Page 33 of The Tenant
Except I’m beginning to worry that it’s not going to happen anytime soon.
20
When I geta phone call from Malcolm—of Malcolm and Becky fame—I recognize Krista’s influence.
It’s been two weeks since Krista discovered that lipstick on my shirt. I never confronted Whitney about it, but she gave me a knowing look the day after Krista’s discovery that made me even more sure she was behind it. I’m also fully convinced that she did something to the washer or dryer to make my clothes itchy, because after Krista started bringing them to the dry cleaner, I haven’t had a problem. The rash is now gone.
As for Krista and me, things have been better, if a little tenuous. Does she believe that I’m not fooling around behind her back? I think so. But I also think she doesn’t want to admit how worried she is about me. She’s out having dinner with Becky tonight, so the phone call from her friend’s husband is suspiciously well-timed to keep me from being left to my own devices.
I’m on my way home from work, about two blocks away from the brownstone, when my phone starts vibrating in my pocket. I was in no rush to get home, meandering down the residential streets, the weather a perfect sixty degrees. I decide to take Malcolm’s call and speed up my steps, figuring I’ll have an excuse to hang up when I get home. I swipe to answer, and Malcolm’s congenial voice fills my ear: “Blake! How are you doing?”
“Fine,” I lie. “How are you?”
“Good good good.” His habit of repeating words irks me more than usual, but I try not to show it. “And how’s Krista doing?”
“I don’t know. Ask Becky.”
Malcolm laughs heartily at what was not entirely a joke. “Listen, Blake, I was wondering if you want to get a drink with me sometime? We haven’t done that in ages.”
I’m not sure we ever did it. Back when we were both working at Coble & Roy, sometimes a bunch of us went out for drinks after work, and we were both there. But just me and Malcolm? Never happened. And right now, I’m not excited to hang out with a guy who works at the company that fired me. Who inexplicably seems to be doing better than I am.
“Maybe,” I say, meaning no.
“I think it would be fun,” he says. “The girls are such good friends, and I feel like you and I ought to get to know each other better.”
I pass a Chinese restaurant on the corner that has excellent dim sum all day long. Despite my eagerness to get home, I pause a second to consider picking up an order of shrimp and chive dumplings before I remember that my budget doesn’t allow unlimited takeout like before. “I’m just swamped right now.”
“Oh yeah? Everything okay?”
“Yes, everything is fine. I’m just busy. But, you know, good busy.”
“That’s great to hear. Great great great.”
“Anyway,” I say, clenching my jaw, “I’m definitely up for a drink, but I need to wait for my schedule to calm down a little. You understand, right?”
“Absolutely,” Malcolm agrees, “but maybe we should put something on the calendar now.”
“Uh-huh. Okay.” I turn onto my block, the brownstone in sight. “The thing is, at the moment, I’m walking home from work, and I’ll be going through the door soon, so…maybe we can talk about it another time?”
He laughs again. “You trying to get rid of me, Porter?”
“Not at all. We should definitely get drinks. That sounds great.” I sprint up the steps to my front door. “Great great great, you know?” I fumble to get my keys out of my pocket. “But at the moment—”
“How about next Wednesday then?”
It takes me a split second too long to think of an excuse. “Um…”
“Great!” he says. “Let’s meet at Hannigan’s at eight o’clock. You know it, right?”
Of course I know it. It’s around the corner from Coble & Roy. If I have to do this, there’s no way I’m going to a bar that’s likely to be frequented by my old colleagues. I don’t need that.
“Let’s meet at Cooper’s,” I say, which is an Upper West Side bar midway between his apartment and my brownstone. We’ve been there for double dates before, so I know he knows it.
“You got it,” he says. “Looking forward to it!”
“Yep,” I say.
I manage to end the call just as I fit the key in my lock. I wasn’t entirely lying—the days at the office are long, and they feel even longer. I’m exhausted from being everyone’s gopher, and all I want right now is to relax. So my stomach sinks when I shove open the door to find Whitney in my living room. Just who I want to deal with right now.
