“You’re like ice,” he said. “Let me run you a bath?”
Cleo consented with the slightest nod. He dropped her palm and picked up one of the tapered candles, retreating to the bathroom. She stayed seated as she listened to the gurgle of water filling the tub. Outside, the darkness was absolute.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
April
Frank was sitting at a table by the window when Zoe arrived, sipping a Bloody Mary. She was relieved to see that he was already drinking, then immediately felt guilty for being relieved. It was she who had suggested they meet, though she had not mentioned her motivation. In truth, she was struggling. She’d lost her job at the boutique on Christopher Street earlier that month after the owner had run into her out one night wearing an expensive silk jumpsuit she’d borrowed from the store. But even before that regrettable encounter, Zoe had managed to rack up several thousand dollars’ worth of credit card debt, which was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore.
Zoe hadn’t exactly been scraping by on instant ramen and turnstile jumping, but she’d hardly considered her behavior dangerously indulgent—or, at least, not more so than anyone else’s she knew. Her mistake had been forgetting that she was not like her other friends at Tisch. When they complained about being broke, they didn’t mean it literally. When they went to postrehearsal drinks and dinner, split the cost of an eight ball, took a fleet of late-night taxis from one party to the next, or got a $12 green juice with hangover-curing properties before class, they did so with the knowledge that there was always some parent or trust waiting just out of sight to carry them back to the safe shores of solvency. Zoe, meanwhile, was adrift.
Her plan had been to ply Frank with drinks over dinner, then do her best puppy-dog plea for money, but he’d thrown her by suggesting breakfast at Santiago’s new restaurant instead. Even as she’d agreed to the plan several days earlier, she knew she would be late. But really, what did he expect? It was before noon on a Saturday, after all.
She wove her way through the already full tables, looking around the restaurant appreciatively. The place was modern American with a traditional Peruvian twist, and this meeting of old and new culinary styles was reflected by sleek stainless-steel furniture juxtaposed with colorful Andean textiles. Overall the space felt fresh, open, and relaxed—the exact opposite, incidentally, of how Zoe felt.
Frank had cut his hair since the last time she saw him, the cloud of dark curls usually surrounding his face sheared to only a few coils on top. It left his head looking strangely exposed, she thought, like a newborn. He stood up to give her a hug, then pulled away, clutching at his chest.
“What’s wrong?” asked Zoe.
“Nothing.” Frank waved her off. “A little burn.”
“Heartburn? You’re turning into Mom.”
“Not heartburn. I … Well …” He paused, then exhaled loudly. “Fuck it. I was trying to dye some gray hairs there, but the stuff I bought was too strong, and it burned half my skin off.”
In deference to Frank’s embarrassment, Zoe swallowed the laughter that was rising in her throat.
“Let me see,” she said, pulling the shirt aside to reveal what did appear to be an angry red burn covering his chest. “It’s doesn’t look too bad,” she lied.
They sat down and eyed each other across the table in silence.
“So, you got a breakup haircut,” said Zoe.
“That’s not a thing,” said Frank. “Men don’t do that.”
Zoe wanted to interject that men didn’t usually dye their chest hair either, but she resisted.
“It was just getting too long,” he said. “Anyway, what do you think?”
He took off his glasses and mussed the top. She thought he looked like a gay soccer player, but the sight of his pale scalp peeking from beneath the stubble, his naked squinting eyes, made her ache.
“It’s cool,” she said. “Makes you look younger.”
She was happy to see him smile as she grabbed the cup of ice water from the table and pressed it to her forehead. Frank looked at her over his glasses and slid his Bloody Mary toward her.
“You’re hungover.”
“Only a little.” She took a long sip.
“What did you do last night?”
Last night. She’d gone out with the aforementioned friends from Tisch, promising herself she wouldn’t drink, but once she was there, it had seemed pointless not to have one glass of wine, and in fact if they split a bottle it worked out to only a little more, and then there was a movie producer she’d met once at an after-party who was offering to get her a drink, get everyone drinks, and it had seemed a good idea to have a bump in the bathroom, just one so she’d drink less, and then she’d heard there was a warehouse party in Brooklyn, and all right, she’d got in the cab, but just to see it, not to stay for long, and wow the drinks were so much cheaper than in Manhattan basically free did she have cash she got two got three and where were her friends they’d gone never mind there was the producer he was dancing and sweating and yelling something over the music she couldn’t hear it sounded like I’MSOLONELYI’MSOLONELY and he wasn’t bad looking really just a bit old and he was staying at a hotel and he had another gram back at the room he called them a car and black space she was yelling about diversity in Hollywood or something, she was angry and black space rolling on the bed laughing, saying don’t get it in my hair black space naked on the bathroom floor trying to get clean something wet get up get a towel blackspaceblackspaceblackspaceblackspace.