Page 16 of The Tenant
“Blake.” Becky steps back to look at me, and her nose crinkles slightly, even though I’m wearing a nice dress shirt and I shaved and I don’t smell like the inside of a flower. It’s especially insulting because in the past, she’s always flirted with me in a way that felt very inappropriate, given I’m her best friend’s boyfriend. “How are you doing?”
“I’m great,” I say, although if she’s talked to Krista at all, she surely knows that’s a lie.
“Blake is starting a new job next week,” Krista says.
I cringe. The temp office job I’ll be starting on Monday is the last thing I want to talk about. It’s humiliating that I had to resort to a job that I was overqualified forten years ago, with zero benefits and a paycheck to match. But work is work.
“That’s wonderful, Blake,” Becky says. “I knew you’d find something.”
Christ, when can we crack open this bottle of wine?
Naturally, dinner is nowhere near ready. Becky made a lasagna that still needs another half hour in the oven. While it cooks, Becky directs us to the living room with the promise of a platter of crackers and cheese waiting for us on the coffee table. Malcolm is already in the living room, and he stands up from his armchair when we enter the room, waving enthusiastically.
“Blake.” He cocks his head to the side in a sympathetic gesture I’ve learned to despise. “How are you doing?”
“Fine,” I say tightly.
“Good good good.”
I’d almost forgotten his annoying habit of repeating words multiple times. “How are things at…at Coble & Roy?” I manage to spit out.
He looks a little embarrassed by my question, as he should be. I was the one who got him the job there a year ago, as a favor to Krista. He was decidedly mediocre, but somehow, he’s still there, and I’ve been fired.
“It’s not the same without you,” he says.
I don’t know what to say to that.
“Can I get you anything to drink?” Becky asks me and Krista.
Thank God. “I’ll have a glass of red,” I say too quickly.
Becky fetches the two of us glasses of wine while we settle down on the sofa. I reach for a cracker from the table mostly to kill some time, but then Krista swats at my hand. She’s been doing that a lot lately, like she thinks I’m snacking too much—which, to be fair, might be true. “Don’t spoil your appetite,” she scolds me.
I flash her an exasperated look. “They put the crackers out for us to eat.”
Malcolm chuckles. “Don’t feel bad, Blake. I’m not allowed to eat them either.”
I lean back against the sofa and scratch my forearm. I don’t know why, but this shirt is itching my arms. I unbutton the sleeve and roll it up, and sure enough, the underside of my forearm is red and irritated. I’ve been out of work barely three months, and I’ve already developed an allergy to dress shirts.
I pull down my sleeve and get it buttoned again just as Becky returns with our wine. I accept the glass gratefully, downing half the contents in one gulp. She brought the bottle out and left it on the coffee table so all four of us can self-serve, which is dangerous. I wonder how much I can get away with drinking tonight before either Krista notices or I start slurring my words. It will be an entertaining experiment. I’ll do it for the science.
“So,” Becky says, “the new roommate has moved in?”
Krista nods. “Whitney moved in last week.”
“Is she nice?” Malcolm asks.
“Really nice,” Krista says. “She’s so sweet. And very quiet. Honestly, she’s just about perfect.”
“Is she pretty?” Becky asks.
She’s looking at me when she asks the question. Actually, everyone is suddenly looking at me. I’m looking at the crackers I’m not allowed to eat.
“Not really,” I say, because I’m not a complete idiot.
Krista rolls her eyes. “Actually, she’s really gorgeous. A natural beauty, you know?”
“Uh-oh.” Malcolm elbows me in the ribs. “Sounds like trouble, right right right?”
