Inside the Mind of Gideon Rayburn (29 page)

No, Gid, he would just fix things.

"I guess he didn't turn out to be so much of a catch," Gideon says.

To his surprise Mrs. Westerbeck smiles fondly at the picture. "No," she says. "He was a catch. How do you
think I got
all
this? Working?" She makes a wide gesture to include her large, well-appointed apartment. "The wonderful-man thing, well, I guess Lucy, that's Nicholas's stepmother, she might think so, but I..."

Gid wants to wrap this up. "It must have been very hard," he says.

Mrs. Westerbeck laughs a little
—this time a little less kindly. "Don't believe everything Nicholas tells you," she
says. "He thinks just because I miss him so much that I want a husband. I don't. I work out to fit into my clothes."

"I can relate to that," Gideon says. "I used to be skinny fat. In fact, I have your son to thank for getting me in
shape."

Mrs. Westerbeck smiles with recognition. "Ah, yes. Skinny fat. Nicholas always says that about his
stepmother. He thinks he needs to make me feel better. But I'm fine." She closes the door with a wistful half-smile on
her face.

Gideon lies awake for a long time. He's never slept this far off the ground. What if there were an earthquake?
Most people think there are only earthquakes in California, but Gid read once there could be a giant earthquake
almost anywhere. What would he do if there were an earthquake? Would he call his mother first or his father? Would
he appreciate life more after it, because he knew he could die at any time, or less, because he knew there might not
be any point? He wonders if Molly could forgive him if she knew how much of a chicken he was.

I like it when Gid and I are both lying awake. It used to get a little exhausting listening to him, when everything
was new, but now that I know him well, I can follow him a lot better. Now I almost don't notice the difference between
our thoughts.

Gideon feels himself being gently shaken. He thinks he's back at school. "Cullen, leave me alone," he says
reflexively.

"It's not Cullen, douche, it's Nicholas. Hello, you're in my apartment." Gid opens his eyes, his heart beats fast,
and for the split second when he still doesn't know what's going on, he thinks he's a scared little kid. Then he
acclimates himself to the room, the giant windows, the towering bookshelf. When his eyes fall on the black-and-white
photo of Nicholas's father, he finally knows what's happening.

"We're going out," Nicholas says.

"But I don't want to go out," Gid mumbles. This is a really comfortable bed. Mrs. Westerbeck explained to him it
was some special mattress from Sweden. Gid thinks it feels like he's lying on a giant piece of bread. When he finally
fell asleep, it was with the image of an entire special Swedish mattress full of Swedish girls. It was a little unpleasant, but I got used to it. It was kind of like watching a spring-break movie where all the actresses have blonde braids piled
on top of their heads.

"Whatever," Nicholas says. "I just can't sleep, and Liam and Devon called me."

No reason to leave this Scandinavian heaven. None at all. Gid can most certainly make it until Sunday without
seeing those guys.

"And they're with some girls, at a bar that's not far from here. Madison, Mija, Pilar, some friends of theirs."

Pilar in New York. In her natural habitat. In a bar. How exciting was that!

To you, Gid, extremely. Me, I just wish we were still asleep.

Pilar did say she wanted to hang out with him here. Her number is floating around somewhere in his duffel. He
hadn't dared think he'd have the courage to use it.

Gid says, "I have Pilar's number written in lipstick in my bag, and I was thinking that's the only way I will ever get
her lipstick to touch my underwear." He laughs again. "Oh, Jesus," he says, "is life ridiculous or what?"

Then he sits bolt upright. The amazing Swedish bed barely moves underneath him. "Wow," he says.

"Look," Nicholas says, "are you coming or not?"

"Just be quiet for a second. I have to tell you something. Something weird just happened to me. I...did you
notice that? When I just said, Is life ridiculous or what?'"

Nicholas nods slowly, with mock patience.

