Chapter 3
Dodie
New York, New York
Everyone hates first dates. The awkwardness, the sheer terror of rejection. The armor you have to put on, piece by painstaking piece, before you leave the house. The pinching small talk. Excruciating, really. Just awful.
I sat at a small table in a restaurant in the Lower East Side and made sure everything was just so.
The cutlery wasn’t spotted, the single candle was lit, the cloth napkins were folded into pleasant squares.
I adjusted my posture to be straight enough to flatter but not so straight as to appear stiff.
I didn’t need to check my hair or makeup in my compact mirror because I already knew I looked good. I always did.
Tonight’s first date was named Ethan Markham, and I’d never met him before, which was perfect.
One of the other models at the agency, Nadia, knew him from the building she lived in.
She suggested him to me because all the models I knew were aware I was dating, that I was looking.
I put the word out. They might have thought I was a little pathetic, because it behooves a model to be standoffish with men, to make them chase her.
Nadia didn’t want to date this Ethan Markham herself, and she didn’t say why.
It was probably because she was sleeping with a photographer in Hell’s Kitchen while also seeing a man who claimed to be a movie producer and was almost definitely a liar.
In other words, she was busy, so she sent him my way.
All I knew about Ethan Markham was that he lived in New York, was in no way involved with the modeling business, and was thirty years old.
I knew that his voice on the phone was low and pleasantly nervous when he called to set up this date.
He made no small talk and hung up as soon as possible.
He also had a nice name, which spoke of a man who was conventionally handsome and probably a bit of a bore.
That was fine with me, because after tonight, I’d never see him again.
I tapped my fingers on the table, impatient.
My nails were manicured, my hands soft, because yesterday I’d modeled a watch for a jewelry company.
Hand modeling was lucrative and hard to get.
Many models disdained it, because since no one sees your face, you can’t get famous.
This was never something that bothered me, and my hands were exquisite, so I was in some demand.
There was murmured conversation in the dim corner of the restaurant, and then a man appeared at my table. “Dodie Esmie?” he asked, hovering just behind his chair, in case he had the wrong woman.
I pushed my chair back and stood, smiling.
I hid my surprise. Ethan Markham was tall—over six feet—and lean, his limbs long.
His dark hair fell in curls about an inch too far in need of a cut, flopping over his ears.
He wore dark-framed studious-looking glasses and an expression that was serious and rather sweet.
He held out a large, rawboned hand to give me a handshake, like an undertaker. His suit was navy blue.
“Hi,” I said, shaking his hand. His skin was warm, which surprised me again. Everyone had clammy hands on a first date. Ethan’s hand felt pleasant. Though his demeanor was solemn, his face was youthful, his jawline clean.
He dropped my hand quickly, pulling away. “It’s nice to meet you.”
We pulled out our chairs and sat, facing each other.
“You surprised me,” I said to him after we’d given our drink orders.
He blinked at me. “Why?”
“Because you don’t look like an Ethan. But honestly, I’m happy about it. Life is boring when everything is the way you expect.”
A small crease appeared between his brows as he frowned. “I don’t know what a Dodie is supposed to look like,” he admitted. “I’ve never met one before.”
I laughed.
“Did I say the wrong thing?” he asked. Before I could answer, he shook his head. “Wait a minute, I’m confused. What is an Ethan supposed to look like?”
“Blond, I think,” I said. “A Wall Street type, maybe. Square chin. Lots of golf.”
This seemed to throw him further into confusion. “I don’t golf. Is that a problem? I’ve never been to Wall Street in my life. I’m sorry if I’ve let you down.”
“Relax,” I said. I reached over and touched his arm, which was a mistake, because my fingertip touched the inside of his wrist and he pulled away again, as if by reflex. It was a little bit like a come-on, which wasn’t what I intended.
I pulled my hand back. I had to regroup, which I didn’t usually need to do. “I only mean that you don’t have to worry about the impression you make on me because it’s just a first date.”
Ethan looked surprised, and then the waiter came, and we were distracted by giving our orders. I ordered a caprese salad because it was delicious and because it always confounded people. It was a salad, which meant a model could order it, but it was also cheese. Perfect.
“I thought impressions were important on a first date,” Ethan said when the waiter had left. It started to sink in for me just how earnest he was. His eyes were dark and handsome behind his glasses.
“They aren’t important with me,” I explained. “I’m very good at first dates. They’re all I do.”
There was a pause as he processed this. He was a man who didn’t need repeated explanations. “You mean there won’t be a second date?”
“There never is,” I said, sipping my seltzer. I never got tipsy on dates; it ruined the experience. “Don’t take it personally. In fact, you should find it freeing.”
“My God, you’re strange,” he said, a note of soft wonder in his voice.
I took it as a compliment. I leaned toward him, lowering my voice.
Maybe it was the candlelight, but I was starting to notice that beneath the nerdy awkwardness, his cheekbones were actually nice, and there was something kind yet masculine about his mouth.
“Think about it,” I said. “I haven’t even asked what you do for a living, because it doesn’t matter to me.
You can volunteer it if you like, or you can make something up.
You can be anything you want. I’ll never know the difference. ”
He lifted one of his big hands and scratched the back of his neck, still taking me absolutely seriously. “Okay then, I suppose I’m a…CIA codebreaker?”
