We get along, I said eventually.
It could totally happen. He’s a failed actor and his marriage is dead, those are the perfect ingredients.
Isn’t he more like a moderately successful actor?
Well, apparently he was expected to get famous and then he didn’t, and now he’s too old or something. Having an affair with a younger woman would probably be good for his self-esteem.
He’s only thirty-two, I said.
I think his agent dropped him though. Anyway he seems like he’s embarrassed to be alive.
I felt a growing sense of dread, a thin and physical dread that began in my shoulders, as I listened. At first I couldn’t figure out what it was. It felt like dizziness, or the strange blurry sensation that precedes being violently ill. I tried to think of what might be causing it, things I had eaten, or the car journey earlier. It was only when I remembered the night before that I knew what it was. I felt guilty.
I’m pretty sure he’s still in love with Melissa, I said.
People can be in love and have affairs.
It would depress me to sleep with someone who loved someone else.
Bobbi sat up then, I could hear her. She swung her legs down off the bed, and I knew she was looking down at me, onto my scalp.
I get the sense you’ve given this some consideration, she said. Did he make a pass at you or something?
Not as such. I just don’t think I would enjoy being someone’s second choice.
Not as such?
I mean, he’s probably just trying to make her jealous, I said.
She slipped down off the bed, holding the wine bottle, which she passed to me. We were sitting on the floor together then, our upper arms pressed together. I splashed a little wine into the cracked plastic cup.
You can love more than one person, she said.
That’s arguable.
Why is it any different from having more than one friend? You’re friends with me and you also have other friends, does that mean you don’t really value me?
I don’t have other friends, I said.
She shrugged and took back the bottle of wine. I turned the cup around so nothing would spill from the crack and swallowed two warm mouthfuls.
Did he come on to you? she said.
No. I’m just saying I wouldn’t be interested if he did.
You know, I kissed Melissa once. I never told you about that, did I?
I turned around and stared at her, craning my neck to see her face. She laughed. She was wearing a funny, dreamy expression, which made her look even more attractive than usual.
What? I said. When?
I know, I know. It was at her birthday party, out in the garden. We were both drunk, you were in bed. It was stupid.
She was staring into the bottle of wine. I looked at her face in profile, the strange half-shape of it. She had one tiny cut beside her ear, maybe she’d scratched it, and it was the bright red colour of a flower.
What? she said. Are you judging me?
No, no.
I heard Valerie’s car pull into the driveway outside, and we stashed the bottle of wine under Nick’s pillow. Bobbi linked her arm under mine and gave my cheek a little kiss, which surprised me. Her skin was very soft and her hair smelled of vanilla. I was wrong about Melissa, she said. I swallowed and said: well. We’ve all been wrong about things.
17
We had duck for dinner, with roast baby potatoes and salad. The meat tasted sweet like cider and fell off the bone in dark, buttery shreds. I tried to eat slowly to be polite, but I was hungry and exhausted. The dining room was large, wood-panelled and had a window out onto the rainy street. Valerie spoke with a moneyed British accent, too rich to be comical. She and Derek talked about publishing, and the rest of us were quiet. Valerie thought a lot of people in publishing were charlatans and hacks, but she seemed to find it funny rather than depressing. At one point she removed a smudge from her wine glass with a corner of her napkin and we all watched Melissa’s face, which contracted and fell like a piece of wire spring.
Though Melissa had taken care to introduce us all at the beginning of dinner, Valerie asked which one of us was Bobbi during dessert. When Bobbi identified herself, Valerie replied: oh yes, of course. But a face like that won’t last, I’m afraid. I can tell you that because I’m an old woman now.
Fortunately Bobbi is blessed with more than just good looks, said Evelyn.
Well, marry young, that’s my advice, Valerie said. Men are very fickle.
Cool, said Bobbi. But actually I’m gay.
Melissa flushed and stared into her glass. I pressed my lips together wordlessly. Valerie raised an eyebrow and pointed her fork between Bobbi and myself.