"Well, I really did think it was funny. The idea of Pilar not liking me, because I'm lame, or too short, or not cool
enough, well, usually when I think that, I get sad. But this time, I actually laughed about it." He pauses, thinks. "Okay,"
he says, "it went away. I just thought about how I was a dork and she would never really like me, and as usual I felt bad about myself. But for a second there, it didn't matter. None of it mattered. I felt good. Isn't that incredible?"

Nicholas stares at him. "I think that maybe what you're saying is beautiful. Can we go now?"

A few minutes later, they're stealing down the service entrance stairway of Nicholas's building. "The doorman
and my mom are tight," Nicholas explains. "At least when it comes to my behavior." At the bottom of the stairs, they
pass through a grim hallway crowded with garbage cans and pause at a heavy steel door with a sign that reads:

BUILDING PERSONNEL ONLY.

"Just wait." Nicholas whips out his cell phone. "Cullen? Hey. Yeah." He laughs and covers up the phone for a
second. "He's in a bar in Denver, trying to pick up some woman who has three kids." He talks into the phone again.
"I'm sure she is. I have a proposition for you. Okay, full disclosure: Pilar wrote her phone number for Gideon in
lipstick. Did you know that? Yeah, neither did I. It's not, like, the biggest deal in the world. It's not like automatic sex. But it's good. Okay. Here it is. I say, Gid and Pilar, tonight. No, I haven't changed my mind about Gideon. I still think
he's a giant loser." He smiles at Gideon. Gideon likes Nicholas's calling him a loser
—likes it the same way he liked it
when Molly told him he was clueless. "I just have a hunch. I like the way Gid's representing himself tonight. I think he's
really tapping into something."

After he hangs up, Gid says, "The bet's not really real, is it?"

They've changed the rules enough times that Gideon's finally figured out: There are no rules.

Nicholas mashes his lips together and puts the phone into the pocket of his blue fleece jacket.

"I mean, it's as real as it is not real. We are all kind of watching me try and get something because, you know,
what else is there to do? But the car...you're going to give me the car at the end of the year regardless, because

you drive it whenever you want to anyway, and it's not worth a lot even though it's a Beemer
—I looked it up: Blue
book's only, like, three grand."

"I don't know what a blue book is," Nicholas says haughtily, "but the car's worth four grand."

They step onto Ninety-third and start to walk east. Again they're sharing the sidewalks with old people and little
dogs
—there are just fewer of them. "It's not that the bet's totally bullshit," Nicholas says carefully. "It's just that we
don't really care how it turns out. Let's say Cullen wins. He may sleep with my sister, he may not. If I still don't want
him to—and I would never tell him, he would just know—he wouldn't. And if I won, well, would I really make Cullen go out with some girl for a whole year? I don't know. We might do that anyway next year, whether Cullen sleeps with my
sister or not. That's going to be fun, by the way. Thank God we didn't get kicked out."

Gid's hovering somewhere between anger and relief. The relief is pretty strong. That bet is, was, such a ball
and chain, a constant reminder that he didn't quite own his own time. But he put so much into something that wasn't
even there. "I fucking...! kind of hate you," he says. Nicholas whitens. Gideon immediately regrets this, but he
doesn't stop. He deserves to say this. "I tortured myself over that bet."

"Oh, come on," Nicholas says. "Are you really that miserable?"

A fair question.

Gid hugs himself and looks up, feeling cradled by tall buildings on both sides of the street. The air is cool but
not uncomfortable, and he's wearing a jacket of Nicholas's that smells like a fireplace and, if you get close, a little like Nicholas's mother. He's still full of Chinese food, and he's going to have a drink in Manhattan. No, he's not
miserable. "I'm not," he says. "My life is not bad at all."

Nicholas appears relieved. "The bet wasn't...isn't...nothing," he says. "We are serious about it in a way."

"It's just in another way, you're not serious about it," Gid says. "Right?"

"Well," Nicholas says, "we were kind of trying to distract you from your virginity."

God, that hadn't occurred to me. But the bet did have that effect.

"No way," Gideon says. "It worked."

"Please," Nicholas says. "Don't tell me what I already know."

