Instead, he did as she asked, and left her alone, a butterfly trapped in her own cocoon.
***
On the drive out to the Prada display the next morning, Dylan realized Clarissa was right. Thirty-five miles made for a long drive in the desert, especially alone. Why waste his time? Except that in Marfa, he had time out the wazoo to waste. He slowed when the building came into view, then pulled over.
Kind of a meaningless bit, wasn’t it? Reality art. A realistic store, complete with perfectly aligned shoes on a shelf. No evidence of humans, and the artist had enough sense not to pose mannequins inside.
He got out and stood at a distance, staring.
I don’t get it
. Why did people think it so great? And why the hell did he find it so irritating?
He strolled around the building, but not much to see except for out front. He returned to its large window, and glanced down. Business cards of past visitors, weighted by stones, lined the low ledge that ran along the outside of the building. He reached for his wallet, following his natural instinct to promote his PR firm wherever possible, but once he had his own card in his hand, he couldn’t bring himself to leave it with the others.
Is that why Clarissa wanted him to come alone?
Am I supposed to have some fucking epiphany about being part of it, this meaningless emptiness? Is this supposed to reinforce the idea that my success is only an illusion?
Sudden anger roiled up, surprising him. He shoved the card back into his wallet. Goddamn her anyway. He worked hard every freaking day. Long hours, catering to clients, doing everything possible to ensure they got what they needed.
Yeah, what
they
needed. What about me?
Stunned, he stared at the long strip of highway. Where the hell did that come from?
“I have everything I need,” he said to no one. “More than enough.” A condo in the best part of the city, a great sports car, big-screen TVs in the bedroom, living room….
Who ever visited him, though? Hardly anyone. He didn’t even like to bring dates there because rarely did any relationship advance past the “date” level. He tried to think of his last real girlfriend. Someone he cared about. A girl who listened to him, who showed less interest in his money than in his opinions.
“Shit.” He rested his hands on his hips. He couldn’t even remember who his last real friend had been. Not a business associate or a client. Another guy who he could joke with, be himself around, who asked nothing of him beyond companionship.
Then it struck him. “Jeff.” Years ago.
In a daze, he shuffled to the car, climbed in, and drove back to Marfa. Leaving the car in the first available spot, he strode into the Blue Moon Café, straight toward the front counter where Clarissa was checking out two customers.
Her waitressy smile faded when she saw him. “What’s wrong?”
He leaned on the counter. “You knew, didn’t you?”
Her glance went left and right. “Excuse me?”
Embarrassed about customers overhearing? He could care less what they thought, but lowered his voice so he wouldn’t upset her. “You told me to go by myself to the Prada display because you knew I’d find more than an empty display there.”
“You went?” Her face clouded. “I don’t get it. What else did you find?”
“Come on. You know what I found. The truth about myself.”
“Sorry, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She closed the cash drawer and hurried into the kitchen. Amy and Harvey swung their heads toward them.
“Hey.”
Jaw clamped, Dylan nodded in greeting to them, hot on Clarissa’s cowboy-boot heels—which kept on going out the back door. He had to pull up short to avoid slamming into her when she abruptly turned.
She held up her hands. “I don’t know what this is all about, but you have to leave me alone.”
“I can’t. And you don’t want me to, not really.”
Glaring, she shook her head. “Don’t give me that.”
“Why did you kick me out last night? Because you didn’t feel anything when I kissed you? Or because you felt too much?”
“Get this straight, Dylan. I don’t play games.”
“Neither do I.”
She huffed a laugh. “You’re all about the game. You don’t have a clue about what’s real.”
“You can show me.” The only person who ever saw through him, who knew him better than he knew himself.
Damn, why did he keep screwing up with her? He reached for her. “Clarissa.”
Her brow arched. “No.” She whirled away, and cried out. A cry of physical pain.
Her ankle
. He caught her when she lost her balance, then drew her against him.
“Are you all right?”
“Fine,” she said through gritted teeth.
“I’m sorry.” He kissed her neck, then couldn’t stop. He trailed kisses down her neck to her shoulder but stopped short of the feather. And the word inside it.
Brat?
“Don’t.” The shiver in her whisper slammed into him as she jerked away.
“Okay.” He released her. “Sorry again. I can’t help myself around you.”
