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"I'm just saying, you don't have to fucking do it in front of me!" Jane was shouting. "If you want to be a man-whore, that's fine––you're going to do it anyway. But I don't need to see you rubbing your dick on every woman at the party!"
"You're kidding, right?" Eric paced around the balcony, yanking furiously at his shirt collar. "When I had to watch you practically molest one of the caterers? That guy's going to be in therapy for years because of what you did to him behind the drink cart."
"Um, guys?" I ventured, raising a hand and letting the curtains shut behind me, but both of them were too steamed up to even notice my presence.
"Don't be jealous just because you lost your fucking mojo, and I still have mine," Jane snapped.
"Is that why you're so jealous, Jane?"
"Well, I don't know why else you'd need to fuck half of Boston unless you were compensating for something."
Jane cast a downward glance toward Eric's crotch, which made him turn bright red. Then he quirked one eyebrow, and gave her a look in response.
"Guys," I started again, but they just kept going.
"I never heard you complain. Unless screaming my name loud enough to make the neighbors call the landlord counts."
"You would bring that up," Jane seethed. "Jesus, do you have any class at all?"
"It must have disappeared after hanging around you all summer."
"Or from the skanks molting in your bed. The kind who wear poly-blend G-strings like the one I found, maybe? You better be careful, Petri Dish. I hear syphilis is making a comeback in Boston."
"That's rich, coming from the get-around girl of the Eastern seaboard," Eric retorted. "When was the last time you got tested, Jane?"
"Get-around girl? Who are you, the fucking Beach Boys? You gonna break into a five-part harmony for us, Eric?"
"It doesn't matter who I sound like. It just matters that it's true," Eric said in an even, nasty tone that made Jane's eyes bulge out of her sleek black frames.
"Fuck you and the mountain of your mommy's cash you rode in on, you golf-playing, Brooks-Brothers-wearing, popped-collar fuckboy," Jane spat. "You pretend you're nothing like those rich kids you grew up with, but when it really comes down to it, you're just like them. Don't get your way, and you throw a fucking tantrum! You want a pacifier, you big fuckin' baby?"
"I'm the one throwing a tantrum?!" Eric started to shout, although a glance back toward the party turned the last word into a squeak as he recalled just how many of his senior colleagues were in the room. "You're the one who plays hide-and-go-seek every time it gets hard," he gritted out, thrusting a finger toward Jane. "I put my fucking heart on the line, and you stomped all over it with your combat boots. Now I'm moving on and you can't take it, so you have to throw a fit like a fucking toddler. Not me!"
"Eric––" I started to put in, but he just held a palm up to silence me.
Jane said nothing, just tipped her chin up slightly and clenched her jaw. It might have been the reflection of the moonlight off her glasses, but I swore her eyes were glistening. My jaw dropped in shock––my best friend never cried.
The standoff between the two of them felt interminable, until finally Eric stepped back.
"Whatever," he muttered with a shake of his head. "It's not like it ever mattered anyway. A zebra doesn't change its stripes. I should have known better than to ask the Whore of Babylon to start acting like the Virgin Mary."
With one last black look, he brushed angrily past us both.
"Nice comeback, fuckwad!" Jane called after him, only to receive Eric's middle finger in response before he swept off the balcony. She turned back to me, trying and failing to mask the despair on her face. "If he's going to insult me, it's not really going to land if he mixes metaphors. Have the decency to be creative, at least."
"Oh, Janey."
I cocked my head, but didn't say anything more while I reached out to rub her shoulder. Jane took a few deep breaths, then ran her fingers under her glasses to pull moisture away from her eyes, careful not to smear her eyeliner.
"What can I do?" I asked after a few moments.
Jane looked to me and bared her teeth in a smile that looked more like a grimace. "Nothing. It's okay, really."
"Jane..."
She shook her head, took a deep breath, then released it heavily.
"It's fine," she said. "Nothing a hot cater waiter can't help me fix." But when she looked at me, there was pain in her dark brown eyes that made my heart twist. "You mind if I leave a little early? I'd like to make use of that hotel room before I turn into a pumpkin."
"Of course, friend."
I pulled her in for a hug, which she accepted stiffly before relaxing.
"Thanks," she said. "Well, onward. Coffee before my flight tomorrow?"
I nodded. "You got it."
And with that, she left.
~
