Page 24 of The Alibi Club

“There was Ted, the baggage handler who showed up with a boner.”

Derick’s expression remained placid. “That’s a compliment in some cultures like Fort Lauderdale, but I see how that could off-putting. Go on.”

“The artist, Vincent, who was working on a modern version of a Walt Whitman play. He said he was helping his parents out by letting them live with him, but—”

“Let me guess, Vincent still lived with his parents.”

“Correct.” Jamie sighed and then said, “And finally, there was Preston. Aimless, just returned from a surf trip to Baja. Played a Jack Johnson song for me on his ukulele.” Jamie grew quiet.

Derick looked over at her. “Please tell me you did not lie with a ukulele player.”

“I might have slipped and fell into bed with him.”

It was Derick’s turn to sigh. “Oh, dearest. You do have a type. Well, we can chalk that one up to collateral damage. Patterns, Jamie, patterns. Your job is to break them. You need a proper man, not a boy-child with a porn addiction and a surfboard,” he implored.

“I know, I know. But uncomplicated men are just easy. Chaz was easy.” Jamie felt a shadow cross over her mood. Memories haunting.

Derick rubbed the bridge of his nose, exasperated. “Do not let the woeful inadequacies of your ex-shithead fuck buddy throw you into a love-doom loop. Let me ask you, what did Chaz live off of while he was unemployed?

“He was furloughed. Got half his salary.”

“Any chance he saved any of that money?”

“He went surfing in Samoa because it was ‘going off.’”

“Good God. Uncomplicated men will lead you to poverty and madness. Good riddance, Chaz. Onto new horizons,” Derick said as he waved away the memory of Chaz like the smell of bad cologne.

“That’s easy for you to say. You just happened to meet your soulmate.”

She and Derick had been friends since their midtwenties and single for most of it. Being single together with Derick was one of the great joys of her life. They shared secrets, truths, and dating horror stories over endless bottles of chardonnay as they navigated their own turbulent, hilarious romantic disasters. As with all good things, those times had come to an end. She was at ease because the love between Derick and a dashing Swede named Martin was the real deal. She was genuinely overjoyed for him. Even though it amplified her own loneliness.

“Well, it did help that I’ve kept myself up.” He waved a hand in the direction of Jamie’s head. “What’s going on with your hair?”

Jamie touched her unevenly cut hair, which was a shade too dark. “Cut and color by yours truly.”

“That explains it. I’m making you an appointment with Tana today.” He started tapping his phone. Derick gave her good, long look and shook his head, expression filled with scorn. “Where did you get that sweatshirt?”

Jamie looked down at her bright, multicolored sweatshirt purchased online from a shop that sold fair-trade goods. “I love this sweatshirt. It was handmade by destitute children in Peru. Half the proceeds go to an education fund.”

Derick rolled his eyes. “How am I supposed to get you married off if you wear clothing from shantytowns?”

“It’s good for the world!”

“It’s hideous. I’m ordering you a style box. What size are you now?”

She frowned. She’d put on a couple pounds in the last year.

Derick raised his eyebrows at her. “Have you been working out?”

“Does masturbation count as cardio?”

“Anything that gets your heart rate up counts,” Derick said, and snickered. “Done. Your box arrives in three days. So. What is the plan for Elaine Cromwell Frisco’s looming wedding?”

Jamie loved that Derick called her mother by her entire name. It made her sound more like a corporation: bloodless, ruthless, uncaring. Depressingly accurate.

“I’ve been active on three dating apps,” Jamie said as the nail tech removed her arms from the wax and began wiping it off. She looked down at her hands and was genuinely surprised. “Oh my God, I have the hands of a twenty-year-old.” She inspected them more closely before freely giving the left hand back to the care of the nail tech, who obviously knew what she was doing. She continued, “Online dating is the hellscape I imagined it to be, but there are some interesting prospects.”

“Really.” He cocked his head and looked over his glasses, his voice heavy with skepticism. “Do share.”