“What I wouldn’t give to be that crab claw,” Didier slurred at me.
“I find you repulsive,” I said dryly, giving him an almost imperceptible smile as I pried off a shard of shell.
“You know the female stone crab has to shed her exoskeleton before the male can mate with her? She’s prickly at first, but it all comes off in the end. It’s nature. And that’s what’s happening here. Just waiting for you to give in to nature and stop being so prickly.”
I looked up at him. “Is that true?”
“Just because I’m an idiot doesn’t mean I’m an idiot.”
“You are an idiot,” I said, and rolled my eyes.
Matt and Jordan laughed, but Didier looked distressed. “My wife certainly thinks so. And she definitely finds me repulsive,” he said. We all looked over at him. He looked at us and shook his head with a smile. “We’re getting a divorce.”
I looked at Matt and Jordan, trying to gauge whether they had known, but their faces registered the same confusion as mine. We searched Didier’s face, hoping for an outburst of laughter. None came.
“Shit,” Matt said, taking a drink.
“Are you okay?” I placed a hand on Didier’s forearm. He was quiet as he placed his paw of a hand over mine.
“Happy to be out here with you guys,” he said. “It’s a good distraction.”
“Can I . . . ?” The waitress appeared.
“Another round,” Jordan said quickly.
“When?” Matt asked Didier.
“What happened?” I asked, a question that I never would have asked if my lips hadn’t been loosened by vodka.
“A few weeks ago. Right after the Falcon closing,” Didier said, looking at Matt. “I was never there,” he continued, looking at me.
“Did you have a prenup?” Jordan asked.
Didier nodded, and my colleagues exhaled in unison.
“Doesn’t matter. I’ll give her whatever she wants,” Didier muttered. My throat caught, seeing him in this vulnerable state.
“Look, let’s blow off this Oculus guy and go out,” Matt offered. “Anywhere you want. Just us.”
Didier shook his head as our next round of drinks arrived. “Nah. This is a huge opportunity. Making money makes me happy. It’s one of the few things left that I . . .” He trailed off, staring into space.
I squeezed his arm. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.
“Thanks, Skip.” He smiled back at me. “Let’s just have a great night. I really need it.”
“Yes.” “Yeah.” “Done,” Jordan, Matt, and I responded simultaneously.
“I’m going to go get myself together,” Didier said, pushing out of his chair.
“As in . . . up?” Jordan asked. Didier nodded, and Jordan followed him into the men’s room, and Matt and I were left staring at one another across the table.
“Shame,” I said, taking a long swig of my vodka. “I didn’t even know he was married.”
“Me neither!”
I gave Matt a look.
“I’m kidding. I knew. But only because it came up once. He never talks about her, and he doesn’t wear a ring. I’m emailing Doug Capshaw now. Where should I tell him to meet us?”
“Basement at the Edition Hotel. We have a table in your name. He won’t have a problem,” I said, taking another long drink, relishing the burn of the vodka on the way down.
“This place is connected to a bowling alley and ice-skating rink!” Doug yelled over the music as he leaned into me, his blond curls accidentally brushing my cheek. He wore light jeans, a thin heather-gray hooded sweatshirt, and sneakers. His skin was studded with pockmarks, presumably residue from teenage acne, which suited him the way a five o’clock shadow suits some men. He handed me a glass of clear liquid that I lifted to my nose.
“Tequila?” I yelled.
“Mezcal. Tequila is only made in Jalisco. All tequila is mezcal, but not all mezcal is tequila.” As he recited these facts, I pictured him raising his hand in third grade and using the same tone. He kept his body angled away from me at a safe distance. There was something charming about his awkwardness and lack of sleaziness.
“Like Champagne and sparkling wine,” I yelled. He nodded enthusiastically. I put the glass to my lips and threw my head back, then slammed it down on our table, which was sticky with juice and liquor. I wiped at the mezcal dribbling down my chin with the back of my hand as I sucked at the lime in my mouth and waited impatiently for it to drown out the smoky flavor.
Doug was staring at me, wide-eyed.
“What?” I yelled as soon as I pulled out the lime.
“That wasn’t a shot! It’s a sixty-dollar glass of tequila!” he yelled back.
“It’s mezcal!” I stuck my tongue out at him and he laughed. “But it tastes like tequila. And I hate tequila! Needed to get it down fast,” I told him, feeling the warmth spread throughout my chest and abdomen. “And we’re paying anyway, so who cares how quickly I drink it?”
“Why did you drink it if you hate it?” He was screaming into my ear, and I could still barely hear him.
I stared at him. Because it’s my job to keep you happy.
“Because you ordered it!” I said, smiling broadly. He looked over my shoulder at Matt, Jordan, and Didier, who were now talking to our cocktail waitress, and I followed his gaze.
“Impressive crew you roll with.”
“The best in the business,” I said. “They just let me tag along.”
“You know Matt is considered one of the best M&A lawyers in the country?” Doug asked.
I put my finger to my lips to shush him, then pointed at Matt and put my hands to my head and fanned out my fingers, as though his head would explode if he heard such a compliment.
Doug laughed and nodded. He wasn’t nearly as drunk as the rest of us. “You don’t seem surprised that I’ve researched M&A lawyers.”
“Part of our job is to know the prospective market,” I added seriously, even as I bopped my head to the music. “We would love the opportunity to represent Oculus.”
He nodded. “I’m going over to get to know these dudes you vouch for.” I watched as he made his way over to Matt, who was sitting on the cushioned stool on the opposite side of our table; he looked over at me with a smile as Doug clearly said something complimentary about me.
I took a spot on the couch next to Didier, who was staring out at the light show bouncing up from the DJ booth, but he didn’t seem to register my presence. I got up and was pouring myself another vodka cranberry when I felt a tap on my shoulder.
“Hey, hon.” A voluptuous waitress with long, silky blond hair stood next to me with a petite little pixie of a woman with a tight jet-black bun atop her head next to her. They wore short, tight black dresses, their cleavage almost spilling out from the tops.
“Oh, we’re okay,” I told them, gesturing to the assortment of mixers on our table.
“Who are the guys you’re with?” the dark-haired one asked, nodding at our group.
“What’s their deal?” the blonde asked, sounding a little giddy.
I poured myself a water to coat my throat, sore from all the screaming over the music. “How do you mean?” I yelled.