Page 44 of The Holy Grail
George Clooney’s tequila
JULES: I need to talk to you.
Evan read the text as he unlocked the door to his third-floor apartment, then ignored it in favor of grabbing his bottle of Casamigos Blanco and a shot glass.
He’d bought the tequila based on the fact it was George Clooney’s brand (because Clooney=hot) and Evan had been pleasantly surprised when, just like the man himself, the tequila was also smooth as hell.
The first shot went down lickety-split, and Evan was pouring his second, when his phone buzzed again with another text. Before he pulled it out of his pocket, he knew it was going to be from Jules, who was not only out of his reach, but also sleeping with Malcom.
Thank God Evan didn’t have to work later, because he was going to see how much damage he could do to George Clooney’s tequila, consequences be damned.
His worst nightmare had kicked him in the balls today at a Farmer’s Market of all places—and to add insult to injury, he hadn’t brought anything home to eat, so he was likely going to be having Lucky Charms for dinner.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
JULES: I said, I need to talk to you. JULES: Quit ignoring me .
Evan downed the second shot, with a roll of his eyes, as if Jules could ever really be ignored. God knows, he’d tried, with zero success.
JULES: Evan. JULES: I know you’re reading these.
With a sigh, he typed out a response.
EVAN: Sorry, but I’m really not in the mood to talk.
JULES: Too bad. I need to talk to you. JULES: Where are you at?
EVAN: Home. EVAN: And I’m not inviting you over, so we’ll have to talk some other time.
JULES: Wrong. I’ll be there in ten minutes.
EVAN: Good luck, since you don’t even know where I live.
JULES: Actually, I do. Remember all that paperwork I went through for the bar? JULES: Yeah, your address was in there.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Evan poured a third shot and dispatched it with ease; Clooney’s tequila really was smooth shit.
EVAN: I DON’T WANT TO TALK TO YOU. JULES: Too bad.
I’m on my way right now. JULES: And your big scary capital letters aren’t going to stop me.
JULES: See you in eight minutes. EVAN: I’ve already had three shots of tequila, so …
this really isn’t a good idea. JULES: When I get there, I’ll catch up with you.
Having never been to Evan’s place, Jules didn’t know what to expect, but an attic apartment in an old Victorian house wasn’t it.
After reluctantly letting her in, he led her to the living room, and for a moment, all she could do was look around.
The space had classic crown moldings and a parquet floor, juxtaposed with a white, 1970s shag rug, a long, bottle-green, velvet sofa with a low, tufted back and deep cushions.
Adding to the groovy vibe were a pair of chairs opposite the couch, upholstered in the brightest pattern of red, pink, and purple flowers she’d ever seen, with gold painted, elaborately carved legs and arms, and high, throne-like backs.
There was a coffee table in the middle which looked like someone had thrown it out a window to the curb, just in time for Evan to find it and bring up to his apartment. There were stains, nicks, scratches, and possible burn marks on it, as well as a bottle of tequila and two shot glasses.
“I like your place,” she told him.
He motioned for her to have a seat. “Sure you do.”
“No, I really do,” she insisted as she sat down on one of the chairs, which turned out to be surprisingly comfortable.
“It has a fun, funky vibe.” As she leaned back, she noticed lamps on both end tables flanking the couch, the bases of which were voluptuous, bronze mermaids, with gravity-defying breasts.
Pointing to one and then the other, she said, “Those are definitely fun.”
Evan sat down on the couch and gave her a long look, as if trying to gauge her sincerity. “They used to belong to Cat Lady.”
“What? No.”
“Yeah. David bought them for her. Apparently they had a pair of ugly bedroom lamps when they were married, and her cat had broken one of them, and then he broke the other one by accident—or so he claims—and bought her those as replacements to mess with her.”
“I have no doubt.”
“Anyway, when she moved in with him, I thought they’d be a bit much for Jacob to see, so David gave them to me.
” He then leaned forward and picked up the bottle of tequila.
“Now, you didn’t come over here to talk to me about my lamps, so after you catch up with me, you’re going to tell me why you’re really here. ”
She leaned forward as well, taking the shot he poured her and throwing it back. He quickly poured her another one, which she threw back as well, only this time when she was finished, she exhaled a huge breath. “Jesus Christ.”
“Two more to go,” Evan said.
“You said you’d had three .”