She trembled as if caught in a blizzard. “That’s no excuse.”
“For you to rip into me?”
She dropped her head. “I’m sorry. I….”
“Can’t help yourself either?” At least she looked as confused as he felt. “Man, I wish we could start over.”
Sadness showed in her eyes. “Impossible.”
“No, it isn’t.” Nothing worthwhile was impossible. He extended his hand. “Hi, I’m Dylan Wall.”
Staring, she shook her head.
Don’t give up
. “This is where you shake my hand….” He grasped hers and gently shook. “And we say how nice it is to meet.”
“Nice to meet you, Dylan.” She said it with zero feeling.
Yeah, so one last game, hopefully to clear the air. He could muster better from her. “You must be Clarissa. Jeff’s told me…almost nothing about you, actually. Maybe we could go out for a drink tonight, and you could fill me in on all the pertinent details.”
The blue of her eyes became frosty. “The pertinent details usually scare the shit out of most guys.”
A challenge? One he’d gladly accept. “I’ll take my chances. What time do you get off work?”
She hugged herself. “I have a date tonight.”
He ground his jaw. “Cancel it.”
Please
.
“I can’t. I’m sorry.”
Damn, she actually seemed to mean it.
“Maybe after tomorrow night’s rehearsal dinner, then?”
Her furtive glance signaled the opposite of her “Maybe. I have to get back to work.”
Yeah, and he had to go…somewhere he wouldn’t cause anyone embarrassment. Especially himself. “I’m going to wander around town a bit. Staying away from Prada.” Some joke.
Half nodding, half ducking her head, she slipped past him and went inside.
Have fun, Dylan. See you later, Dylan. Leave me the fuck alone, Frat Boy
. The phrases played through his head in Clarissa’s voice. The most plausible? The last one.
But already, he found himself looking forward to tomorrow night’s wedding rehearsal dinner.
She couldn’t run away from him there.
***
The day’s heat seeped away with the sunset. In the courtyard of Hotel Paisano, Clarissa hoped she didn’t appear too out of place. Despite the new sundress, formal events put her ill at ease. The steady trickle of the three-tiered waterfall into the pool at the center of the courtyard had a calming effect.
The wedding rehearsal at the café had gone off without a hitch. She and Harvey had cleared the tables after closing early. Amy and Jeff held hands as the minister pretended to marry them. Dylan mimed handing over the rings. After a day of wondering where he was, what he was doing, Clarissa tried to ignore him.
No J. D. all day, either.
I’m bad for business
. And too much down time left too many hours to think. To remember.
Dylan. Her thoughts kept returning to him. Now he sat across the circular table, his presence all too palpable.
Clarissa sipped water, condensation dripping onto her dress. Brushing the drops away, she realized someone said her name.
Jeff
. “Clarissa grew up in a college town—Princeton. She almost went to Columbia University.”
An excuse for Dylan to turn his focus on her. Full blast. “Why didn’t you?”
“I came here instead.” She kept her pleasant expression but hoped her low tone would convey her complete unwillingness to discuss it further.
For once, he took the hint and didn’t press it. But why did he keep staring at her? Glancing over every few seconds? Checking to see she was still there? Looking for reassurance?
Look somewhere else
.
When she excused herself to go to the ladies’ room, he followed her inside.
“Hey, Clarissa, wait a minute.”
“I’m only going to the restroom.”
If I can only find it
.
“Can we talk? Please?”
“Maybe it could wait.” Forever. If he thought her “almost” Columbia U. status something they could bond over, he had another think coming.
She made the mistake of stopping in front of the large television monitor where the classic flick
Giant
played all day, every day. James Dean was lavishing a hound dog smile on Elizabeth Taylor and drawled, “You sure do look pretty, Miss Leslie. Pert nigh good enough to eat.”
So does Dylan
. He smelled wonderful, too.
He had the same hound dog smile as James Dean. “Promise you’ll dance with me.”
“What, now? This tile floor’s too slippery.”
“I’ll hold you.”
So tempting. His strong arms around her, swaying to their own rhythm. “There’s no music.”
“So disappointing. You’re a slave to convention? We can dance here in the lobby if we want. Come on, for Jeff and Amy’s sake.”
