by Lola West
So, no matter how much chemistry we had, all we could have was friendship. Stupid, boring, no touching friendship. Well, that and I was going to help Drew learn that he was good enough to answer the damn S.A.F. E. phone. I focused on that. I had a plan. I was going to threaten Drew with exposure unless he started answering the phone. It wasn’t the kindest plan I ever came up with but in this case, extortion was my only leverage. I put my plan into action that night, after all the supplies were stored and inventoried.
We were in one of the TV lounges, sitting on an old smushy La-Z-Boy couch. We were still on duty and had our cordless phones holstered to our belts like cowboys, only much more nerdy. Drew was cuing up the television when I said, “We need to talk.”
He didn’t take his eyes off the television screen. “Sounds ominous, Crunch. Are you breaking up with me?” Crunch was Drew’s most recent nickname for me, short for crunchy hippy.
“No. Our very friendly friendship remains intact. However, your job at S.A.F.E. could be on the line, and you need this job, right? Because it’s part of your punishment.”
He turned to look at me, less than enthused. “Okay, I’m listening.”
“You have to start taking phone calls, Drew.”
“I take phone calls.” He said this with a straight face. God, it was so easy for him to lie. He leaned back into the couch, nonchalant and relaxed.
I rolled my eyes. “You don’t. And we both know it.”
He said nothing. But I saw a muscle in his jaw tighten.
“You have to start taking calls or I’m going to tell Raina.”
“You do fine with the calls. You’re so good at it.” He smiled in an attempt to be charming; also he was hedging on manipulative and I knew it.
“Thank you, but it’s not my job. It’s our job and I think you should start answering calls. Most of the calls aren’t hard and if you panic, I’ll be here.”
“Lua, you should just answer the calls.”
I turned away from him and looked toward the TV. “No, Drew.”
“Lua.” He paused. “I’m gonna be honest here because I’m working on being honest with you and there are other moments when I wish I’d been more honest or more forthcoming or whatever.” He paused again and looked down at his knees, so he didn’t notice that I was kind of flabbergasted.
That statement felt like a lot of info that I was certainly going to ruminate on later. What did he mean he was working on being more honest with me? He was working on stuff related to me? Drew Scott was working on being honest with me? And there was a time when he wished he’d been more honest? That was interesting. I wanted to blurt out, which time? That time when I was running from your bed in New York? But I didn’t say anything.
He took a deep breath and pushed the heels of his hands against his eyes for a second, and then he started to speak again without looking up at me. “No one needs my advice. This is your thing. You know how to help people. I’m a person who needs help, not a help giver, okay?”
He was always so lost, trapped in the idea that he had nothing to give, that he was worthless. Instinctually, I reached out and put my hand on his knee. “Drew…” I said quietly, all the care I had for him burning in my vocal cords.
When he didn’t look at me, only at my hand on his knee, I suddenly became intensely aware that I had broken the no touch boundary and went to pull my hand away, but he caught it. And just held it. He held my hand in his and looked at them together, resting on his knee, our fingers intertwined. We stayed like that for a while. Holding hands, no one saying anything. Then the phone rang.
“Answer it,” I said. And he did.
27
Drew
I fucked it all up again with Lua the Tuesday before Christmas break.
Every Tuesday night since Thanksgiving, I’d answered at least two calls a night at S.A.F.E., and up until that last Tuesday, I was lucky. All the calls I picked up were perfunctory. What do I do about my library fines? How do I make an appointment at the health center? Do you know any good study strategies? What are the best clubs for meeting girls? Honestly, it had become a joke between Lua and me. I was so nervous about taking those calls. I was afraid that I would fuck it up and hurt someone, but Lua powered me through it. If you asked her, she basically criminally masterminded me into answering the calls, but I honestly wasn’t threatened by her attack on my job with S.A.F.E. because I knew the truth: if I failed at this assignment, my father would buy a new solution from the dean or the college president or whatever. I answered the calls because I couldn’t lose my Tuesdays with Lua and I wanted her to be proud of me, but I wasn’t going to tell her that.
