by Abbi Waxman
Lili slapped another worm in her daughter’s palm.
Clare chewed. “And now the lips again.”
Twenty
In which Nina shares more of herself.
“Wow,” said Tom, walking into Nina’s apartment. “Those are some serious bookshelves.”
Nina held back, watching him enter her space, seeing what he looked like in her home. She hardly ever brought men back to her apartment. She preferred to go to theirs so she could leave if she needed to. Nothing worse than a date going wrong and having to throw someone out in the middle of the night or pretend everything is fine until the next morning. A shiver of anxiety crossed her stomach, but then Tom turned and smiled at her, and it faded.
“These must have been here since the guesthouse was built. They don’t make them this way anymore.” He ran his hands along the edges of the shelves.
Nina smiled. “I don’t think I’ve ever had anyone compliment the actual shelves before. People are usually more focused on the books.”
“Yeah, there are a lot of them.” But he was still looking at the shelves.
“Would you like a drink?” Nina went to see if she had any wine or beer, but she didn’t.
“No, I’m fine,” he said, coming up behind her, sliding his hands around her waist. She was small, this woman, but strong. He could feel her muscles moving under his palms as she twisted around and kissed him again. There was nothing hesitant in her reaction to him, not on the dance floor, not at the wedding, not in the car on the way here, not now. He leaned into her, wrapped his arms tightly around her, and half lifted her higher against him. Suddenly, he felt a sharp pain in his ankle and pulled away, exclaiming.
Nina laughed as she looked down. “Oh, sorry. That’s Phil.” A small cat was standing on the kitchen floor, his tail lashing, his ears back. “He’s hungry.”
Tom bent to stroke the cat, who hissed at him. “I don’t think it’s hunger; I think it’s hatred.”
Nina was filling a small silver dish with cat kibble and shook her head. “No, he’s a lover not a fighter.” She put the dish on the floor, and Phil started to eat. “See? Just hungry.” Tom went to step around Phil, but Phil whirled around and sank his teeth into his ankle again. “Huh,” said Nina. “I was wrong. He hates you.”
Eventually, Phil allowed Tom to pass, and they headed into the sitting room area. Tom sat on the giant armchair and pulled Nina onto his lap. “Is this where you spend all your time?” he asked, between kisses.
“Yes,” she said, “it’s my favorite place in the world.” She was straddling him in the chair, and as she tugged her dress over her head, Tom smelled lemon and honey again, and pressed his lips against her stomach. “Although,” she said, undoing the buttons on his shirt, “I’ve never done . . . this . . . here before.” She finished with his shirt and started on his belt, loosening the buckle and tugging it out of his waistband.
“You surprise me,” said Tom, standing and lifting her in order to step out of his pants, her legs around his waist, then turning and setting her down in the chair again, kneeling on the rug in front of her. “It’s so perfect for it.”
He bent his head to her stomach again, then began to work his way down.
“Oh,” said Nina, closing her eyes and leaning her head back. “You’re right. It’s . . .”—her voice faltered for a second—“perfect.”
The next morning, Nina woke and through her sticky contact lenses saw Tom moving around in the kitchen. She smiled, remembering the way it had been. For once, she didn’t want to leave, or get him to leave, or do anything other than everything all over again.
He looked over and saw her watching him. “Good morning, beautiful,” he said. “Coffee?”
She nodded.
“I went out already and got breakfast,” he said. “And I made peace with your insanely jealous cat.”
Nina realized Phil was standing on the kitchen counter, eating something. “How did you do that?”
“Old-fashioned bribery,” replied Tom, carrying two mugs of coffee over to her. “It turns out he’s happy to share you in return for organic smoked salmon.” He sat on the floor next to the bed and leaned forward to kiss her. “How are you?”
She sipped her coffee and smiled at him. “I’m good. You?”
“Very good.” He smiled back. “Last night was amazing. You’re amazing.”
She handed him back the coffee cup and lifted the duvet. “Come back to bed,” she said. “I thought of a few more amazing things.”
