Bloom (6 page)

Chapter 14

If I needed
further confirmation that this thing with Edward wasn’t going away easily, I receive it when Ginny brings a tabloid over to the bar the next night.

“Hey, just so you know,” she says, flipping open to the article about Edward and handing it to me, “your name is out.”

My stomach drops. Not just my name, but a picture of me that I’ve never even seen before, clearly taken at a party sometime last year. I guess I should be relieved that they didn’t somehow find a picture of me in my underwear, but I’m not thrilled. Technically it’s a good picture, but I’m laughing and I look like some kind of party girl, which I’m really not. And I look enough like my mom that associations will be made regardless of who I actually am. The only positives are that the magazine refers to me as “Eleanor” and the photo is far enough away that people here might not put it together.

James slides the magazine away from us to his side of the bar and his face falls. I wait for his inevitable condemnation but it doesn’t come. “I’m sorry,” he tells me. “This just isn’t right.” He pitches the entire magazine into the trash while the protest is still coming out of Ginny’s mouth, and he cuts it off. “Ginny, don’t bring this shit in here again.”

“I just thought she ought to know,” she argues.

“You heard me,” he replies in a tone no sane person would argue with. Even Ginny.

When my shift ends I head to Brian’s office to check out. I’m still uncomfortable around him, but ever since his last altercation with James he’s been unusually restrained. I come out to do my tables — clean them, refill the ketchup, the salt, the sugar packets – and discover that they’re done.

“Did you do my tables?” I ask Kristy.

“No,” she says with a hint of a smile on her face. “James did.”

Why? Why would he do anything for me when most of the time he acts like he wishes I was a million miles away?

“Thank you for doing my tables,” I tell him.

He shrugs and doesn’t even look toward me. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

“Why’d you do it?” I ask.

He stills for a second, still bent over the dishwasher. “You seemed tired.”

“Well, thank you,” I say, my befuddlement clear.

“You probably would have done a half-assed job anyway,” he says.

Now
that’s
the James I know.

By the time we get back from work, Max’s 150 closest friends are just getting started. Ginny’s been cranky all night, and coming home to a full house hasn’t helped her mood any.

“Have I mentioned how much I love working a double shift only to walk in and find people having sex in our downstairs bathroom?” she asks Max.

“I’m sorry,” he says earnestly. “I told them to use your bed but I guess they didn’t listen.”

She rolls her eyes and turns to me. “I should have gone to Spain with Alex,” she says. “He won’t even be here for my birthday.”

“It’ll still be fun,” I coax. “What do you want to do?”

She sighs. “I don’t know. Everyone’s probably working anyway.”

“You know we’ll all take off. Do you want to go out or have a party at the house?”

She shoots a dirty look at Max. “A party at the house would be just like every other night.”

“You’re welcome,” says Max.

She yawns. “I have to call Alex at 7, so I’m going to bed.”

“That relationship of yours just gets better and better, doesn’t it Ginny?” goads Max. He turns to James as she leaves. “Speaking of tedious long distance relationships,” he says, sounding the tiniest bit snide. “Where is the lovely Allison? We haven’t had the pleasure of her company yet.”

James shrugs. “Working.”

“I hope you’re letting her know how much we all miss her,” Max says.

“Fuck off, Max,” James replies, but he doesn’t sound irritated.

“A little bird told me you’re planning to propose,” I say.

“Excuse me while I go vomit,” says Max, walking inside.

“Propose?” James snorts. “A little bird named Ginny thinks a whole lot of things that aren’t even vaguely true, and she mouths off about most of them, but that one’s even new to me.”

“So you’re not? Proposing, I mean?” My heart rate doubles, at least.

He shakes his head. “Jesus, no,” he laughs in exasperation. “Like my life isn’t enough of a fucking mess. Where does Ginny get these ideas?”

I’m beginning to think she gets them from Allison, but I keep my mouth shut. “Your life isn’t such a mess. Just look at mine.”

He grins. “Yeah, yours is kind of a train wreck, isn’t it?”

