Romancing the Dark in the City of Light

by Ann Jacobus

  It’s nice to be physically close and she can’t help but relax a little. His gesture is protective and she likes it.

  The movie starts. Blood’s spurting and body parts are flying as the too-loud sound system fills the space with screams before the opening credits stop rolling. She turns her head into his shoulder, kind of used to his odor. He pats her and chuckles.

  “Thanks for coming to this with me,” he says.

  “Hmm.”

  A little later, there’s a sort of sexy scene with the crazy guy and a young hitchhiker. It’s only a matter of minutes though before she’s history, and Kurt’s hand migrates around her back, through her armpit, onto her right breast. He caresses it gently, then firmly. His other hand crawls between her legs.

  She pulls away from him. “Cut it out.” Now she’s sorry to be watching this horrible movie with him. She puts her arms in her coat, knocking over the box of popcorn.

  “Don’t fight me,” he says. Her arms are still half stuck in her coat. He massages the scar tissue on her neck and pulls her back in her chair, with strength she can’t fight. He touches her between her legs again, but softly.

  Physical desire shoots through every blood vein in her body.

  Kurt whispers warmly in her ear, “I want you more than life itself.” Next thing she knows, he’s manipulating his hand inside her jeans. She’s breathing hard. He’s caught her off guard. A theater full of people wouldn’t stop her from making a scene, but during this feature no one would notice anyway. Maybe he figured that.

  He whispers, “You are so hot for me.”

  She squeezes her legs and gets a hand free. She grabs his to stop him. He relaxes and strokes her cheek and hair. Then gently, teasingly works his fingers back into her pants. She would yell or punch him, but she can’t.

  She doesn’t want to.

  “Ah, Summer, I will have you,” he breathes. He pulls her head to him and kisses her, flicking her tongue with his. He sucks the breath out of her. The room’s on fire. His fingers work her over. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

  But he stops.

  She’s panting, shaking, like a coiled live wire.

  The screams on the screen fill her head. She can’t look at the screen or at Kurt, who still has one arm clenched around her. She’s half waiting for him to put her hand on his crotch. His turn. But he doesn’t. He just sits there calmly, and as far as she can tell, he hasn’t gotten worked up about any of this at all. She doesn’t turn him on?

  He whispers, “No, you don’t. You disgust me.”

  She doubles over, as if she’s been hit. An icy wave of fear washes over her. She buttons her jeans, grabs her backpack, and stands up.

  “Urgent appointment?” he asks.

  “You’re an asshole,” she hisses. “Get out of my way.”

  He smiles.

  FORTY-TWO

  Summer double bolts the doors of the empty apartment then texts Moony with shaking thumbs:

  Please please call when ur free

  Using Mom’s easy-to-find liquor, she makes a tall vodka with a splash of orange juice and downs it. She makes another, sits in the living room in the dark, nurses it, smokes, and waits. Camus trots in and sits on her lap. Summer barely notices. About twenty-five minutes later, Moony texts:

  Still on family duty. What’s up?

  Need to talk.

  OK, hang on.

  A few interminable minutes later, her phone sings.

  “Summer? You okay?”

  There’s a long pause. “Moony. Thangs for calling. Yeah I’m okay, but … I—jus…” She can tell she’s slurring. She confesses, “I’ve been drinking.”

  “Figured,” he says evenly.

  “Something happened,” she blurts out.

  “What?”

  “Oh, Moony, iss—it, I caan’t—”

  “Anybody with you?”

  “Nope.”

  “Okay. Coming over.”

  * * *

  The next morning, Summer wakes on the long living room couch, covered with a blanket and one of her pillows under her head. Camus sleeps at her feet. She has no idea what happened. She probably passed out. Someone covered her up. It had to have been Moony. Or Ouaiba. Who let Moony in when he arrived and she didn’t answer. She cringes at the thought of Kurt, feels sick actually, and at the huge mess she is, and how her life is so effed up. Totally and completely. Let’s see. Is there anyone she’s not letting down?

  The dog walks across her abdomen and licks her chin.

