Free Food for Millionaires (31 page)

When the bill came, Casey reached for her wallet. She’d cashed her check that day.

“It’s my turn,” he said.

“You paid last time. And the time before.”

“I make like ten times what you make.”

“Okay, rich guy.” Casey pointed to the check. “Make my day.”

“Not that I know where it goes.” Unu laughed at himself as he pulled out his wallet. He made money last month at Foxwoods, but right before he met Casey in Florida, he was in the hole for ten grand.

“Thanks for dinner. I’m totally broke again anyway.”

“Do I have to return my hat?” Unu looked fondly at his hat on the chair beside him.

“That would hardly make a difference. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you.”

Unu put down three twenties on the plastic tray. Silently, he crossed his arms and made his face go blank the way he did when he played a fresh hand.

“Why don’t you move in? When you start school, you can live in my place and you can use the rent money to pay off your bills. You can cook now and then—”

Casey opened her mouth. He had surprised her.

“I don’t care if you do anything for me. Do your homework. Get A’s. Whatever. I want to see what you look like in the morning. I’ve been wondering if maybe you’re a vampire and that’s why you flee at night. But I’ve been with you in Miami during the day, so—”

“Move in? With you?” She hoped that didn’t sound unkind. “What—”

“You heard me.” Unu’s face grew stern, but a restrained smile curled up in the corners of his lips.

“Gosh, I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t know,” she said again, but quieter this time.

“Okay,” Unu said. He told the waiter to keep the change.

The walk to his place was only two blocks. No matter what, she had to go back and get her tote bags. They walked down the street together, their bodies close but not touching. She felt anxious, but he appeared cool by contrast.

Casey’s mind was full of questions. She hadn’t known him for that long. What would her parents think? Did that matter? He didn’t intend to marry, but neither did she. But living together meant commitments. Didn’t it? And he was right: If she didn’t have to pay rent, she could eliminate her credit card bills in a year almost.

“Are you going to come up?” They had nearly reached his building.

“I have to get my things.” Casey stopped walking, but she didn’t look at him.

Unu felt weird suddenly, as if he had taken this big risk and it had made everything awful. Fuck it, he thought. Why be coy? This was a piece of shared wisdom about women that used to float around his frat house when a brother wanted to get laid: Be direct or sleep alone.

“Are you going to leave right away?”

“Do you want me to?” She was staring at him now. They’d never had a disagreement before.

“No. Are you crazy? I just asked you to move in.”

“I have twenty-three thousand dollars in credit card debts,” Casey blurted out. She didn’t know why she said it. Maybe if he saw her the way she was, he wouldn’t sign up.

“Wow.”

“I know.” Casey rolled her eyes. “I know. It’s bad. Maybe you want to take back your offer.”

Unu just shook his head. “Holy shit. What the hell didn’t you buy?”

“Stocks and bonds,” she said, then suddenly they both started to laugh.

“Do you have a drug problem I don’t know about?”

Casey started to laugh again. He didn’t think she was terrible—this much she could tell.

“Hey, Casey. I have five or six thousand in the bank, and I don’t know what bonuses will be like. If I keep it cool at the tables, then we’d be fine. I can pay for everything for the house. Listen, even if we weren’t, you know—together—you’re my friend. I can cover you for a while. When you’re a millionaire, and I’m low on chips, you can cover me. Okay?”

“I don’t get it,” she said. “Why aren’t you upset?”

“In March, I owed my bookie ten grand, and he carried me for a while until I paid him. If I hadn’t made money yesterday at Foxwoods, I would have been in deep shit. I made two hundred thousand dollars last year as a research analyst, and I have five or six thousand in the bank. I don’t own anything except my car. I spend nearly everything I have, and I gamble for fun. I will not think less of you because you buy fancy clothes. I didn’t know a person could spend that much on clothes.” Unu laughed, raising his eyebrows. “I shouldn’t encourage you, but you look great.”

“It wasn’t just clothes,” she said halfheartedly. What did she buy, anyway? Jana, a woman who worked stock at Sabine’s, weighed two hundred and seventy-five pounds for most of her life, and she used to talk about how she didn’t know how she got so big. She ate neither more nor less than most people who were quite skinny. Casey understood Jana a little better lately—they’d consumed and consumed, and at a certain point, it didn’t matter if they tried to act normal. To be healthier, they’d have to make drastic changes.

Casey and Unu were still standing half a block from his apartment.

Casey’s head hung low, and Unu put his arms around her. “Hey, c’mon. We all fuck up. Even those of us who know better. So we’ll fix it.”

