Second Helpings_ A Jessica Darling Novel - Megan McCafferty [89]
“Who ya lookin’ for, J.D.?” she asked in a too-innocent tone that betrayed her knowledge of the answer.
“No one,” I lied. “I’m here to see you!”
Gladdie laughed heartily at that one. “What are ya gonna do next? Try to sell me the Brooklyn Bridge?”
“Huh?”
“You shyster, you,” Moe said.
“Why don’tcha just fess up that you’re here to see Tutti Flutie?”
“Uh . . .”
“He was just here, ya know. But he cleared out when he saw you pulling into the parking lot.”
“He did?”
“He said he was respecting your privacy.”
“He did?”
“Yes he did, didn’t he, Moe?”
Moe nodded vigorously. “He sure did.”
“Where is he?”
“Well . . .” Gladdie said, scratching her head, or rather, the beret on her head. Only then did I notice that it was orange and her pantsuit was green. I glanced at her walker. Purple ribbons. Not even close to her trademark color coordination. I briefly wondered how long this had been going on.
“He’s downstairs,” she said, breaking out into a full-dentured smile. “In the library.”
“Thank you.”
“Oh, no, J.D.,” she said. “Thank you. Now get on with you!”
I went downstairs, and sure enough, Marcus was in the library, reading to a small group of old biddies. He looked up at me when I entered the dark, woody room. He never stopped the narration, but a fireplace crackled and illuminated the surprise on his face. I sat down in a leather armchair and listened.
“ ‘As the brawny stable boy approached the Countess, she felt a quickening in her loins. Stephano’s urgent, turgid love could not wait a moment longer . . .’ ”
Ack! Paperback soft porn!
“ ‘They tumbled onto the hay, clawing at each others’ garments and grunting like animals . . .’ ”
Marcus was certainly giving them their geriatric jollies. As for me, well, I’ve got a boyfriend who won’t give up the goods. At this point, I get damp from reading the back of a box of Cap’n Crunch. Almost.
Anyway, when the chapter was finished, he shut the book. “To be continued,” he said with a sly grin. The old biddies groaned in protest.
“Sorry, ladies,” he said, pointing in my direction. “I have to talk to a friend.”
The gray and white and, in one case, blue, heads turned to look at me, the competition. They were not impressed. As they shuffled out, I heard them tut-tutting about my jeans and my Chucks and my utter lack of regard for personal grooming.
“Would it do her any harm to set her hair before she leaves the house?”
“Or apply a touch of cheek rouge?”
“Honestly. These girls today don’t know how to present themselves.”
They were almost as bad as my own mother. Almost.
“Hey,” I said. “Nice reading.”
“I do my best with the material that’s given,” he replied, and sat down on the hearth opposite my chair. “I’m surprised to see you here.”
“Yeah, uh. Well, I just wanted to tha—”
“Look, you don’t have to thank me,” he cut me off. “Len’s my friend and I want to see you guys happy together. I said what I had to say.”
“Well, I appreciate it.”
“Don’t worry about anyone finding out about what really happened, the drug stuff and everything else,” he said, being mercifully vague. “No one would ever believe it. Just like no one would ever believe Taryn if she told everyone you were the one who pissed in the cup, not her.”
An instantaneous full-body clench undid all the good that I’ve achieved through three months of yoga. “What do you mean? Does she know the truth? Has she asked you to tell her?”
“Not exactly,” he said. “It’s just . . .”
“What?”
“She approached me one day in study hall, and it was the first time we had ever talked. I’m looking at her and she seems so innocuous and harmless, and I just can’t help but sort of feel sorry for her.”
“Right,” I said.
“I think she wanted to look sad and pathetic so I’d let my guard down. Maybe I would apologize for what happened to her. Maybe I would explain what happened. The truth.”
“But you didn’t?”
“Of course not. I promised I wouldn’t narc on you and I never renege on a promise. Besides, as I said, no one would ever believe that you would do