“I did, but then I had another one while I was waiting for you to get here.”
Because she wasn’t a quitter, she drank the last two shots.
When she was done, and her entire body felt like it was now ten degrees warmer, he got up and disappeared for several moments. Upon his return, he handed her a large glass of water. “Here.”
“Thank you,” she said gratefully, taking a large drink and hoping her liver was in a forgiving mood.
“So, what did you want to talk about?” Evan prompted, figuring the sooner they got this over with, the sooner he could be watching The Great British Baking Show , which he’d recently become addicted to.
“Well, I understand Malcom and his wife spent time with you—”
“Spent time with me?” he scoffed. “You understand nothing.”
She set the glass of water down. “You didn’t let me finish. I understand Malcom and his wife spent time with you in a sexual context—”
“‘Sexual context’?”
“I’m trying to keep this …” Jules trailed off, momentarily floundering for the right word, wondering if the alcohol was partly to blame. “Neutral.”
“Neutral?”
“Unemotional.”
“Unemotional? Okay, well, you’re just sounding like a robot,” he pointed out. “So, just tell me what you think you know, using normal words.”
Slowly, she began telling him what she knew, keeping it short and sweet, uncaring if she still sounded like a robot. Every time she mentioned Gwen’s name, Evan made a face, but remained silent until Jules was finished.
“That’s the abridged version,” Evan said.
Her eyebrows drew together. “So tell me the unabridged version.”
He leaned forward and began pouring two shots of tequila. “First, let me ask you something.”
“Okay. ”
He pushed her shot toward her, then picked up his and downed it. “What do you know about triads?”
She followed suit. “Is that a fancy way of saying a threesome?”
“No. A threesome is usually temporary, like a one-night stand. A triad is more long-term, like a committed relationship in which the three people involved are choosing to be together. It has stability, respect, and mutual affection.”
He abruptly got up and disappeared again, and upon returning, had a small pad of paper and a pencil.
“There’s several kinds of triads,” he explained.
“One is a closed, romantic to one partner triad. What that means, is one person is romantic with the other two partners, but those two partners aren’t romantic with each other.
” He stopped to draw three triangulated stick figures on the pad of paper, the top one with long hair, one on the bottom with short hair, and the other one with wavy hair and facial scruff.
When he saw her amused expression at the rudimentary drawing, he gave her a bland look.
“I’m a bartender, not an artist,” before tapping the pencil on the top figure.
“This was Gwen, at the top of the food chain, so to speak, with all the power, because she got all the attention.” He then tapped on the short-haired figure.
“This was Mal.” He finished by tapping on the one with wavy hair and facial scruff. “This was me.”
“Okay.” Then, probably because of the alcohol, she added, “You know, it might have been easier to just write the names underneath each stick figure, instead of going to the trouble of drawing hair and stuff.”
He blinked at Jules, and as her logic sunk in, he closed his eyes for a moment. “Shit, you’re right,” he agreed, releasing an embarrassed chuckle before getting back on track. “So, anyway, Mal and I were both ‘with’ Gwen—”
“Every time I said her name, you made a face. And now you’re making a face when you say her name. It’s almost like you don’t care for her very much.”
“That’s because I don’t. I did in the beginning, but she killed it in the end.
We’ll get to that later, but for now, Mal and I were both with Gwen—” he broke off to draw arrows going from the Malcom and Evan figures up to Gwen, as if visual clarification was needed.
“So, while we weren’t exactly in a true closed, romantic to one person triad, because there wasn’t much romance involved at first, it did have some characteristics of being one …
and it started to feel like there was real potential to become one after a couple of weeks.
“They were both fun to be with, and easy on the eyes. Gwen was a beautiful woman, but Mal was actually the big draw for me, so when she struck up the conversation at the bar about experimenting with them for a while, I accepted. I knew Mal was supposed to be only watching and not participating, but that first time together, I decided, fuck it, and told him to join me and Gwen on the bed and play with her tits or something like that. I really just wanted to get him involved, partly because I was beyond attracted to him and partly because I wanted to see if I could get him to venture out of the closet for a while. Or maybe even permanently.”
Jules hadn’t missed the familiar use of ‘Mal’ instead of ‘Malcom’, and it sidetracked her for a second, so she was slow to catch the part about him being in the closet. “What do you mean?”