What Friends Are For

By Kit Maso
Copyright © 2009

“Aimee!  What the hell is taking you so long?”  Jacob’s voice booms from the other side of the bathroom door.  Startled, I nearly drop the cigarette I’m smoking.  I fight the flash of irritation, reminding myself that Jacob doesn’t realize how intimidating he can be.  If I say something now, he’ll be apologizing for the rest of the night, and I’ll never make it over to Filo’s.

I take one last drag, toss it into the commode and flush.  Thank god the fan in here has the engine of a Boeing 747.  “You don’t have to break the door down, Jake.  I’ll be out in a minute.”  I’m trying to limit my smoking, but parties make me nervous.  I don’t mingle well – “doesn’t play well with others,” my boyfriend, Mike, once pointed out.  Ironically, ‘others’ turned out to include him.

“A minute?”  Jacob sounds incredulous.  “You’ve been in there for over an hour!  I can’t hold it forever, you know.”

“Not what I’ve heard,” I singsong back, spraying some perfume into the air and satisfied when Jacob emits a low growl.  Much better.  The best defense is always a good offense.

“Come on, Jake,” I hear Danny call.  “Let her get pretty.”

“After two hours in there, she’s as pretty as she’s going to get,” Jacob grumbles, just as I shut off the fan and open the bathroom door.

“All yours,” I say, sliding past him with some effort.  At six two, he dwarfs me by eleven inches, which would really be annoying if he wasn’t so good at reaching things on the top shelves.  Jacob doesn’t head into the bathroom, though, instead catching my arm so he can look me up and down.

“What are you wearing?” he wants to know, staring at the Peter-Pan collared white blouse, navy blue skirt and Mary Janes I’ve got on.  I can’t tell if the look in his hazel eyes is disbelief or appreciation.

I sigh.  “They were almost out of costumes downtown,” I explain.  “It was either Catholic schoolgirl or cheerleader, and all things considered, I think I got the lesser evil.”

He grins, reaching out to tug the ponytail I’ve secured at the back of my head.  “Cute.”

“Don’t you have to use the bathroom?”  I pull away and head toward the living room just before he tweaks my nose, too.  That’s the thing about being short; somehow taller people find things like nose-tweaking perfectly acceptable behavior.  I hear Jacob laugh softly behind me and then the quiet snick of the closing bathroom door.

“He’s right,” Danny says, glancing up from his desk, as I walk through the living room and into the kitchen.  “You look about sixteen in that get-up.”

A warm flush creeps over my face, as I turn toward the kitchen cupboards.  Teasing, I can handle.  Sincerity?  Not so much.  I watch from the corner of my eye, as Danny continues to work, his hand moving a pencil over paper with swift, confident strokes.  I find the sight oddly calming.

“What are you working on?”  I could make small-talk.  Sort of.

“Andersen project,” Danny replies.  “We’re presenting it tomorrow.”

“You’re flying to New York tonight?”

“No, we’re taking the first flight out in the morning.  And I’m going to need every second.”

I rummage in the cupboard for a coffee filter, slide it into the tray on the Mr. Coffee and fill it.  With a flick of the switch, the brewing starts, and I lean against the counter, surprised to find Danny’s pencil has stopped, and he’s watching me.  He’s not wildly handsome or anything, not like Mike, but there’s something about his warm brown eyes and ritual dress of khaki shirts and jeans that women find appealing.  I don’t want to be one of those women.  “What?”

He smiles.  “You never wear skirts.”

“Mike didn’t like me in them.”  “It’s not like you’ve got long legs to show off, babe.  Undo another button on that blouse.”  I glance back at the coffee maker, taking extra care to make sure the glass carafe is perfectly positioned.

“Mike’s tastes were questionable,” he remarks.  It’s not a statement I want to explore.  I retrieve a coffee thermos from the shelf and am setting it on the counter when a large hand on my arm pulls me around.

