A Song for Julia

accent. I couldn’t tell what they were talking about, but the words went on and on, and it made me wonder if I could somehow substitute her for me tonight.
    I sighed and looked at myself in the mirror. I was pale, with brownish-blonde hair, and frazzled as hell. Jemi was dark skinned, with black hair, and was always, always composed. Somehow I thought Barrett would notice the difference.
    I sighed. I might as well get this over with. I threw my makeup back in my bag and opened the door. “Ready. Sorry for making you wait.”
    Barrett, sitting on the couch next to Jemi, stood up and smiled. “Julia. It’s very nice to see you.” He was wearing what looked suspiciously like an Armani suit and tie. My instincts about dressing up were on target.
    I returned the smile, but I wasn’t feeling it. “You too. I see you’ve met my suitemate.”
    Jemi stood too. She said, “We were just chatting about experiences in common. Barrett spent three years in Delhi.”
    “Oh,” I said. “You guys must have a lot in common, then.” See how subtle I can be?
    Barrett politely coughed into his hand and then said, “Shall we go?” He extended his arm, and I put my hand around it.
    Behind him, Jemi motioned with her hand, putting it to her ear as if it were a phone. She was signaling me to call if I was going to be late. After my nap, she’d explained the system our roommates had worked out to make sure we were safe if one of them were out on a date.
    It shouldn’t have been necessary, but during our sophomore year, one of the juniors on the floor above us was raped by her date during a party upstairs. All of us were pretty freaked after. Nobody talked about things like that happening here.
    I nodded at Jemi, to let her know I understood, and followed Barrett out.
    Okay. First problem. He’d brought a car … and driver. Or bodyguard maybe. I don’t know which. It was handy, but necessary? I don’t know. It felt like too much. It felt like my old life, the life I’d really wanted to leave behind when I left Washington after that hideous, traumatic year. Sometimes lately, I felt like I’d be happiest forgetting the whole planned grad school existence, instead maybe get a job teaching or running a small business somewhere, get a tiny little apartment in Brookline and take the T to work. Lose myself, lose my past; lose my family and their utter domination of my life.
    The easy laughter sitting around the breakfast table with Crank’s family that morning made me homesick for a life I’d never had.
    So, we went to L’espalier. If you’ve never eaten there, know that it’s an excessively posh French restaurant on Gloucester Street. The kind of place where bodyguards and drivers aren’t out of place at all, where you might run into Brad Pitt or George Clooney or Governor Romney sitting over an overly expensive plate of roasted pheasant. The kind of place I avoided like the plague. Not that I was celebrity enough for anyone to care about my presence, unless it was for a small time vicious gossip like Maria Clawson. But it always made me a little sick inside to walk past homeless men on the street to get into a place like this.
    Barrett had reservations, of course. We took our seats at one of the small tables covered in a white linen tablecloth. The place was packed, but eerily hushed, couples sitting at their tables speaking in near whispers as the waiters whisked about the place.
    We started with small talk. His schools, my schools. He was in town on business, and went on interminably about his father’s bank, and the bank here, and interest rates and trading futures—and I completely lost interest. Which is kind of funny, considering I was majoring in international business, and this was all familiar territory. Familiar, but supremely uninteresting.
    At one point he was perceptive enough to realize that I wasn’t really interested, because he said, “Are you all right?”
    I was startled. We’d just finished the second course, and I said, “Yes, I’m sorry, I’m fine. I didn’t get much sleep last night, I’m afraid I zoned out there for a minute.”
    He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. I wasn’t being very nice. Barrett had obviously gone to some significant trouble for this date. I don’t know exactly what he was hoping for. I mean, he was attractive enough, no question there. But I just … really wasn’t all that interested. When he first called me, I thought he was going to ask me out for coffee.