Like I said, so far not much to be proud of. We spent most our Tuesdays on the couch in S.A.F.E.’s TV lounge. She’d point to me when the phone rang, and she wanted me to answer it. Every time I got a what-time-does-the-cafeteria-close type call, Lua would lose her shit. I’d hang up, and she’d literally burst into a fit of giggles. She’d raise her eyebrows at me, slowly the corners of her lips would start to curl up, her nostrils would flare, and then she’d explode into a shower of sweet laughter. Usually she’d wind up laughing so hard that she’d dive face-first into a throw pillow on the couch, which would bring her inches from me and I’d dream about reaching out and running my hand through her hair. It was magical. Sure, there was this split second before the caller spoke when I was almost paralyzed with fear that the person on the line would really need emotional support but so far so good. And even if I did fuck it all up, the risk was worth it because of Lua.
Even just as friends, the semester with her in my life was a thrill. She was smart and funny and passionate about everything. I counted the hours till Tuesday nights all week long. My desire to be with her and spend time with her was maybe borderline obsessive, but I had it in check. I hadn’t allowed my feelings to escape or interfere with her life at Hamilton. I just hung my joy on Tuesday nights. I kind of turned into a homebody and a S.A.F.E. junkie. I liked who I was at S.A.F.E. Even if some people at S.A.F.E. still relegated me to the outside. Working at S.A.F.E. gave me purpose. I knew there were whispers among my frat brothers and other so-called friends about my tamed disposition, but I just couldn’t bring myself to care. Pete and Katie seemed to accept my behavior and really if I had them, and Lua, I had all the friends I’d ever need.
While I didn’t feel comfortable answering the phone, there were absolutely things I could do for S.A.F.E., things that Lua would be proud of, like get the Greek system more involved with S.A.F.E.’s future projects and fundraising. There was a natural overlap there, as most fraternities and sororities had philanthropic mandates, and I could facilitate those connections for Raina, so I did, at first because I thought that was what Lua would do or want me to do, but then because I wanted to. I liked the idea that there were people that wanted to help others, not necessarily for their own gain, but just to make the world better, even if they were also sometimes hypocritical too.
The people at S.A.F.E. weren’t perfect, but they genuinely wanted the world to be better for everyone and not just for themselves. They dedicated their time and energy into programming that helped people see inequity and that was pretty darn cool. Don’t get me wrong, I still thought that their efforts were fruitless, that in a lot of ways they were fighting a machine that had them beat by a long shot, but what I didn’t know before I spent time at S.A.F.E. was that idealists sort of got that their plight and fight bordered on hopeless and still they hoped and soldiered on. It was impressive and inspiring and infectious. Sometimes I even thought that they might brainwash me into being like them.
I didn’t mention the other work I was doing for S.A.F.E. and Raina to Lua. I didn’t want her to think that I was doing it to show her I could. I imagined Raina had told her but maybe not. Lua seemed warm toward me, but somehow, I was certain that she offered kindness whether I earned it or not, and that made me mad with the desire to deserve her kindness.
Either way, I just wanted to be close to her
. I’d come to crave our time together. Every Tuesday followed a pattern. I’d arrive around eleven forty-five to relieve Lucas from the night shift. From eleven forty-five till midnight, I’d chat with Lucas about stuff, politics, food, weather, whatever, just like intellectual friendly banter. That dude was actually mad cool. He was insanely smart. Also, gay, which had driven me to confess to him that I wasn’t actually down with my father’s anti-gay policies. But then I crushed a piece of his soul when I told him that if he told anyone, I’d have to deny it. Since then, he and I mostly talked surface stuff, although occasionally, he’d get on my case about authenticity. It drove him insane that I agreed that he was right, that I should live my authentic life, but I didn’t see any way to possibly do that.
