“I miss those days,” she sighs, as we watch Monica walk down the aisle. I know what she means, and something in my chest sinks. I want to pull away and let her live her memory alone when she continues. “Not the wedding. Just that feeling of togetherness. Having friends to experience the highs and lows of life with you. I miss it.”
I shrug. Ally feels the rise and fall of my chest and looks up with a frown. “You don’t miss it?”
“I never had it.”
“Oh, come on. No old friends from Denton Academy that you raised hell with? If memory serves me well, I remember Denton guys having quite the reputation.”
I shake my head with a smile. Oh, I raised hell. Shit, I was legendary. But she’d never know that.
“I never had friends like that. I don’t even have friends like that now,” I tell her.
Ally lets her hand drift until it finds mine. She squeezes, her eyes smiling like they’ve just found a shiny, new penny. “Well…you have me. I’m your friend, right?”
Friend. Friend.
Is that what I am to her? Is there any other option?
I came into this with intentions of being something different. Her teacher. Her advisor. Her guide.
But then…then I wanted to be something else. Her friend, yes, but unconsciously, I thought that I would mean more. Something deeper.
Her lover.
I wanted to be this woman’s lover. This married woman’s lover.
As jaded and selfish and all–around fucked up as it makes me, it’s what I want. And even knowing that this could never be, I still want that illusion. I want to dig my heart out with a teaspoon and set it aflame, when I can clearly see how it will destroy me. That this woman—this delicate little dove—will destroy me.
“We are.” It’s all I can say without giving way to my true feelings. Without analyzing all the coulda-shoulda-wouldas that currently run through my head.
I squeeze the side of her arm and look back at the TV. Joey is officiating, and he tells Monica and Chandler to kiss once more. I laugh. Because that’s what a friend would do.
SEX, LIES, VIDEO TAPE AND PREGNANCY RUMORS?
Upper East Side socialite, Evan Carr, was caught with another woman while leaving a secluded clinic in Hoboken yesterday, dressed in plain clothing, a baseball cap and dark shades. The woman, also dressed similarly, appears to be the same woman from the sex tape that surfaced a week ago.
Rumors of infidelity are nothing new for the 29-year-old Manhattan playboy, and sources say that the woman in the tape and photographs is actually wife Allison Elliot-Carr’s best friend, Kelsie van Weiss. Kelsie and Allison both attended St. Mary’s Prep and even studied at Columbia together. According to sources close to the couple, Allison has indeed left their penthouse home in the city and has checked into a treatment facility for an addiction to painkillers, sparked by the cheating fallout. No word on which center at this time, but stay tuned for the latest breaking news…
I read the story again. Then again, hoping that I’ve misread. I mean, it’s the internet. Shit gets twisted, turned around and lost in translation. This can’t be correct. So what if I’m still basking in the rose-colored haze left behind by Ally’s presence last night. Something this awful, this disgusting, this hurtful can’t happen to her. Not even a prick like Evan could stoop that low.
I close the Google alert on my phone and scroll to my contacts. Heidi picks up on the first ring.
“I’m on it, Drake,” she snaps over the blaring sounds of car horns and shouting food vendors.
“Tell me this shit isn’t true.”
“What? You read Page Six, right? It’s all over E! and TMZ.”
“I know.” I silently scold myself for giving Evan too much credit. Of course, he would be that vile. It’s his true nature. That’s what happens when two ain’t-shit people procreate. They birth ain’t-shit kids that grow up to be ain’t-shit husbands.
“Like I said, I’m on it. We’ve already leaked check-in information for Mrs. Carr. Even some photos of her enjoying a massage and a facial that we pulled from your security. Everything will check out on her end. As for Evan…nothing we can do there.”
“And you ensured the header is displayed on the documents?” For tax purposes, Oasis is technically an ultra-exclusive spa. Few people know it exists, and even fewer actually know its location. The pap wouldn’t even know where to look.
“Yes, of course, Justice. This isn’t my first rodeo, you know.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Heidi asks, annoyance in her voice. When it comes to business, Heidi is about as no-nonsense as it gets. She isn’t challenged often– she has no reason to be. Her reputation speaks for itself.