"So the message I'm kinda hearing is, the one of us who's a fifty-something million dollar trust fund baby, who's been slumming at state school for a couple semesters, is moving on. That would be Skid-a-more don't you know, and perhaps we'll summer with the Rosemonts. And oh, by the way, I'm willing to pay for my boyfriend to come with me. Have I got that correct?"
Maybe things wouldn't have escalated so negatively if she'd laughed hysterically, at least out loud or immediately, treated the ridiculous way he'd made it sound as a way of digging for air after her avalanche of exciting changes.
She wasn't crazy about the baggage 'trust fund baby' carried, and the sniff of noblesse oblige in slumming and paying for my boyfriend had to be nipped fast, but why should he be taking her news as anything but a joyful, incredible, exciting next page in their personal book? Sure it was a mind-blower, but could that fucked-up attitude be for real?
Just say yes-great-I love you Sweet Thang, then carry me into the bedroom and let's start ravaging each other on that cash you idiot!
"Give me a break Poe, you know it's not like that! Think about how super-super-super it's been between us! The decision I made about coming here first instead of a lot bigger decision made things easier for me, but otherwise we'd never have met, and we were meant to Eddie. Why do you care who's paying the bills anyway, Mr. Athletic Scholarship?"
"Hey! I earned that scholarship!"
"Oooooo, heavy qualifications for $8,000 a year, can move through water upside down faster than most people."
It was meant to rag him back for the Skid-a-more and Rosemonts crap, but it wasn't the time for scoring gotcha! points. She would have apologized immediately and profusely if she'd recognized how deeply it gouged at suddenly confused feelings of inferiority in the soul of a mid-level State employee's youngest son, or understood the reason an expensive Rolex felt like a poodle's shiny, noisy collar to him.
Her stroke landed dead-center bingo! though, taking the only valid ammunition in his defense, deserving certain considerations because he possessed a somewhat unique skill. Once uncorked, the Money Genie couldn't be stuffed back in the lantern. Things got out of hand.
Why hadn't Marlena mentioned anything millionaire-ish before? was the question roller-coastering at hellacious speed through his head. Hell yes, the Rolex was over the top fucking stunning, the thought of spending $34 plus tax for her tennis racket bracelet bringing tough perspective to any future gift-giving.
It wasn't just learning Marlena was yowzah!-level rich, because somebody out there was, but they didn't attend state schools or screw around long with guys like him. Twenty-six or fifty million, not telling before this wasn't acceptable. Christ, they'd gone to a fucking yard sale to buy a couch for his apartment.
Through the fog emphasized by the glittering timepiece and 'rich girls can do whatever they want,' it was obvious money made a difference. The summer at Saratoga racetrack sounded real damn attractive, but that he should get his crap taken care of to transfer immediately with her...? It just wasn't reasonable to expect this ultimatum on timetables should make him rearrange everything in his life.
The previous spring's unbelievable ski trip yanked his sense of indignation from uncomfortable awareness to dick-shriveling insecurity. Previously unquestioned luck about their three couples flying west together was re-analyzed in a heartbeat, after friends of Marlena's offered a fabulous mountain lodge with panoramic views and access to a diamond trail.
The week of five-star accommodations, unreal meals just waiting to be pulled from walk-in coolers and well-organized freezers, had only cost about $250 each - lift tickets should've cost more than that. They'd worked the bar over, knew they were wrong about taking several bottles of pricey wine "to compliment the food more appropriately" as Hyun suggested because of her hotel school background, but never heard about it further. Had Marlena totally paid for their excesses, used the chump change their shares constituted for tip money?
What came out of his mouth about the fantastic chalet and tip money was stupid, unnecessary, a twisted rebuke to her generosity. The insinuation that 'Miss Marlena Millionaire' should have shared information about her incredible financial situation before this became a whiplash he used stupidly.
"What, now you're investigating how legitimate having an amazing time eight months ago was? Don't push this, Eddie! Friends of the family were in Europe and offered me a terrific place. No, they didn't charge me for stuff because what goes around usually comes around, and I can buy plane tickets for whomever I please, any time I please, without having to explain or ask permission from you!"
How dare he question the greatest stretch of continuous if-it-feels-nice-do-it-twice (or five, seven, twelve times) joy of her life! Of course she'd taken care of most of the transportation - all other plans called for driving damn near 800 miles, keeping food cheap, and finding accommodations that didn't kill short budgets, a combination that couldn't have approached the perfection they'd enjoyed.
Arranging coach flights with the collegiate world traveling on break would've been impossible on short notice, but college students with limited resources rarely questioned anyone's high quality connections. Her upgraded, all-in package of only $550 per person to Hyun and Yvonne had flipped them out, and gaining Denny and Brian's cooperation had been simple with their enthusiastic support.
