Page 49 of Rough

They were Doc Martens. I looked at Tegan. Her right hand was covering her mouth. I looked at Marcus. “Yeah, they are.”

He held out his hand. “Marcus. I’m sure she’s told you, but we’re like sisters.”

I shook his hand.

“Marcus is my neighbor,” she said. “What are you doing sleeping outside my door?”

He let out a sigh and then his hands started again. “Brian. We went to Rich’s, which, as you know, I hate. So, we were dancing, and then we had some martinis, and the next thing I knew, he was talking to Greg. Oh my God, it was like, right in front of me. And then he left. Greg, not Brian. Anyway. At that point I was like, what-ever. I mean, who does that? Who? Yeah, that’s what I thought. Uhhm, nobody, thank you. So, I had another martini. Let’s be honest. I had two more. And then I went to the bathroom. When I got back, he was gone. Like gone. So, I looked around, and then I asked around, and then I just left. Or I tried to. I was almost to the door, and Serge grabbed me and made me pay the bar tab. Eighty-five dollars, thank you very much.”

He spoke a hundred miles an hour and used his hands and eyes to put emphasis where he felt it belonged. By the time he’d finished what he had to say, my eyes were rattling around in my head like pinballs.

He looked at me.

I was fucking exhausted just listening to him.

He looked at Tegan, and then tilted his head to the side. “So, outside. What. Do. I. See?”

Tegan gasped. “No.”

His eyes shot wide. “Yes. They were making out. I mean making out. The sloppy kind. And, right by the door. Oh, my God, really? The front door? Have you no taste? Obviously not. It was like an advertisement or whatever for whoever happened past. They should have just put it up on the billboard. You know, the one with that skinny-legged girl on it that kind of looms over the place across the street? For Louis Vuitton?”

“I’m so sorry,” Tegan said.

He reached for the door handle and tried to turn it. After realizing it was locked, he looked over his shoulder. “You know the billboard though, right?”

“Let me get it unlocked.” She pulled her keys from her purse. “I’ll make some coffee.”

She unlocked the door and then looked at me. “Are you going to come in?”

“I’m.” I pointed toward the street. “I’m going to head back.”

“You’re leaving?” Marcus asked.

I nodded.

“Oh my God, not before I do this.”

In one fluid movement, he reached into his back pocket, pulled out his phone, and stepped to my side. As he pressed himself against me and held his phone at arm’s length, I couldn’t help but laugh.

The flash blinded me.

Then it blinded me again.

And again.

“Three’s the number,” he said. “You always get one good one if you take three.”

He looked at the pictures, pointed the phone at me, shrugged. “You’re too tall, big boy.”

He held his phone in front of me and twisted his mouth to the side. “Do you mind?”

“Mind what?”

“Your arms are long. Can you. Can you take it?”

I coughed a laugh and reached for his phone. “Sure.”

“Here,” he said, reaching for the screen.