What You Wish For Pt. 03

I smiled. "So how do you do it?"

"Dunno," she replied. "Just lucky I guess."

"So what do you do? I mean, I know you're in graduate school and all. But why? For what?"

"Writing," she said. "I love books. I mean really, really, really love 'em. They're my passion, my whole reason for being."

"So you want to teach?"

Frankly, the thought of this Goth-looking girl standing in front of a class of serious college students seemed a bit far fetched.

"Sure. I suppose so."

She smiled as the waitress delivered our dinners. Roadhouse burger with sweet potato fries for her, grilled chicken sandwich with fresh fruit for me. Sorry, but I can't get away with eating like Marisa. I'd weigh four hundred pounds in about a week.

"I really want to write, though," she said with a mouthful of food.

"Books? Short stories? Poems?"

She shrugged. "Probably not poetry. Doesn't really excite me all that much. Short stories are nice, too, but they don't make enough to live on. So I guess I'm gonna have to start with books sometime soon."

"Any ideas?"

She shook her head, cramming a bunch of fries in after her latest gulp of burger and chasing it down with a sip of Bacardi and Coke.

"Need more experience," she said when she finally swallowed. "You know. Life experiences."

"What about your life's experiences?"

Okay, I was on a roll, getting her to open up and talk with me more than the previous week and a half combined. Might as well push the point.

Her look told me she didn't understand the question, though.

"You married? Engaged? Kids? Any brothers or sisters? Where are you from? You know. Tell me about Marisa Key."

"Not much to tell. Born and raised in Chicago. Half sister. Mom and Dad divorced when I was seven. I've seen him maybe ten times since. Mom's a teacher; sister's a lawyer. Never married or engaged, and I'm not seeing anyone now."

I nodded.

"So your half-sister the lawyer," I said, my eyes widening as I looked at her and saw the faintest familiarity. It wasn't much, but it was there.

"Yeah, your Florida girlfriend. Susan's my sister. Different father, same mother."

I was stunned. No wonder Natalie had laughed.

"Don't pout," Marisa said, seeing the emotions rushing through my face.

"So when Susan said she knew an agent?"

"She lied," Marisa confessed. "I know the agent. But when she read your manuscript, she called me and told me I had to read it and try to get someone to look at it for you. So she sent it to me and I read it. What can I say? She was right. It was incredible."

"So you called Natalie," I continued the story for her.

Marisa nodded. "I've worked for her before. Told her I'd found a brilliant new manuscript that needed an agent to market it. Brand new author. It took some begging and pleading, but she agreed to read it if Susan could get it to her."

"And the rest is history," I concluded.

"Pretty much," Marisa agreed.

We finished our dinners in silence, me not knowing how to feel and wondering why I even gave a shit.

"Done pouting?" she said, pushing her plate aside then reaching for a piece of melon on my plate.

I laughed. "Nothing to pout about, is there?"

She shrugged.

"I mean, you did me a real big favor. Just wish I'd known earlier, I guess."

"What's the difference?"

"I wouldn't have backed off so quickly on making Natalie pay for the room."

She shook her head. "It's still a business. Always remember that."

"And your cut? Do you get something?"

She shrugged. "Natalie will probably give me a bonus of some kind. Not much, but something."

"Then what's in it for you?"

She smiled. "You're kidding, right?"

"I know it's not the joy of my company. You've made that clear for the past eleven days."

"The chance to make sure another promising author gets a chance?" she offered.

I shook my head.

"Fine," she admitted. "Natalie agreed to be my agent if I can get a book written and it's worth a shit, okay?"

I nodded. "Fair enough."

"So now you know everything, right?"

"Suppose so."

The waitress cleared the dirty plates, and Marisa ordered the warm peach melba and a glass of Pinot Grigio to go with it.

"So how's Susan doing?" I said.

"She liked you," Marisa replied, finishing her Bacardi and Coke and staring impatiently at the kitchen door where her dessert was being made. "A lot."

"She seeing anyone yet?"

Marisa turned back to me. "You really care?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"She just made it sound like you were just fuck buddies is all."

"That wasn't by my choice," I argued, feeling my anger rising.

"Jesus, Tyler," she said, making a face at my reaction. "Chill, man. Nothing wrong with it even if you were. I'm just sayin'."

"Saying what? That she was just a convenient piece of ass? That that's all I cared about?"

"Hey," she said, "settle down. I don't really know how you felt–or still feel–about her, okay?"

I nodded, trying to settle down.

"Who's that over there?" Marisa said.

"Don't change the subject," I replied.

"It's just that she's been staring at you for the past twenty minutes and I can't tell by her face whether it's good or bad."

I started to turn, but Marisa's hand on my arm stopped me.

"Don't look," she said. "She looks a lot like your girlfriend. What's her name."

"Allisyn."

"Yeah, her. And she's with a guy and a baby."

"My ex-wife," I said. "With her new family."

Marisa frowned at that, then picked up her spoon and took a bite of the peach melba as it was slid in front of her.

"Wanna bite?" she said with a mouthful of peaches, ice cream, and raspberry puree.

I shook my head, content to sip my after dinner cup of strong, black coffee.

"So that's her new husband?"

"And their baby," I said, sneaking a quick look to confirm it was, in fact, Kristin. She was staring at me, as was Randy, who appeared depressed by the whole thing. Kristin turned away, but Randy just kept right on looking.

Marisa said something that, with her mouthful of food, I didn't catch.

"What?"

She swallowed, took a sip of wine, then spoke in a low voice. "I said that's not his baby."

"What d'ya mean that's not his baby? Of course it is. That's why she left. So she could move up here, continue her affair with him, get knocked up by him, and start a whole new family."

"When was the baby born?"

"Who cares?"

"Because there's no way that's his baby," she said, her eyes looking into mine as she spoke. There was a touch of fear there and maybe sadness, and I had no idea what was coming over her.

"It's his," I said again.

"Look at him, Tyler. He's, what, five six maybe. Stocky build. Jet black hair and dark, dark skin tone. Look at the baby. He's big. I'm guessing he's about a year, but he's big even for a baby. She's not that big; your ex, that is. And the baby's got the blondest hair and bluest eyes I've ever seen. Christ, they're fifteen feet away and I can see the blue in those eyes."

"So what're you saying?" I said, knowing exactly what she was saying.

"You've got real light brown hair," she said, sipping her wine and looking over my shoulder at Kristin's table. "And I'll bet you were blonde when you were little. Real blonde."

"He's not mine," I said.

"And you have blue eyes, too. Big time. And your skin's light. Not dark like what's his name's skin tone."

"He's not my baby," I whispered, my voice going hoarse as I counted months in my head.

"Then when was he born?"

I shrugged. "Don't know."

She nodded.

"You may want to find that out," she said, pushing her half-eaten dessert to the side before gulping down the rest of her wine.

We left without another word between us.

And I felt Kristin's eyes gouging holes in my back as we walked past them.