Gid and Nicholas smile at each other, though Gid shakes his head to let Nicholas know he's never going to be as innocent as he once was. Then, suddenly, he says, "Shit. Molly. I knew there was a reason this wasn't all okay."

Nicholas stops, letting Gid talk. It's the least he can do.

"I think I really hurt her."

"Well," Nicholas says, "I don't want to be flip, but she did say it wasn't the bet."

Gideon scowls. "Of course she's going to say that." He starts walking again. "What else is she going to say?"

"From what I know of Molly McGarry," Nicholas says, "she usually says what she means."

"So if it's not the bet, then it's me, of course. That's worse," Gid says helplessly.

"I don't know what you're so upset about," Nicholas says.

I have some ideas. But I'm not entirely sure.

"Molly McGarry's in Buffalo, and she's fine. And Pilar Benitez-Jones, she's fine too. And she's here. In New
York. Waiting for you."

^{please don't talk about love tonight}

Gid always imagined any bar in Manhattan would be really stylish. He imagined walls made out of fish tanks. The
men would be wearing suits, and the women would all be in tiny dresses holding martini glasses carefully as they
navigated light-pulsating walkways in spike heels. But this is just a bar, with Formica tables, ugly, low-hanging lights
with faux stained-glass shades, and a neon beer sign.

New York isn't all that, he thinks, but he's not disappointed, he's comforted. He can totally deal with this.

Gid has planned that he's just going to hang back and wait to make his move. He steps up to one end of the
bar, edging himself between a blonde in a scarf, drinking white wine, and a freckly black-haired girl drinking beer out
of a bottle. "We were having a chat," the black-haired girl says. She's Irish.

"God, I'm sorry," Gid says, backing away. They both burst out laughing. Gid smiles nervously, not sure if
they're laughing at him or laughing because they just want to look happy in front of him. He thinks girls are capable of
this. Even older girls.

He's right. And that is what they're doing.

Nicholas studies the jukebox with sober focus.

The blonde pats her chest and pulls the clasp of her pearls around to the back. "Go ahead, go ahead," she
says. "We were just laughing because you're so polite." His brown eyes narrow, and she leans in, whispering, "That
girl at the end of the bar is looking at you."

Gid leans past her to see Pilar, seated four or five stools away. She's holding a martini glass containing
something pink and festive, and a group of older guys, uniformly handsome, surround her in almost perfect symmetry. She softens her eyes and moves them a little to the left. At Gideon. She smiles now, slowly, her
expression sexily suspicious but playful. Like, "Well, well, well, what are you doing here?" Although of course
Madison, her friend, called them to come. She touches the glass to her lips.

So cheap! Effective. But so cheap.

"Damn," says the Irish girl. "I wish I looked like that."

"Not me," the blonde girl says, lifting and dropping her pearls. "What a giant pain in the ass. Seriously, though."
This to Gideon: "Let her come over here. A girl like that has to come to you. Trust me."

The Irish girl laughs out loud.

I like these girls. They could be my friends. I think Gid likes them too. Why, he thinks, can't Cullen and Nicholas
be more like them? Friendlier in their harshness?

Gideon's radically insufficient age is no impediment in procuring a beer from the thin-lipped, unsmiling
bartender. He gets a Guinness for Nicholas, who is feeding dollar bills into the jukebox. Madison appears, raking
through her hair with her fingers. "Hey, doofus," she says to Nicholas and bumps him with her hip.

I wonder what Madison's going to be like as a grown-up. I think she'll just marry a rich guy and do Pilates all
day.

Nicholas ignores her. He presses B16, "Get Off of My Cloud."

"So cool with the classic rock," Madison says. "You know, Erica was going to come, but she didn't, because of
you."

Nicholas continues to punch in selections: R12, "Teenage Wasteland."

Gid speaks up. "I feel bad for Erica. I think she's a nice girl, and," he adds, because he knows that this will increase his credibility of the controversial viewpoint he's about to offer, "an excellent soccer player. However..."

"Oh, God," Madison says, "I am going to need more alcohol for this one." She sips. "Okay, go ahead."

