Poison Shy Read Free Page B

those guys could be her boyfriend.”
    â€œNo way of knowing unless you talk to her,” he said, which was bullshit. There were plenty of other ways to find that out. Patient observation, for one. But I knew Chad was going to keep on my case until I did something.
    â€œAll right. Fine.” I gulped down the rest of my beer. “I’m going to embarrass myself, and it’ll be your fault.”
    He rubbed his hands together.
    I’ll admit that part of me
did
want to talk to Melanie. I just wasn’t prepared. It occurred to me that what I passed off as a tactic for meeting women was really just shyness and self-doubt. I racked my brain for an excuse to talk to her. Perhaps she’d remember me from the fumigation. I could ask her quickly about the results, then hurry back to my table and tell Chad that I’d been right about her having a boyfriend.
    Nobody noticed me coming as I made my way slowly to her table. When I was almost there, Melanie stood up. Darcy stood up as well and went to her side. I stopped and waited. They made their way together to the bathrooms. Melanie whispered something in Darcy’s ear that made him laugh, and then Darcy put his hand inside the back pocket of Melanie’s jeans. His knuckles clenched and squeezed her ass. He kept his hand inside her pocket until they reached the door to the ladies’ room and Melanie went inside.
    Well, there’s my answer, I thought.
    I turned around and there was Chad, chatting up a chubby, olive-skinned girl in a red poncho. Her large rear end was in my seat. It hadn’t been more than thirty seconds since I’d stood up.
    â€œOh, Brandon, this is Farah,” Chad said. “She’s from Lebanon.” He raised and lowered his eyebrows, as though this were impressive information.
    â€œNice to meet you.” I turned to Chad. “I think I’m going to take off. Enjoy yourself.” I tossed him a twenty-dollar bill.
    He said, “Brandon, man, wait,” but I just walked out.
    The image of Darcy’s hand in Melanie’s back pocket burned inside my eyelids. As I made my way home, I imagined them fucking in their stuffy, bug-ridden apartment. Why Darcy? Maybe Melanie was one of those girls with inexplicably low self-esteem. Maybe she was in a phase of claiming that looks weren’t important to her, and purposely sought out an unattractive mate in order to prove her point. Maybe Darcy had saved her from a near-death experience. Maybe he was rich, or grotesquely well endowed. I tortured myself with increasingly ludicrous scenarios. Darcy was a vampire, a werewolf. Satan himself.
    It was after midnight when I got back to my place. I stripped down to my boxers, made myself a sandwich, and sat in front of the television. I put on the sports channel, turned the volume down low, and converted my pull-out couch to bed mode. I tried reading a book, some Dean Koontz bestseller, but I couldn’t get Melanie out of my head. I went to the kitchen and opened the fridge. Stared mindlessly at a jar of pickles and a carton of milk. My copy of
The Frayne Exchange
was open on the kitchen table. I sat down and flipped to the back pages, to the section advertising escorts and prostitutes.
    I came across a redhead named Suzie. The photo showed her bent over a chair with her face blurred out, two black stars over her nipples. I told myself that when the clock on the microwave changed, I would have to make a decision: call or don’t.
    12:37 became 12:38. I picked up my phone and dialled the number. It rang three or four times then a woman said, “Hello?” The voice was hoarse, like Kirstie Alley’s.
    I was silent. My mind was blank.
    â€œHello?” the woman asked again, a little louder.
    â€œYes, hi. Sorry. Is this, umm . . . Suzie?”
    â€œIt sure is. And who is this?”
    â€œThis is, uh, Darcy.”
    â€œNice to hear from you, Darcy. You don’t have to be shy. It’s all