Higher Education by Lisa Pliscou Page B

You’d think she’d understand that it’s hard for me to turn him down.”
    â€œStuffy of her, isn’t it?”
    â€œAnd he wants me to start right away. He’s already lined up the backers.”
    â€œReally?”
    â€œWell, his father, mostly.”
    â€œI see.”
    He’s smoking rapidly. “So I think it’d be a good thing to do.”
    â€œAnd Jenny doesn’t.”
    â€œNo.” His gaze flickers. “We fought about other things too.”
    â€œOh?”
    â€œYeah.” He looks away and then down at the table, his eyelashes drooping in a mannerism that Jessica once uncharitably described as an obvious emulation of the ailing Keats.
    â€œWhat about?”
    â€œWell, if you must know, we fought about you.”
    â€œMe?”
    He leans back in his chair and exhales a stream of smoke just over my head. “She’s jealous of you, Miranda.”
    â€œWhy? We haven’t done anything for her to be jealous of. You’ve been nothing but respectability itself.”
    â€œHave I?” He looks pained.
    â€œYou bet.”
    â€œBut still—”
    â€œSo we took a lit class together last semester. So what?”
    â€œYes, but—”
    â€œSo we hang out in cozy little bars till the wee hours. What’s the big deal?”
    â€œWell, I guess she’s worried about—”
    â€œ What a little worrywart she is. Maybe she should try to relax more.”
    â€œShe wants me to stop seeing you.”
    â€œTry closing your eyes.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œSurprise, surprise, Mira—I mean, surprise, surprise.” It’s our cocktail waitress again, placing a glass in front of me.
    â€œWhat’s this?”
    â€œFrom an admirer. A double greyhound. He said he thought you could use it.”
    â€œAn admirer?” I gape past her beyond the bar, where I see Pablo grinning our way and lifting his glass in salute.
    â€œOh,” Dean says. “It’s our friend the pianist.”
    Frowning, I look away. “Big of him.”
    â€œYou’d think he could order a drink for me too.”
    â€œI guess he’s not that big.” I take a sip of my first greyhound and it catches in my throat. Coughing, I press a hand to my chest.
    Our cocktail waitress leans down. “Are you okay, Mira—I mean, are you all right?”
    Sputtering a little, I nod up at her. “I’m fine.”
    â€œYou sure?”
    I notice Dean eyeing us and I nod more vehemently. “I’m fine. Really. I think somebody over at the next table needs you.”
    â€œOkay. I’ll be back.” She pats my arm and careens off.
    There is a short silence, and then Dean gives a wheezy chuckle. “That Pablo. What a slimy bastard.”
    â€œYes,” I say, my voice still a bit ragged, “I can see why Jenny would be attracted to him.”
    His smile fading, Dean picks up a swizzle stick and pokes at the misshapen little ice cubes in his glass. “Oh yeah?”
    â€œBirds of a feather and all that.” I take my hand off my chest. “And while we’re on the subject, where did she pick up that phony British accent, anyway?”
    â€œJesus, you’re a bitch, Miranda.”
    â€œYou think so?” I gaze back at him, my body very still. “So why do you go out with me?”
    â€œI don’t go out with you.”
    â€œOh? Then what’s this? Gathering material for your little humor magazine?”
    â€œWe get together for a drink now and then.” He drops his voice to a fierce whisper.
    â€œOh, really? Then why do you go sneaking around behind your girlfriend’s back?”
    â€œI don’t go sneaking around behind my girlfriend’s—”
    â€œWould you mind speaking up? You’re cringing into your drink.”
    â€œJackson was right.” Dean grips his cigarette lighter. “You’re a manipulative, neurotic bitch.”
    I