I smack his arm again, and he laughs. It’s a low rumble in his throat and it completely unseats me. I could be in the middle of a funeral and start thinking about bad things if I heard that sound.

“Yeah, but I don’t have Ginny offering me a daily lecture on the perils of failure,” I say. Ginny’s lectures to James are even tedious to me, so I can’t imagine how tiresome he finds them. “Are your parents making a big deal out of it?”

“They make Ginny look restrained by contrast,” he sighs. “They think I’m going to turn into Max if I don’t finish.”

“This is only a big deal in Campbell world,” I tell him. “In the real world, deciding you aren’t cut out for a certain type of law or even being a lawyer at all isn’t that big a deal. If you decide you want to be a lawyer, you’ll find the right niche for yourself. But if you already know the one you left wasn’t it, is it really that great a loss?”

He smiles at me, looking a little less stressed than he did only moments before. “I’ve been feeling like I just destroyed every chance I had, the way I quit. Like I’d never amount to anything. But you’re totally right.”

“See how wise I am?” I grin. “By the end of the summer you’ll be coming to me for all of your advice.”

He looks at me for a moment, and there is fleeting panic, and regret, on his face, before he closes his eyes, leaning his head back against his chair. “You’re dangerous, Elle.”

“How so?” I ask with consternation.

He doesn’t open his eyes. “You just are.”

Chapter 15

I spend two
days feeling hopeful.
He tried to break up with her. He isn’t marrying her. He doesn’t even seem to miss her.

And then it’s all taken away: Allison is coming down for the weekend.

I don’t hear it from James, but from Ginny, who couldn’t be more giddy. She is video-chatting with Alex when I go upstairs to get ready for work, and Allison’s arrival is all she wants to talk about. You’d think Hillary Clinton was staying with us.

On my part, of course, Allison’s arrival here is roughly as welcome as a herpes outbreak. Max seems to feel similarly.

“That’s the last thing James needs right now,” he grumbles.

“Why?” I ask.

“Because he doesn’t want to be with her, he’s already confused about school, and all she’s gonna do is show up and make him feel guilty and more confused.”

“If he doesn’t want to be with her, why is he?” I ask. James has never struck me as the type to waver.

“He broke up with her and she asked him to give it the summer,” he says.

I shake my head. “I don’t understand why he’d agree to that.”

“He has all these people telling him he’s losing it — Allison and Ginny and his parents. And telling him not to blow the whole thing up instead of fixing the bad parts. And he’s worried they’re right. He says, ‘When four people you respect are telling you the same thing, it’s probably true.’”

“And what do you think?” I ask.

“Yeah, I think he’s having a bit of a crisis,” he replies. “But it’s been a long time coming. He’s not the type to sit at a desk all day. He needs to move, he needs to have a goal. He used to talk about joining the FBI until his parents flipped out. But it seems kind of perfect for him. He’s got that whole save-the-world impulse. He’s kind of just born to protect people.”

I laugh. “Yes. I think Ginny and I have experienced more than our fair share of that this summer. No guy can get within 10 feet of us.”

Max gives me a long, pointed look. “I’m not sure he’s actually trying to protect
you
.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

He shrugs and gives me an enigmatic smile. “Not really my story to tell.”

“You mean because he dislikes me,” I say flatly.

Max laughs. “Dislikes you? No, I wouldn’t say that’s the issue.”

“Then what
is
the issue?”

His smile is evasive. “I can’t give all of James’s secrets away, now can I?”

**

Both James and Ginny request the weekend off for Allison’s visit. The funny thing is that her own brother does not.

He smiles at me shyly on the morning of her arrival. “I have to get ready for work,” he says, running away as he always does when I come in the room.

“You’re not taking time off?” I ask him.

He shakes his head. “Uh, no. My sister is kind of a pain in the ass.”

His answer surprises me. I suppose I’ve gotten so used to Ginny’s views on St. Allison that I didn’t realize anyone could feel differently. It must show on my face.

“You’ve been listening to Ginny too much,” he says.