  “Thanks for that, Camus.” She rubs his head and he licks her hand. They’re fast friends these days. But somehow his affection makes her feel even worse. Dogs are loyal regardless of what a shit you are.

  What day is it? Sunday, and Mom will be back this evening. It’s Ouaiba’s day off and Camus needs to go out. She’s still dressed and staggers to the elevator, the dog in her arms, to take him to the courtyard to pee.

  When she comes back, there’s a text from Moony.

  Coffee?

  Where?

  Café au Coin.

  OK. There in 30.

  Her head and whole body hurt, and Moony will be highly annoyed with her, but seeing him is the only thing that matters.

  FORTY-THREE

  Café au Coin is the dodgy one on the market street near Moony’s apartment where Summer went before. But she’s glad to go over to his neighborhood, the seventeenth, and so grabs a taxi. After all, she made him come all the way to her house late at night and then passed out on him. She has to talk to him. She has to tell him.

  The market street is bustling and all the stalls are piled with leafy green and beta-carotene-rich produce that hurts to look at. It’s still before noon and it’s raining lightly. Summer enters the café, says, “Bonjour, monsieur,” to the proprietor, and sits at a table. She needs something in her stomach and orders a croissant and a café crème.

  Moony walks in slowly with his cane, pale—and stern looking.

  Summer jumps up and hugs him, noting the startled look on his face.

  “I passed out, huh? You buzzed Ouaiba?”

  “Yes, Sherlock.” He’s trying to look mad, though.

  “I’m so sorry, Moony. That you came all that way. Thank you.”

  “So what happened?” He falls awkwardly onto his chair, leaning heavily on his cane.

  “What happened to you? Why the cane now?” She sits down.

  “Doctor’s orders. Fell. It’s stupid.”

  “Oh, Moony.” She huffs in frustration. He needs to talk to her as much as she needs to talk to him. Why won’t he? She knows the answer, though.

  The proprietor comes over to exchange greetings and see what Moony wants. He gets an orange juice, then sighs deeply.

  “May need another operation after Christmas one. Body’s … straining. After everything.” Summer reaches out to touch his hand, but Moony pulls it back.

  She says gently, “Dude. You need to slow down.” He’s already mad. So what if he gets madder?

  “Tell me,” he demands. “What’s going on?”

  She puts her hands in her lap. “I’ve been—upset … there’s something really … it’s hard…” Why can’t she just say There’s this pervert who has scary control over me and I need your help?

  Moony interrupts, looking distressed, “Summer. About that kiss.”

  “Ohmigod. That’s not it!”

  He looks down. “No, I want to say … took advantage of the situation. Not the time or place.”

  “It’s cool.” She twists her fingers under the table. It was a fine time and place, she thinks.

  “Also, I’m here for you … if you ever … want me. But,” he says, “happy to just be your friend.” He lets his breath out.

  She lets her breath out and nods at her cup. He’s so brave. “Thank you. It means everything to me, Moony. That you’re here. But honest to God, it’s not that. I—I’m…” She stares at the Formica tabletop and loses her train of thought. She puts her head in her hands
as if that might shake her aching brain into action. “I’m so tired of all this. Life. Here. I mean. I can’t keep on.”

  “You drank. Big deal. Start over.”

  “No, but yeah, but I—I couldn’t even make it one day.”

  “Don’t give up,” he says, frowning slightly. He takes her hand in his left and looks at her intently. “Something’s really wrong. Tell me what happened.”

  “It’s hard to talk about. But you’re the only person in the world I can tell.” He gently squeezes her hand. She takes a deep breath and says what she must. “It involves a guy.”

  He lets go of her as a flash of pain dulls his eyes. Seeing it stabs her in the gut. Then Moony’s brows lower. “Who?” he says.

  “I wanted to tell you … a while ago. I just couldn’t.”

  “Not that guy you saw at Les Puces?” he asks.

  “It’s no one you know,” she hedges. “No one from school. He’s, uh, older.”

  “What happened?”

  Summer swallows. The words she needs aren’t there.

