According To Jane Part 2

"I-" Dominic looked between me and the door to The Bitter Tap, clearly considering. "Look, sorry. I just...I just really love being in that environment, and I'm...surprised, I guess, that you don't, too." He gave me a hurt look. "Those guys are my best friends."

I nodded. "Well, perhaps one of them can give you a lift home." I turned and walked toward my car.

"Ellie. Wait." He ran up behind me and put his hand on my shoulder, caressing it with his fingertips. "Let's get a slice of pizza for the road. It's just right here." He pointed to the Italian carryout joint next door. "I know you've gotta be starving."

Not wanting to make a huge scene on the sidewalk, I agreed and, of course, I knew that also meant I had to spring for the food. It may have taken me almost two months of dating this cretin, but I was starting to see a pattern here.

When I got home I watched the taillights of Dominic's Pontiac fade away into the distance, and I thought about our deteriorating relations.h.i.+p. Who I was. Who he was. Where we were going. Or not going. I'd almost broken up with him an hour before, but I'd held on. Why, why, why?

Perhaps it is because you feel lonely? Jane suggested.

Yeah.

And because you are about to embark on something unknown next month-your graduate studies at a new university-and you crave the familiar?

Yeah. That, too.

And, additionally, because you will be two-and-twenty next week and wish to celebrate it with someone dear to you?

I didn't speak, but I nodded. I should've known Jane would figure it out. She'd been my constant companion, my most secret friend for years. She knew me as no one else could...or wanted to.

All will turn out right, Ellie, she said softly. Trust in yourself and in your instincts. You have a strong intuition about the honour and character of others. It is stronger, perhaps, than you realize, and it gains further strength with time and experience. Do not despair.

Thanks, Jane, I whispered, fighting back the despair that curled in my stomach nevertheless.

So, a week later, when I found myself sitting at that same Chicago bar, after being promised a romantic birthday dinner we were already thirty minutes late for, I took a good long look around me: I was in a place I didn't want to be, with people who talked about big change but did nothing.

I was dating a man who, while attractive and reasonably intelligent, didn't appreciate me, and who was also part leech.

I was exactly twenty-two (as of 8:28 that morning), unmarried, inhaling secondhand smoke, bored, frustrated and hungry.

The evening couldn't get any worse.

I grabbed my second white wine at the bar and took a turn about the room-sipping my drink, chitchatting idly with Jane, glancing at the framed autographs hanging crookedly on the walls and contemplating Dominic's untimely death.

The driving beat of a Def Leppard song came on, competing with the ambient noise, and I felt a gust of hot summer wind next to me as the front door swung open. The woman who walked through it was about my age and height, only really stunning. Her hair was a long, soft auburn that curled at the ends like some L'Oreal hair-color model. She seemed as gleeful walking into The Bitter Tap as I'd be if I could walk out of it. A tall, dark-haired man followed her inside, and I looked away.

Then I looked back.

Holy s.h.i.+t.

There'd been times since high school ended, times over the past four years-indeed, a great many times-when I'd wondered what I'd say or do if I ever ran into the loathsome Sam Blaine again.

I imagined myself holding my head high and carrying on with whatever I was doing without acknowledging his presence.

Or, I thought I might lift an elegant eyebrow in greeting and say with perfect indifference, "Is that you, Sam? I hardly recognized you. You look shorter."

Or, maybe, I'd be in the midst of laughing over something hysterically funny when someone else would break in and introduce us. I'd shake his hand and pretend not to remember him until he insisted we'd gone to kindergarten and all twelve grades of school together. And that we'd spent one really memorable night in each other's arms...a night that had inexorably shaped my view of love. Then I'd reply with an amused "Oh, yeah. Sam. That's right. Sorry, your name slipped my mind."

That night, in sad reality, I stood utterly still and gaped at him.

He moved toward me and, as recognition dawned, his handsome features contorted into a look of pure horror.

My G.o.d. I must've looked pitiful.

Turn away, Jane commanded. You need not speak to him.

But I couldn't make myself turn away.

"Ellie?" he said.

"Sam." His name came out of my open mouth with a veritable squeak.

He cleared his throat. "I'm surprised to see you. I almost didn't recognize you."

I laughed aloud, and Sam shot me an odd look. Yeah. Irony was a b.i.t.c.h.

"Same here," I said, though we both knew better. I pointed to the auburn-haired chick, who'd been watching our exchange curiously. "Your girlfriend?"