"How long has Erica known Nicholas?" he asks.

"Forever," Madison says, thrilled to be in the know. "They've known each other for years. Nicholas went to
Dixon's, and she went, with me, to the sister school, Saint K's, which is, like, the best girls'
school..."

Gid and I wonder simultaneously what it might be like to parade around with Madison's severed head on the
end of a stick.

The music's loud, so Nicholas either can't hear them or can get away with pretending he can't.

"My point is," Gid says, "Nicholas's mother stares at him when he eats. She sits there and pets him. Now, I
love Nicholas." He pats him warmly on the back. "And Mrs. Westerbeck is a nice woman. But my point is, simply, if
you know that a guy's mother pets him when he eats, all I'm saying is his behavior is totally predictable."

Nicholas is staring at the tops of his shoes and smiling. Gid is loving himself.

Gid notices Pilar working her way toward him. This is what it's all about, Gid thinks. Don't lose your nerve. If
only his stare wasn't so blatant. Why does Pilar have to wear white all the time? As if she knows that it just makes

Gid lose his mind. She smiles her deeply shiny lip-glossed smile.

Gid, don't stop staring at girls. Some of them might not like it, but the ones who do, well, they'll make up for your
trouble.

"He's telling us why Erica was stupid to have sex with Nicholas," Madison says.

"I didn't say stupid," Gid says. "I never said stupid. I am only saying that she shouldn't have been surprised by
the outcome."

"I agree. I agree, and I'm impressed," Pilar says. Pilar presses into him. What is with her, this way of making it
seem like she's in a tight space, like she just can't help but sidle up to you, when in fact there's plenty of room? Not
that he minds. She smells like slightly sweet cucumbers. "Do you want another beer? I'm empty." She wags her glass
in front of his face.

"Sure," Gideon says, pouring the rest of his beer down the back of his throat. She takes the bottle from him.
"Let me get it for you," she says, with that slow-eye flutter Gid really likes.

He watches her walk away. Nicholas just sits back and watches it happen, a wondrous smile on his face. I
watch too, a little more subdued.

Gid, though, of all the people watching this seduction unfold, has the best view and is the most amazed. He feels like someone programmed his body to know exactly what to do. He slips easily off his stool and guides her off
of hers when she goes outside to smoke. When he lights her cigarette, even though the wind is blowing hard up the
avenue, he cups the matches perfectly, and they never blow out. Inside, he raises his hand to the bartender, keeps
his eyes on her even as he reaches into his pocket for money to pay for her drinks. She tells him a story about her
uncle running for district president of some small district in the southern part of Argentina
—Patagonia, the place that
he had no idea was really a place. Gid doesn't really understand what's funny about the story—something to do with
a blind dog, a roasted chicken, and a farmer—but he manages to laugh in all the right places. He feels—a feeling
that increases with each drink—like there's a beam of light connecting their faces, even their bodies, a beam of light
that lifts him up a bit, makes him feel weightless.

He tells her the story of Mrs. Frye and the ranunculus and how he was mean to Liam Wu and watching the
bloodhound show on the Discovery Channel. He's careful with the parts about Molly McGarry. He says enough so
that she knows other chicks dig him but not so much that she doubts his interest. She's leaning in closer and closer,
hanging on his every word. She smells like warm flowers and cucumbers and sugar. He puts a tentative hand on her
leg. She lets it sit there. She puts her hand on her neck, arranging and rearranging her fragrant dark hair.

When girls start playing with their hair, Cullen says it is fucking
done,
and I can't say I disagree.

Madison saunters over. She takes note of Gid's hand on Pilar's leg.

"Awfully cheeky for a new guy," she says.

"Madison," Gid says, reaching out with his free hand and chucking her under the chin. "I'm not the new guy
anymore. I'm just.. .the guy you'll never have and dream of forever."