He grinned and slid under the sheet.
A few hours later, they managed to make it out of the apartment, and wandered hand in hand to Larchmont Boulevard, which was wearing its Sunday best. Sunday was not Nina’s favorite day in the neighborhood, because the Farmer’s Market brought what felt like a million visitors to the hood, all of them vying for limited parking and carrying ethically sourced string bags they filled with overpriced produce.
Tom turned to Nina. “Are you hungry?” he asked.
“Not really,” she replied. “But I can always have ice cream.”
He smiled and kissed her softly on the lips. “You don’t think you’re sweet enough already?”
She made a face at him. “I might be sweet, but do I contain an interesting variety of carefully curated ingredients? I don’t think so.”
“It’s a good point,” he said. “Besides, what if you collapsed from vanilla deficiency?”
“Exactly,” she said. “Only the rapid application of ice cream will prevent disaster.”
They turned into one of the two, yes, two, artisanal ice cream stores on the Boulevard. Sometimes Nina imagined their workers, late at night, coming out onto the street, scoopers at the ready, or maybe with a giant ice cream trebuchet, throwing enormous balls of frosty death at one another, competing to be the Ice Cream Monarch of Larchmont Village. An Ennio Morricone version of an ice cream truck jingle would hang in the air, and in the middle of August, the ice cream would melt on the hot street and cream would run in the gutters.
Nina told Tom about her theory as they waited in an impossibly long line, and he listened to her very carefully, nodding at the trebuchet part and pursing his lips in consideration of the street-cleaning ramifications. Then he sighed and kissed her so deeply that conversation in the line stopped while people admired his technique. Finally, he let her go and said, “You are a complete lunatic, Nina Hill, and I doubt I will ever have any idea what’s going on in your head.”
Nina caught her breath and nodded. “It’s probably just as well,” she said, although right at the moment, he was the only thing in her head. No need to tell him that, of course.
Then she ordered a scoop of salted peanut butter with chocolate flecks and Tom ordered Brambleberry Crisp and they went outside to sit on a bench silently licking and watching people go by, enjoying that incredible feeling after you’ve finally slept with someone you wanted to and it turned out to be even better than you hoped it would be.
People walked by with the joie de vivre all Angelenos have, at least in that neighborhood. People were fit, healthy, attractive, and living their dream, or at least trying to live their dream. It was Sunday, and they were busy working up their enthusiasm for the coming week. Each morning they would face possible disappointment (no callbacks, no job interviews, no call from the Academy) but would march themselves to lunchtime yoga and drink a green juice and look forward to the next opportunity to Break In or Go Big or Make It Work. Maybe this week they would meet The One. Los Angeles runs on youthful optimism, endorphins, and Capital Letters.
Tom licked his cone in silence, which Nina appreciated. First, because the ice cream deserved respect, and second, because her favorite sound was no sound at all. It couldn’t last, however, and Tom broke it.
“I really like your name,” he said. “Are you named after someone in the family?”
Nina laughed. “Well, until three and a half weeks ago, the only family I had was my mom and the nanny that raised me, but no,
I’m named after a girl in a photo.”
“A photo?” He looked quizzically at her, and Nina explained.
“My mom’s a photographer. There’s a girl in a famous Ruth Orkin photo called American Girl in Italy whose name was Ninalee, and she always loved that name.” Nina shrugged. “She also likes those drawings by Hirschfeld, you know, where he hid the name Nina somewhere in the picture . . . ?” She ground to a halt. Her ice cream was dripping and Tom was staring at her and maybe she was being boring.
Tom was indeed gazing at her. He had been thinking her voice sounded like a bell, much lower than most women’s voices, imagining the sound waves of it bouncing off his skin, remembering how it had sounded saying his name, and suddenly all he wanted to do was go back to the apartment.
He blushed. “Did you ask me something?” He coughed. “I’m sorry, I lost track of what you were saying.”
