Nobody Screw Up a Second Shot

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7. Dangerous Games

Two days after the Atlanta trip, Jim and Maggie announce it over dinner: they are having a baby. When Mark raises his glass with the rest of us to the occasion, he catches my eye. It's almost as if he's toasting to me.

The occasion also calls for a call home to Dad and Heather, which Maggie makes me do with her over speaker phone. Dad and Heather use speaker phone too, on their end of the line. Which is good—we can talk to them both at once, saving ourselves half the time and half the suffering. Tina Frisk is with them when we call, much to my revulsion.

Dad is dreadfully apathetic about becoming a grandfather. Heather is downright hostile. "God. Just promise me you'll lose your pregnancy weight back again afterwards. It's so disgusting when people don't," she says.

But even Maggie's smart enough to know not to let the evil side of our family get her down.

I call Elise myself, since Maggie's always been a little scared of her. Also, I owe Elise a call—a call I've been avoiding to make. I'm not sure how to broach the subject of Mark. She'll be horrified to learn I've been spending the summer with him, and I don't want to have her on my back about it. The situation is stressful enough already. So I think perhaps that it's best to not tell her anything. But I'm sure somehow she'll find out, even if I don't tell her myself. Elise finds out everything. And then she'll be doubly suspicious because I kept it from her.

I call her, anyway, to tell her about Maggie. Elise is charming about the news. She acts excited (even if she is really apathetic) and offers her congratulations. Then she starts asking about me. How have I been? Have I decided yet what I'm going to do with my life? Have I called Eliot Camden?

I tell her about sending my resume to Mark's editor, although I add that I don't expect that much will come of it. She's pleased anyway to see me taking some initiative career-wise.

"And how has it been going down there with your sister?" she asks.

This is my opportunity to mention Mark. Impetuously, I decide to take the plunge. There are already too many lies. I can't keep telling more. "It's fine. Very relaxed, uneventful. You know, just Laurel, Bianca, Maggie, Jim. And Jim brought a friend," I say.

"That's so nice, dear. You really ought to find time, to make it down to Orlando. Elliot, you know, is dying to meet you. I'm sure he's still down there. In fact, I'm sure he'd come to you if you gave him a call."

I interrupt. I can't hold it in any longer. "Mark is Jim's friend. Mark Salvo. I'm spending my vacation with Mark Salvo."

There a long silence on Elise's end of the line. Then she says tightly, "And how is that, dear?" I can hear the deliberate constraint in her voice.

"Fine," I say, attempting to sound casual about it. "It's fine. It was awkward at first, but now it's fine. We don't really talk to each other. He's sort of hanging out with Laurel, actually. And it's a big house. I see a lot of the neighbors. Judy Croft, that is, she's the landlord's wife, actually."

I stop, realizing that I've begun to spout off completely irrelevant information. I tag on to the end of my ramblings, "So I don't see much of Mark, I'm saying."

"Of course," Elise says. But her tone is insincere. I can tell she's going to be checking up on me now, on a regular schedule. Maybe I should've kept Mark to myself.

I want to get off the phone now, so I tell Elise that I have to go. She says alright, she'll hopes she'll talk to me soon, and closes with this: "You just be careful, dear. Mark Salvo wasn't a good idea the first time, remember."

I almost say, "Yeah, but this time he's rich. Doesn't that make a difference?"

But I'm a good girl, and I don't talk back to my elders.

- - - - -

Mark's editor calls me. We set up an interview. I book a flight to New York for a day three weeks away.

- - - - -

The days roll on.

One afternoon Bianca and Laurel decide to go shopping. They kindly invite me along, but I decline. Maggie and Jim have already taken themselves out for the day, and it means I'll have the house to myself, in all practical terms. Mark has been holed up in his room for the past day and a half writing, and I suspect I won't see much of him.

But about an hour after the girls leave, Mark quietly emerges. I'm in the living room, curled up in front of the television watching a rerun of Cheers. Mark emerges so quietly that I don't notice him in the room until he says, "Hey."

I start at the sound of his voice, and then turn to find him standing behind me with his hands shoved into his pockets. His posture and expression suggest uncertainty—probably as to whether he wants to join me or not. I cordially return his monosyllabic greeting, and try to look inviting. He stands irresolute for another minute, looking mostly at the TV. Then, still watching avoiding eye contact, he shuffles around and takes a chair far enough away from me to imply distance.

We watch in silence until Mark abruptly diverts his attention to me. "Dave told me he got your resume," he says.

I can't help a satiric smile. "I'm sure he wasn't impressed."

"Well…" Mark scratches the back of his neck, almost nervously. "He said he set up an interview."

I nod. "He did. Thanks."