“She does kind of idolize your sister,” I reply.

He nods. “She does, but she shouldn’t.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because Ginny is under the impression that Allison is acting in James’s best interest, but the truth is that Allison only acts in Allison’s best interest.” I’m not sure what surprises me more — that he’s not a part of the fan club, or that he just said more than five consecutive words to me.

**

Ginny is in full scrub-down mode when I get back from the beach on Friday. “Don’t even think about dropping anything there,” she says, as I swing my backpack to the ground.

“Why exactly must I continue to hold my fairly heavy bag?”

“Because my sister is in an idiot,” comes a voice from the couch. “She seems to have confused Allison with the Pope.”

“And you’re a lazy sack of shit for not helping,” snipes Ginny. He sits up and rolls his eyes. He’s unshowered, unshaven, still wearing yesterday’s clothes. I can honestly say that I’ve never seen him look so disgusting, and yet he’s still gorgeous. It sort of pisses me off. “Who needs a clean house,” he asks, gesturing to himself, “when you have all this to look forward to?”

“Are you, like, planning to shower or anything?” I ask with disdain.
As if I give a shit whether he cleans up for his girlfriend.

He shrugs. “Eventually,” he says.

“Isn’t she coming any minute now?”

He turns the channel to ESPN. “No clue,” he replies.

I look to Ginny quizzically and she rolls her eyes at me in disgust. “Can you make sure his bathroom is clean?” she asks.

“I can almost guarantee you that his bathroom is
not
clean,” I tell her.

“Well then can you go take care of it?” she asks, piqued, as if it’s the most obvious request in the world.

“You seriously expect me to go clean your brother’s filthy bathroom so that his girlfriend won’t be grossed out?”

“Oh, sorry media princess, I forgot you’re too good for that.”

“Stop being a bitch, Ginny,” shouts James over the TV. “And both of you stay the fuck out of my room.”

I go upstairs to shower. I need to get ready for work anyway, but mostly I want to stay out of the line of fire. God only knows what Ginny will expect next. I dry my hair, put on some makeup since I’m working cocktail tonight and my tips tend to be specifically correlated to my appearance, and throw on my uniform. I hesitate, for a moment, when I see myself in the mirror. I kind of don’t want to meet Allison looking this skanky.

“Fuck it,” I sigh, realizing that I’ve caught Ginny’s hero worship. I’ve had dinner with celebrities. I’ve met the past three presidents and done shots with a head of state. I refuse to be intimidated by this girl just because she made law review.

And then I completely regret my stance. I can see her from inside the house, perched on the arm of James’s chair. She is long and elegant, her sleek black hair is straight out of a shampoo commercial. She’s still in the suit she must have worn to work, and despite the drive her clothes look like she just pulled them off the dry cleaner’s hanger ten minutes ago. While I look like I’m walking straight out of a country music video.

“Fuck it,” I say again, and I emerge from the house.

Her eyes rake over me, assessing, disdainful, and before even a word has been said I know this girl hates me.

We are introduced. If an alligator smiled, it would look just the same: all teeth and a clear intent to attack.

“You must get plenty of tips, dressed like that,” she says.

“That’s the uniform, Allison,” says James. She tenses at his defense of me.

“At the bar
you
work at?” she asks him. “Is it a strip club?”

“At the bar I work at. And that’s the uniform she’s forced to wear,” he says, the words clipped and angry. “The same one Ginny is forced to wear. So maybe you should tone it down some, huh?”

She looks incredibly displeased now, and she appears to blame me for all of it. At least I no longer have to feel guilty about wanting to steal her boyfriend.

**

I stay at work late, taking over Kristy’s section when I’m done. I’ll do anything to avoid what’s occurring at home. If Allison and James aren’t in bed already, they’re headed there, and that’s nothing I need to see.

The house is surprisingly quiet when I get home, but then I notice James’s shut door and realize why it’s so quiet. I guess everyone was giving them their privacy, and the reason for that makes me a little sick. I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and go to the back deck, coming to a dead stop at the door. James is there. And he’s sitting by himself.

