atmosphere, the trendy little gem was always packed on Friday nights, with every velvet booth and candle-lit high top filled. It was a popular venue for those who wanted to escape the pounding electronica that poured from the speakers of the dance clubs, or those who aimed to avoid spending $25 for a cocktail in the more exclusive bars of Manhattan.

“Oh, shut up, you princesses. If we walk half a block west we’ll have better luck,” I said, gesturing toward the cross street where 10th bisected Hudson. Grumbling unhappily, they followed along after me.

It had been an interesting night, to say the least.

After work, the two of them had dragged me out and immediately plied me with drinks in hopes of getting the full backstory of my saga with Sebastian.

“Hit me,” Simon had said, his eyes lit with anticipation.

“It’s time,” Fae had chimed in, her patience expired after two days of waiting.

“Fine, fine.” I’d taken a fortifying sip of my martini before launching into the details. Or, to be more specific, the few details I could actually reveal to them. “It’s not all that dramatic, honestly. We were high school sweethearts.”

Simon and Fae nodded simultaneously, like two twin marionettes controlled by the same strings.

“I was dirt poor and he was ridiculously wealthy, and besides the fact that we both lived in Georgia, we had pretty much nothing in common. But somehow it worked,” I told them, a faint smile pulling at the corners of my mouth as memories filtered through my mind. “His father was a U.S. Senator. Now I hear he’s considering a run for the next presidential race on the Republican ticket. I don’t know for sure.”

Simon and Fae both stared at me expectantly, even as my words trailed off.

“What?” I asked.

“That’s it?” Fae complained.

“You’ve barely told us anything!” Simon said. “We want the dirt, woman. The juicy details. So go ahead and spill it.”

“I just told you! We were from completely different backgrounds. It never would’ve lasted.”

“So you ended it,” Fae guessed.

“Yeah,” I said, sipping my drink. “I ended it.”

“Even though you loved him?” Simon asked, skeptical.

Especially because I loved him, I thought.

“Listen, guys, you’re not getting it. He was Princeton-bound. I was lucky to even go to college. If I hadn’t gotten that academic scholarship to UGA I’d probably be barefoot and pregnant in a trailer somewhere south of the Mason-Dixon line right about now, rather than sipping martinis with you fools.”

“But, Lux, baby,” Simon said, shaking his head in incomprehension. “Lots of people make long distance work. You could’ve figured it out, or at the very least tried. I don’t understand how you could just give up on someone you say you loved. It’s not like you.” His light blue eyes scanned my face, searching for answers I couldn’t give him. “The girl I know is fearless. She meets challenges head on. She moved to New York City all by herself, walked into Luster without an appointment, and walked out with a job that pays more than mine. She haggles with street vendors and, despite her deceptively soft southern accent, can be a force of nature when someone insults her friends.”