We've reached a strange stalemate, Mark and I. With the Maggie-Jim crisis averted, we've lost the reason we've had to be intimate and in league with each other. We can't seem to find our way back to the way we were on the plane. We're stuck at awkward.

He nods to the TV screen. "So you still watch this stuff?" he asks, because I was a Cheers fan back then too, when we were together.

I shrug. "When I happen to come across it."

He nods again and there's another onset of silence. He watches the television. I try not to watch him, but can't really help myself. He appears to be contemplative, and I don't think it has anything to do with what he's watching. All of the sudden, he frowns. And then he turns on me. "Do you know what's weird?" he asks.

What's weird is how his tone is suddenly so emphatic, how he turns his whole body around to face me fully, and looks at me now so intently. He continues without waiting for a reply. "I don't know anything about you," he says. "I mean, I almost married you, and now—well, who are you? I mean," he gestures widely at the TV, "like, what is your favorite TV show these days?"

I don't know if this is just a metaphoric outpouring, or if he really wants me to answer his question. Before I've worked this out for myself, he says, "Wait, don't tell me. Let me guess." I'm happy to sit back wait for his guess. It gives me a little more time to figure what this all about.

After a minute of consideration, he says, "The Office." With finality. As if he is sure he's right.

I've decided to play along with this game of his, whatever it means and where ever it may be leading me. "Actually, Lost. But I do like The Office."

He's wrinkled his nose at Lost. "Lost?" he says. "That's so… science fiction nerdy. I mean, aren't all Lost fans crazy bloging conspiracy theorist?"

I roll my eyes. "No. Anyway, there was this guy in my Economics class who got me into it."

I've already planned to say this, throwing this guy out there in an offhand yet suggestive manner. You know, this guy. This guy I might have dated. Because I certainly didn't spend my last three years of college moping around about Mark Salvo. Nope, not me. There was this guy and we watched Lost.

But to be honest, the only reason this guy got me into the show was because he used to watch on his laptop, in class, right beside me, and on occasion he's lend me an earbud.

Anyway, Mark doesn't take the bait. He's just still trying to reconcile Lost with he's preconceived ideas about me. "Huh," he says finally. "Okay, give me another one."

"What?" I asked. "Another what?"

"Another something to guess," he says, like this is obvious. "I can do better than that. Like, ask me what you thought about Brittany Spears shaving her head." He holds a hand out towards me as if to stop me from jumping in here, and says quickly, "It made you sad, didn't it? Not all condescending and amused like most of the world. Because after all, she's just a person like the rest of us. A lost soul, right? That's what you thought."

"You make me sound like Lifetime Television for Women," I grumble, although this is pretty close to what I thought. I get what Mark is trying to do here. He's trying to prove to me, or himself, or whatever higher power there is in the universe that he knows me, he still knows me, after all these years. I'm not so sure anymore that this is a good place for us to go. It seems dangerous, possibly explosive.

But he's waiting so expectantly for me to "give him another one," and I really can't resist. So after eyeing him suspiciously for a moment or two, I give in.

"Spiderman 3," I say.

He thinks, briefly. "Not enough Peter-Harry love."

"I know!" I exclaim. "I mean, after three movies of build up, I expected a much more melodramatic and emotionally satisfying story line there. Where was the love? Where was the male bonding?"

"Too easy," Mark smirks. He's smug.

"James Frey faking his memoir," I say.

He purses his lips. "Well…" he says. "Personally, I was offended. But you…" H narrows his eyes, looking at me for some sort of clue. I put on my poker face. "You cut him some slack, because the story was just as effective, whether or not he made some of it up."

Mark does know me. It's amazing. I want to stump him. At the same time, I'm thrilled. I don't relate to anyone like this. I've never related to anyone like this but Mark.

"Global warming," I say.

He thinks longer on this one the other two, until he finally bursts into a grin. "You bought a hybrid, didn't you?"

"No," I say petulantly. Because I know Mark's the type to dismiss the environmentalist trend as just another fad, and he's gently poking fun at my falling for it. Then I admit a bit sheepishly, "But I did hang up a close line. And change all my light-bulbs to those energy-saving one."

He laughs and shakes his head, and we've broken through again. We're on the other side of the stalemate. We're friends. "Say," he says, "what books are you liking these days? Top ten books in the past five years."

I'm about to begin counting off on my fingers, when he interrupts with enthusiasm, "Even better! Where's your stash?"

Because of course Mark knows all about comfort books. I stand up, and am about to cheerfully lead him to my stash. Then I remember what book is part of it: Judas Kiss, the book I'm not supposed to have read. Highlighted, dog-eared, practically annotated in my rather distinctive handwriting. He can't find out now that I've read his book. We've reached the other side. We're friends. Who knows what that would do to things.

I sit back down. "Let's not. I'll tell you my favorites," I say, a little bit desperately.

