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“Who knows what they found?” I say, mournfully shoving a handful of stale barroom popcorn in my mouth. Why is stale barroom popcorn so delicious, anyway? Especially with a cold beer. “We’ll probably be the last to find out.”
“At least Manuel’s going to be all right,” Pete says. “Julio says he’s getting better every day. Although they still have policemen posted outside his hospital room.”
“What’s he going to do when they discharge him?” Magda wants to know. “They aren’t going to post a policeman by his house, are they?”
“They’ll have to have arrested Doug by then,” Sarah says, from the bar. “I mean, Doug has to be the one who strangled her. The only question is, did he do it accidentally? Like did he asphyxiate her during sexual play, then panic? From what you told me, he doesn’t seem like the type who has much control over his temper—”
“Yeah. Did I mention he totally head-butted me in the gut?” I ask.
“But putting her limbs down a disposal to get rid of the evidence?” Sarah shakes her head. “Doug doesn’t have the brains for something like that—even if it did turn out not to work thanks to the disposal breaking. Oh, my God, foul! FOUL!”
I look up from the empty popcorn basket and notice that Pete and Magda aren’t the only ones staring at Sarah in disbelief. The bartender, Belinda, a punk rock waif with a shaved head and overalls, is blinking at her with astonishment as well.
Sarah notices, looks around, and says defensively, “Excuse me, a person can have multiple interests, you know. I mean, I can be interested in psychology and sports, too. It’s called being well-rounded, people.”
“More popcorn?” Belinda asks her, looking pretty scared for someone with so many nose rings.
“Uh, no,” Sarah says. “That stuff is stale.”
“Um,” I say, “I’ll take some. Thanks.”
“On that note,” Pete says, rising from his chair, “I have to get home before my kids tear the place apart. Magda, you want a ride to the subway?”
“Oh, yes,” Magda says, getting up as well.
“Wait,” I protest. “I just got more popcorn!”
“Sorry, honey,” Magda says, struggling into her faux-rabbit fur coat. “But it’s about twelve degrees out there. I’m not walking to the subway. See you on Monday.”
“See you guys,” I say mournfully, watching them leave. I’d leave, too, but I still have half a beer left. You can’t just leave a beer like that. It’s un-American.
Except a minute later I’m regretting not having made my escape when I had the chance, since the door opens, and who should walk in but…
Jordan.
“Oh, there you are,” he says, spotting me at once. Which isn’t hard, since I’m the only one in the bar, with the exception of Sarah and a couple of Math Department types, who are playing pool. Jordan slides into the chair Pete just vacated, and explains, as he peels off his jacket, “Cooper told me you sometimes come here after work.”
I glare at him over my beer. I don’t know why. I guess it’s just that he mentioned Cooper’s name. Cooper’s not high on my list of favorite people right now.
Actually, neither is his brother.
“Nice place,” Jordan says, looking around. It’s clear he’s being sarcastic. Jordan’s idea of a nice place is the bar at the Four Seasons. Which isn’t exactly in my price range. Anymore.
“Well, you know me,” I say, more lightly than I feel. “Only the best.”
“Yeah.” Jordan stops looking around and looks at me instead. This is somehow worse. I know I’m not exactly ravishing at the moment. Last night’s wild ride didn’t do much for the bags under my eyes, and I didn’t actually wash my hair this morning. Instead, I washed it the night before, to get the smell of Tau Phi House cigarette smoke out of it. Sleeping on my hair while wet has a way of making it look… well, sort of matted the next day. Add that to the fact that I’m wearing my second-best pair of jeans—I still haven’t managed to replace the ones with the blood-stained knees—which aren’t exactly loose, to the point where I have to constantly worry about camel toe, and you have the picture.
But Jordan’s no prize today, either. He’s got dark circles where I’ve got bags, and his case of hat head is even worse than mine. His blond hair is sticking up in tufts all over his head.
“You want a beer?” I ask him, since Belinda is looking over at us questioningly.
“Oh, God, no,” Jordan says, and shudders. “I’m never drinking again after last night. I seriously think someone slipped something in my drink. I only had that one—”
“You told me you had ten glasses of wine before you even got downtown,” I remind him.
“Yeah,” Jordan says, with a So what? look on his face. “That’s what I have most nights. I’ve never been as blotto as I was last night.”
“Why would someone roofie you?” I ask. “It’s not exactly like you’re unwilling to have sex with strangers.”
He glares at me. “Hey, now,” he says. “That’s not fair. And I don’t know why someone would do it. Maybe it was, like, an ugly girl, or someone I wouldn’t ordinarily go with.”
“I didn’t see any ugly girls at that party.” Then I brighten. “Maybe it was one of the guys! Frats are known hotbeds of latent homosexuality.”
Jordan makes a face. “Please, Heather… let’s just drop it, okay? Suffice it to say, I’m never drinking again.”
“Well, that will make the champagne toasts tomorrow a bit of a letdown,” I say.
Jordan fingers the initials someone has carved into the tabletop, not meeting my gaze. “Look, Heather,” he says. “About last night—”
“I don’t know where your skis went, Jordan,” I say. “I called Waverly Hall and the guard said no one left any skis there, so obviously someone stole them. I’m really sorry, but you know—”
He flinches. I think it’s because I’ve spoken so loudly.
“I don’t care about the stupid skis,” he says. “I’m talking about us.”
I blink at him. Then I remember that Cooper must have driven him home this morning.
Oh, no.
“Jordan,” I say quickly. “I am not still in love with you. I don’t care what Cooper told you, okay? I mean, sure, I used to be in love with you. But that was a long time ago. I’ve moved on—”
He blinks at me. “Cooper? What are you talking about?”
“Didn’t he give you a ride home this morning?”
“Yeah. But we didn’t talk about you. We talked about Mom and Dad. It was nice. I haven’t talked to Cooper—just one-on-one—like that in a long time. I think we worked out some things. Our differences, I mean. We both agreed that we’re nothing alike—but that that’s all right. Whatever his relationship with Mom and Dad… well, it’s no reason he and I can’t get along.”
I stare at him. I can’t quite believe what I’m hearing. Cooper can’t stand Jordan. I mean, to the point of refusing to take his calls or open the door when he comes over.
“Wow,” I say. “That’s… that’s… well, progress. Good for you.”
“Yeah,” Jordan says. He continues to finger the graffiti. “I think I talked him into coming to the wedding tomorrow. I mean, he didn’t agree to be my best man, like I asked, but he said he’d come.”
I’m genuinely shocked. Cooper can’t stand his family, and now he’s pla
“Well,” I say. Because I really don’t know what else to say. “That’s… that’s amazing, Jordan. Really. I’m so happy for you.”
“It really means a lot to me,” Jordan says. “The only thing better would have been if… well, if you would have agreed to come tomorrow, Heather.”
I clutch my beer. “Oh, Jordan,” I say. “That’s so sweet. But—”
“That’s why it’s so hard for me to say what I’m about to say,” Jordan goes on, as if I hadn’t spoken. “And that’s this. Heather.” He reaches across the table to grip the hand that isn’t curled around my pint glass, then looks earnestly into my eyes. “It really hurts me to say this, but… I can’t let you come to my wedding tomorrow.”