Plus One

9: A night at Interlude

9: A night at Interlude

When I arrived back at the apartment, I found Dominic alone with a magazine on the couch. He seemed to be dressed for work, wearing skinny black jeans, and a collared white shirt with a thin red tie. Adrian’s first lecture had ended at three-thirty, and after taking my time on the brief journey home I’d allowed another hour and a half to pass by.

Upon seeing me, the smiling man stood up. “Cassie! How was your first day of school? Make any new friends?”

“Well,” I began, gliding up next to him, “I haven’t made any enemies yet, so I think that has to count for something. It was nice, though. I guess.”

He smirked at me, “You guess?”

“Adrian is an amazing teacher, and speaker, and thinker, and he’s probably more engaging than a fusion of all my favorite teachers from my high school career. The problem is, compared to him I may as well be a doorknob. I’ve never felt so stupid in my entire life, and yet he manages to be condescending in a way that doesn’t seem intentionally cruel, so I can’t even get pissed off at him.”

“And that is why I surround myself with drunks and sluts instead of Oxford graduates,” Dom taunted, offering me a sympathetic smile. “If it’s any consolation, I’m sure you’re far smarter than I am. You’re probably smarter than Taylor too, at least in an academic sense.” He trailed off, leaving the meaning of last statement relatively obscure.

And yet, I was compelled to say that I understood exactly what his implications were: mixed within the scattered moments when I feared the artist’s depression would return, there were instants when he seemed so magnificently wise—as if he had figured out a secret that the brilliant minds of science and mathematics had been chasing after for centuries. Then again, it also seemed as if Taylor just had that kind of face: the face that makes you swear there’s something revolutionary and profound glimmering beneath the surface.

Suddenly, the memories of Taylor’s breakdown surfaced in the foreground of my mind, and I had to bite my tongue to keep from speaking. I felt like I was betraying the man standing in front of me, by keeping a secret that I knew was more important than I wished it were. Exhaling, I pushed the thought away: a promise was a promise.

“Where is Taylor anyway?”

“I think he said he was going somewhere to seek out an agent for his artwork,” Dom answered. The flash in his eyes was proud and admiring. “Taylor’s sort of opposed to the whole corporate, money-making scheme though, so I’m not sure exactly how that’s going to work out. He said he’d be back before my shift is over tonight. Oh, and he left you a present.”

He gestured towards the dining table, and I instantly began scanning the room for a brightly wrapped package, or at least a simple brown bag; all I found, however, was a lone, crimson apple, shining in the fluorescent lights of the kitchen.

I laughed, “An apple? Damn, he’s clever.”

Dom grinned, his own laugh mingling with mine. “As much as I know you’d love hours alone to admire that week-old piece of fruit, you’re welcome to come with me to Interlude tonight. I feel bad leaving you all on your own here. Plus, you’ll have to check out the San Francisco club scene eventually.”

I mulled over the idea in my head, rolling the apple around in the palms of my hands. On one side, accepting Dominic’s invitation would miraculously fill my uneventful evening, sparing me from any dull moments of self-pitying boredom. On the other side, I was risking entering a vibrant, lively club of freak dancing and flirting and drinking without an entourage. I had no wingman to help me snatch an innocent man from the bar, or best friend to save me from the creepy one with no self-restraint. As usual, curiosity and a fear of having nothing to do won the argument, and I informed Dom I’d be ready in thirty minutes.