No, Wrigley is a stupid name. Last name: that’s fine. First name: I mean, are you joking?
“Yeah, she was drunk. What does that have to do with anything?”
If I left the city today, I wonder if I could join up with the Amish. What’s the rule on that? Does anyone know?
“Yeah, whatever,” he says on the other side of the door. “I’ll see you in a few hours at l’Iris.”
I knew that’s the place he was talking about. He even pronounced it correctly.
I’m sure he’s going there to meet up with Wrigley.
Stupid, dumb-named, crevice-flaunting Wrigley.
Wait.
If he’s off the phone, what are the chances that he’s about to—
The door opens, and I almost fall into the room.
“Leila!” he says, jumping back. “What are you doing?”
“I’m sorry,” I say.
I’m stuttering. Why am I stuttering?
“I got a bit lightheaded on the way back to my room. I drank way too much last night.”
I’m trying to look casual as I lean against the doorjamb. I have a feeling that I’m not pulling it off.
“Yeah,” he says. “You were pretty out of it last night. Actually, I think maybe we should talk about that.”
“Why?” I ask, having no recourse left but pure denial. “What happened? I don’t really remember anything after I got home.”
“You don’t?” he asks.
It’s a plausible story, Dane. Just go with it, ya bastard.
“No. Why? I didn’t try to drive, did I?”
There is a difference between playing stupid and being stupid. I’m not sure exactly which I’m doing right now, but I’m fairly sure it’s somewhere in between the two.
“You don’t have a car,” he says.
Oh, just let me off the hook, will you? I’ve done really well pretending like I don’t hear every tiny, disgusting noise coming out of your room. The least you can do is just let me act like I never came onto you.
He never mentioned any special skill in reading minds, but I’m hoping that the force with which I put those thoughts through my head is sufficient to communicate my meaning.
He laughs quietly.
“Got ya,” he says. “No, you didn’t do anything too far off the reservation. Although…”
Oh, just kill me.
“It’s kind of silly,” he says.
“What?” I ask.
We may as well get it over with.