“Well, it’s a good movie,” she said defensively. “And if you think about it, it’s an oddly progressive one. Made in the 1980s but set in the 1960s, yet it’s much more forward-thinking on issues of sexism and reproductive rights than pop culture is today.”
He hadn’t thought of it like that. “It does rather align with your interests, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, but lest you think me too high-minded: oh, the dancing in that movie! That lift in the lake!” She laughed. “And honestly, I used to have a crush on Patrick Swayze when I was a kid. Or at least Dirty Dancing–era Patrick Swayze. My mom loved him, and I guess she passed it on to me. But as it relates to this party, since I don’t have Patrick Swayze to come rescue me from my corner, I’ll just have to rescue myself.” There it was, the brusque efficiency that had been missing before. But he was beginning to understand that sometimes the brusque efficiency was a facade.
“Will you have backup?” It wasn’t that he didn’t think Dani could get herself out of any corners she found herself in, but he would prefer if she had support. “That woman I met? Sinéad?”
“She’ll have my back, yeah. Honestly, when I get tenure—if I get tenure—I’m either not going to these parties anymore or I’m going to go wearing something outrageous, and I won’t watch what I say at all—ha!”
Max bit back his impulse to issue a “When you get tenure” correction. As they’d grown closer, he’d come to understand that the tenure system in North America was different from in Europe. It meant job security and academic freedom for life, so it truly was a milestone. He’d creeped a bit on her web presence and those of her colleagues, and in his admittedly biased opinion, she was doing more interesting work than many of them. But he didn’t want to be dismissive of her concerns, and he didn’t have a handle on the departmental politics, so he bit his tongue. But privately he had confidence, and if tenure meant she could start swanning into parties wearing green taffeta dresses and telling everyone to fuck off, he couldn’t wait.
Chapter Nine
On the Thursday of the last week of summer break, Dani was walking on the beach near her parents’ house when her phone rang. Max. It was an odd time of day for him to be calling. They talked frequently, but usually later in the day. “Hi. What’s up?”
“I’m outside your building, but you’re not home.”
What? “I’m sorry, did you just say you’re outside my building?”
“Yes. Surprise!”
“Max! What are you doing?”
“I’m here to be your plus-one at your party tomorrow.”
“What? Why?”
“Because it was so much fun last time?”
She was speechless.
“Because nobody puts Dani in a corner?” he said into the unspooling silence.
Oh, Max. Max was such a genuinely good person underneath his breezy exterior. Underneath the European tabloid, Depraved Duke persona. He had come here purely to keep her company at the party she was so dreading. It made her throat catch. She thought of the Christmas party, how perfectly pitched all his interventions had been—the hand at her back, the stories he’d told to paint her in a flattering light. As unlikely as it was, Max von Hansburg, Baron of Laudon, had become one of her closest friends. She might even say best friend, except that to do so felt disloyal to Leo somehow.
“Or,” he amended, when she still didn’t speak, “I wanted to see you, and this seemed like as good an excuse as any?”
Her throat tightened even more as he did his signature “I like you, I really like you” thing. She couldn’t figure it out. She knew her friends liked her. She didn’t need them to tell her repeatedly. But then came Max, all “I think you’re cool,” and she got all emotional.
“Where are you?” he asked.
She ordered herself to snap out of her uncharacteristically schmoopy moment. “I’m at my parents’ house on Long Island. I have a renter at my place.”
“What do you mean you have a renter?”
“I rent my place out on Airbnb sometimes.”
“You do?”
“I can’t really afford the apartment on my own, but it’s a great deal for what it is and I don’t want to give it up. I rented it out almost every other week this summer.”
“You did?”
She wasn’t sure why he was so astonished. Except that of course he had no idea what it was like to pinch pennies.
“And now,” she went on, “not only do I have the normal budget crunch, but my very effective divorce lawyer is also very expensive. I thought about getting a roommate, but, ugh. I ran the numbers, and I figured out if I Airbnb-ed my place periodically, I could make as much money as I would with a full-time roommate. And this fall . . .”
She’d been going to add that since she had the teaching leave upcoming, she had more plans to rent the place out, but Max did not need a monologue about her balance sheet. As cool as Max was turning out to be, it was a little awkward that he was a literal aristocrat and she was having trouble making rent. Well, awkward on her end, anyway. He never seemed to notice, much less mind, the vast economic gulf between them.
“All right, so, I think this is the part where you invite me to Long Island?” Max said cheerfully.
“Really?” She wanted him to come to her, suddenly, so much. She’d been planning to pack up and head into the city to meet him, but it was hot and sunny, a perfect end-of-summer beach day.
“Well, what are you doing out there?” he asked. “Having a party I can’t crash? Wait! Are you finally going to have sex?”
“No! I’m setting up for a day at the beach right now—alone. Though maybe I should get on Tinder and try to scare up some local matches. Maybe I’ll have more luck here than I’ve had in the city.”
“Grand. Send me the name of the beach, and I’ll be off. I’ll advise on the Tindering, too.”
She laughed. Max was here! “You might want to buy bathing trunks.” She imagined him in his sleek blue suit, striding up the beach. It was a pleasant image. But still, it was an extremely hot day.
“I have mine with me. I always stay at the Four Seasons because it has a sauna I’m partial to.”
“Of course you do.”
“Marie likes the Plaza, but there’s no opportunity to shed one’s clothing and get sweaty at the Plaza.”
“You can’t see, but I’m rolling my eyes. Anyway, I thought you were an expert at making your own opportunities to shed clothing and get sweaty.”
She was teasing him about his so-called man-whorish ways, but she’d learned he was, for lack of a better phrase, an ethical man-whore. He liked sex, and he apparently had a lot of it, but he tried to make sure that everyone had a good time and understood his “rules of engagement.”
She wanted to be like that. She wasn’t sure why she couldn’t get her act together. She took his point that her last prospect, HarlemHipster, had been fine. So he was allergic to dogs. As Max had said, she wasn’t going to marry him.
She realized that Max hadn’t responded to her teasing about him making his own opportunities to get hot and sweaty. She’d expected a sharp comeback, but he’d gone uncharacteristically silent. “Anyway, definitely come on out.”