He nodded and introduced me to Camryn, a fellow future med student with sharp, a.s.sessing green eyes in addition to all that TV-commercial-worthy hair.

Dominic, of all people, chose this particular instant to stride up to us and lay his hand on my shoulder. "Hey, darlin'," he said to me, but he fixed his gaze on Sam and Camryn. "We'll be outta here in just a couple of minutes. Mick's trying to find an article for me in his bag."

He pointed in his buddies' direction, where Mick alternately puffed on a cigarette and dug through a rumpled backpack. I knew this task would take another half hour at least.

"We've gotta get you to your birthday dinner," Dominic continued, punctuating his bald-faced lie with a possessive squeeze.

I forced a grin at the jerk. "Take your time, um, sweetie."

Dominic looked back at me, his eyes widening in surprise. "Uh, thanks." He nodded to the couple in front of us. "Hi. I'm Dominic, Ellie's boyfriend. You guys old friends?"

Camryn started to shake her head, but Sam said, "Yeah," before she or I could reply. "Very old," he added.

"Yep. Ancient-history old." I smiled toothily at the other three and took a long swig of my wimpy wine. c.r.a.p. I wanted a margarita now, heavy on the Jose Cuervo Gold. If ever there was a time for strong drinks, this was it.

Do whatever you must, Jane said, with hot fury in her voice, but get away from that despicable man.

I wanted to listen to her. I really did. But my feet were rooted to the spot for the duration.

Camryn's gaze ping-ponged between her boyfriend's face and mine. Her green eyes narrowed. "Pleasure meeting you both," she said to Dominic and me, her gritted teeth indicating her definitive lack of enthusiasm. "But I've been waiting all day for a daiquiri, so, we'll see you later. Enjoy your birthday...Emmy."

"It's Ellie," Sam said, beating me to it.

Camryn cast him a lethal look and began to walk away.

Hmm. So that was how it was.

Sam opened his mouth but then closed it again. He lifted his arm up in a half wave and followed his girlfriend to the bar.

Dominic squinted after them, turned back to me and shot me a puzzled look before rejoining his fellow mavericks.

Jane, who'd begun ranting with fervor since Sam appeared on the scene, scarcely paused for a breath between words. That rake! That rogue! The nerve of him to cross your path again after what he did. How insupportable!

I let her continue her tirade of antiquated English insults a while longer, but the combination of seeing Sam again and Jane's marked displeasure had given me the headache from h.e.l.l. Swift action was required. With a sigh, I told Jane to please calm down and gulped the rest of my drink. It was going to take an act of G.o.d to stop me from getting one very necessary and immediate jumbo birthday margarita. For medicinal purposes.

I sized up the people sitting at the bar, scanning for a good spot to squeeze in. Sam and Camryn were up there, and they'd just ordered their drinks. I watched the bartender hand Camryn a pink daiquiri with a cutesy umbrella. He pa.s.sed a foamy beer to Sam.

I hoped they'd sit down. At a dark table. Preferably in some other bar. Like one in downtown Pittsburgh. (Too close?) Then I could get a jigger of fortifying tequila in peace. But they seemed ensconced where they were, leaning up against the padded side of the bar, facing each other. And I was getting desperate.

I pushed the smoky air out of my lungs, edged up to the corner of the bar's counter and tried to blend in with the other patrons.

"What'll you have, Ellie?" the bartender boomed in a jovial voice.

I gave him my margarita order, attempting to concentrate only on the task at hand. I studied the bartender who, after a dozen of my visits, had spent more time talking to me at The Bitter Tap than my own boyfriend. He was a nice guy. About thirty. Slightly overweight. Smooth, cocoa-colored skin. Always wore a gold chain around his neck and a warm smile. I worked hard to keep my attention focused on his friendly face.

But the ever-obsessed psycho in me wouldn't take the hint.

My gaze kept drifting to Sam's beer gla.s.s, the way he held it and brought it to his lips. I hadn't forgotten a single detail about Sam's mouth, his hands. My cheeks warmed at the memory of those inquisitive fingers touching my body that long-ago night, then they burned as I remembered the shame and hurt that followed.

I got my drink and licked the salt off half the rim before taking my first swallow. The sting of tequila short-circuited my senses for, maybe, thirteen seconds. Not long enough.

I glanced at Dominic, who'd returned to pontificating about some postCold War, Baltic-immigration policy that apparently had international significance, then over at Sam again, who was staring right at me, his jaw tense.