“I like you,” she said, her voice very low.

“Yeah, I like you, too.” Unu took her hand and walked toward the building.

George nodded when they came into the lobby. “Evening,” he said.

“Hey, man,” Unu said, and Casey smiled at him.

“How was House of Wing?” George asked.

“Good.” Casey nodded. “Ate too much, though.”

“Working late tonight?” Unu asked him, pressing the elevator button.

“No. I’m getting off at midnight.” George looked at his watch. “If you want me to hail you a cab, lemme know,” he said to Casey. “I’m on the j-o-b for six more minutes.”

“I’m staying,” Casey said. “I’m going to move in soon, actually. Has Unu told you?”

George widened his bright black eyes. “Excellent.” He smiled coolly at Unu.

Unu nodded back and smiled. The elevator came.

“Night, man. Night. My best to your angel,” Unu said, pressing the elevator button to keep the door open.

Casey stepped in first, and Unu followed.

“Night, folks,” George said, his eyebrows furrowed. He wanted his boy to be happy.
El amor es complicado,
his grandfather often said. George had to agree.
Sí, Abuelo. Sí
.

8
GATE

T
ED OPENED HIS OFFICE DOOR
and stuck his head out. He’d just finished a conference call with assholes from Lewison when he heard the happy commotion coming from the normally silent halls. He hoped something good was going down. A touch Nerf football game with punchy analysts would have been ideal.

The flash of red hair was unmistakable. Delia Shannon was on the floor. Bankers had found excuses to step away from their desks, loll about in the common areas, breaking away from meetings to check her out. She had that kind of effect still. Not that Ted could look away, either. The late August weather might have justified her wearing such a sheer white blouse, her lace brassiere playing peekaboo, and the blue skirt that sliced across her slender thighs, but Ted knew better. Delia’s beautiful body was her power—a rich man wouldn’t leave his wallet at home, and Delia carried her well-polished weapons perfectly. Ted’s male colleagues didn’t hide their admiration of her gifts. The women on the floor shook their heads ever so slightly out of envy or resignation.

She was seen stepping out of John Heyson’s office. Ted felt jealous for a second, but the feeling passed since no one would screw that speck of shit. John was a merger MD who’d been slow for work—baggage from the other side. He was lucky to have a job at all after Kearn Davis had acquired CBR Assets. He’d made all sorts of promises about his important relationships. Right. He was a welfare case as far as Ted was concerned.

Delia walked to the elevator, seemingly indifferent to the attention. The sight of all the men ogling her, however, made Ted a little insane. He had made love to that fantasy body and had not stopped thinking of her for at least a few moments every day. You could see why men bragged after getting laid by some gorgeous girl. It was like having won Lotto—how could you not brag about your winnings? It had been nineteen months since they’d last had sex—Ted did the calculation in his head rapidly—and eight months since Ella had found out about the herpes. He had never contacted Delia about the herpes. She’s a slut, he reminded himself. Delia is a garden-variety slut who knows how to fuck better than any man could ever imagine a woman knowing how to; yes, that’s it, and I hate her, he thought.

Delia hadn’t seen him yet, so he was still able to observe her. Also, she didn’t know where his office was. They’d never met on his floor. In fact, he’d never met her intentionally anywhere at Kearn Davis. Any married man standing next to her would risk all sorts of gossip. But Delia had to pass by his office from John’s in order to get to the elevator. He had two choices: Stand there like a moron with his growing erection hidden by a door or close his door, return to his desk, and pretend he’d never seen her.

In her few steps, two MDs had already said their hellos to her. John Heyson, who’d walked her to his office door, was still standing where she’d left him, watching her rear sashay across the floor. Ted was furious, as if his private claims were being infringed upon. He strummed his fingers on the door frame, and when he put his hand on the knob to shut his door, there she was.

Delia saw him but said nothing.

“Hi,” Ted said. God, she was hot.

“Hello,” Delia said, a slip of a polite smile on her lips.

He could smell her scent again. He wanted to touch her. “How are you?” he asked.

“Fine, thanks.”

“What brings you—”

“John asked me to come down. About the transportation conference.”

“I bet.” Ted then remembered that Heyson was in charge of that ridiculous event.

“What the hell does that mean?” Delia crinkled her eyebrows, and her voice fell deep.

Ted noticed a few people looking at them. They were within hearing distance. “Do you want to come into my office?”

