out of the picture," I said. "He sucked it up, did the right thing, and then I fell into bed with Aubrey."
"You did," Chogyi Jake said. "What Ex said wasn't a reflection of your capabilities, or even of his real opinion of you."
"But he and Karen were lovers... they probably still are..."
"He took up with Karen after he'd just found you and Aubrey in bed together," Chogyi Jake said. "Karen was there, she was... available. I don't believe he loves her, and I don't believe she loves anyone."
"You really don't like her much, do you?" I said, putting down my fork and rubbing my eyes with the palms of my hand.
"No," he said, thoughtfully. "I really don't."
"Does Aubrey know?"
"That I don't like Karen?"
"About Ex."
"Ah. No, I didn't see a reason to tell him. Ex would be humiliated and hurt if he knew I'd told you. But it didn't seem to serve you or Ex to keep the secret."
"And so you broke your promise not to tell," I said.
"I made that choice, yes."
From the back of the house, I heard something banging. A hammer against wood. In the distance, a car alarm blared and went silent.
"Thanks," I said. "Thanks for that. Aubrey and Ex. Hell. Just tell me that you don't have a thing for me too."
Chogyi's silence dropped a charge of adrenaline into my blood. He looked away, his customary smile replaced by a grimace of embarrassment.
"Chogyi?" I said.
"I have..." he began, faltered, then tried again. "I am not perfectly comfortable with this. It isn't you personally, but... I don't find Caucasian women attractive."
For the space of three heartbeats, we were silent.
"I don't think of myself as a racist," he said defensively, "it's just that with white women, that little frisson is never there."
My laughter brought Aubrey back into the kitchen. His confusion, looking back and forth between me and Chogyi Jake, also struck me as comic, and set me off again. Chogyi Jake was blushing, but maintained a dignified countenance until I could get myself under control.
It felt good to laugh. It felt good to relax and to have slept and to be with friends instead of pushing and pushing and pushing to run some race I didn't even know how long it was. It felt safe.
I didn't realize until that moment how long it had been since I'd felt safe.
"Is everything okay?" Aubrey asked as my hilarity faded into mere giggles.
"Just fine," I said. "Perfect."
That night, we ordered pizza and found a movie rental joint with a good selection of old science fiction. The microwave in the kitchen didn't work, so we got a new one and some popcorn. Chogyi Jake was right. We were all wounded, and we were tired-worn so thin, I felt like you could see through us. I dedicated the evening to just hanging out, being relaxed, recovering. Chogyi Jake and Aubrey sat on a living room couch of old lady floral-and-lace. I lounged on the floor, my back against Aubrey's shins. I had never seen Close Encounters of the Third Kind, so we'd gotten that and Young Frankenstein as a Teri Garr double feature. A light rain was falling against the windows, Gene Wilder and Peter Boyle were singing "Puttin' on the Ritz," and my mind had a pleasant, unfocused hum.
It would have been perfect, except that I kept feeling that we were missing someone. Part of my mind expected Ex to come in or call out from the other room. The guilt at having lost my temper with him was growing, and I caught myself wondering where he was and whether he'd come back if I asked him. I wondered if I wanted him to.
He was probably fine. I figured that he'd gone back to New Orleans and Karen Black. I didn't know if it was more comforting or sad to imagine the two of them together. On the one hand, I believed Chogyi Jake when he said they didn't really love each other. But even without that romantic spark, there was something to be said for companionship. Just being with your friends. I didn't want to think of Ex without that. Nor, despite the sore spot that her dressing-down had left, did I wish a life of solitude on Karen.
It was hard just then-with my popcorn and my movies and Aubrey and Chogyi Jake-to imagine that I'd ever wanted to be like her. Yes, she was competent and powerful and certain, but she'd lost so much along the way. Her career.