Nina’s mouth twisted. “Wow, I guess it wasn’t really that interesting.”
He sputtered. “No, it was. It was about photography, and about your name . . . I got distracted by your voice . . .” He reached for her hand. “I’ll be honest, looking at you makes me lose my mind. Can we go back to your place?” He lowered his voice. “Please?”
Nina laughed at him and stood up. “Yes,” she said. “I think we’ve had quite enough of the great outdoors for one day.”
“How did your father die?” It was early evening now, and Tom was gazing up at the ceiling, Nina’s head on his shoulder. They hadn’t said very much for several hours, but now they were tired and ready to talk.
Nina shrugged against him, her hair tickling his neck. “Heart attack.”
“And you really never knew him, or knew anything about him?”
“No. It seems weird now, but at the time it was just the way it was.”
“So, you were kind of an orphan.”
“No, not really. My mom was away, working, but we heard from her a lot, and she came to visit. I had no dad, but I did have a nanny who was as good—if not better—than any biological mom might have been. I wasn’t raised in a box.”
“Really?”
“Actually,” said Nina, “that’s not true. I was lucky. I had a Carnation Condensed Milk carton for the first few years, then upgraded to a refrigerator box once I got too tall to stand up in the first one.”
“Those refrigerator boxes are sturdy.” Tom knew she was dodging the question, but he didn’t want to push her. “And it explains how you’re so comfortable in this single bed.” He’d found the lack of space challenging, but he’d worked around it.
Nina nodded, liking the way Tom was always ready to be silly. Silly is a highly underrated quality. “Mine was European, too, so it was reinforced for export.”
“Fancy.”
She shook her head. “It wasn’t fancy, but it was home, you know?” She paused. “Actually, I grew up here, right in the neighborhood. I’ve barely left the East side of LA my whole life.”
He laughed. “Maybe you’re the one who needs to be reinforced for export.”
Nina smiled. “Do you travel a lot?”
He shook his head. “No. I grew up in Pasadena, went to college there, then moved all of sixteen miles to Los Angeles. I drove across country with some friends after graduation, like everyone does. But then I got on a plane and came right back.”
“I never did that.”
“You still could.”
“No car. And I have a cat.” She laughed. “A jealous, ferocious cat. Plus, I don’t want to go anywhere.” She was starting to feel hungry and wondered idly if they should get up and get dinner. “What’s your dad like?”
Tom replied, “He’s pretty typical. Like I said, he’s quieter than my mom.”
“But what was he like, your dad? How was he when you were a kid?”
Tom frowned and thought about it. “He was a good dad, I think. I only had the one, right? So I can’t really compare him properly to anyone else’s. One time he saved my sister’s life.”
Nina raised her eyebrows. “Sucking out snake venom?”
He grinned. “No, Heimlich in a McDonald’s. The story is that she choked on a chicken nugget and when he gave her the Heimlich the piece of nugget hit my older brother in the eye so hard they had to take him to the emergency room. The crumb coating scratched his cornea. He had to wear an eye patch to school.”
“That’s a good story.”
He nodded. “Yes, and fairly typical. There was always a lot going on at our house. It was a happy childhood, for the most part. I saw my parents bicker a lot, but they always made up and never stopped loving each other, so, you know. It was . . . committed.”
“And your brother and sister?”
“They’re great. Richard got married, obviously, you were there.”
“That’s right,” said Nina.
“Hey,” said Tom, suddenly. “That means their anniversary will be ours, too!” There was a pause.
“Assuming we last long enough,” said Nina, lightly.
“Right,” said Tom. “You may get bored of me.”
Nina looked at the side of her own hand where it rested on his chest. She curled the fingers under. “Or you might get bored of me. I don’t do much.”
Tom looked fixedly at the ceiling, trying to backtrack. “Maybe we’ll have one glorious Sunday and then both be killed by a falling piano.”
“At the same time?”
“No, two separate pianos, separate places, total coincidence.”