They'd skied their asses off under primo conditions, and après ski, the chalet's seven-bedroom size was grand enough that couples had interacted depending on individual moods. An afternoon and morning of blizzard had been a small blessing (and ohhh how they'd used that morning! Eddie'd paid off in spades for losing at video basketball...), everyone recharging their physical batteries after four days and nights of intense activity, marveling in cozy comfort while Nature raged all around.
"Obviously not Marlena, with your kind of cash whenever-wherever can be the attitude. What made you think I'd say no problem, gimme that free ride with the rich babe?"
"You think it's any damn different schtupping rich girls, Eddie?" Marlena chewed the words off sarcastically. "Spare me that bullshit! What sort of expectations haven't I fulfilled, huh? You even once not get off good enough because somewhere there's a big fancy mansion that belongs to me, Edgar Allan Starkes?
"You're a smart, talented, loving, incredible person Poe, and this is an opportunity to take a smooth, four-lane-but-still-less-traveled road," she changed tone, reining herself back from the edge of bull-fighting intensity.
"Think what it can actually mean, Eddie, the total joy of knowing your perfect person is touchable close. I have, for a while mow. Why not just continue enjoying the pretty awesome piece of it we've already got in our hands? All those chips really don't have anything to do with Marlena Christie the person, they're just digits that are available because when my parents died, the lawyers said I got them.
"And why should men constantly measure themselves by bank accounts anyway? Why can't they be like Roarke in'The Fountainhead,' Mister Gary Cooper, willing to blow his greatest achievement sky high rather than submit it to bastardization? Just let that shit go, Eddie, it's a no-brainer! Take Door Number One, and you automatically get what's behind the other two!"
Unprepared for any possibility of negatives, certainly not the complete blast of attitude Eddie had about money or the positives of upcoming events, her evening of infinite promise was trashed. She'd expected just listening to - and getting equally excited about - some damn great information and her body was all he'd need, but instead he'd shattered her dreams of love and future greatness into the tiniest of silvery shards.
Only once the remainder of semester did they spend any extended time together outside of practicing in the same pool, a huge, uncomfortable loneliness after the constant intimacy they'd shared. Why couldn't he even talk about it?
Just before Christmas break Eddie started talking about a governor's campaign he was joining, as frightening a blindside as being told mid-stream about piranhas or huge snakes. The fact of leaving school came up and seemed to be locked in, which meant canceling a ski vacation where she'd have finally met his folks, because he started immediately in the new year, and taking off for skiing would look irresponsible.
Pleaseee Poe, Man of Mine! she'd screamed inside, that's a completely wrong way to go! Talk to me baby, PLEASE! You'll change your mind once you give yourself permission to really think about great things! We'll watch sunsets from Silas' pool, make love six miles high in our own jet!
I know it's tough to understand why I didn't share everything immediately, but there's nothing to fear here. I swear, there's a special-ness that's going to touch everything you and I can imagine. This is a great thing you're being offered, it's me, me, ME! Wake up, be the guy who understands and does the right thing, don't let go like this! I can't go wherever you think you're headed, you need to be with me!
Stop Poe, Eddie, Man of my heart! Baaa-beee, DON'T DO THIS!
It was a flat out ludicrous alternative to what should have become a mutual sharing of Julia Roberts 'Pretty Woman'-type good fortune, and the future she'd imagined required two very specific people. It was beyond chilling to hear his plans about leaving school for a mid-winter campaign start, with shitty hours and equally shitty pay.
"I won't try offering you a better deal Eddie, although I'm fogged why transferring, continuing to jump these highly desirable bones, summering in Saratoga, and some spectacular plans beyond that is so heinous compared to the crapola you've gotta know is coming to a college kid on anybody's campaign. I won't bid or beg for your attention or body, and I can't tell you what to do..."
"That's good Marlena, because contacts should be pretty good working with Lieberstall, and I wouldn't do this for a go-for role. The day-to-day writing aspect is now and real on a campaign, and while the money won't be more than surviving, the experience should be worth it down the road.
"You and I, I don't know Em. I've always thought of you as maximum incredible, and maybe I don't belong with incredible. I'd always think I was the janitor that got lucky."
"That's the weak-ass point you're going to balance things on, Eddie? What's the fucking difference between me and going to bed one night and waking up with a freaking winning lottery ticket in your pants, except I would've put a major smile on your face before you fell asleep? Jesus Christ! Somebody that got too lucky? Why shouldn't it be lucky you and me, Bogie's on a plane with the best girl this time because Ilsa doesn't want to be with anyone else?"
She pushed hard on every button available, even bedding him with a one-for-the- road style that became so stilted they finally just stopped, and there was never a second serious talk.
She'd been too pissed or stunned or depressed to provide any numbers for Silas or an answering service before leaving school, but the rest, every wrong-headed turn in the road Eddie'd made until this very moment, was now combined into a single mistake that a very determined believer in Destiny was motivated as hell to rectify.