The Millionaires - Brad Meltzer [103]
“What’re you talking about?”
“You saw how she lives… the fact that she’s happy with the bare essentials… that she doesn’t need to be in the race…. Starting to sound familiar? Rhymes with barley….Even when she came after us—she doesn’t get mad—she just kinda looks through you—like she’s not afraid of anything.”
“Ax murderers also aren’t afraid of anything.”
“Can you please give it a rest?” I beg as we turn onto our block. “You’re the one always saying I have no sense of adventure. Would you rather I date someone like Beth?”
“Date? You’re not dating Gillian… you’re not even courting her. You’re just two people in an extreme situation who happen to be standing next to each other. It’s like falling in love on a teen tour—but without the James Taylor songs.”
“You can make all the fun you want, but we both know you hate it when anyone challenges your role as Mr. Nonconformity. It’s the same reason you never join a band—you feel threatened anytime you spot some competition.”
“Oh, now I get it—is that what you think this is? A competition? You can have her, Ollie. She’s all yours. But just so you know, it’s not about competition anymore—it’s about one thing: divide and conquer. That’s what she’s gonna do.”
“How can you say that?”
Checking the block one last time, he scrambles across the street, pushes open the cheap metal gate, and races through the courtyard that leads to our apartment. We’re both silent until I turn the key and let us inside. The bug spray smell hits first. “It’s still better than staying at Gillian’s,” Charlie says, taking his own whiff.
“You don’t even know her,” I challenge.
“That doesn’t mean she doesn’t have a vibe,” Charlie shoots back, kicking his shoes off and undressing for bed.
“Oh, pardon me—I didn’t realize you were in the midst of channeling your inner Buddha—you’re like one of those water-divining rods when it comes to people’s vibes.”
“You’re saying I’m not?”
“All I’m saying is I’m not the one who lent his favorite amp to a complete stranger, and then watched it get traded to some crappy pawn shop in Staten Island.”
“First of all, it was old and I needed a new one anyway. B) I’ve got one Grand Canyon–sized proper noun for you: Ernie. Della. Costa.”
“Ernie Dellacosta?” I ask. “Mom’s old boyfriend?”
“For an interminable seven and a half months,” Charlie adds. “Remember what happened the first time mom brought him to meet us? He was respectful and nice and he even successfully bought my love by bringing us Chicken Delight for dinner. But the instant I snatched that chicken bucket out of his hands, I hated him. I hated his comb-over… I hated his fake designer shoes… and the entire time they dated, I hated that man like poison. And y’know what? I was right.”
Shoving my way next to him at the sink, I cup my hands and soak my face. There’s a quick skirmish over space, but Charlie dodges around me and storms back to the futon. Chasing behind him, I add, “Well, if you want to remember the rest of reality—while you were strumming your guitar—”
“It’s a bass.”
“Whatever—while you were strumming your bass and living in Fantasyland, Ernie Dellacosta was also the guy who got me that job at Moe Ginsburg during my freshman year. If it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t have had the money to stay at NYU.”
“Y’know, I forgot all about that sales job. You’re right—he really was an inspiration to us all,” he says with an extra scoop of sarcasm.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask.
“Nothing. Forget it.”
“Oh, no—don’t play your passive-aggressive headgames with me. Say what you’re thinking.”
Charlie stays quiet, which means he’s holding something back. “Just drop it,” he eventually says.
“Drop it? But you’re so close to making your all-important point. C’mon, Charlie, we’re all eating pins and needles—you obviously brought Dellacosta up for a reason—so what’s your problem? That I sucked up to him so he’d help me get a job? That I laughed uncontrollably at his dumb-ass jokes? That I acted like everyone else