But Mark is already up and heading towards my room, gleeful and boyish again. "Come on Cameron, don't hold out of me," he says. What can I do to stop him? Nothing. There's nothing I can do. I'm obliged to follow him to my room, every step of mine filled with dread. I feel like I'm walking toward my death.

Mark's oblivious to my sudden change of attitude, excited as he to see my stash. He knows I'd bring my favorite books with me on a trip like this, and he just gets so excited to about books in general. He likes to know what people are reading. Especially me, I think. We always had similar tastes.

In my room, he quickly locates the carry on and sits down on the floor beside it. I sink despairingly onto the bed, head pounding in my ears. He's pulling out A Room with a View and making some remark about how I'm still reading Forster. I can't really pay attention to what he's saying. I'm thinking there still might be a chance I'll be able to distract him before he gets to the bottom of that bag, where Judas Kiss is hidden.

He pulls out the next book, The Kite Runner. He looks pleased. "I knew you'd like this book. When I read it, I was like, 'Cameron has to read this.' The whole pseudo-brothers thing. Exactly what you're into." It does enter my mind that what he's implying here.He's been thinking about me these past five years, or at least he thought about me this one time. In any other situation, I'd be overjoyed. Right now, all I can be is apprehensive.

A few more books pulled out from the sack, with Mark commenting on each one. When he gets to The Rule of Four, I know he's getting to the end of things. In fact, I'm half sure that the next book he's going to pull out is his own. The dread sinks in. They'll be no stopping it.

But Mark pauses on The Rule of Four, opening it and flipping through. "So this is good?" he asks, looking up at me.

"Yeah," I say, sensing an opportunity. "Pseudo-brothers."

Mark laughs, turning over the back cover and glances over the praise blurbs. "I have to be honest. I skipped this one. It was too soon after The DiVinci Code for me. I was afraid it was going to be another overrated, banally written…" he trails off. "But you say it's good, huh? Okay. I am borrowing this."

"Borrow away," I say. He set the book deliberately down on his lap. I know I have to jump in here and say something—anything—to stop him. "Hey, what do you say we—" I begin, my last frantic attempt.

But he's already reaching into the bag. He's chatting amicably as he does so. "You know, it's funny the books you have here, because a lot of them were my—" And he stops short, as he comprehends exactly what book is in his hands now. Judas Kiss, by Mark Slavo. His face morphs into an expression of shock, wide-eyed and incredulous. He looks at me, disbelieving. Then he returns to the book, flipping through a little, taking note of my underlining, my notes, my dog-eared pages.

I want to fall, fall, fall. Off the bed and through the floor and out of this situation. I can't think of anything good to say. I'm too mortified. But soon enough I put out of my misery, as Mark stands up and briskly leaves the room, taking my copy of his book with him. Just leaves. Without a word.

Moments later, I hear his own door slam closed.

When the girls get home, Laurel asks me if Mark still holed away in his room.

I say, "I haven't seen him all day."

-

A/N: How's that for a quick update? Don't get too used to it – I was on midterm break :o). But really, I just knew y'all were waiting for this one, and I felt it was cruel to keep you in suspense. So did you like?! Review, review!! You know you must.

AmyI: That's so funny. I never knew Jane Austen said Emma was a heroine only she could like. To be honest, Emma's my favorite. She's so awesomely full of herself. And don't worry – Mark will have competition very soon (I agree that he needs it). I'm moving them to Orlando soon, and towards the infamous Eliot Camden.

bellatrix731: Yep, I'm an English major. Lol. Actually, I'm just kind of a nerd. And I just tend to remember book plots pretty well. Glad Cameron's name grew on you :o) Oh, and I'm glad you're reading my Emma story too! I'm excited about that one.

check6: Yeah, we'll get there… eventually. I plan for Mark and Cameron to have a really big fight eventually where all their issues about their past relationship come out. Right now, they're kind of avoiding that subject…

j:. I do intend to bring Todd back into the story in the next couple chapters, and he will have some actually "screen time" (so to speak) with Bianca. I really like them too, glad you do.

AliKitKat: Oh no! Everyone's starting to hate Laurel and I wasn't really trying to make people hate her. Lol, she is kind of manipulative, I guess… I thought about having the book Mark's working on now be another Cameron-inspired book, but I haven't decided yet.'

be-u: Nope, the trip is coming up probably next chapter, along with the James Benwick chapter and then later on Eliot Camden (who is Mr. Eliot). So get ready for the drama to really start! Yeah, I intended for Mark to be comparing Laurel (even if subconsciously for him) with Cameron with the Little Women bit, or at least for him to seem disappointed that she hasn't read it because its—gasp—a book. He knows they're incompatible, he's just not admitting it.

And thank you so much to everyone else who reviewed! Keep reviewing. I'll keep writing. Cheers!