Madison actually laughs at this, genuine, friendly laughter. Most important, she turns on the heel of her Marc
Jacobs wedges and leaves them alone. Gideon slides his hand farther up Pilar's leg until he's got underwear. Pilar pulls away. Gid is on the verge of saying sorry when he instead meets Pilars eye and just stares at her. It's a good
move. Girls hate sorry. Like, unless you do something really bad that you didn't mean to do. But shit, thinks Gid, I
can't apologize for trying to do the very thing in this world that I live for.

"I don't take my underwear off in bars," Pilar says. "But my parents are in Rome."

"Okay," says Gideon slowly, having no point of reference for such a thing, wondering, drunkenly, if Rome is a
restaurant.

Then they're making out. He inches his hand down toward her breasts, which, in particular, is something he's
been dreaming of doing for so long that it almost plays like deja vu.

She stops him, but only to say, "Seriously, my parents aren't flying in from Rome until tomorrow morning. Let's
go back to my place."

Everything is arranged so quickly. Nicholas is going to tell his mother Gideon went out for a run before they got
up, and he's going to leave jogging clothes for him at the tenth-floor landing on the service stairs. Pilar stands there
smiling and almost blushing. When did she become so girlish?

Nicholas slips him a single apartment key. "You realize now," he says, "that my mother is going to be petting
me all alone tomorrow. She pets harder without an audience. Get back by nine. She won't suspect a thing." He
stands back and regards Gideon with much respect. "You have become the creature I believed you could become."

Gid breathes in the moment like it's mountain air.

And then he's outside, walking the streets of Manhattan at three o'clock in the morning, with not just a girl but
literally the girl of his dreams. She's holding his hand. She's glassy-eyed. She's wearing high-heeled boots and a short skirt. Oh my God, Gid thinks. I've never had sex before. This is a terrible idea. But he can't think that. This is
the opportunity of a lifetime. Try not to think so much like you usually think, he instructs himself.

They're in her apartment now. Her parents' apartment, which is a vast expanse of glass, leather, and right
angles. They make out against giant walls of mirrors. His natural abilities return, his sense that he knows how to
behave, what to do. They make out all the way down a hallway, first her up against the wall, with one of Gid's hands
under her shirt and the other one on the inside of her thigh. She pushes him away, and he thinks he's gone too far,
but no, now he's against the wall, and Pilar's unbuttoning his shirt and pushing it off of him. He touches the top of her
warm head as she kisses his chest, and she looks up and stares at him.

"Are you okay?" she says.

He nods.

She leads him into a room with a giant white bed, which she falls onto, giggling, her legs, bare above the boots,
bouncing provocatively up in the air. Jesus, Gid thinks. This is it. This isn't just
it,
this is the end and the beginning of everything. He feels like he should say something before it starts, and after some thought he settles on "You look so
good in white."

"Thanks," she says. "I got the idea from J. Lo."

"You got the idea from J. Lo? I don't understand. Did J. Lo invent white?"

Pilar smacks the bed, instructing him to get on it. "She didn't invent white, but she kind of made it popular," she says as she runs her fingers down the front of his chest. She has nails! Adult nails. It's almost.. .well, it's sexy, but it's
also scary. Like anything could happen. "Anyway, don't tell anyone."

Gid frowns. "I think a lot of people know who J. Lo is," he says.

"No," Pilar says, now straddling him. "Don't tell anyone I got my idea about always wearing white from J. Lo. Or
if you do, make sure they don't tell anyone."

He doesn't know whether to be happy that she's straddling him or to burst out laughing at the idea of himself
actually saying the following sentence to a fellow human being; "Pilar wears white because of J. Lo. But don't tell
anyone." God, Molly would think that was funny. Molly. But there's no time for that. Pilar is bearing down on him,
kissing him, her movie-star hands undoing his pants, taking off his shirt. Gid's mind feels like it's going to fall out of
his head. It feels like it might fall out of my head too.

Then Madison Sprague comes tumbling out of the closet. Holding a video camera.
"Oh, shit," Madison says.

Gideon's first impulse is to feel incredibly, overwhelmingly grateful that he's still wearing his underwear. Once he's processed that, all he can think of to say is "I didn't even know you two liked each other."