“I suppose smoking in the bathroom is just part of your costume?”  Jacob’s words are laced with sarcasm.  Cigarette didn’t flush, then.  Great.

“Of course,” I tell him.  “I’m losing my virginity tonight, too.”  There’s a choking sound from Danny’s direction, and then a cough.

Jacob says a word I’ve rarely heard him use.  “What you should plan on is a spanking,” he growls.  “Are you out of your mind?  Do you want to end up in the hospital?  Or worse?”

Was that a trick question?  “It was one attack, Jake.  You’re overreacting.”

“For Christ’s – yeah, well, I was the one who had to drive you to Emergency.”

I stiffen at the words.  I had never asked Jacob for a ride; never asked he or Danny for anything.  It was their idea, not mine, for me to move into Mike’s room when I couldn’t afford to stay in our new place on my own.  “Sorry I inconvenienced you; next time I’ll hail a cab.”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” Jacob fires back.  “You were blue, Aimee – blue.  I just can’t believe you’d be this irresponsible –”

“Believe it.”  Irresponsibility is turning out to be a theme for me.  Too irresponsible to finish school after my father died, too irresponsible to keep Mike from drinking and driving.  I wonder if blowing off Filo’s party will get me fired.

“That’s all you have to say.”  Jacob rubs a hand over the dark hair at the nape of his neck, exasperation evident.  “Fine, Aimee.  You wanna die of a self-induced asthma attack, be my guest.  I won’t miss arguing about it.”

I turn back toward the counter and bite my lip, carefully pouring the coffee into the thermos.  My eyes sting dangerously, and I blink like crazy, as Jacob picks up his coat and keys and leaves the apartment, slamming the door behind him.  Well, at least, he’s leaving me alone, which is what I wanted in the first place.  I mean, do I really need Jacob hovering over me every second, teasing me about needing a booster seat and scolding me to wear a jacket?  I finish pouring the coffee and walk over to set it down in front of Danny.

“Thanks, Aimee, you’re a sweetheart.”

The sudden lump in my throat is painful.  I can’t swallow it, so I just return to the kitchen without answering.  Leave it to Danny to think I’m sweet because I do something for him that I do for other people every day; people I like a hell of a lot less, too.  And I’m pretty sure they don’t think I’m sweet, if they even notice at all.  And they don’t.

“You don’t take compliments well,” Danny ventures softly.

“Are you mad at me, Danny?”  I hate myself a little for asking; hate the uncertainty in my voice.

“Do you want me to be?”

I shoot him an odd glance.  He’s leaning over his drafting table, and I can’t see his face.  “What kind of question is that?”

“One you should be trying to answer for yourself.”

Oh.  Oh.  My stomach twists.  “So you think I’m baiting Jacob?”

“I never said –”

“Like I ‘baited’ Mike that night?”

I hear Danny drop his pencil.  “No one mentioned Mike.”

I walk over and snatch up my purse.  “No one had to.”

“Aimee - ”

“Have a nice trip.”

“Remind me why we’re degrading ourselves like this again?” Darla asks darkly, swirling her rum and coke while keeping lookout.  She and I are crowded into a corner of Filo’s loft, hoping to dodge the groping hands of a balding telecom mogul.  There’s not enough alcohol in the world to make these events tolerable.

“So we can get promoted and afford our own place,” I tell her, blowing a wayward strand of hair from my eyes.  Our two administrative assistant salaries won’t come near making rent on a place like Mike and I had planned to sign for, but with a few merit increases and a little saving, we might have a shot at something modest.

Darla sighs, waving the blue and white pompom in her left hand with a decided lack of enthusiasm.  I’d beat her to the costume shop by three and a half minutes.  “It better happen soon because twenty-five is just way too old to be playing charades with the folks.”  She eyes me speculatively.  “So that’s my motivation – what’s yours?”

“What do you mean?” I ask, brow furrowing.

