Beneath The Skin(64)

And maybe it would be a good idea.

I can’t face them after what I just did.

Now I wonder if running into the exit door first was some kind of clue from the gods. I honestly consider finding that door again and leaving through it.

I’m sure Brant will recover just well enough without me. He’s the type of guy to salvage whatever fun can be had between him and his friends. They don’t need the dark, tortured likes of me around them. I bet if I slipped out of that exit door I first encountered, they wouldn’t even realize it until last call. They’re probably already back to laughing and have forgotten that Brant brought me along in the first place.

The bathroom door slowly opens behind me, then gently shuts with a tap. I don’t bother to turn around. From the reflection in the mirror, I know precisely who it is.

“Bad day?” Dessie asks tenderly.

Oh shit. She’s being all nice and crap. I don’t deserve that.

“I have them all the time,” she admits. “The Theatre world sucks.”

I roll my eyes and glare down at the spray of scalding hot water, its steam issuing up at me and giving me a damn facial.

“I didn’t mean to sound like I … like I don’t think much of Brant,” she goes on to explain lightly, her voice echoing throughout the tiny bathroom and forcing me to listen to a hundred Dessies at once. “I think a lot of him, actually. He’s a great guy. He’s funny. He’s obviously good-looking. My first impression of him was … him hitting on me at the bowling alley before realizing I was Clayton’s girl. Maybe that impression sort of stuck. But it really isn’t my place to say what guy he really is, because, well …”

“He didn’t tell me Clayton’s deaf,” I interject, the words coming out in half a croak.

I can’t tell if I’m still unnecessarily pissed or just trying to push every last button she has, acting out the role of every bully who ever pushed me around. Dessie has suddenly embodied all of them.

She comes to my side, right by the sink, and her words are soft and soothing. “Maybe this is all because … because I’m a singer and I have a boyfriend who will never hear a note of my music.” She chuckles dryly. “Maybe that fact makes me … sort of … sensitive to the notion that you might—perhaps—have a boyfriend who will never see your artistry.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” I say to the scalding water, speaking into the warm, thick mist that wafts over my face. “I think he sees a lot more than anyone gives him credit for.”

Dessie nods slowly. “I can see that.”

The steam burns my eyes. I don’t care. “And maybe I’m wrong, too,” I add thoughtfully. “Maybe I’m … not really seeing you. Or any one of Brant’s other friends. Maybe I don’t see anyone at all. Maybe I’m the one who’s blind to what people are … really like.”

Dessie reaches across me and shuts off the faucet. The last of the steam floats lazily past my face, the mirror foggy and my view vanished from sight.

“Brant must be doing somersaults in his pants when he’s around you,” she says to me teasingly. “You are gorgeous. I would kill for your cheekbones.”

I snort, unable to take the compliment. It’s the same sort of dumb shit my dad would tell me when he wasn’t drinking. I couldn’t believe any of his kind words then, and I can’t believe any of anyone’s kind words now.

Still, I say, “Thank you.”

“I think if we gave it a little chance, we could really get along well.”

“I’m sorry I was a bitch.”

Dessie studies me for a short moment, then takes me by my arms and turns me to face her. I meet her eyes reluctantly.

“I don’t take it you’re the type of person who apologizes often,” she tells me. “So that apology really means a lot to me.”

“Careful,” I warn her. “I’m not sure yet if I meant it.”

That earns a laugh from her. “You’re perfect.”

“Perfect?”

“I really don’t think you’re a bitch,” she tells me. “I actually think you’re exactly what a guy like Brant needs. You have twice the strength I’ll ever have, and considering the things they say about me behind my back in New York, that’s saying something.”

I wrinkle my face. “I’m what a guy like Brant needs? What’s that supposed to mean? What kind of guy is Brant?”

Dessie smiles knowingly. “A guy who … sees so much.”

I bite the inside of my cheek, considering her for a while. She gives me a quick rub on my arm, a soft and appreciative chuckle, then guides me out of the restroom with her.