He had the easy charm of a Will Smith. Was effusive in his thanks, jokey in his manner, and when he talked to people, he somehow seemed completely engaged in what they were saying and always followed up their statements with a dead-on and pithy comment. Rich people loved his ass.
“You’re still the most popular kid in school,” I told him over dinner at the Brothers’ Restaurant at Mattei’s Tavern that night. The Brothers’ Restaurant was an old stagecoach stop that had been converted into a swanky restaurant, but had still managed to retain its nineteenth-century charm by holding on to embellishments like the fireplaces and a cozy, but simple, decor. A friend of James’s had once had an engagement party there and knew the owners personally, so voilà, yet another comp. I realized he must have spent a lot of time planning this trip around my parameters, which made me feel guilty. After logging on to my bank’s Web site and seeing that I only had fifty bucks left to get me through to the next paycheck, I had decided on the napkin trick. And that had been that. Obviously James had put a whole lot more effort into his birthday than I had.
“I’m still the most popular kid in school,” James repeated. “Then what does that make you?”
I picked up my pint of Firestone pale ale and tipped it toward him in a slight toast. “The luckiest girl in school.”
His eyes grew serious and he said, “I hope you really mean that.”
The next thing I knew, there was a violinist at the table, a reed-thin man with graying temples dressed in a full tux. And he started playing “Fever.”
My first, almost Pavlovian, instinct was to get up and sing along, but this wasn’t that kind of situation.
I realized that when James pulled out a leather box and flipped it open to reveal what had to be at least a three-carat diamond engagement ring inside.
. . .
“James, can we talk? Can we just talk about this in private?”
A little less than an hour later, I watched Paul tuck my suitcase, which he had also hastily packed at James’s angry request, into the back of the Mercedes.
James ignored me. “Paul, I’m riding in the front with you.”
I got in front of him before he could open the passenger side door. “It wasn’t a forever no. It was just a no-for-now, because there are some things standing in the way for me.”
James finally looked at me, but only to say, “That doesn’t make any goddamn sense.”
I tried to take him in my arms, but he stepped back before I could reach him. “No, don’t touch me. Sex isn’t going to solve this.”
“I’m not trying to use sex,” I said, though truthfully that solution had been in the back of my mind when I reached for him. “I just want to talk to you.”
He spread his arms wide. “Then say it. Tell me why you turned me down in front of a restaurant full of people. Because I’d be really interested to hear you explain your way out of that one.”
“I’m sorry you didn’t get what you wanted,” I yelled back. “I know that it’s hard for somebody as spoiled as you not to get every single goddamn thing you ask for, exactly when you want it.”
It was so unfair. I knew that, even as I was saying it. But I couldn’t stop myself. It was like I was in full panic mode and my mouth had just gone on “say something crazy” autopilot. “Get in the car,” he said.
“James . . .”
“No, I’m done talking to you. Get in the car.”
He was standing there, his body held in one rigid line with his fists clenched at the sides. And he wouldn’t look at me. His eyes darted from the car to Paul to the sky to the parking lot pavement, but he wouldn’t meet my pleading gaze.
I got in the car.