“Fantastic,” I said. “Nadia likely told you I’m a model, so I’m not going to bother to lie.
So I’ll say that I was born in Madagascar, where my siblings and I were abandoned by our parents and raised among pirates and thieves.
We had a little brother, but he was lost at sea, washed overboard in an instant during a storm.
We never found his body. My father died on the other side of the world, and when my mother heard of our little brother’s death, she drank poison. Quite tragic, really.”
Ethan lowered his hand, and his expression slowly changed to one of comprehension. For the first time, he looked like he was in control of this situation, like he’d just unfolded a map of the place where he was currently lost. “I see,” he said.
My mouth went dry, and I swallowed more of my drink. I didn’t know what he saw, and I wasn’t going to ask. When I lowered my glass, I smiled. “So, tell me, Mr. CIA. Do you know who killed JFK?”
—
He didn’t kiss me at the end of the date, when he brought me to the door of my apartment building.
Most men at least tried, but not Ethan. He didn’t press me for a second date, either.
This was the game—my game—but for the first time, I wondered if I’d done something wrong. Then I pushed the thought away.
Alone in my apartment, I washed the makeup from my face, and then, standing naked in my bathroom, I brushed my hair and twisted it into a braid.
I had no job tomorrow, but the day after, I was booked for a shampoo commercial.
I’d stand with my back to the camera, lean my head back at exactly the right angle, and do the upward swipe, my hands under my hair at the nape of my neck and sliding up.
At the same time, I’d shake my head so my hair moved back and forth.
My hair was glossy, dark, and long, and I was good at the upward swipe combined with the head shake. I’d nail it in one take, maybe two.
I was so very skilled at useless things. If my mother hadn’t drunkenly fallen down a flight of stairs to her death several years ago, she’d be appalled at what I’d become. It was the only reason I ever wished she’d lived a little longer.
I dabbed moisturizer on my skin, put on an old nightshirt, and climbed into bed.
It was late. I lay there, staring at the ceiling, hoping for sleep.
When I’d put my hand on Ethan’s wrist, I’d briefly felt his pulse beneath the warm skin.
He really did have a nice face. I wished now that I’d succeeded in making him laugh, because I wanted to know what it sounded like. But now I’d never know.
I was dozing off when my phone rang on my nightstand. I picked it up without thinking. “Hello?”
My brother’s voice. “Dodie.”
“Vail?” He hadn’t called me since my birthday, because he always called me on my birthday. He had never called me in the middle of the night.
Cold panic bloomed in my gut. This was something bad.
“We have to go back,” Vail said, his voice gruff and pained. “To Fell.”
My heart started a slow, hard, panicked beat in my chest. “No. Oh no. What is this, a joke? Absolutely not.”
“You’re going.” The words were harsh, and I could hear the pain in his voice. “As soon as you can. Ben is—”
“No,” I shouted, so loud that one of the neighbors would hear. “I won’t go, Vail. I won’t, and you can’t make me.”
“Would you be quiet for a second? Ben is there.”
Under the covers, my knees drew up, an instinctive reaction. I didn’t need details. I already knew enough. Too much. “Was it Violet? Did she see him?”
“No, but she’s coming, too. As soon as she can. He’s asking, Dodie. Ben is asking.”
My eyes were stinging and dry, my throat thick. The words came out like molasses. “I have to, don’t I? We all do.”
“I’m getting on a plane in a few hours,” Vail said. “I’ll see you there.”
I hung up, and there was a moment of silence before my phone rang again. Twice in one night? This was unheard of. I picked it up again.
“Hello?”
This time, it was Ethan’s voice. “Dodie? I’m sorry to call so late. Are you all right?”
Was I dreaming? Had I fallen asleep hours ago? I couldn’t think straight. “I’m fine.” I was anything but fine.
“Oh, okay then. I’m sorry if I woke you, but I can’t sleep. I keep thinking.” He paused, and I could imagine the serious crease between his eyes. “I wanted to say I’m sorry.”
My mind was a blank. “For what?”
“For whatever happened to your mother. And, I think, your little brother.” He paused again. “I think that’s what you were talking about tonight. I mean, I’m pretty sure. It seemed like it was important, and I didn’t ask you about it, and I didn’t tell you I’m sorry. And I am.”
I made myself breathe, my hand gripping the phone. I’d told him a story, a stupid story, and he’d seen through it. How had that happened? How was everything slipping out of control?
“Okay,” I managed, too stricken to bother to lie anymore. “Thank you.”
“And I’m sorry I didn’t kiss you,” Ethan said.
“I wanted to, and then I thought maybe you’d think that was all I had been after all night, and then I got too into my own head, and I didn’t do it, and I missed my chance.
My only chance, as it happens. And I tried to tell myself it was fine, that it was what you wanted, but now I don’t think it was.
And I’m never going to get another chance, so I regret it now. I should have kissed you.”
I was leaving New York. As soon as I could pack my things, as soon as I could get out of here. This wasn’t going to be a weekend trip or a vacation. It was the end of everything. The life I knew had vanished like smoke with one phone call.
I was going, and maybe I was never coming back.
“Yes,” I said, staring into the darkness. “You should have kissed me.”
“You have my phone number,” Ethan said. “Call me if you need me, Dodie.”
I hung up on him.
Then I turned onto my side in bed, and finally I started to cry.