“Hi,” I say tentatively. “I didn’t know anyone was out here. I’ll leave you alone.”

“Stay,” he says, half invitation and half command.

I sit, taking a curious sideways glance over at him. He looks worn — the stubble, the circles under his eyes. He never did shower. He still looks like shit. Granted, he looks like gorgeous shit that I would do very, very bad things to given the chance, but for him … it’s not his best look.

“What’s up?” I ask. “Where is everyone?”

“Ginny and the guys went out,” he says. “Allison went to bed.”

Without you?
I think it but keep it to myself. He hasn’t seen his girlfriend in weeks. You’d think they’d be going at it like animals injected with extra testosterone.

“So why are you out here?” I ask softly.

He shrugs, and looks over at me. His face, in the moonlight, looks both young and old. Resolved and torn. “I broke up with her. In May. She asked me to wait, to not make any rash decisions because she thinks this is just me freaking out. But I don’t even want to be in the same room with her.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, but it’s a lie. I’ve never been less sorry in my life. I’m so thrilled I could burst into a song-and-dance number right here on the deck.

“I used to be more like Ginny,” he says. “I knew exactly what I wanted and how I was going to get there and if I had doubts I just ignored them and plowed through. I’m not sure what it says about me that I can’t seem to do that anymore.”

“Maybe you just realize that the value of any outcome isn’t the outcome itself, but whether it’s going to make you happy when it’s all said and done,” I suggest.

“What do you mean?” he asks.

“Take Ginny, for instance,” I say. “She’s so hell-bent on marrying Alex because he’s a part of this grand scheme she has. And she’s ignoring some pretty clear signals that she wants something else, because she’s telling herself that the grand scheme is what will make her happy. But if it’s entirely composed of things that don’t make her happy now, how could that be true?” I ask. “She’s so devoted to the outcome that she won’t allow herself to question it.”

He meets my eye then, and it’s just like the last time we spoke about law school. The time he said I was dangerous. He looks at me as if he’s surprised to find me here at all, as if he’s suddenly seeing me for the first time. In a good way. “You’re so young, but sometimes I listen to you and it feels like you’re the one who’s older. You say things that I’ve thought when I’m at my best, at my clearest, but you say them with so much certainty that I believe them coming from you.”

“That’s my newscaster voice,” I smile. “I’ve been trained since birth to deliver complete bullshit with authority.”

“You could still do that, you know,” he says. “People will forget.”

“I don’t know,” I sigh. “A part of me still wants it, and another part thinks that no matter what I accomplish, people are always going to think of me as the intern who slept with Edward Ferris. Twenty years from now, there will continue to be some doubt about whether I truly earned the position I’m in.”

“There’d have been doubt anyway,” he says gently. “Look at who your dad is. Or was. There was always going to be some question of whether you’d gotten where you were because of yourself or because of him. There probably isn’t a single female on TV who hasn’t had someone suggest, or think, that they used their looks to get where they are.”

“I suppose,” I say. “It’s not just that, though. The way they covered it all up, the way they made me the guilty party when they knew I wasn’t. Even the way they initially tried to cover up my father’s affair … it’s just kind of repugnant. I don’t know that I want to be a part of that.”

“You won’t be because that’s not the kind of person you are,” he says, reaching toward me, resting his hand on my arm. “Whatever you decide to do, you’re going to be brilliant at it.”

I smile at him. “As will you.”

It’s only then that we hear the sliding door opening, that his hand falls away quickly, but not quickly enough.

Allison stands there in a silk robe, the kind of robe that has a fancy French name and probably conceals some very delicate type of lingerie beneath it.

“She’s a little young for you, isn’t she?” she asks coolly. “Maybe I’ll get you a subscription to
Barely Legal
for your birthday.”

“It wasn’t what it looked like,” James says, just as coldly. “We were just talking.”

I stand to leave, allowing myself one look back at him. Our eyes meet for a single moment. I’m not sure which of us looks more unhappy as I go inside.