Kind of a crazy logic, but it made sense. She glanced outside at the table where Jeff and Amy sat so close their shoulders must have touched, and let out a breath.
Not so crazy
. They depended on her to be there for them. When she smiled sweetly up at Dylan, his smile widened. “One dance, Frat Boy. For their sakes. But not till the wedding.”
He winced. “You’re cruel.”
Finally, she saw the restroom door. Before she breezed through it, she smiled over her shoulder. “I’ve been called worse.” And as the song went, better to be cruel to be kind.
The next line of lyrics echoed through her head,
It’s a very good sign
.
What? No. No no no. She spared his feelings in the long run. Nothing more.
In the few minutes it took her to return, Bethany and Brooke had Dylan cornered.
Safe
. She plucked a champagne flute from a passing server’s tray and meandered around the courtyard, grateful for the stone pavers, much less slippery than the tile lobby.
Amy caught her in passing and reeled her into the circle with the Smileys and Conrads. “You remember Clarissa, my maid of honor?”
She smiled and exchanged the usual pleasantries, mind-numbing until Mrs. Smiley cautioned, “You watch out for that Dylan.”
Clarissa’s neck hairs stood on end. “Pardon?”
Mr. Smiley winked. “He’s a prankster.”
The sensation faded. A little. “What kind of pranks?”
Mrs. Smiley hooted. “Do you remember the Thanksgiving before graduation, Jeff? Dylan put a few of those bullet hole decals on the Davidson kid’s Camaro? He spent every weekend polishing that thing. The boy nearly fainted when he saw it until Dylan peeled one off and assured him no one shot his precious car. Amazing how realistic they looked, though.”
Her husband agreed. “Or the time he replanted a few of Old Fussbucket’s perennials?” Mr. Smiley wheezed a laugh. “I thought she’d have a cow.”
Mrs. Smiley laid a hand on Clarissa’s wrist. “She admitted later the arrangement improved her landscaping.”
Jeff raised his glass and said before sipping, “Classic Dylan.”
“Huh.” Mind-boggling. “I can’t imagine.”
“Can’t imagine what?” Dylan appeared beside her.
“You.” Jeff said. “A prankster.”
Dylan gave a nervous laugh. “We all do crazy things when we’re young.”
“Yes.” She and Brad had committed their share of pranks. Before the diagnosis. Later she couldn’t stop wondering if somehow she’d brought all their bad luck down on them.
“You, too?” Dylan asked.
“What?” How had he read her? Whatever expression she’d made, she did her best to hide it. Too late.
“Were you a practical jokester? I bet you were. You had a mischievous side, didn’t you?”
Not something she wanted to share. “No. I had a reputation for beating up the pranksters.” She smiled sweetly.
A sigh meant he understood her warning. “Good thing I grew out of it, then.”
Or too bad. It would’ve been a better excuse for the way he behaved the night they met.
He grew serious. “Guess you wouldn’t believe me if I told you I was pulling a fast one that first night?”
What? Her neck hairs stood at high alert.
Unbelievable
.
He eased away. “Guess not.”
Too weird. Clarissa couldn’t shake the feeling.
We’re on the same wavelength?
No way. She didn’t realize she was shaking her head until his voice drew her out of her mental haze.
“Forget I mentioned it,” he muttered before gulping his beer.
“Good idea.” She wandered toward Jeff and Amy. “Thanks for a lovely evening. I’m calling it a night.”
Amy hugged her. “Talk to you tomorrow, sweetie.”
Dylan stepped beside her. “I’m headed out, too. I’ll drive you.”
What a coincidence
. She dangled her keys. “No need. Good night.” It would have been an easy walk from her little house to Hotel Paisano, but she had to avoid any undue chivalry from Dylan. One brief car ride with him and he’d have walked her to her door. A short stroll from the door to the loft and no doubt they’d end up there.
Tonight, she needed to clear her head. Something she couldn’t seem to do around Dylan.
After two cups of coffee, Clarissa frowned into her fridge. No milk. No eggs. No juice. One Greek yogurt, not enough to see her through the day. A trip to the market would remedy her needs, but somewhere in Marfa, Dylan wandered the streets. At a gallery, maybe? The Marfa Book Co. to catch up on news of the world? If she went anywhere, she’d run into him.