  Moony leans forward and says intently, “Did he … do something?”

  “Yes! Well, not exactly.” Her face goes hot. She fidgets with an unlit cigarette. “But he, I guess, sort of … But I didn’t say no, or fight him. He sort of forced me, in a movie theater, just … but also caught me by surprise, and…” She pauses, then her eyes fill.

  Moony’s eyes narrow. “What’s his name?”

  “Kurt de la something something.”

  The scar between Moony’s dark eyebrows crinkles. “What an evil asshole.”

  “Thank you,” she says, putting sugar in her coffee and stirring. “I needed to say it. I feel much better talking about it and thank you for listening. I’m just confused. I don’t even like him, swear to god, but he has this … hold—that’s what scares me.” She glances at Moony.

  He frowns like he’s trying to figure something out. “Don’t see him again. Anyone hurts you, disrespects you, should be banned. And punished.”

  “I haven’t seen this side of you.”

  “Can still kick butt. With walking implements.”

  She smiles. Moony bashing Kurt with a crutch.

  “I’m serious.”

  “I know you are. I love you for it.” He looks at her quickly. “It’s funny,” she says, “when I was little, I had, like, girlie fantasies about a handsome knight saving me from dark dungeons. You are kind of knightlike.” He is. He’s noble, and courageous, and fights for what’s right.

  “No, knight-lite.” An uneven smile spreads across his face. “Mine were … battling evil doctors with ray guns. To protect Nurse Sophie.”

  “That’s who that picture was of! In your room,” she says. “Nurse Sophie.”

  Moony’s cheeks pink.

  “She had a mustache,” Summer can’t help pointing out.

  He juts his chin forward. “It was a pure love.”

  “I imagine.”

  “You’re jealous.”

  She concedes. “You’re right. Totally. I don’t know why you haven’t dumped me as a friend. But I thank Allah you haven’t.”

  He flashes that boyish grin, and takes her hand again.

  Summer puts the unlit cigarette back in the pack. “I so need a drink,” she announces.

  Moony stares at his lap and huffs.

  “But I won’t. For the next five minutes anyway. And I appreciate your not saying anything about last night. I’ll get firmly back on the wagon after I get through this. With, like, seat belts and harnesses and all. Everything’s truly and deeply effed-up and I just have to deal. I will deal, okay?”

  Moony says, “It is that guy, isn’t it?”

  “Who?” she asks, knowing full well.

  “The dodgy Egyptian football guy. From the flea markets.” Now he’s really frowning.

  “Egyptian?” Kurt’s not Egyptian, is he?

  “Summer. Stay. Away. From him.”

  “I know. You’re right.” That’s the simple solution, she thinks. But she’s already tried that and didn’t do so well.

  “Want to come over?” asks Moony.

  “Yes.” She rubs her eyes. “But all my work and stuff is at the apartment, and I have to get busy. My first final is tomorrow. Call me?” She’s so glad she told him.

  He nods but looks disappointed. They kiss cheeks a little awkwardly, and part.

  * * *

  In the taxi on the way home, Summer vows to cut off all contact with Kurt. Not answer his phone calls. Walk the other way if she sees him. Never talk to him again. If only he didn’t have that knack of showing up and being so persuasive. He said she disgusts him. Keep that in mind, cupcake. That he’s a bad influence on her is an understatement. She glances around the street when they stop.

  Nope, not here. But if he were, she’s not sure she would succeed in ignoring him. Even after all he’s done to her. It’s easy to say now, that she’ll avoid him, but it doesn’t seem to work.

  She’s got to get away. Time and distance between them is the answer.

  As she enters their apartment building, Kurt’s leaning against the corner of the building across the street.

  FORTY-FOUR

  Summer rests heavily against the elevator wall as it ascends. Kentucky sings into her earbuds, Said this love affair is crowded, either darkness goes or I do. Her phone vibrates, displaying Kurt’s number. She silences and ignores it.

  Once inside she takes her phone out of her coat pocket. Three texts from Kurt read:

  Call me.