“Aren’t you afraid of the talk, Ted?” Delia kept her face blank, her blue eyes wide open without any judgment. In their brief relationship (though six weeks was a long stretch for Delia), Ted’s excessive caution had made her feel cool toward him, when everything else about him had once made her excited. Ted was a wolf, she’d learned, but saw himself as a stand-up guy. He was that worst kind of married man to sleep with, because he was not going to be a man about anything, except for making sure that he got laid. To him, he was the innocent and she was the tramp. Whatever. What made Ted an asshole was that he completely believed his own lies about himself—that he was a great guy with all the right values. He had turned out to be like the others—full of crap. Delia wanted to hurt him with something heavy. She despised him.

“I can’t imagine that you’d want me to sit alone with you in your office when everyone can see you. How would you explain this, Ted? Aren’t you afraid—”

“Why would there be gossip?” he argued, knowing that was a lie. “There’s nothing going on.” He then felt pleased, because this was true, and he had no intention of sleeping with her again. “Everything is totally over between us.” He wanted to reject her, to not feel this desire for her anymore.

Delia moved away from his door. “I have to go.” He was a phenomenal bastard.

“Wait, Delia. I need to talk to you about something.”

“I bet.”

Ted smiled at her. She was so clever. He glanced at her neck, the triangle of skin from her neck down to her breasts. They were pink and caramel, he recalled—the color of her nipples. He hadn’t forgotten any of it.

“Please, Delia. For five minutes.”

Delia glanced at the elevator, then her watch. “Two minutes, Ted. You have two minutes.”

He pointed to the empty chair and closed his office door, feeling the eyes and wonder of everyone on the floor watching Delia Shannon cross his threshold. This was crazy, he told himself, but he couldn’t help it.

“It’s smaller than I thought it would be,” Delia said.

“What every man wants to hear,” Ted said, smiling when Delia smiled.

“Your office, Ted. I was talking about your office.”

“Me too.”

Delia checked her watch. “One minute and forty seconds.”

“Don’t be like that. Don’t be hard. I hate it when women—”

“It’s men who make women hard. We are so fucking fed up with you lying sacks of—”

“When did I lie to you?”

“You told Casey that I gave you herpes. I don’t fucking have herpes. Who else did you tell? Besides your frigid wife?” Delia’s face was dark red now.

“I, I—”

“Don’t lie to me, Ted. You lied to your wife, and now you’re lying to me. I don’t even care anymore. I have to go. But if you tell one more person that I have herpes, I will show you what pain is.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“No, asshole, I’m giving you an option. Yeah, that’s a word you should understand.”

Delia got up and opened the door. “I don’t normally say this, but I really hate you.” She left, and Ted watched her close the door.

He couldn’t work. There were fat deal books to review, a growing list of calls to return, and he couldn’t concentrate. He pushed the four digits of her extension.

“It’s me.”

“I know it’s you. Don’t call me again.”

“I didn’t know that you didn’t have herpes.” Ted checked the door, and it was closed.

“Well, I don’t.”

“But I was told that most people can’t really be tested for—I mean, I hadn’t been with anyone else except for you—I mean, after I got married—”

“I had the bloodwork done, and I’ve never had any signs— What the fuck. Why am I even talking to you? Your wife could’ve had a tiny cold sore, given you a blow job, and that’s all it takes, buddy.”

Ted grew silent. Ella didn’t like oral sex, but she did it occasionally if he asked. From time to time she did get cold sores; so did he if he was tired. He didn’t know that it could transfer that way.

“What I want to know is, how? How did you find out? What did Casey say?” Ted got angry at just the thought of her. To think he’d gotten her a job.

“Well, my friend Casey Han stopped speaking to me around Christmas, and when I asked her why, she told me about your little wife who threw a fit about getting herpes, but then, despite her being pissed at you, she never left your sorry ass. I bet a million dollars that she stopped screwing you, and God, does that knowledge give me pleasure.”

“What?”

“I’ve studied this very carefully, Ted. I’ve slept with a fair number of married men. Believe me, I’m not bragging. And do you know what happens when a wife finds out?”

Ted didn’t have any guesses except for his own experience. But it was true, Ella had only put on more weight, and since Christmas, she’d more or less said no to him three times out of four. And she’d gotten a job at the boys’ school where she used to work. But lately, he didn’t even want to anymore. That is, have sex with her. But he figured it would pass. He’d been focusing on his work.

“What happens when a wife finds out?” His voice grew timid. He felt sure Delia knew the answers.

“She can leave, but almost none of these moron Wall Street wives leave a good meal ticket, and you make too much money— And a boy of your status isn’t easily replaced. Especially if the wife has lost her looks.”

