Julian took the bakery box from Riley. “What’s this, Riles? Don’t tell me—bean sprout cookies?”
“Yes! Wait—are you mocking me? Ugh. You two are impossible. Not everything has to be a joke. These are very good. They’re made with honey.”
Julian turned on the music too loud, deliberately, so no one would feel any need for real conversation. He drank the margaritas liberally, but had no appetite, making the odds of success for any later, more serious conversation negligible. He didn’t want to talk to Gwen because he had nothing specific to say. His feelings were a jumble. He couldn’t talk to Gwen about every girl he casually chatted with. And when Julian had nothing specific to say, he always preferred to shut the hell up.
Unfortunately it was taciturn Julian’s very nature that Gwen wanted to address. The couples ate, swam in the pool, lounged in the Jacuzzi, sat on the upstairs deck, drinking and chatting about nothing, and then retreated to their respective homes.
Gwen was all set to have a long discussion about the state of things between them. After a pitcher of tequila, Julian was less inclined to do so. She said his brooding nature was getting under her skin. He wanted to tell her he wasn’t brooding, he just had a lot on his mind, but didn’t want to detail exactly what it was he had on his mind and didn’t want to lie. So he said nothing, trying to smooth things over between them with his silence, which was precisely the wrong thing to smooth over the problem of his silence with—more silence. Gwen continued to bristle, and Julian continued to respond in monosyllables. She suggested taking a break, and instead of the requisite protest, he gave her no argument. He said—because he wanted to be agreeable—if you think that’s what you need, that’s fine. I want you to be happy.
Clearly, what would’ve made her happy was a fight. As if she didn’t know him, as if she didn’t know he didn’t like fighting with girls. She announced she was going home, which was difficult since she had come in Riley’s car. Julian offered to drive her. “Are you insane?” Gwen said. “What kind of a storming out is it if you drive me home?” She called a taxi, shouting at Julian before it came, shouting and shouting, and then stormed out.
Afterward Julian sat a long time in the silence by the lit-up nighttime pool trying to hack through the jungle inside him. That night he dreamed the brown-haired girl was on top of him, completely naked, her hips gripped in his hands, while he was fully clothed, wearing his suit and tie and even his shoes, sexy, yes, but also as if to protect himself from her. When he woke up, he thought, yeah, right, no confusion there.
39
A Dress for Beatrice
IN THE EARLY MORNING, AFTER RILEY LEFT, JULIAN DRAGGED Ashton to the gym with him. They sparred, talked about Gwen, used the speedbag, the weights, then Ashton hung out and watched Julian fight Lopez, his former trainer’s son and his boxing buddy since UCLA. They were showered, dressed, at HomeState for breakfast tacos by eight and at the Treasure Box by eight-thirty.
The store was not even open when the front door bell trilled, a few minutes before nine. Julian was in the back on the computer, doing the books. Ashton went out to see who it was.
“Jules,” he heard Ashton call. “Come out here. Someone’s here for you.”
It was Mirabelle.
She wasn’t alone. Next to her stood a striking, serious, black woman, dressed business-plain, with wild curly hair more or less tied up.
Mirabelle was breathy. Her boots were black and slick today, not brown and coarse, and her denim skirt was even shorter than yesterday, though that didn’t seem possible, and her coral blouse was even more see-through, though that also didn’t seem possible, and her slim bare legs were even more smooth and shiny, though that didn’t seem possible either. The tank underneath didn’t cover her belly button. There was light makeup on her face and gloss on her lips and the loose bun piled on top of her head looked designer messy, not rolled out of bed messy. She looked casual but top to bottom put together, not thrown together. She wore hoop earrings and bangles on her wrists.
“Hey, Julian.”
“Hey, Mirabelle.” They stood wordlessly for a moment until they remembered their manners.
“Z, this is Julian.” The way Mirabelle emphasized this made Julian feel awkward. Had