I looked away.

Can't say I was proud to admit this, but I was still really mad at Sam.

Well, no. That would be a prime example of my ability to utilize subtlety and ma.s.sive understatement, which had proved helpful in my university lit courses. Long live English majors.

More accurately, I was insanely, unrelentingly furious over the way he'd let things end between us. I wasn't over it, like I should've been. I hadn't moved on, like a true adult would have.

In fact, four years after that particularly painful one-night stand, I'd go so far as to claim I felt more p.i.s.sed off there in the bar than I'd been back then. And that was saying something.

Clearly, these thoughts didn't reflect well upon my maturity level. I knew I should've grown up, walked away, traveled on, let it all go-or, at least, chosen to go into denial or therapy. But, see, a Zen-like acceptance of my fate just wasn't my reality.

As I watched Sam steal glances at me while lounging at the bar with Camryn, I had only one prevailing thought-I wanted to get b.l.o.o.d.y even with him. A few related thoughts followed: I wanted to extract some serious revenge in return for the emotional damages I'd suffered that last week of senior year in high school.

I wanted him to endure, if only for one day, a fraction as much hurt as I'd felt.

I wanted to make his life such a living h.e.l.l that night that he'd wake up in the morning clutching his ribs, feeling agonizing stabs of pain where his heart should've been.

I wanted his whole body to ache from the emotional torment. Just like mine had.

I was a really nice person, huh?

I shrugged to myself. Having once come so close to loving Sam, no degree of hatred seemed too extreme or even remotely unjustified.

However, before I could work out my best strategy for dismembering his life piece by piece, I decided I needed another gulp of my drink. When I lowered the gla.s.s from my lips, Camryn was standing right in front of me.

"Look," she said, her voice chilly, "Sam's in the bathroom. I've only got a minute, so I'll say this fast. He's taken." She paused, leveling those green eyes at me with utter gravity. "I saw the looks that pa.s.sed between you two. I don't know your history with him but, whatever it was, it's over now and he's with me."

A granule of salt must've caught in my throat because I had to cough a few times before I could laugh. "Camryn," I said between cough-laugh spasms, "I am so not after him. He's all yours, and I sincerely wish you the best of luck because, honey, you're gonna need it." I took another sip.

Her eyes narrowed. "Why do you say that?"

A glimmer of a strategy started to coagulate at the fringes of my mind. A devious one, true, but both drinking to excess and being around Sam had a way of bringing out the worst in me.

Again, I told Jane to calm down. (She wasn't letting up on the ranting.) I a.s.sured her I was doing all right and had the situation under control. Really.

Then I smiled sweetly at Camryn. "You each got into med school, right?"

"Right," Camryn said.

"The same med school?"

"No."

"The same city, at least?"

She shook her head and the gorgeous dark red tresses swayed like weeping willows. "But he'll be in New York, and I'll be in Philadelphia. They're not that far apart. We may be busy, but we'll see each other on some weekends and-"

"When do you leave?"

She pressed her lips together and her grip on her daiquiri tightened. "The end of the month. Why?"

"He'll break things off before then," I told her, my voice projecting a certainty I didn't feel in truth, but I made sure I sounded believable.

She tried to shrug it off. "Just because you couldn't hold on to him doesn't mean I-"

"Has he told you he loves you?"

"I don't have to answer that," she shot back.

"Fine, don't answer. Just think. Has he made you any promises? Or, when you bring up the future, does he deflect your questions?" I stopped for a long swallow of margarita.

Camryn remained silent, a cloud of uncertainty darkening her eyes.

I pressed on. "How about this-does he hide his feelings behind a facade of arrogance and cleverness, so you never really know what he's thinking? Does he enjoy the s.e.x, but always keep a barrier between you? I'm talking emotional, not prophylactic," I clarified, although Camryn was, I gathered, a smart enough cookie to figure it out.

The slight pallor of her complexion let me know I'd hit a nerve. This should've made me feel guilty. But, guess what? It didn't.

"You seem like a very intelligent person," I told her with measured condescension, "but even clever girls make mistakes in judgment sometimes. No one would blame you if you got taken in by him. Temporarily. Although, knowing the truth, one has to wonder why you'd put up with it for-"

"What the h.e.l.l is this?" a furious male voice demanded.

Sam.

Camryn and I swiveled toward him. "Back so soon?" I said.