Free The Clasp by Sloane Crosley Page B

“’s” to “Tiffany” or thought Alexis Bittar was a woman. A tone best described as “Aren’t you cute, you idiot?”
    She nibbled at his untouched fries. Was he on something? She couldn’t get a word in edgewise. She caught snippets. Something about his roommate, Percy, being black and thus having a competitive staffing advantage. Something about his parents offering to pay for law school. After dinner, she wanted to go back to her hotel, bill Rachel for an obscene amount of room service, and go to bed. But Nathaniel insisted on taking her to a lounge with red booths and filament-bulb lighting. He ordered two sidecars.
    â€œAm I kicking you or the table?” She looked down.
    â€œThe table,” Nathaniel said, “but you don’t have to ask permission if you want to play footsie with me.”
    â€œSuch an asshole.”
    â€œI’m too far away from you,” he announced, coming over to her side of the booth.
    He was simultaneously drunk and hyper. They talked trash (real trash, deep trash) about their friends. Mostly it was Nathaniel who talked. Poison spilled, they now had to wallow in it. Kezia tried to pull them onto decent land but Nathaniel wasn’t having it. He had apparently been harboring years of criticism for those he had abandoned back east. Caroline was an idiot, Olivia was not pretty enough to act however she acted, Paul struck it rich at a hedge fund by luck, Sam was really an idiot, Victor was a pussy, half the guys they knew were pussies, the girls were drama queens, and no one was intellectually curious. Easygoing Nathaniel. Popular, charming, uncomplicated Nathaniel. Where had this psychoanalytical torrent come from?
    â€œAre you going to Caroline’s wedding, then?”
    â€œWhy wouldn’t I go?”
    â€œWell, okay . . . then tell me what I am.”
    â€œYou?” He twisted in the booth. “You really want to know?”
    â€œMy breath is bated.”
    â€œYou, my dear, are special. But you can be an uptight little cu—”
    She put her hand against his mouth, smashing his top lip against his nose.
    â€œDon’t. I can’t believe I’m saying this,” she said, “but you’re being awful. And I’m awful. Water recognizes its own level.”
    â€œThat’s not how that expression goes.” His lips vibrated.
    She took her hand back. Up until now, she had convinced herself that he was only dabbling in this strange life, that he was still good old him. Turns out he was just another sleeping python. He spent the remainder of the night looking over Kezia’s shoulder at every statuesque cocktail waitress and then making a pointed show of snapping his attention back to her. He moved from trashing their friends to trashing people in general, grumbling that no one read stories or novels or even criticism of novels, even though he himself couldn’t name the last novel he’d read. Then they argued about drunk driving and she lost her credit card in the crack of the booth.
    They waited in silence on the street until the valet brought their cars around. Their hug goodbye was awkward. After Nathaniel successfully rounded the corner without hitting anything, Kezia got in her white rental car, adjusted the seat forward, and looked at herself in her rearview mirror. She let her face go slack like a mug shot, imagining her future, guessing where the wrinkles would go. A thought she could not shake: If it was the Nathaniels of the world who captivated her heart, she would be alone for the rest of her life.

NINE

Victor
    A caterer approached them with a tray of conch fritters. Kezia popped a whole one into her mouth, declining a napkin. She may as well have shoved an entire wheel of cheese into her face in front of him.
    â€œâ€™Oly ’hit, ith hot.”
    â€œI think you’ll be okay.”
    â€œYou think everything will be okay.”
    â€œWhat are you talking about? I