“Ella isn’t like that—”

“Oh, now you defend her.” Delia laughed. “Listen, pal, I have to go. I have real work to do.”

“No, please. Tell me what happens.”

“Or she stays and takes revenge.”

Again, Ted wanted to say that Ella wasn’t this way. She wasn’t the sort who’d exact punishment. And it was true. Ella had an exceedingly forgiving nature. She possessed a mild temperament. She’d never brought up Delia again, and she was always kind to him. Dinner was on the table whenever he was home, she took perfect care of the house and Irene. On his birthday, she’d cooked his favorite dishes. His parents adored her, and she spoke to them weekly. She and Ted never argued. He had nothing but respect for Ella. She was a wonderful person, a good mother, what a Christian woman was supposed to be like. But they did not touch anymore. They went to bed at different times—and it was easier this way, because then there was no conflict or unease.

There was silence on his end, and Delia felt bad, understanding that what she had predicted was true. His wife would never trust him again. And no doubt the bedroom door was closed. What else could a woman do to restore her dignity after her husband screwed another woman? If she wasn’t the kind who’d have an affair herself, then how else would she feel better? Two wrongs didn’t make a right, but when there was a wrong, it was near impossible to be right-minded.

“Ella wouldn’t—” Ted began to say.

“She’ll never trust you again, and she shouldn’t,” Delia interrupted him, her voice suddenly full of bitterness. “You were falling in love with me. I saw it. I can always tell. It wasn’t just sex for you. And just think, you will have a sexless marriage for the rest of your natural life.” She couldn’t believe her own meanness, but she would not let him talk well of his wife on her clock. He’d never mentioned how great his wife was when he was trying to take off Delia’s clothes. “So, congratulations, Ted Kim. Hopefully, you can find someone else to screw on your part-time. Good luck. Gotta go.”

Ted felt as if he were talking to the devil himself, but he didn’t believe in men in red suits.

“Wait,” he said.

“What the hell do you want now?” Delia’s voice grew quiet. It wasn’t like her to be so cruel, and the effort had exhausted her.

“I didn’t tell Casey to stop speaking to you.”

“Casey? She wouldn’t listen to you even if you paid her. She can’t stand you. She’s just being loyal to Ella, which I understand. But how dare you call me at my office—” Delia started to cry suddenly, and in her anger, she realized that he had never explained himself, never called her about walking in on her with Santo at her place, never told her that it meant something to him when it had. He had been jealous, and you weren’t jealous unless you cared. Those six weeks had meant something to her. She had liked him. All these Wall Street hot shots, they acted as if they thought with just their trousers, but she could tell how they wanted to talk, to caress her, and so many of them had even said they loved her. But she never wanted to break up families. That wasn’t what she wanted. So when she refused to commit to them, they left. One day, she wanted to meet someone to fall in love with. She had never been in love, thought it sounded like some sort of trick. After all, all the married men who had chased her so hard had said they loved their wives. What the hell did that mean, anyway, if they could love their wives and want her, too? So true love didn’t exist as far as she was concerned. And what made Delia angry was that she had never asked for anything. Didn’t want anything from them. The only thing she wanted was a baby. And for that reason alone, she had not used a condom with Ted, because even though she didn’t expect him to stick around, she figured he was fertile and he really did seem like a good guy. A smart guy, but who like all the others assumed that she was on the pill. Someone who could at least biologically father her child.

“Can we talk tonight?” His assistant was standing at his door now. He’d been ignoring her beeps.

“There’s nothing to say.”

“May I please take you to dinner? Anywhere you want.”

“Did I ever ask you for a meal? Do you think I could care about something like that?”

Ted shook his head no. It was true. Delia wasn’t impressed by money. “I need to see you.”

“No, Ted. I don’t think so.”

“I am sorry.” He found himself apologizing to her, and it wasn’t like him to do so.

“For what?” Again, her voice grew quiet.

“I’m sorry that it ended like this. You’re a wonderful girl, and I miss talking to you. You tell funny stories.” He didn’t elaborate on how she always made him smile, and when he was with her, his shoulders and neck muscles relaxed. When he went home, he didn’t feel that way. From the beginning, he had needed to impress Ella, to prove that he was winning or something like that—she hadn’t asked him to do this, but something about her had made him feel less. With Delia, it felt different; she didn’t seem to care about his performance.

“Hey—Delia, please?”

Delia’s office was still empty. Her office mates were all at a food tasting at the Marriott. The door was closed, and she felt grateful for the privacy—so different from the trading floor. The truth was that she’d picked up his call because she wanted to hear his voice again.