Darla snorts.  “You’re living with two hot guys, Aims – successful, thirty-something guys – and you want out?  You know how many girls would love to be in your shoes?”

“Hey,” I say, straightening, because I object to that.  I think.  “Firstly, I don’t live with two hot guys, I live with two hot guys who live together – ”

“So you do think they’re hot!”  Darla thrusts her pompom into the air, victorious.  “I knew it!”

“Secondly,” I interrupt sternly, holding up two fingers.  “They don’t really want me there.”

Darla’s giggling cuts short on a hiccup.  “What?  What do you – ”

“Ahoy, if it isn’t my two favorite girls!”  Filo Merat pushes through the crowd to jostle between us.  He winks at Darla lecherously, or maybe he just blinks.  With the pirate patch over his eye, it’s disturbingly hard to tell.  “How ‘bout a threesome, gorgeous?”

Darla rolls her eyes, sets her glass down on a table behind her.  “Sorry, boss; past my curfew.”  She leans over and plants an apologetic kiss on my cheek.  “I’m going to take off, Aims.  See you tomorrow,” she adds, before slipping off to recover her coat.

“So it’s just you and me then,” Filo announces, cheerfully undeterred.  If he weren’t so liberal with his raises, I’d have quit two years ago.  “You look amazing,” Filo says, putting his arm around me and squeezing my shoulders

“I don’t feel amazing.”

He hands me a glass of champagne from a passing tray.  “You’ve handled yourself very well these last few months.”

“Yeah, I’m the poster girl for mental health,” I mutter, and tip the champagne down my throat.

“I really appreciate you coming and entertaining the clients – whoa!”  He grabs my elbow to steady me.  The combination of heat and alcohol is making me dizzy.  “Do you want to have breakfast with me?  Should I call you or nudge you?”

“No, Filo,” I tell him, holding up a hand to ward him off.  “Just – no.”  I’m not about to top my list of romantic misadventures by becoming pirate booty.  Or bounty – whatever.

“You’d rather be fucking one of those boy scouts you live with?”

“They were Mike’s friends,” I say, surprised at the anger now tingeing my voice.

Filo scoffs.  “That’s what I don’t get.  Mike was such a wily bastard.  He could serve you shit, and you’d be thanking him while you were eating it.”

“Yeah, he was a catch, all right.”  I’d eaten enough of Mike’s shit to know.

“I never understood what he saw in those guys.”

I shrug, looking for the quickest route to the door.  “They grew up together.”

“That’s no excuse.  And you; you should never have moved in with those guys.”

That gets my attention.  “And who should I have moved in with, Filo?” I ask.  “You?”

Filo either ignores the sarcasm or doesn’t notice it.  “You play your cards right, you could go places in this business.  Mike always thought so.”

“That’s nice,” I tell him.  “I’m going home.”  Or to the closest approximation thereof.

“I’ll get Harris to give you a lift,” he says, raising a hand to wave over the accountant.

“No, thanks; I’ll walk.  I could use the fresh air.”

Filo’s shark-like smile never wavers.  “I’ll see you out.”

Filo actually walks me as far as the river before he’s convinced I truly don’t want to sleep with him.  Ever.  It’s a relief to see him go, and I walk for a while along the promenade.  The lamplight ripples on the water, the myriad patterns disappearing in the current.  There’s this part of me that wants to be back in the small house in the suburbs; wants to come home from school to find my father parked in his favorite chair, watching some horrible western.  But that life is three years gone.

I finally find the bench where Mike and I once had lunch and take a seat.  Dad wouldn’t have liked Mike.  “Too slick,” he would have said.  And he would have been right.  But Mike had gotten me started here; had gotten me a job at his advertising firm when no one else would even look at my resume.  He had drunk too much, and could be unreasonably temperamental, but he’d believed in me and had given me somewhere I belonged.  A tear slips down my face and I brush it impatiently away.  There’s no use crying about it, anyway; I just have to start over.  I shiver, as a sudden breeze blows up from the water.  It’s getting cold.

