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“What's love?”
“Victor Laszlo letting her choose if she wants to be with him or with Rick.”
“So, in the end, isn't she better off with Victor? If he respects her and loves her and Rick doesn't?”
“Yes,” he says. “But that isn't the message, is it? The message is a bunch of bullshit about putting duty ahead of love. But nothing is more important than love.”
“That's awfully romantic.”
“Is there something wrong with being romantic?”
“It's not what I expect from a divorce lawyer.”
We talk movies, and life, and other random getting to k
now you stuff all the way through dinner. He's from San Diego. He did his undergrad at UC Berkeley, mostly because his father hated the idea. He majored in philosophy. The law school major, he calls it. He's never been out of California for more than a few weeks, and he can't stand cold or humid weather. His favorite food is pasta, but he doesn't eat it often. Not good for his figure. His favorite drink is Earl Grey tea. His favorite place is anywhere by the water.
And I tell him about myself. About why I love acting and why I love California and what I do during my long days at home. I want to tell him about my favorites, but I can't remember many things that make me happy.
When Ryan calls at 7:00, I ignore it and send him a text that I went out for a drink. One drink. Another lie, but I don't need a lecture. I've been in recovery for eight months. I can have two or three or four drinks without getting compulsive. Without being tempted to throw them all up. Well, without actually giving in to my temptation to rid my body of the 300 something odd calories of tequila.
I haven't purged since before I went into treatment. I deserve a little leeway.
So, after we finish dinner and our second round, I order a third tequila. I know better, but it tastes good, and it feels good not having enough sense to immediately shut down every illicit thought that crosses my mind. Is it really so bad if I imagine what Luke's lips taste like or what his touch feels like or what he looks like naked? It's only my imagination, after all. It isn't hurting anyone.
As if he knows exactly what I'm thinking, Luke leans in close, so close I can feel his breath. His hand grazes my wrist and my body tingles with anticipation. Jesus, I can't remember the last time I wanted someone so much.
“I'm sure this is out of line,” he says, his eyes once again on my ring finger, “but I don't think you're in love with Ryan.”
“That's none of your business.”
“I know. And I shouldn't get involved, but I know what it's like to be on the other side of that relationship. Maybe you're both content with what you have, but you don't have to settle for content.”
“I love Ryan,” I say.
“I know he looks out for you. I know he protects you. But, if that's it, if you're not in love with him, you should end it now. Dragging it out will only hurt both of you. I've been through… I've seen enough divorces to know how ugly it is.”
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” I ask.
“I'm sorry,” he says, reaching for my arm. “It's none of my business… but do you really want to marry him? Would you really be happy to be with him forever?” He tries to hide how much this hurts him, but his eyes betray him.
“I will,” I say. “When I get used to the idea.”
“How do you know?” he asks.
“Because I have to.”
I expect him to object or try to talk me out of my loyalty, but he nods like he understands.
He pays the check and helps me to his car. It's a sleek black sedan, much more practical than Ryan's luxury car. His body hovers over mine as he buckles my seatbelt. Does he think I'm that drunk or does he want his body near mine?
We are home before I know it, and Luke drops me off at the main entrance. I pray for him to lean over me again, his body over mine again, but he leaves it to me to unbuckle my seat belt.
“I'm sorry if I was out of line before,” he says. “I hope I'll see you around.”
I nod, yes, okay, and slip inside as quietly as possible. I ride up the elevator. I walk down the hall. I slip my key into the door as quietly as possible. Maybe I am lucky and Ryan isn't home yet. Maybe I'm lucky and he won't lecture me tomorrow.
Fat chance.
