“Do you love him?”
Alison momentarily regretted having dumped the subject of Kyle, thus opening the door to this line of inquiry. “Okay, you don’t love him,” Dennis said. “Moving on. What do you like about him?”
Alison paused, trying to make it look like she was being careful about choosing her words, instead of just making shit up. “He’s interesting. He’s smart. He knows so much about how this world works, and it’s reassuring, in a way, to have someone like that in your corner.” Dennis wondered for a moment why Alison was such a good actress and such a bad liar. There was probably a reason those two things went together, but he wasn’t curious enough about the intricacies of psychology to run down that train of thought. He just made his face as sympathetic as possible, and let her hang herself. “He’s crazy attractive, he’s like—trust me.” She blushed; that meant the guy was good in the sack. “He’s got a lot going on, so I don’t see him for a while, then it’s like twenty-four seven. And he knows, just everybody. It’s a bit more glamorous than I’m used to. I’ve been to these amazing dinner parties in the Hamptons, they fly you out in helicopters. I know that sounds a little—excessive.”
“Alison, remember who you’re talking to. I did not inherit any Midwestern snobbery about wealth. Far from it.”
“No, I know. It’s just weird for me a little bit.” The blush was back again. He let the silence hang. “Anyway. He’s also famous, you know, he directed these big movies. “
“You mentioned.”
“He’s completely attentive. I get flowers and gifts all the time. Jewelry and dresses.”
“Dresses! You let a powerful man—a movie director—buy you clothing? And then does he dress you up?”
Alison bristled, and Dennis felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise, just a little.
“Don’t get mad,” he cautioned.
“I’m not mad.”
“You are definitely mad, and I didn’t mean—”
“You did too, Dennis, of course you did.”
“Okay. You’re ‘dating’ a powerful guy—”
“Don’t put it in quotes.”
“Okay. You’re fucking a powerful guy—”
“That’s not what it is.”
“You’re not fucking him?”
She took the hit. Let it land. The girl had such integrity, in her own fucked-up way. “Yes. I am fucking him,” she said.
“And he sends you things. So that’s cool! He’s rich, he should send you things.”
“I don’t want to talk about Lars,” she said.
“Oh no. Don’t run away from this. Alison—”
“What are you doing here?”
“I’m just visiting! I had a weekend off of work and I thought I’d come to New York.”
“It’s Wednesday.”
“I took a few days off.” He reached for the vodka bottle. His hand was still steady. “Come on. You were so glad to see me just fifteen minutes ago. I think it’s great this guy is buying you dresses. He should be buying you dresses and having great sex with you. This is the way things are meant to be, Alison. The way they were with you and Kyle—that did not work out for a reason. And the reason is, Kyle is no fun.”
“He’s fine.”
“I love him. But he’s a mess. I want to see you in one of these dresses.”
“Oh no no.”
“Oh yes! Come on. Please? Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve seen a pretty woman in a really pretty dress?”
“I don’t know who you’re dating, these days.”
“I’m dating nice Cincinnati chicks who think ‘couture’ is spelled with three O’s.”
“I’m a nice Cincinnati chick.”
“Alison, you never were before and you most certainly are not now.”
“Whether or not I am, there are plenty of beautiful young women in Cincinnati who know how to wear a pretty dress.”
“There are, but my dad cut me off and I’m living in a shitty little apartment in Clifton, where everyone dresses like starving hippies.”
The tossed-off admission—my dad cut me off—did its work. Her heart constricted. Dennis kept smiling at her. “Come on. This director sends you dresses. I want to see one. Come on.”
“Oh, for crying out loud,” she sighed. “There’s a new pink one.”
“Well, put it on!” He smiled.
She hadn’t even tried it on yet, but there was no worry that it would fit; Lars knew her body better than she knew it herself by this point. The slightly crazy fuchsia was truly electric, and the fit made it more so. She had to hold in her breath and try the zipper four times before she managed to get it up. In her childhood, that would have meant that the dress was just too small. In show business, it was never possible that the dress was too small. The neckline was gorgeous, a subtle heart-shaped curve, and the skirt was slit with the same subtle touch—three inches, no more. As she looked at herself in the mirror, she knew that Lars was making a point. Not a saint, not a whore, but definitely a bit of both, she thought. If this was what she owed to Dennis Fitzpatrick for sins of the past, so be it.
When she swung the bedroom door open, stepping out into the living room, Dennis did not immediately respond. The look in his eye was unnerving.