At midnight Lua would arrive, always with food. Lua loves food. Lucas and Lua would chat for like fifteen or twenty minutes about whatever, usually Raina gossip or groans about Lua’s bitchy roommate. I’d make myself scarce, get drinks, cue up shows, check my email, anything to not interact with Lua in front of Lucas because he was like super onto me and my obsession with Lua. Once he was gone the night really began. Sure, all we did was answer phone calls and watch TV, but it felt like a date. A Netflix and chill with my girl date, only with no sexual subtext whatsoever. Well, actually, in my mind there was a whole lot of sexual subtext, but I kept my outward behavior very PG. Every Tuesday was like the early part of the night in New York. We talked and we laughed.
Lua was so weird but in the best ways. She was different from anyone I’d ever met. Sometimes she was different because she grew up on the thrive, like her language and idioms were dated. In addition to the use of the verb bed, Lua called her ex her former beau; she was often jazzed about things or thought they were a gas; when she was in a rush she had to get truckin’, and she regularly called the television the boob tube. She was also like super capable. I couldn’t fix a leaky faucet, but I was pretty sure Lua could manage to install and maintain the plumbing for a more-than-basic kitchen or bathroom. Honestly, I’m also pretty certain that she could not only change a tire but also replace a carburetor. I couldn’t even pick a carburetor out of a collection of car parts. But the thing was, it wasn’t just her upbringing on the thrive that made Lua spectacularly unique.
Without realizing it, Lua scatted little ditties to herself when she was concentrating. When she was stressed or confused, she closed her eyes and wiggled her fingers like she was playing an air clarinet. She laughed and danced all the time. Lua danced in her seat to television theme songs. She also always brought enough snacks for us both and offered me the last bite. And she was absolutely effortlessly beautiful. Her hair was thick and wild, so were her curves. It took everything in me not to eye Lua up and down all night long. But the most amazing things about Lua were her brain and her heart. She was smart, always thinking and analyzing and rethinking.
We spent the entire six hours talking, not necessarily about anything deep, but it was a solid connection, no awkward silences, just flow. We talked a lot about television shows, but TV is in its golden age so sometimes our conversations were deep and theoretical, about the nature of art, or the complexity of humanity versus technology, or gender; Lua saw gender inequity in everything. Lua just thought about stuff; she saw themes about life and love and politics in every show, and she pushed me to think about that stuff rather than just passively absorb. Talking to her and spending time with her was always a gas.
But I always knew our Tuesdays were finite. There were sixteen Tuesdays in the fall semester and there was no guarantee that we would work together in the spring. So, on the sixteenth Tuesday, the one right before Christmas break, I was full-on freaking out, panicked that it would be my last overnight with Lua. Terrified that our last mandated night together could very well be the last time we spent hours enjoying each other’s company.
I was sour when I arrived. I hardly talked to Lucas. When Lua arrived, flawless even in leggings and a long-sleeved t-shirt, I took the food she was carrying and excused myself. I huffed about S.A.F.E.’s kitchen, banging cabinets and clattering through drawers. I couldn’t seem to find the right bowls or glasses for the snacks Lua brought. And then I wound up just sitting on the counter and pouting like a toddler.
Lua eventually came into the kitchen with her arms crossed and a look on her face that said, WTF is going on in here. She didn’t ask, but I offered, “I’m fine. Ignore me.”
“You don’t seem fine,” she mocked.
I hopped off the counter. “I’m fine,” I repeated.
Tentatively, she asked, “Is it the senator?”
We never talked about our real lives and I was sort of stupefied that she was trying to be a real friend, someone who cared about me and my problems. I didn’t speak right away.
“Sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t pry. Joe says I pry. That I push myself into the business of everyone, all the time.” She was prattling on. She did that when she was nervous. “I do pry, mostly because I care, but I know it can be annoying. I’m sorry.”
She cared about me. She always had, since the very first moment.
“Stop.” I needed to calm her down. “Lua, it’s fine. You can ask me things about my life. It’s okay. Our friendship doesn’t have to exist in this weird vacuum where we talk about everything and nothing. We can actually be friends. In fact, there is nothing, literally nothing, I’d like more.”