Nina considered this, feeling the wave of anxiety that had threatened to crest slowly losing power. “I’ve always wanted to die that way. Or under a safe. One of those Acme safes from Road Runner.”
“Any of those Road Runner deaths would be fine with me. Running off a cliff while still running, then pausing in midair, holding up a sign that says, Whoops, and then plummeting to my death . . .”
“Running into a hole painted on the side of a rock and then getting hit by a train that shouldn’t be there in the first place.”
“Watching a bird eat a lot of explosive birdseed and being fine and then trying a single one and exploding.”
“Yeah, any of those would be OK.”
“And a fitting end to our grand romance.” Tom could feel her relaxing under his arm. She was so touchy, this one. Hard to navigate, although in bed they were so easy together, so relaxed and in tune. It was only the afterglow that held land mines.
He squeezed her shoulder. “Getting hungry?”
She nodded, wondering at the way his presence was somehow canceling out her anxiety. Each time she started to panic, the feelings just washed up against this big, solid wall of . . . him. He wasn’t doing it consciously, or at least she didn’t think he was, but he was 100 percent real, and her anxiety—which was, after all, made of smoke and mirrors—was no match for him.
“I need to work up a tiny bit more appetite,” she said, sliding her hand under the sheet.
He smiled and caught her hand before it reached its target. “No,” he said. “Let’s leave room for dessert.” He swung his legs out of bed. “I don’t want you to get a blood sugar crash and have a fight on our first day.” He tugged her to her feet. “Let me take care of you.”
She sighed, nodded, and got up.
Twenty-one
In which Nina proves useful.
Polly was thrilled for her, but then again, Polly’s default state was thrilled.
“It’s all very romantic,” she said. “Enemies first, then a kiss and an epic fail on your part . . .”
“Hey,” said Nina.
“Then coming together at a wedding, the fates aligning . . .”
Nina frowned. “I think it’s stars that align, not fates.”
Polly frowned at her. “Does it matter?”
“I suppose not.”
“Are you going to see him again?”
Nina nodded. Then shook her head. Then nodded again. “I imagine so. We got on pretty well to not see each other again.” She thought a
bout it. “Of course, he is a guy, so who knows. I may never hear from him again. Or he might send me a picture of his penis any minute.”
“Well then,” said Polly, “keep checking your phone.”
Nina’s phone buzzed, obligingly. She picked it up but shook her head. “It’s not him; it’s Archie.”
“Oh, now, his penis I’d be totally open to seeing.” Polly leaned over to look, but Nina held the phone away.
“Excuse me, that’s my married brother you’re salivating over.” She looked at the text. “And it would be pretty weird of him to send his sister a dick pic.”
“Good point.”
“He’s wondering if I’m around for lunch. He says he’s bringing a friend he wants me to meet. Do you want to come? Maybe the friend is single.”
“How can I join you? Liz isn’t here. Are you suggesting we close the store?”
“Oh yeah.” Nina laughed. “Who knew you would turn out to be so responsible?”
“Not me.” Polly walked away. “I think it’s your terrible influence. I used to be carefree and disorganized, and you’ve ruined me. The other day I was able to put my hand directly on something I was looking for. It threw me off for the rest of the day.”
“Sorry,” said Nina.
“You should be,” Polly replied, heading into the office to grab some paperwork.
Archie’s friend was nothing like Nina had expected. She was only four feet tall, for a start.
“This is Millie,” said Archie. “She’s your sister.” He paused. “Mine, too.”
Millie wasn’t a redhead, but there was still something familiar about her. She looked more like her mom, Eliza, the woman who had attempted to stop Lydia’s tirade the other day, but there was still plenty of her dad in her bone structure.
She stuck out her hand. “Hi, Nina. It’s nice to meet you.”
Nina shook her hand. What a formal child. “I didn’t realize you two hung out,” she said.
The three of them found a table at the back of the restaurant, and Vanessa came over to take their order.
“More family?” she asked. She looked at Millie. “Do you want a kids’ menu?”