It’s in the small hours of the morning that I open the door to the flat, expecting to fumble my way through the darkness.  Oddly enough, the lights are on.  Jacob’s standing in front of the window on his cell, Danny beside him.  They seem surprised when the door shuts behind me.

“Thank God,” Jacob breathes, dropping the phone down on the desk.  He crosses the room in a few strides.  His eyes move quickly over me, as he takes the purse from my shoulder.  “What happened?  Are you okay?”

I glance over at Danny, but he’s waiting for me to answer, too, his brows drawing together at my confusion.  “Of course, I’m okay.  Why wouldn’t I be?”

Jacob drops the purse on a nearby chair, then swings around to face me.  “Maybe, honey, because that idiot Filo said he left you alone in Franklin Park at one, and it happens to be four-thirty!  Where the hell have you been?”

“This is great,” I grouse, then, “Shit!  I can’t believe this!  You guys called Filo?  Who do you think you are?”  This is going to require some serious damage control.  “Give me the phone.”

“No such luck, little girl,” Jacob tells me.  “You won’t be talking to Filo anytime soon.”

“What?”  I yank my hair free from the ponytail and try not to raise my voice.  “Am I on phone restriction now?”

“Danny went over there and put his fist down his throat.  Filo won’t be talking to anyone for a while.  And if I were you, I’d start thinking about another job.”

My eyes fly back to Danny.  For the first time, I notice the gauze wrapping the knuckles of his right hand.  “Oh, God.  Danny…”  I take a step toward him, and then freeze.  “Your flight’s at six.  Why aren’t you on your way to the airport?”  But I have a sinking feeling I know.

“You were missing – did you really think I would leave?” he asks, like he genuinely wants an answer, but I can’t seem to come up with one.

“She wasn’t thinking at all!” Jacob snaps.  “Don’t you think that since we’ve been up all night, and Danny’s missed his flight – not to mention lost his account – that you, at least, owe us some kind of explanation?”

I turn from Danny’s penetrating stare to glare at Jacob.  “I didn’t want a ride from a drunk, and there wasn’t a cab, so I walked home.”

“Aimee,” Danny begins, but Jacob’s just warming up.

“We don’t even walk alone at night here – this isn’t the suburbs.  Do you have any idea what can happen to you out there?”

“Gee, Jake, you mean you’d miss me after all?”  The scathing words just tumble out.

Jacob’s eyes narrow, and I realize what I’ve said, what he’s thinking.  That my late arrival isn’t entirely unintentional.  A denial springs and falters on my lips.  I easily could have been home hours ago, if I’d wanted to.  But some small part of me had wanted to spite Jacob.  The thought sickens me.

“Enough,” Danny says, in a tone I’ve never heard him use before.  “Sit down, and let’s talk about this.”

“No!”  I hate the way he’s looking at me; hate the tightness in my chest.  “I didn’t ask you to spend the night looking for me – Mike wouldn’t have!”

“Last chance, Aimee,” Danny tells me, unimpressed.  The warning is still quiet, but not at all reminiscent of the way he said ‘sweetheart’ this morning, and tears burn at the backs of my eyes.

“Just give me time to pack,” I say, moving for the hallway, but I never make it.  Danny’s warm fingers close on my wrist, and I’m towed past a stunned Jacob and back toward the couch.  I balk, skidding on my Mary Janes.  “Let go!  I don’t have to talk to you!” I insist, as he takes a seat on the Italian leather.

“Have it your way.”  I’m shocked when he jerks me over his lap, pinning me in place with a strong arm.

“Danny!  No!” I cry, reaching behind me, as he flips the short plaid skirt up to reveal my white nylon panties.  “Please don’t!  What about your hand?” I blurt, as he catches my wrists in his left hand.

To Be Continued...

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