She smiled.
And then the phone rang, and she pointed at me. And suddenly, I was smack-dab in the middle of my first real call. I answered, introduced myself as Drew, and asked what S.A.F.E. could do to make life a little easier tonight—that was how we were taught to begin our calls; it was the script. A girl on the line told me she was a freshman, that I could call her Sue, and that she needed someone to talk to about stuff. I could tell she was anxious, and it was clear that her name wasn’t really Sue. The first thing they taught us all to do was ask our callers if they felt more comfortable talking to a man or a woman because clearly, if assault was part of the equation, talking to a guy might be triggering or vice versa. So, I started there.
“Sue, I want to make sure you feel one hundred percent comfortable talking to me. Perhaps, you’d rather talk to my female colleague.” I had my fingers crossed because this sounded like a real call and I hoped if it was that Sue would speak to Lua, not me. “I will not be offended in any way if a female voice would help you feel comfortable.”
Sue’s deep breath traveled through the phone line, and then after a pause, she said, “No. I mean, I might be a little embarrassed to talk about this with a stranger, but a guy’s perspective is better, I think.”
Fuck. Okay. I was pacing back and forth in S.A.F.E.’s little kitchen. My hands were sweating. I shifted the phone to hold it between my ear and my shoulder and then, I wiped my palms on the thighs of my jeans. Lua stepped deeper into the kitchen and caught my eye. She was standing directly in front of me, just a few feet away. I locked eyes with her. She took a deep inhale through her nose and then exhaled through her mouth. She did it a second time and with her eyebrows encouraged me to do the same. I did.
“Hello? Are you still there?” Sue asked in my ear.
Lua smiled and nodded. My eyes never left hers, but I answered, “Of course, how can I help you, Sue?”
Lua’s smile grew broader and she bit her bottom lip. I loved Lua. I was one hundred percent certain.
“Okay.” Sue swallowed; I could hear it through the phone. “Okay, my boyfriend wants to have sex, and he doesn’t like condoms, and he’s had a lot of partners, and I’ve had…” Sue paused, like a big fat pregnant pause and then continued. “Fewer partners. And I feel weird about the whole thing, but I also love him and think he’s superhot and I want to be with him but… Oh God, I don’t know. What do you think?”
My immediate though was hell, no. I did not want sweet, naïve Sue to sleep with this dude who immediately sounded sketchy to me, but maybe I was projecting, just maybe. So, before I spat out my response
, I tried to think about what Lua would say. And then I decided that Lua would be real. So, I said, “Well, I’m going to be honest. I have my opinion and it feels a little knee-jerk to me because I want to make sure you are safe and protected and I don’t feel like you feel that way one hundred percent, so let’s talk some and see if we can get to the bottom of how you feel.”
Standing across from me, Lua’s eyes blazed with heat.
28
Lua
Drew listened. He asked questions, and he did it. He took “Sue” from a place of wishy-washy, “Will my boyfriend still love me even though I’m a virgin who wants to use condoms” (thank God), all the way to, “You’re so right, Drew. It is my body and my life, and I do need to speak up, and if he doesn’t like it than he’s not the guy for me and that’s okay.” Drew walked a woman through advocating for herself, and I was literally exploding with exuberance as they said their goodbyes.
Throughout the entire call I stood three feet from him in that little dirty kitchen, yellowed Formica everywhere, and we stared at each other. At one point, I moved like I was going to give him a little space and he clearly shook his head no, signaling that it was not okay for me to leave. It was like he needed me, like he needed to draw on my strength to get it done. I’m not gonna lie, it was intense. My whole body vibrated under his gaze. Staring into his smoky eyes for twenty minutes, watching his lips move, his look begging for my support, and then the relief in his expression when he knew I was there for him, and later the surge of power that overtook him when he realized that he was actually helping her. His aura penetrated me; it permeated the atmosphere around us.