  I really need to see you.

  I really, terribly, need to see you. To talk to you. Please.

  She closes her eyes. Part of her wants to answer. What if it’s something truly important? But three of them piled up there one after the other remind her he’s a creeper.

  Fine. She’ll turn off the phone and keep it off.

  Escaping Kurt is critical. She underestimated him.

  She’s got to do it for Moony, too. It would be impossible to explain, but she can’t focus on him, or even be around him now. If she can get free of Kurt’s corrosive, poisonous influence, then she can concentrate on Moony.

  Summer shuffles into Mom’s marble bathroom, takes a deep breath and says, “Um, I need to buy an airline ticket.”

  Mom’s putting on makeup. The steamy air smells like rosemary and eucalyptus spa shower gel. Mom sets the mascara wand on the edge of the dressing table and turns to look at Summer standing in the doorway.

  “To where?”

  “To San Francisco. I thought I’d call Aunt Liz.”

  Her eyes pop wide. “For when?”

  “As soon as finals are over. Like Saturday.”

  “You’ve talked to her already?”

  “No, I’m asking you first.” It’s not that Mom and Liz don’t get along, but they aren’t really that close. If Summer had a sister, she would talk to her all the time.

  “Christmas is a week and a half away. I told you we’re going skiing! With the Menendezes. And I was hoping to celebrate your graduation with a little get-together first.”

  “I really have to leave here.” Summer’s twisting her hands and stops.

  “And what will you do in California?” Mom purses her lips.

  “I don’t know. Maybe some volunteer work. With like, kids. Aunt Liz will have some ideas.”

  “You want to spend Christmas with her. And leave me here alone.”

  “No, not that. I … I … It’s complicated.”

  “Try me.”

  Summer hesitates. “I—I think I won’t last until Christmas here.”

  “What on earth do you mean?” Mom squints at Summer with her jaw set. “Are you flunking out after all?

  “No!” Summer takes another deep breath. Just tell Mom the truth. “I don’t know. I’m worried. Maybe. There’s … it’s a guy, here, actually, that’s messing me up.”

  “A guy? Do you mean your handicapped friend?”

  “No! I met him … not at school
.”

  “How do you mean he’s messing you up?”

  “Like, he always wants to drink. I’m not drinking now. I’m in a … sort of fragile place.” Her voice squeaks. She’s plucking at her throat.

  “That doesn’t mean you have to leave.” Mom frowns with a modicum of concern. “Sounds like it would be a very good idea not to see this person.”

  Summer rubs her forehead, trying to loosen the piercing tightness. “I can’t avoid him.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You can always avoid someone.” Mom pauses. “I think this is about running away. Summer, you can’t keep changing location every few months, by force or choice. You must stay here and deal with your life.” She narrows her eyes. “And graduate.”

  Mom’s right. She does want to run away. But she has to make Mom understand that it’s for a very good reason. Summer shakes her head. “But, I don’t think I—” She pauses, then says softly, “Mom, graduating will be moot if I’m not around to inherit.”

  “What do you mean ‘not around’?” Mom demands.

  “I mean…” Summer stares at the marble floor, pulling her fingers one by one. “I don’t know. Just in case I’m, like…” Summer looks Mom in the eyes, silently pleading for her to understand. “… hit by a truck or something.”

  “I give up.” Mom waves her manicured nails.

  No such luck.

  “Ask Dr. Garnier about it. And I certainly hope you told her about your father. But right now, I don’t have time for this nonsense. I am so tired of it! This is how it always is with you. You’re given opportunity after opportunity—on a silver platter no less, yet you refuse to do anything. To live your life. When I think of those African village girls who would die for your opportunities.” She looks at her watch. “I’ve got to be in Neuilly in twenty minutes, and then Geneva tomorrow, for the week. We’ll talk about it later.”

  Summer knew this would be an exercise in futility. She about-faces and slumps out.

  “Summer?”

  “Yes?”

  Mom breathes in through her nose. “I am sorry about the way I told you about your father. It wasn’t the right time or place.”